[Bay] What About Now
Mar. 23rd, 2014 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: I wasn't going to update today but RL is kicking my aft and I'm in need of some cheering up so I thought, what better way to improve my day than to offer up Transformers porn? And so here's the final flash fiction fill which turned into a oneshot. Please excuse the cheesy title and the fact it was self-betaed. :)
Title: What About Now
Universe: Bayverse, pre-series, partner to Just for Now
Characters: SideswipexOptimusxSunstreaker, Ratchet
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, angst, spark sex, twincest implied
Description: They aren't here for appreciation. They are here because they understand and can share the load.
Sideswipe is finishing up a late report and Sunstreaker is polishing his finish to its third shine of the orn, when they both receive the same encoded transmission, one that they have learned to recognize over time. Sideswipe saves his work even as he looks up at his twin, Sunstreaker lowering his cloth.
Their optics meet. Sunstreaker's helm dips in a nod. A sigh whuffs from Sideswipe's vents.
He had been wondering how long it would take.
Wordless accord has Sideswipe pushing his datapad aside. It's already late, what's a few more orns? Sunstreaker stows his polishing equipment, giving himself a quick glance in their mirror.
They are frontliners, something they are both keenly aware. Their main duty is to stand at the helm of the charge, destroying the Decepticons and protecting their fellow Autobots.
But there is a secondary assignment that is even more important. It is less an assignment than something they have volunteered for and even if no one had asked them, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would have done it anyway. Because Optimus has been there for them more times than either of them could count.
They are always willing to return the favor. Because if there is one mech in the Autobot army who doesn't know how to ask for help, it's Optimus.
Ratchet, too, but his burden belongs to another mech.
They go to Optimus' quarters, which is unusual because their Prime can hardly be found in them. When he is, it's usually because of this--
This being the sight of Ratchet leaving just as they arrive, a frown firmly planted on his lips and a warning in his optics.
“Don't you break him,” he all but snarls, plating vibrating with agitation.
Sunstreaker huffs, bristling from helm to pede, pushing past the medic and shoving into Prime's room without so much as a retort.
“We're putting him back together,” Sideswipe says, folding his arms over his chest. It's been a long time since Ratchet's managed to intimidate him.
“Don't break what I can't fix,” Ratchet amends, shoving a finger toward Sideswipe, prodding him in the chestplate. “Bad enough I had to replace fried circuits last time.”
Sideswipe barely stops himself from grinning. “Yeah, but he enjoyed it, didn't he?”
The medic scowls. “You're impossible.”
“Hey, you're the one who called us.”
“And I'd regret it were it not for the fact he seems to respond to you.” Ratchet shakes his helm and backs off, giving Sideswipe space to enter Optimus' room. “He has leave for two shifts, and don't let him argue otherwise. If I see him on the command deck, I'll make it a forced one. Understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Sideswipe offers a mock salute because he and Sunstreaker have never offered an honest one before.
Ratchet rolls his optics and stomps down the corridor, surely seeking someone else to badger or bully or threaten to relieve his own stress. Sideswipe doesn't envy the mech who handles Ratchet's issues. Prime, at least, is willing to indulge in his treatment plan. Ratchet probably has to be dragged kicking and screaming.
Story for another time.
Sideswipe steps into Prime's quarters, letting the door slide shut behind him and hitting the lock key so that they are not disturbed. Ratchet's probably told everyone who needs to know, but it always pays to be careful.
Unsurprisingly, Optimus is on his berth, freshly repaired and the weld scars visible in branching lines over his chassis. Sunstreaker is frowning over them, no doubt already calculating the exact amount of paint he'll need to keep their Prime's finish immaculate and acceptable.
“Bad?” Sideswipe asks, knowing Sunstreaker's assessment would be as accurate as Ratchet's.
“Personal,” Sunstreaker replies, shooting Sideswipe a glance. “Meant to hurt, not kill. Taunting.”
Sideswipe inclines his helm. “Personal,” he agrees, and his hands clench at his sides. Fragging Megatron. If it wasn't suicide, Sideswipe would have gone after the Decepticon leader himself. But not even he and Sunny working together could take down that mech.
Truthfully, if it wasn't for Megatron's insistence on allowing his brother to live in order to prolong the suffering, Optimus would have offlined ages ago. He's learning how to defend himself and how to be a warrior, but not fast enough for anyone's peace of mind. Certainly not Sideswipe's and definitely not Ironhide's.
Sunstreaker retracts his talons, reaches for Optimus' helm, and lightly drags his fingers down the side of Optimus' face. Would any other Autobot have seen it, they wouldn't have believed the level of gentleness in the caress. Without the battle mask and his features slack with recharge, Optimus looks as innocent as he had been before the war made him otherwise.
“I'm going to rip out his spark,” Sunstreaker murmurs, the loathing in his tone at odds with the soft manner he traces Optimus' face.
Sideswipe shudders, feeling the death-lust burning at his twin's spark. It's always unsettled him how cold and calculating Sunstreaker could be on the inside.
“Later,” he says.
Sunstreaker makes a noncommittal noise and climbs onto the berth, easily big enough for the three of them, sliding in so that he faces Optimus.
They all have their parts to play.
Sideswipe carefully climbs around to Optimus' other side, curling against the Prime's backstrut, feeling the idle thrum of the powerful engine. Prime is in recharge, then, and not stasis as is usually the case. Though his battle protocols would normally bring him online at the slightest disturbance, he's grown as accustomed to the nature of their energy field as they have learned to recognize his.
“You do the honors,” Sunstreaker says as he place his hand on Optimus' chestplate and lets his field unfurl, washing gently against Optimus' own resting field.
“My pleasure,” Sideswipe says and leans closer to their Prime, ex-venting a wash of warm heat and nuzzling Optimus' helm. His hand lands with a possessive grip on Optimus' hip, his own pushing against Optimus' aft in a lovely slide of metal on metal. “Rise and shine, Optimus,” he purrs as he unfurls his own field, letting it drift against Optimus from behind.
