[IDW] Trust In Me

[dracoqueen22]

Title: Trust In Me
Universe: MTMTE, Season Two
Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Alien OC
Rating: M
Warnings: Oviposition, Goo Tentacles, Sticky Sex, Egg-Laying
Description: Another planet. Another alien species decimated by the Cybertronian war. Only this time, there’s actually something Megatron can do about it – by offering his own frame to overcome a long-held personal bias.

Commission for LarryDraws


For once, it was not Rodimus’ fault.

Megatron only had himself to blame for his current circumstances. He had made the decision to come here, to this moist, squishy planet. He had listened to the cry for help from its inhabitants. And he had opted to answer that cry. Out of guilt. Out of determination. Out of sense to prove himself perhaps.

His motives weren’t important. Only his actions were.

So he stepped out of the aptly named ship with its owner striding out behind him, and braced himself for greeting the creature he would be assisting, for lack of a better term.

Cybertronians had caused this chaos. Cybertronians would fix it.

Megatron was the first volunteer. He expected to be the only volunteer, truth be told, but once the shock of his offer wore off, other mechs added their designations to the list. They, too, had their own guard and assistant as Rodimus was for him. Brainstorm and Perceptor, amusingly, had been most insistent.

There were, in fact, so many volunteers that the Lost Light would remain in orbit around Offerre Sexta for the better part of a week. Megatron planned to remain planet-side for the entirety of the week, if his frame could handle it. The others, he knew, would swap out as time permitted.

Exchanging pleasantries with the Offerran diplomatic unit over the video comm had not been enough to prepare Megatron for the sight of one, however. The Offerrans were large, easily taller than Megatron, and equally if not more massive. Their bright colors put Rodimus’ to shame, and their lower halves were a wriggling, squelching mass of limbs that Megatron had no other word for than tentacle.

One of those, he knew, was their ovipositor. And said ovipositor would be breaching Megatron’s valve and gestational chamber.

His spark thumped a little harder. It was not anxiety, but it was not anticipation either.

“Greetings, Megatron and escort,” the Offerran said, waving four of its shorter, gelatinous limbs toward them. Three pairs of eyes blinked in arrhythmic succession. “Welcome to my humble pod.”

Its – or perhaps his, for the sake of convenience – pod was nothing Megatron could call humble. It was tall enough to overshadow the Rodpod, and it seemed to have grown right out of the ground, the land beneath them a web of interlaced roots and branches covered in a soft fuzz of some kind.

The so-called pod was roughly half-circular and from the sides, Megatron could see nothing of windows. From above, however, he knew there was an opening, like a skylight. There was a doorway, large enough to accommodate its resident, but there was no actual door. Either the Offerans did not believe in basic privacy and security, or had no need of them.

Perhaps it was the latter. Megatron and Rodimus had flown over the surface and counted more dead or decaying pod-homes than alive and thriving. The lush land had also been pockmarked with areas of decay, jagged strips of black and brown where artillery had stripped the life from it.

This, too, was the blame of Cybertronians.

“You may call me ‘Jareth’,” the Offerran continued as he wobbled to a halt in front of Megatron and Rodimus, though his body seemed to be in constant motion. “My name is otherwise unpronounceable to you.”

Jareth didn’t have a face, not as Megatron was used to seeing, and it was difficult to know where to place his focus. Especially as his eyes had a tendency to… wander. Megatron settled for looking at the central mass, and tried not to count how many tentacles wriggled around Jareth’s body.

“How fortunate, then, that we both speak a recognized language,” Megatron said with a dip of his head in greeting. “That will make communication easier.”

The Offerran burbled a laugh. The central mass rippled and something odd bubbled to the surface, inorganic if Megatron had a guess. “You will have to thank our scientists for devising this translator.” He paused, his tentacles going still. “Your kind left enough behind that we were able to approximate a codex.”

Megatron fought a wince.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re here,” Rodimus piped up. Of course the order to ‘be silent’ would not have stood for long with him. “We can’t even begin to make up for that, but every little bit helps, right?”

Jareth’s central mass shifted toward Rodimus, and the eyes wandered back into view, only to focus on Megatron’s co-captain. “Indeed, Rodimus who is a Prime, but not.”

Rodimus’ engine stuttered. “You, uh, do know a lot about us, don’t you?”

“That we do. It was necessary.” Jareth’s attention returned to Megatron. His tentacles started shifting again, an iridescent wave of colors traveling up and down the lengths of them. “Do you still intend to provide assistance?”

Megatrin inclined his head. “Yes, I do.” He might not be able to stop staring at the Offerran’s limbs, but something in Jareth’s posture suggested his words were a challenge.

Megatron did not back down from challenges.

Something burbled up from the Offerran. Maybe it was a laugh. “Good,” he said, almost a purr. “Then follow me into my pod.”

“As you wish.” Megatron half-turned toward Rodimus, wondering if he would obey this order any more than the other. “You can remain out here.”

“He is more than welcome to observe,” Jareth said before he vanished into the open doorway.

Rodimus beamed up at Megatron. His spoiler wriggled with telltale excitement. “Come on, Megs. You’re not shy, are you?”

“No, I am not,” he bit out.

Shyness was not the issue here.

“Well, I wouldn’t make much of an escort-slash-protector if I wasn’t with you, now would I?” Rodimus said, spreading his hands. He bounced on his heels, something of glee in his field.

Megatron twitched. He resisted the urge to slide a hand down his face. Ultra Magnus pointed out to him last week how often he did so. He’d resolved to put an end to such a telling act.

“Very well,” Megatron said. “But you’ll behave. I don’t want to hear any uninvited commentary, or suggestions, or…” He paused, searching for a proper way to convey everything that Rodimus was and everything Megatron did not want him to be.

Finally, Megatron ex-vented. “Just be quiet.”

Rodimus pulled his fingers across his lips, miming a zipping action. “My lips are sealed.”

Megatron gave him a long look. Rodimus beamed a smile. He supposed that was the best he would get.

Megatron spun back toward Jareth’s pod and cycled a ventilation. He braced himself, unsure of what he would find within the half-circle structure, and forced himself forward. The ground went squish beneath him, tiny tendrils poking up into his gears, and he told himself to ignore that as well.

Organic did not mean filthy.

Megatron did not have to stoop to enter the doorway. Inside, it was brightly lit, with multiple glowing orbs growing out of the walls themselves, and providing a soft illumination. The floor itself was more of the same woven strands and vines, which gave slightly beneath Megatron’s weight.

The roof of the pod was indeed translucent. Rays of sunlight filtered through, heating the interior, taking the ambient chill out of the air. It was only a few degrees warmer than the atmosphere outside, but enough to be measured.

It was the pool in the center that captured Megatron’s attention. It was easily large enough to accommodate a half-dozen of the Offerrans. It was a very pale blue color, like fine engex, and to Megatron’s chemo-receptors, smelled oddly sweet. Like coolant. The liquid was not water, it was too dense for that, and Megatron’s scanners registered an organic component to it.

In the middle of the pool was an approximation of a chair, made of the same odd vines as the ground and the pod itself. It formed a half-circle scoop, as though crafted to hold some kind of ovoid object, though the forward section had an indention of sorts.

“This is the nursery,” Jareth explained as he slid into the liquid, which didn’t so much as ripple around him. “Our young are laid, hatched, and raised here until they move beyond podling stage. Megatron, you will be replacing the incubation pod.”

One large, primary tentacle gestured to the chair in the middle of the pool. While most of it was above the liquid’s surface, a good third of it nestled beneath.

Megatron would have to enter the pool. Part of him quailed at the thought. He had no idea what the liquid was, but it would seep into every joint, ooze beneath his armor, coat him from the inside out. As thick as it was, he despaired that it would be a part of him from now until his spark burned out.

He had given his word he would do this, however, and Megatron intended to follow through. The Cybertronian War had resulted in the destruction of over ninety percent of the Offerran’s incubation pods, and without them, the Offerrans could not procreate. They were a dying species, listlessly seeping their way to extinction.

“Megatron?” Rodimus prodded him with word alone, his field tentatively reaching for Megatron’s with a hint of concern wrapped in it.

He shook himself. “What is the liquid?” Megatron asked, hoping that his curiosity would propel him further than his unease.

He forced himself forward, tentatively dipping the tip of his foot into the liquid. It was solvent-rinse warm, and had the consistency of an oil bath. Well, at least it wasn’t too unpleasant.