The engine increases in pitch, Optimus stirring, the hum in his frame increasing as he starts to online.
Sunstreaker presses against him from the front, lips brushing the seam of his spark chamber.
Optimus' optics don't online, but he lifts his arm, wrapping it around Sunstreaker and pulling Sideswipe's twin closer.
“You're online,” Sideswipe accuses in his audial, tone amused as he nips at one of Optimus' antenna.
“Have been,” Optimus replies, his cultured tones rolling through the room. Sideswipe shivers.
“How long?” Sunstreaker demands, pushing at Optimus with his frame, as though seeking without words. He gasps, also, when Optimus' fingers push into a seam in his back, teasing the delicate circuitry beneath.
“You should not antagonize Ratchet so,” Optimus chastises, dipping his helm to mouth the contours of Sunstreaker's. “Else he might one orn choose to give you the re-framing you richly deserve.”
Sideswipe chuckles. “Empty threats,” he retorts, and dips his fingers into the plating gap of Optimus' hip, curling one around a thick cable and tugging.
He is rewarded by Optimus' sharp intake, the arch of Optimus' frame, and the clank of metal when he has nowhere to go but against Sunstreaker. Optimus' plating flares in invitation, his field rising to meet theirs, tendrils wrapping around the extended hooks.
“Less talk,” Sunstreaker mock-growls, rocking against Optimus' front, heat from his frame rising up in visible waves. “Quit wasting our time, Optimus.”
Sideswipe sighs to himself. As usual, Sunstreaker's tact could use some work, but it has the intended effect. Optimus briefly stiffens before slumping between them, the inner core of his field finally revealing the struggle he's concealing.
“You cannot fix this,” he says, but Sideswipe notices that he clutches Sunstreaker all the harder, as though trying to crawl beneath yellow plating.
“No,” Sunstreaker says simply.
“But we can ease the pain,” Sideswipe adds, feeling his spark throb behind his chestplate, the energies sympathetic to Optimus' plight. “Just as you do for us.”
Optimus' response lacks words as his mouth covers Sunstreaker's, drawing him into a deep kiss, one knee nudging between Sunstreaker's thighs. Their combined moans fill Sideswipe's audials like a bolt to his spike and he groans, pressing against Optimus' back, his interface panel spiraling open. His spike pressurizes, leaving a streak of pre-transfluid against Optimus' aft.
Alone, they are half, but together, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker comprise one whole and they are just enough to mimic the missing fraction of Optimus' spark. Together, they can ameliorate the agony, like a temp weld on a strut-deep wound.
Nothing, Sideswipe knows, will fix it. Nothing save Megatron's death or Megatron's change of spark and since neither is happening anytime soon, all they can do is what they've been doing.
Which, in Sideswipe's opinion, works out best for all of them. It's hardly a trial to put his hands on Optimus' frame. The Prime's design is one of the best examples of form and function Sideswipe has ever seen, both beautiful and powerful and it makes Sideswipe's engine rev just to touch it.
What makes it more intoxicating is that Optimus allows it. That he purrs and arches and leans into every touch. That he's vocal and responsive and eager once they get started. His energy field unfurls, inch by inch, pain and regret bleeding out and replaced by desire and comfort.
Sideswipe wonders, as Optimus deepens his kiss with Sunstreaker, fingers burying themselves in Sunstreaker's substructure, what mood their Prime needs this time.
Optimus answers the unvoiced question when he slides between Sunstreaker's thighs and pushes himself into Sunstreaker's dripping valve in an achingly slow thrust. A low moan permeates the room, Sunstreaker drawing in a panting ventilation, his hands clutching at Optimus' shoulders and his optics growing dim.
Optimus, Sideswipe knows, thoroughly enjoys to give. In fact, he's pretty sure it's written into the Prime's base code. He doesn't know and can't comprehend laying back and allowing someone else to care for him.
Luckily, when sharing a berth with twins, he doesn't have just one partner. So while Sunstreaker can lie there, gasping and writhing and moaning and taking every ounce of Optimus' attention, Sideswipe can be the one to give.
Optimus is a broad landscape to cover on his own, but Sideswipe does the best he can. His hands map out every inch of those massive shoulders, the complicated mechanisms in his hips, the flat, strong planes of his back. His lips and glossa follow the paths his fingers take, and he's rewarded with Optimus' shudder, the beautiful blue crawl of static over Optimus' armor.
Optimus' slow, measured rhythm falters, prompting Sunstreaker to murmur a protest, and there's something spark-breaking about watching Optimus nuzzle Sunstreaker's helm with his own.
This is a gift, Sideswipe thinks to himself as he presses a kiss to the back of Optimus' neck and the sensitive thinner armor just beneath his helm. He can name on one hand the number of Autobots who have ever seen Optimus in moments of weakness like this, and yes, it's a gift.
He and Sunstreaker are frequently asked why they are Autobots. Why they left Megatron when by all rights they should have been Decepticons. It's funny, because no one asks Ironhide why he abandoned his leader, but for some reason, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's motivations are of concern.
Sideswipe shrugs off the question because it's no one's business but the command staff's and they've approved it. Sunstreaker likes to respond with a fist that really doesn't help their case.
Sideswipe won't ever tell them the truth. That they've seen the burden Optimus bears, knows that Megatron isn't suffering even half as much, and how can they not fight to protect that? How can they not stand by the side of the mech who is suffering for his people while his crazy twin tries to destroy them?
Sunstreaker taps along their bond, wondering why he's getting distracted, and Sideswipe sends an apology and a reassurance all at once. Optimus hasn't noticed the lapse in his attention at least, but Sideswipe doubles his efforts to make up for it nonetheless.