“It is a nutrient bath and charge conductor.” Jareth took up a position behind the webbed chair. “It assists the incubation pods in igniting the eggs and helps the podlings to mature after unfurling.”

“Is it safe?” Rodimus asked.

“I see no reason why it shouldn’t be,” Jareth answered as his gelatinous limbs crowded around the back of the scoop-chair, almost as if embracing it. “You will sit here.”

The pool was waist-deep to Megatron. He waded through the warm liquid toward the chair, and hoisted himself into it. Awkward arranging ensued as he struggled to twist onto his aft without tearing the web of vines in the process. His legs were left hooked over the edge, feet and shins in the liquid up to his knees. His thighs splayed wide as if inviting someone to take advantage.

The curve of the chair tilted him backward, but there was nothing to brace him, until he felt the warm mass of Jareth behind him. Megatron froze, forcing his expression into a mass of neutrality, while a pliable, rubbery mass pressed against his backstrut. There was so much give to the Offerran’s flesh that Megatron expected to pierce it with the angles of his armor, and yet, Jareth felt solid and stable behind him.

He was warm as well, slightly more so than the liquid, but far less than the heat Megatron’s own frame put out. It felt more like sinking into the soft cradle of a berth, if he ignored how slick Jareth's limbs felt against his armor. He had nowhere to brace his arms, and they dangled awkwardly at his sides, until the mass behind him shifted. Thin tentacles, more like tendrils, wound around Megatron's arms. It felt less like restraint and more like support.

He gave them a testing tug, and was relieved to find that they slid away from his armor. When he relaxed again, they tightened their hold.

"You are comfortable?" Jareth asked.

Megatron's glossa swept over his lips. He couldn't see Jareth, could only see the Offerran's limbs slowly encompassing his frame and his chair. But he faced Rodimus, and was more than aware of his co-captain's gaze. Rodimus still smiled, but his optics had darkened. He'd folded his arms over his chestplate, but the twitching of his spoiler proved that it wasn't due to unease. He held his field back oddly enough.

"I am not uncomfortable," Megatron said. "You may proceed, however. I will get over myself in time."

"An uneasy spark makes for weak charge," Jareth said, his vocals dropping to a low rumble, one that seemed to vibrate through his gelatinous body and against Megatron's back. Somehow, it vibrated his armor, all the way to his core.

Megatron shivered. That felt... oddly pleasant.

"If your gestational tank is to serve as an acceptable replacement for the incubation pod, you must relax," Jareth continued. "The stronger the spark flare, the stronger the ignition within my pods. Understand?"

Megatron cycled a slow ventilation. "Yes." He briefly shuttered his optics, and reached for a calm center. Some of the tension eased from his cables, but he still held himself taut.

The tension only increased as larger tendrils wound around his legs, starting at his ankles and encircling all the way to mid-thigh. They tugged his legs wider, testing the flexibility of his hips. Jareth ceased before it became true discomfort, but Megatron was fully aware of the wide splay of his thighs, how there was nothing left to the imagination now. Nothing save what was hidden behind his panels, though that would not last for long. He would have to open them sooner rather than later.

Them. Jareth had little use of Megatron's spike. Only the one then.

Megatron manually triggered the protective cover over his array to slide away, and commanded his valve panel to spiral open. Warm, humid air ghosted over his components. They twitched, a few of his biolights flickering dimly. To say he was aroused would be generous.

He looked at Rodimus and was surprised to find that Rodimus actually wasn't looking at him. His co-captain's gaze was elsewhere, on the very fascinating walls perhaps, his faceplate stained a pale pink. Surely he'd seen an interfacing array before?

Or perhaps that wasn't the problem. Perhaps the issue was that it was Megatron's on display. Well, Rodimus only had himself to blame. He'd volunteered for this. Had insisted, point of fact, despite others volunteering.

"The tension in your body suggests that you are not relaxed," Jareth said as one of his smaller tendrils inched their way up Megatron's thigh, moving ever closer to the bared vulnerability of his array.

Megatron worked his intake. "Apologies."

--Megs, you okay?--

The comm felt almost tentative. His gaze flicked up to Rodimus, who looked at him directly now. And at his face, no less.