This, too, is a gift, he thinks as his hand cups Optimus' aft and then slides between his thighs, circling the lubricant soaked valve cover. Optimus' thrusts falter entirely. He pushes deep into Sunstreaker and then lingers there, ventilations blasting heat against Sideswipe's frame. He's trembling, it's minute but it's there.
Sunstreaker's murmuring something now. Sideswipe could pick it apart if he wants, but whatever sappy words the two exchange has never been his business. Optimus and Sunstreaker have something wholly different than what Sideswipe and Optimus have and it doesn't bother him. They're twins, not the same person after all. And Sunstreaker's allowed to have his secrets.
Sunstreaker draws Optimus into a strut-melting kiss, his hands cupping their leader's helm and Sideswipe presses more firmly against their Prime, his fingers circling the covered valve over and over. He waits for Optimus to let him in, knowing that it has to be a conscious decision. He watches over the bulk of Optimus' shoulder, the slick slide of glossa together and the way Optimus' hand tightens on Sunstreaker's hip, fingers flexing in an almost unconscious motion.
And then, victory, as Optimus' panel spirals open, granting Sideswipe access. His fingers slide into Optimus' valve, slippery with lubricant, and tests the clench of rippling calipers. Optimus groans, low in his chassis, hips indecisively canting back toward Sideswipe even as Sunstreaker tries to clutch him closer.
Driving him to distraction, that's the goal, Sideswipe thinks as he lets his fingers explore, tracing the sensor rich rim and then pushing deeper. His fingers skitter across the nodes intermittently, setting Optimus with a pleasurable itch that can only be sated by a spike. By now, Sideswipe's an expert on the unique placement of Optimus' nodes and it's not long before more lubricant gushes out, soaking his fingers.
Sunstreaker pings him again, harder, telling him to get on with it, but how can Sideswipe not linger? When Optimus is so responsive beneath him, frame a thing of motion, armor flared up and off his protoform in a blatant sign of trust and need, the electric energy rising from beneath and dancing across his frame in jagged bursts.
His spike knocks against his own panel, demanding release. Need yaws within Sideswipe, threatening to break his control, and only then does he relent. He rocks his hips against Optimus', one hand on the Prime's hip to keep them together, and lets his spike pressurize between Optimus' thighs. A moan escapes Sideswipe as his spike scrapes along heated armor, charge dancing from Optimus' plating to the tip of his spike and sending a surge through his unit. Primus. At this rate, he won't last long. So much for his vaunted control.
Sideswipe cycles a ventilation as his spike catches the rim of Optimus' valve and then slides inside, instantly gripped by eager calipers. Optimus' valve clutches at him, the active nodes sending tiny shocks into Sideswipe's spike. Something akin to a whimper rises in Optimus' vocalizer, his trembles increasing.
Sideswipe buries his faceplate in Optimus' back, their size difference making it impossible to do much else. This is where being Megatron would have come in handy. There's a reason their Lord High Protector is as big as he is, though even if Megatron were to show up right now, demanding to be allowed in this berth, it wouldn't happen. Optimus, soft-spark that he is and so desperate for reconciliation, might not think twice.
But Megatron would have to get through Sideswipe and Sunstreaker first.
Sunstreaker twitches, one hand grasping at Optimus as though demanding their Prime move, and Optimus murmurs something like an apology, picking up a rhythm again. Sideswipe lets him set the pace before he contributes in counterpoint to Optimus' movements, pushing in as Optimus retreats and driving the pleasure higher and higher.
He's focusing so much on Optimus, on listening to ragged ventilations and tracing the path of static, that he's the first to hear the quiet click-click of transformation gears. Sideswipe releases his hold on Optimus' hip and reaches between Optimus and Sunstreaker, his hand splaying on the Prime's chestplate. Sure enough, the mechanisms are juttering, as though it is all Optimus can do to keep his chestplate closed.
He pings his brother and isn't surprised when Sunstreaker snarls an affirmative at him. He knows, frag it. And now it's Sideswipe's turn to tell Sunstreaker to get on with it because they both know good and well Optimus won't take anything unless it's offered and he won't ask because he thinks no one will deny him, even if they want to.
That blasted self-sacrificing nature of his will be the death of him some orn, Sideswipe is sure of it. But for now, he and Sunstreaker concede to it.
Sunstreaker is the first to part his chestplates, though Sideswipe is not far behind him. Direct spark contact is a risk of receiving Ratchet wrath, but sharing energies is safe enough and highly pleasurable. More than that, it seems to comfort something battered and broken inside Optimus.
Sideswipe won't crack his chestplates for anyone else. Sunstreaker either. There's too much worry some well-meaning Autobot might stick a blaster to them. But with Optimus, they have no such concerns.
Optimus shudders, helm bowing as his own chestplates slide apart, redundant shielding having to shift aside as well. That he's even more heavily armored than former Guard soldiers like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker is a testament to where this war has taken them. The Prime should never bear such heavy armor, but here they stand.
Sunstreaker groans as the first lick of energy touches his own and Sideswipe echoes him, feeling it through his twin. He presses harder to Optimus' back, his spark's energy pushing outward, through Optimus from behind, trying to get to Sunstreaker's and blocked by the massive form of their Prime. It's just enough, though, for Sideswipe to get a taste and Optimus as well.
Charge surges throughout the room, intangible to the optics but felt through every inch of Sideswipe's armor, down to his protoform. His spike throbs, Optimus' valve clenches and Sunstreaker's engine rumbles to the tune of his own pleasure.
Sideswipe offlines his optics and drops into the bond with his brother, seeing through Sunstreaker's optics and feeling through Sunstreaker's spark as Optimus finally surrenders to what they are offering him. Their Prime ventilates a soft burst of heat and drags Sunstreaker against him, the thinnest armoring around their spark chambers all that keeps them from direct contact.
Optimus' spark reaches out, his field seeking in the same manner and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe offer what they have to give. Not the same frequency as Megatron, but disparate enough to satisfy. Sideswipe can't begin to understand why it works or helps, it would take a spark medic to explain it, but he's not about to go off seeking one. For all that their ruling diad have traditionally been twins, little is still known about them. Sideswipe wants to keep it that way.