--Of course I am,-- Megatron gritted out. He wasn't scared. That wasn't the problem.

He'd spent millennia hating, loathing, despising organics. There was no escaping how organic the Offerrans were. They were soft, and pliable, and warm and the liquid of the pool seeped into his ankle joints, his upper thighs. It lapped at his hips, at the caudal edge of his valve, at his elbows where they dipped toward the pool.

--Right then,-- Rodimus transmitted, and then physically and visibly shook himself. He unfolded his arms, swung them around as though stretching, and then clapped his hands together. "Jareth, do you mind waiting a second? I think I know how to fix this."

"Of course," Jareth replied in a pleasant tone. If he was bothered by the constant delays, he didn't show it. "I need this to work, which it won't if he does not relax."

'He' was sitting right here, fraggers.

Megatron narrowed his optics. "What the frag do you think you're doing, Rodimus?"

"Helping," Rodimus chirped as he strode toward the pool. He tested it with the tip of his foot, much like Megatron had, before he shrugged and dropped down into it, the depth of it immediately burying him intake deep.

His optics widened. "Well, if I don't drown first," he said with an unstable laugh, and tried to wade his way forward. Luckily, he needed only a few steps before he was in reach, one hand flailing out before it caught the tip of Megatron's foot. "A little help?"

"And what do you expect me to do?" Megatron demanded.

Jareth burbled a sound that Megatron dared classify a laugh. "You should have given warning, small one," he said.

Two thick tentacles emerged from the pool, wriggling through the liquid until the tips of them found Rodimus. They wrapped around his frame and pulled him forward, helping support his weight until he was perched between Megatron's thighs. His arms and torso were left free, the thick appendages forming a sort of chair for his aft and thighs.

"Much better," Rodimus said as he looked down at his frame. He was coated in the thick liquid. It left a shimmer on his armor, like a garish glitter. "Oo, nice. Maybe I need to start adding glitter to my paintjob."

Megatron groaned. Primus save him.

"Rodimus, was there a point to this?"

"The point," Rodimus said as he rubbed his palms together, "is to help you relax. Since you seem to be having some trouble there." His field reached out, touching gently Megatron's as though asking permission. It hovered, offering assurance and heat, enough to make Megatron's dermal net tingle.

--This isn't going to be much fun for anyone if you keep acting like he offends you,-- Rodimus added through the private channel. --Unless he actually does and you're ready to stay stop. It's okay to change your mind, you know.--

Rodimus' concern was almost touching.

"I will see this through," he responded aloud, both for Rodimus' sake and for Jareth's. Whatever his discomfort, it would pass. He just needed all of the set up and explanations and delaying to go away.

Rodimus nodded. "Okay then. Let's see about making this easier on everyone then." His hands hovered over Megatron's knees, head tilted as though asking permission.

Megatron gave him a suspicious look. "What are you up to, brat?"

Rodimus winked. "One of the things I do best." He wriggled his fingers pointedly. "You mind?"

He eyed Rodimus, taking in the eager jut of his co-captain's spoiler, the curve of Rodimus' lips, the way his armor fluffed out, betraying hints of the cables and struts beneath. There was nothing of ill intent in Rodimus' posture, and his field spoke of nothing but encouragement.

"Fine," Megatron said. Grudgingly, he had to admit.

"You won't regret this," Rodimus said. His hands landed on Megatron's knees and then slid forward, skating over his upper thighs.

Fingers tickled into the bend of Megatron's hip and thigh before dragging upward, skirting over abdominal armor. He expected Rodimus to go straight for his array without any preamble, and was pleasantly surprised when Rodimus' hands ventured upward instead. Fingers ticked over each slat in his ventral vents, traced the loops on his chestplate, skirted around his Autobrand, and toyed with the main bolts of his shoulders.

His expression turned to one of intent as well. It was kind of cute, the way he explored with slow and measured touches. His fingers and hands drifted over Megatron's shoulders, down the length of his arms, to his fingertips. Rodimus' lips parted on an ex-vent, his orbital ridge drawn down with concentration. And then his hands backtracked, retracing his steps, and this time, when they dragged slowly back down Megatron's abdomen, they dragged a slow curl of heat with them.