The energy exchange deepens. Sunstreaker moans, clutching at Optimus, trying to draw him closer as though wanting to climb beneath his plating. Optimus' engine cycles into a higher pitch, shaking the berth, rattling their frames.
Sideswipe draws in several desperate ventilations, his spark throbbing to a faster and faster beat, feeling what Sunstreaker has to offer and the echoes of Optimus' own need. It's hard not to give in to that, the desires of a Prime, and Sideswipe doesn't bother to try. He just offers and lets Optimus take as he will, lets the admiration and affection he feels for Optimus smooth over some of the cracks Megatron's betrayal had left behind.
What Sunstreaker offers is different, but no less substantive than Sideswipe's own. His affection holds a deeper tune, and somewhere in there is a kinship, Sideswipe will never be able to match or understand. It's hard enough, sometimes, holding his own twin together and he's taken on Optimus' burden, too. He doesn't know why Sunstreaker hurts and he doesn't ask because he's waiting for Sunstreaker to tell him.
So this, between the three of them right now, is as much about helping Optimus as it is about helping each other and maybe that's why it works. It's selfish and selfless all rolled into one moment of bliss and comfort.
It's why Optimus seeks Sideswipe out when Sunstreaker lies in pieces in Ratchet's medbay, or takes down Sunstreaker when Sideswipe is clinging to spark support. It's why Sideswipe and Sunstreaker come any time Ratchet or Prowl or Ironhide comm them, and why said command element doesn't question why they have to call the twins.
It's why it is so easy to lose himself in the pleasure, Sideswipe thinks. Why it's so easy for Sunstreaker to give in and for Optimus to take what they offer and indulge in it. The physical pleasure of their frames becomes distant to the shared energies, though it is still a tangible presence.
Sideswipe doesn't know who tips over first. Connected as they are, spark and frame, it's impossible to tell. There's a singular feedback loop of pleasure, feeding into itself, and all Sideswipe knows is that Sunstreaker is moaning, and Optimus is rumbling and Sideswipe's clutching the both of them like he can't bear to let go. There's pleasure and cohesion and it all swells up into something that bursts, a thousand dancing lights through his system.
For a moment, he and Sunstreaker and Optimus, are dangling in the atmosphere without connection to the ground or to their frames. And it's bliss. Sheer, weightless bliss. It's fleeting, however, and then they are falling back down, catching each other, but still plummeting offline.
Sideswipe, by sheer force of will and position, clings to consciousness. It's easier when Optimus isn't buffeting him directly with that indomitable spark. Sunstreaker, however, falls into the black and Sideswipe leaps out of the bond to keep from falling with him.
Vents whir in an otherwise silent room.
Sideswipe onlines his optics and lays there, feeling Optimus thrum beside him, lingering in the satisfaction that swells Sunstreaker's spark. It's nice, this soft quiet, and though he's reluctant to disturb it, there's a mess on him, on his berth partners, and it's part of his role to take care of it.
Sideswipe eases himself free, tucks away his equipment, and extracts himself from the berth and the tangle of limbs. Optimus and Sunstreaker are out cold, he notices. Unsurprising.
He putters around, busying himself with gathering mesh cloths and prepping some energon from Optimus' private dispenser. His own frame still thrums from the force of his overload and every step he takes sends a tingle of pleasure through his sensory net. Hopefully, when his twin and his Prime return to consciousness, they'll be interested in a second round.
This time, Sideswipe can even look at Ratchet with a straight faceplate and claim he hasn't broken Optimus. Mostly because it wasn't what Optimus wanted this time.
Sideswipe just manages to get Sunstreaker clean enough that he won't whine about it – much – and Optimus wiped down when both of them begin to stir. Sunstreaker because it's impossible to keep a frontliner down for long and Optimus because Sideswipe is sure there's some subroutine in his processor that doesn't let a Prime get any true rest.
He shoves a cube in their hands before they are fully online and is amused when both of them refuel on automatic, Optimus pulling himself to a seated position while Sunstreaker half-slouches against his side.
“Nice nap?” Sideswipe asks, all the more amused when Optimus' optics flicker at him and Sunstreaker offers a grunt.
“Where do you get your energy?” Sunstreaker demands as he finishes the cube and tosses it back at him. Obviously, the question is rhetorical.
Optimus manages a smile. “Yes, thank you. Can I assume I have been assigned leave courtesy of my CMO?”
“You can,” Sideswipe says and hops up to the berth on Optimus' other side, stealing some snuggle from Sunstreaker because he can and it's his turn, frag it.
Sunstreaker glares; Sideswipe ignores him.
“For how long this time?” Optimus asks with the air of one long-suffering, but who also knows better than to disobey his Chief Medical Officer.
“As long as it takes,” Sunstreaker says, though that isn't precisely what Ratchet had said.
And as long as you needs us, Sideswipe thinks, though he won't say it aloud because Optimus will tell them he's fine when he's not.
Optimus' field settles, the edges of it still brimming with pain, but that is only to be expected. It'll take more than they can offer to completely heal Prime. They're just happy to be given the chance to ease the pain.
“Thank you,” Optimus says, wrapping an arm around each of them.
“Don't need thanks,” Sunstreaker retorts and Sideswipe echoes him.
They don't do it for appreciation. They are here for the same reason all of the other Autobots are here. Because they believe in Optimus and will do whatever it takes to see this through to the end.
It's as simple as that.
****
a/n: I've decided to add this to my 'Coping Mechanisms' series. Jazz/Bluestreak's story is set in a different universe, but it has the same overall theme so I'm just going to keep them all together. (Besides, Jazz and Blue are together in the same manner as their G1 selves in this 'verse, too so it all works out).
And with this, the flash fiction are complete! Huzzah! I was going to do a Prompt Palooza for April instead of Flash Fic Friday so keep your eyes open for that. I'm going to try and update With Benefits before March ends, too.
I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always welcome!
Title: What About Now
Universe: Bayverse, pre-series, partner to Just for Now
Characters: SideswipexOptimusxSunstreaker, Ratchet
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, angst, spark sex, twincest implied
Description: They aren't here for appreciation. They are here because they understand and can share the load.
Sideswipe is finishing up a late report and Sunstreaker is polishing his finish to its third shine of the orn, when they both receive the same encoded transmission, one that they have learned to recognize over time. Sideswipe saves his work even as he looks up at his twin, Sunstreaker lowering his cloth.
Their optics meet. Sunstreaker's helm dips in a nod. A sigh whuffs from Sideswipe's vents.
He had been wondering how long it would take.
Wordless accord has Sideswipe pushing his datapad aside. It's already late, what's a few more orns? Sunstreaker stows his polishing equipment, giving himself a quick glance in their mirror.
They are frontliners, something they are both keenly aware. Their main duty is to stand at the helm of the charge, destroying the Decepticons and protecting their fellow Autobots.
But there is a secondary assignment that is even more important. It is less an assignment than something they have volunteered for and even if no one had asked them, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would have done it anyway. Because Optimus has been there for them more times than either of them could count.
They are always willing to return the favor. Because if there is one mech in the Autobot army who doesn't know how to ask for help, it's Optimus.
Ratchet, too, but his burden belongs to another mech.
They go to Optimus' quarters, which is unusual because their Prime can hardly be found in them. When he is, it's usually because of this--
This being the sight of Ratchet leaving just as they arrive, a frown firmly planted on his lips and a warning in his optics.
“Don't you break him,” he all but snarls, plating vibrating with agitation.
Sunstreaker huffs, bristling from helm to pede, pushing past the medic and shoving into Prime's room without so much as a retort.
“We're putting him back together,” Sideswipe says, folding his arms over his chest. It's been a long time since Ratchet's managed to intimidate him.
“Don't break what I can't fix,” Ratchet amends, shoving a finger toward Sideswipe, prodding him in the chestplate. “Bad enough I had to replace fried circuits last time.”
Sideswipe barely stops himself from grinning. “Yeah, but he enjoyed it, didn't he?”
The medic scowls. “You're impossible.”
“Hey, you're the one who called us.”
“And I'd regret it were it not for the fact he seems to respond to you.” Ratchet shakes his helm and backs off, giving Sideswipe space to enter Optimus' room. “He has leave for two shifts, and don't let him argue otherwise. If I see him on the command deck, I'll make it a forced one. Understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Sideswipe offers a mock salute because he and Sunstreaker have never offered an honest one before.
Ratchet rolls his optics and stomps down the corridor, surely seeking someone else to badger or bully or threaten to relieve his own stress. Sideswipe doesn't envy the mech who handles Ratchet's issues. Prime, at least, is willing to indulge in his treatment plan. Ratchet probably has to be dragged kicking and screaming.
Story for another time.
Sideswipe steps into Prime's quarters, letting the door slide shut behind him and hitting the lock key so that they are not disturbed. Ratchet's probably told everyone who needs to know, but it always pays to be careful.
Unsurprisingly, Optimus is on his berth, freshly repaired and the weld scars visible in branching lines over his chassis. Sunstreaker is frowning over them, no doubt already calculating the exact amount of paint he'll need to keep their Prime's finish immaculate and acceptable.
“Bad?” Sideswipe asks, knowing Sunstreaker's assessment would be as accurate as Ratchet's.
“Personal,” Sunstreaker replies, shooting Sideswipe a glance. “Meant to hurt, not kill. Taunting.”
Sideswipe inclines his helm. “Personal,” he agrees, and his hands clench at his sides. Fragging Megatron. If it wasn't suicide, Sideswipe would have gone after the Decepticon leader himself. But not even he and Sunny working together could take down that mech.
Truthfully, if it wasn't for Megatron's insistence on allowing his brother to live in order to prolong the suffering, Optimus would have offlined ages ago. He's learning how to defend himself and how to be a warrior, but not fast enough for anyone's peace of mind. Certainly not Sideswipe's and definitely not Ironhide's.
Sunstreaker retracts his talons, reaches for Optimus' helm, and lightly drags his fingers down the side of Optimus' face. Would any other Autobot have seen it, they wouldn't have believed the level of gentleness in the caress. Without the battle mask and his features slack with recharge, Optimus looks as innocent as he had been before the war made him otherwise.
“I'm going to rip out his spark,” Sunstreaker murmurs, the loathing in his tone at odds with the soft manner he traces Optimus' face.
Sideswipe shudders, feeling the death-lust burning at his twin's spark. It's always unsettled him how cold and calculating Sunstreaker could be on the inside.
“Later,” he says.
Sunstreaker makes a noncommittal noise and climbs onto the berth, easily big enough for the three of them, sliding in so that he faces Optimus.
They all have their parts to play.
Sideswipe carefully climbs around to Optimus' other side, curling against the Prime's backstrut, feeling the idle thrum of the powerful engine. Prime is in recharge, then, and not stasis as is usually the case. Though his battle protocols would normally bring him online at the slightest disturbance, he's grown as accustomed to the nature of their energy field as they have learned to recognize his.
“You do the honors,” Sunstreaker says as he place his hand on Optimus' chestplate and lets his field unfurl, washing gently against Optimus' own resting field.
“My pleasure,” Sideswipe says and leans closer to their Prime, ex-venting a wash of warm heat and nuzzling Optimus' helm. His hand lands with a possessive grip on Optimus' hip, his own pushing against Optimus' aft in a lovely slide of metal on metal. “Rise and shine, Optimus,” he purrs as he unfurls his own field, letting it drift against Optimus from behind.
The engine increases in pitch, Optimus stirring, the hum in his frame increasing as he starts to online.
Sunstreaker presses against him from the front, lips brushing the seam of his spark chamber.
Optimus' optics don't online, but he lifts his arm, wrapping it around Sunstreaker and pulling Sideswipe's twin closer.
“You're online,” Sideswipe accuses in his audial, tone amused as he nips at one of Optimus' antenna.
“Have been,” Optimus replies, his cultured tones rolling through the room. Sideswipe shivers.
“How long?” Sunstreaker demands, pushing at Optimus with his frame, as though seeking without words. He gasps, also, when Optimus' fingers push into a seam in his back, teasing the delicate circuitry beneath.
“You should not antagonize Ratchet so,” Optimus chastises, dipping his helm to mouth the contours of Sunstreaker's. “Else he might one orn choose to give you the re-framing you richly deserve.”
Sideswipe chuckles. “Empty threats,” he retorts, and dips his fingers into the plating gap of Optimus' hip, curling one around a thick cable and tugging.
He is rewarded by Optimus' sharp intake, the arch of Optimus' frame, and the clank of metal when he has nowhere to go but against Sunstreaker. Optimus' plating flares in invitation, his field rising to meet theirs, tendrils wrapping around the extended hooks.
“Less talk,” Sunstreaker mock-growls, rocking against Optimus' front, heat from his frame rising up in visible waves. “Quit wasting our time, Optimus.”
Sideswipe sighs to himself. As usual, Sunstreaker's tact could use some work, but it has the intended effect. Optimus briefly stiffens before slumping between them, the inner core of his field finally revealing the struggle he's concealing.
“You cannot fix this,” he says, but Sideswipe notices that he clutches Sunstreaker all the harder, as though trying to crawl beneath yellow plating.
“No,” Sunstreaker says simply.
“But we can ease the pain,” Sideswipe adds, feeling his spark throb behind his chestplate, the energies sympathetic to Optimus' plight. “Just as you do for us.”
Optimus' response lacks words as his mouth covers Sunstreaker's, drawing him into a deep kiss, one knee nudging between Sunstreaker's thighs. Their combined moans fill Sideswipe's audials like a bolt to his spike and he groans, pressing against Optimus' back, his interface panel spiraling open. His spike pressurizes, leaving a streak of pre-transfluid against Optimus' aft.
Alone, they are half, but together, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker comprise one whole and they are just enough to mimic the missing fraction of Optimus' spark. Together, they can ameliorate the agony, like a temp weld on a strut-deep wound.
Nothing, Sideswipe knows, will fix it. Nothing save Megatron's death or Megatron's change of spark and since neither is happening anytime soon, all they can do is what they've been doing.
Which, in Sideswipe's opinion, works out best for all of them. It's hardly a trial to put his hands on Optimus' frame. The Prime's design is one of the best examples of form and function Sideswipe has ever seen, both beautiful and powerful and it makes Sideswipe's engine rev just to touch it.
What makes it more intoxicating is that Optimus allows it. That he purrs and arches and leans into every touch. That he's vocal and responsive and eager once they get started. His energy field unfurls, inch by inch, pain and regret bleeding out and replaced by desire and comfort.
Sideswipe wonders, as Optimus deepens his kiss with Sunstreaker, fingers burying themselves in Sunstreaker's substructure, what mood their Prime needs this time.
Optimus answers the unvoiced question when he slides between Sunstreaker's thighs and pushes himself into Sunstreaker's dripping valve in an achingly slow thrust. A low moan permeates the room, Sunstreaker drawing in a panting ventilation, his hands clutching at Optimus' shoulders and his optics growing dim.
Optimus, Sideswipe knows, thoroughly enjoys to give. In fact, he's pretty sure it's written into the Prime's base code. He doesn't know and can't comprehend laying back and allowing someone else to care for him.
Luckily, when sharing a berth with twins, he doesn't have just one partner. So while Sunstreaker can lie there, gasping and writhing and moaning and taking every ounce of Optimus' attention, Sideswipe can be the one to give.
Optimus is a broad landscape to cover on his own, but Sideswipe does the best he can. His hands map out every inch of those massive shoulders, the complicated mechanisms in his hips, the flat, strong planes of his back. His lips and glossa follow the paths his fingers take, and he's rewarded with Optimus' shudder, the beautiful blue crawl of static over Optimus' armor.
Optimus' slow, measured rhythm falters, prompting Sunstreaker to murmur a protest, and there's something spark-breaking about watching Optimus nuzzle Sunstreaker's helm with his own.
This is a gift, Sideswipe thinks to himself as he presses a kiss to the back of Optimus' neck and the sensitive thinner armor just beneath his helm. He can name on one hand the number of Autobots who have ever seen Optimus in moments of weakness like this, and yes, it's a gift.
He and Sunstreaker are frequently asked why they are Autobots. Why they left Megatron when by all rights they should have been Decepticons. It's funny, because no one asks Ironhide why he abandoned his leader, but for some reason, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's motivations are of concern.
Sideswipe shrugs off the question because it's no one's business but the command staff's and they've approved it. Sunstreaker likes to respond with a fist that really doesn't help their case.
Sideswipe won't ever tell them the truth. That they've seen the burden Optimus bears, knows that Megatron isn't suffering even half as much, and how can they not fight to protect that? How can they not stand by the side of the mech who is suffering for his people while his crazy twin tries to destroy them?
Sunstreaker taps along their bond, wondering why he's getting distracted, and Sideswipe sends an apology and a reassurance all at once. Optimus hasn't noticed the lapse in his attention at least, but Sideswipe doubles his efforts to make up for it nonetheless.
This, too, is a gift, he thinks as his hand cups Optimus' aft and then slides between his thighs, circling the lubricant soaked valve cover. Optimus' thrusts falter entirely. He pushes deep into Sunstreaker and then lingers there, ventilations blasting heat against Sideswipe's frame. He's trembling, it's minute but it's there.
Sunstreaker's murmuring something now. Sideswipe could pick it apart if he wants, but whatever sappy words the two exchange has never been his business. Optimus and Sunstreaker have something wholly different than what Sideswipe and Optimus have and it doesn't bother him. They're twins, not the same person after all. And Sunstreaker's allowed to have his secrets.
Sunstreaker draws Optimus into a strut-melting kiss, his hands cupping their leader's helm and Sideswipe presses more firmly against their Prime, his fingers circling the covered valve over and over. He waits for Optimus to let him in, knowing that it has to be a conscious decision. He watches over the bulk of Optimus' shoulder, the slick slide of glossa together and the way Optimus' hand tightens on Sunstreaker's hip, fingers flexing in an almost unconscious motion.
And then, victory, as Optimus' panel spirals open, granting Sideswipe access. His fingers slide into Optimus' valve, slippery with lubricant, and tests the clench of rippling calipers. Optimus groans, low in his chassis, hips indecisively canting back toward Sideswipe even as Sunstreaker tries to clutch him closer.
Driving him to distraction, that's the goal, Sideswipe thinks as he lets his fingers explore, tracing the sensor rich rim and then pushing deeper. His fingers skitter across the nodes intermittently, setting Optimus with a pleasurable itch that can only be sated by a spike. By now, Sideswipe's an expert on the unique placement of Optimus' nodes and it's not long before more lubricant gushes out, soaking his fingers.
Sunstreaker pings him again, harder, telling him to get on with it, but how can Sideswipe not linger? When Optimus is so responsive beneath him, frame a thing of motion, armor flared up and off his protoform in a blatant sign of trust and need, the electric energy rising from beneath and dancing across his frame in jagged bursts.
His spike knocks against his own panel, demanding release. Need yaws within Sideswipe, threatening to break his control, and only then does he relent. He rocks his hips against Optimus', one hand on the Prime's hip to keep them together, and lets his spike pressurize between Optimus' thighs. A moan escapes Sideswipe as his spike scrapes along heated armor, charge dancing from Optimus' plating to the tip of his spike and sending a surge through his unit. Primus. At this rate, he won't last long. So much for his vaunted control.
Sideswipe cycles a ventilation as his spike catches the rim of Optimus' valve and then slides inside, instantly gripped by eager calipers. Optimus' valve clutches at him, the active nodes sending tiny shocks into Sideswipe's spike. Something akin to a whimper rises in Optimus' vocalizer, his trembles increasing.
Sideswipe buries his faceplate in Optimus' back, their size difference making it impossible to do much else. This is where being Megatron would have come in handy. There's a reason their Lord High Protector is as big as he is, though even if Megatron were to show up right now, demanding to be allowed in this berth, it wouldn't happen. Optimus, soft-spark that he is and so desperate for reconciliation, might not think twice.
But Megatron would have to get through Sideswipe and Sunstreaker first.
Sunstreaker twitches, one hand grasping at Optimus as though demanding their Prime move, and Optimus murmurs something like an apology, picking up a rhythm again. Sideswipe lets him set the pace before he contributes in counterpoint to Optimus' movements, pushing in as Optimus retreats and driving the pleasure higher and higher.
He's focusing so much on Optimus, on listening to ragged ventilations and tracing the path of static, that he's the first to hear the quiet click-click of transformation gears. Sideswipe releases his hold on Optimus' hip and reaches between Optimus and Sunstreaker, his hand splaying on the Prime's chestplate. Sure enough, the mechanisms are juttering, as though it is all Optimus can do to keep his chestplate closed.
He pings his brother and isn't surprised when Sunstreaker snarls an affirmative at him. He knows, frag it. And now it's Sideswipe's turn to tell Sunstreaker to get on with it because they both know good and well Optimus won't take anything unless it's offered and he won't ask because he thinks no one will deny him, even if they want to.
That blasted self-sacrificing nature of his will be the death of him some orn, Sideswipe is sure of it. But for now, he and Sunstreaker concede to it.
Sunstreaker is the first to part his chestplates, though Sideswipe is not far behind him. Direct spark contact is a risk of receiving Ratchet wrath, but sharing energies is safe enough and highly pleasurable. More than that, it seems to comfort something battered and broken inside Optimus.
Sideswipe won't crack his chestplates for anyone else. Sunstreaker either. There's too much worry some well-meaning Autobot might stick a blaster to them. But with Optimus, they have no such concerns.
Optimus shudders, helm bowing as his own chestplates slide apart, redundant shielding having to shift aside as well. That he's even more heavily armored than former Guard soldiers like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker is a testament to where this war has taken them. The Prime should never bear such heavy armor, but here they stand.
Sunstreaker groans as the first lick of energy touches his own and Sideswipe echoes him, feeling it through his twin. He presses harder to Optimus' back, his spark's energy pushing outward, through Optimus from behind, trying to get to Sunstreaker's and blocked by the massive form of their Prime. It's just enough, though, for Sideswipe to get a taste and Optimus as well.
Charge surges throughout the room, intangible to the optics but felt through every inch of Sideswipe's armor, down to his protoform. His spike throbs, Optimus' valve clenches and Sunstreaker's engine rumbles to the tune of his own pleasure.
Sideswipe offlines his optics and drops into the bond with his brother, seeing through Sunstreaker's optics and feeling through Sunstreaker's spark as Optimus finally surrenders to what they are offering him. Their Prime ventilates a soft burst of heat and drags Sunstreaker against him, the thinnest armoring around their spark chambers all that keeps them from direct contact.
Optimus' spark reaches out, his field seeking in the same manner and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe offer what they have to give. Not the same frequency as Megatron, but disparate enough to satisfy. Sideswipe can't begin to understand why it works or helps, it would take a spark medic to explain it, but he's not about to go off seeking one. For all that their ruling diad have traditionally been twins, little is still known about them. Sideswipe wants to keep it that way.
The energy exchange deepens. Sunstreaker moans, clutching at Optimus, trying to draw him closer as though wanting to climb beneath his plating. Optimus' engine cycles into a higher pitch, shaking the berth, rattling their frames.
Sideswipe draws in several desperate ventilations, his spark throbbing to a faster and faster beat, feeling what Sunstreaker has to offer and the echoes of Optimus' own need. It's hard not to give in to that, the desires of a Prime, and Sideswipe doesn't bother to try. He just offers and lets Optimus take as he will, lets the admiration and affection he feels for Optimus smooth over some of the cracks Megatron's betrayal had left behind.
What Sunstreaker offers is different, but no less substantive than Sideswipe's own. His affection holds a deeper tune, and somewhere in there is a kinship, Sideswipe will never be able to match or understand. It's hard enough, sometimes, holding his own twin together and he's taken on Optimus' burden, too. He doesn't know why Sunstreaker hurts and he doesn't ask because he's waiting for Sunstreaker to tell him.
So this, between the three of them right now, is as much about helping Optimus as it is about helping each other and maybe that's why it works. It's selfish and selfless all rolled into one moment of bliss and comfort.
It's why Optimus seeks Sideswipe out when Sunstreaker lies in pieces in Ratchet's medbay, or takes down Sunstreaker when Sideswipe is clinging to spark support. It's why Sideswipe and Sunstreaker come any time Ratchet or Prowl or Ironhide comm them, and why said command element doesn't question why they have to call the twins.
It's why it is so easy to lose himself in the pleasure, Sideswipe thinks. Why it's so easy for Sunstreaker to give in and for Optimus to take what they offer and indulge in it. The physical pleasure of their frames becomes distant to the shared energies, though it is still a tangible presence.
Sideswipe doesn't know who tips over first. Connected as they are, spark and frame, it's impossible to tell. There's a singular feedback loop of pleasure, feeding into itself, and all Sideswipe knows is that Sunstreaker is moaning, and Optimus is rumbling and Sideswipe's clutching the both of them like he can't bear to let go. There's pleasure and cohesion and it all swells up into something that bursts, a thousand dancing lights through his system.
For a moment, he and Sunstreaker and Optimus, are dangling in the atmosphere without connection to the ground or to their frames. And it's bliss. Sheer, weightless bliss. It's fleeting, however, and then they are falling back down, catching each other, but still plummeting offline.
Sideswipe, by sheer force of will and position, clings to consciousness. It's easier when Optimus isn't buffeting him directly with that indomitable spark. Sunstreaker, however, falls into the black and Sideswipe leaps out of the bond to keep from falling with him.
Vents whir in an otherwise silent room.
Sideswipe onlines his optics and lays there, feeling Optimus thrum beside him, lingering in the satisfaction that swells Sunstreaker's spark. It's nice, this soft quiet, and though he's reluctant to disturb it, there's a mess on him, on his berth partners, and it's part of his role to take care of it.
Sideswipe eases himself free, tucks away his equipment, and extracts himself from the berth and the tangle of limbs. Optimus and Sunstreaker are out cold, he notices. Unsurprising.
He putters around, busying himself with gathering mesh cloths and prepping some energon from Optimus' private dispenser. His own frame still thrums from the force of his overload and every step he takes sends a tingle of pleasure through his sensory net. Hopefully, when his twin and his Prime return to consciousness, they'll be interested in a second round.
This time, Sideswipe can even look at Ratchet with a straight faceplate and claim he hasn't broken Optimus. Mostly because it wasn't what Optimus wanted this time.
Sideswipe just manages to get Sunstreaker clean enough that he won't whine about it – much – and Optimus wiped down when both of them begin to stir. Sunstreaker because it's impossible to keep a frontliner down for long and Optimus because Sideswipe is sure there's some subroutine in his processor that doesn't let a Prime get any true rest.
He shoves a cube in their hands before they are fully online and is amused when both of them refuel on automatic, Optimus pulling himself to a seated position while Sunstreaker half-slouches against his side.
“Nice nap?” Sideswipe asks, all the more amused when Optimus' optics flicker at him and Sunstreaker offers a grunt.
“Where do you get your energy?” Sunstreaker demands as he finishes the cube and tosses it back at him. Obviously, the question is rhetorical.
Optimus manages a smile. “Yes, thank you. Can I assume I have been assigned leave courtesy of my CMO?”
“You can,” Sideswipe says and hops up to the berth on Optimus' other side, stealing some snuggle from Sunstreaker because he can and it's his turn, frag it.
Sunstreaker glares; Sideswipe ignores him.
“For how long this time?” Optimus asks with the air of one long-suffering, but who also knows better than to disobey his Chief Medical Officer.
“As long as it takes,” Sunstreaker says, though that isn't precisely what Ratchet had said.
And as long as you needs us, Sideswipe thinks, though he won't say it aloud because Optimus will tell them he's fine when he's not.
Optimus' field settles, the edges of it still brimming with pain, but that is only to be expected. It'll take more than they can offer to completely heal Prime. They're just happy to be given the chance to ease the pain.
“Thank you,” Optimus says, wrapping an arm around each of them.
“Don't need thanks,” Sunstreaker retorts and Sideswipe echoes him.
They don't do it for appreciation. They are here for the same reason all of the other Autobots are here. Because they believe in Optimus and will do whatever it takes to see this through to the end.
It's as simple as that.
a/n: I've decided to add this to my 'Coping Mechanisms' series. Jazz/Bluestreak's story is set in a different universe, but it has the same overall theme so I'm just going to keep them all together. (Besides, Jazz and Blue are together in the same manner as their G1 selves in this 'verse, too so it all works out).
And with this, the flash fiction are complete! Huzzah! I was going to do a Prompt Palooza for April instead of Flash Fic Friday so keep your eyes open for that. I'm going to try and update With Benefits before March ends, too.
I hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always welcome!