Megatron's ventilations hitched. He looked down, watching Rodimus' hands as they spanned his hips. Thumbs stroked over his spike panel as though in request. Rodimus' field turned to liquid heat, pouring down over Megatron's.

"This okay?" Rodimus asked. No, murmured. It was soft, near-breathless, so little like the cocky, irritating cant he usually spat out, that Megatron was drawn by it.

He worked his intake. "Don't ask stupid questions," Megatron growled. He refused to fall under some kind of idiot spell. This was Rodimus here.

Rodimus rolled his optics. "Of course. What was I thinking? But if you don't mind, how about popping that spike panel for me, hm? Jareth here might not need your spike, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it."

His panel spiraled open before Megatron remembered making the conscious decision to allow it. Perhaps it was the confident curve of Rodimus' lips which encouraged him. Or maybe it was more that his frame wanted to feel those clever fingers, because his spike jutted free, into Rodimus' grip as though magnetically drawn.

He shivered as warm fingers wrapped around his spike, giving him a long, slow pull. His hips rose into the touch, the warm liquid of the pool splashing around them. Megatron canted his hips forward, tilting his array into Rodimus' hands.

"Better," Rodimus said, and his free hand tickled lower, fingers stroking over the rim of Megatron's valve, teasing the plump mesh. "Though I don't think you're ready here yet." His hand vanished, but that was only because he lifted it to his mouth, his glossa lapping over the flat of his thumb.

Megatron's internals tightened, coiling with a low heat. He watched as Rodimus' hand lowered once more, thumb seeking out Megatron's anterior node to give it a slow and steady circle.

Megatron licked his lips, his hips moving in time with Rodimus' thumb. Trickles of charge gathered in his groin, his valve finally giving a pulse of interest. Heat filled the space between them, trapped and built by the flexible mass of Jareth behind him.

He'd nearly forgotten the Offerran was there.

"We want you to be nice and wet," Rodimus murmured as he pressed a little harder, making Megatron's hips jerk.

Jareth stirred, his limbs shifting around Megatron, though slowly. More like caresses. "I will provide lubricant," he burbled.

Rodimus chuckled. "Not that kind of wet." He rubbed over Megatron's node again before he withdrew both of his hands, resting them instead on Megatron's thighs. He wriggled his aft. "Lower me a bit?"

"To what end?" Jareth asked, though he did oblige.

Rodimus sank slowly in the goo. Oddly, he didn't seem to mind as his legs, thighs, hips, and torso were swallowed by the liquid. "Here's good," he said and smirked up at Megatron, and Jareth by proxy. "And to answer your question, to the end of making Megatron squirm for you."

He leaned forward then, mouth now at the perfect height to allow him to ex-vent damply over Megatron's exposed array. He shivered, biolights flaring, valve rim twitching. There was promise in the curve of Rodimus’ lips, promise and intent. Megatron’s array longed for it.

"Oh, I see," Jareth said, and Rodimus was moved closer, pressed to the edge of the chair beneath the surface.

Rodimus' hands curved under Megatron's thighs and hooked on his armor. His lips were within inches of Megatron's array, and to say he wasn't watching would be a lie. He couldn't look away from Rodimus' mouth moving closer, his lips parting, his glossa emerging until the tip touched to the housing above Megatron's nub. It slipped ever so slowly down, briefly caressing the node cluster before it traced the plump rim of his valve.

A low sound tore from Megatron's intake. He shivered in the grip of Jareth's tentacles. His optics flickered, ventilations increasing, as the flat of Rodimus' glossa laved his valve, lapping up the first, bare trickle of his lubricant.

"Much better," Rodimus murmured, his optics bright and heated as he looked up at Megatron. He pressed a kiss to Megatron's rim and then lifted his head, his lips gracing the head of Megatron's spike. "Don't you think, Megs?"

"Don't call me that," Megatron said, but it lacked heat. Especially when he tilted his hips toward Rodimus, trying to encourage his co-captain to do more with Megatron's spike than tease it.

Rodimus chuckled. "Is that your only protest?" His lips descended, taking the first third of Megatron's spike into his mouth, his glossa wrapping around the tip.

Megatron groaned. He rolled his hips toward Rodimus' mouth, inadvertently pressing his chassis more firmly against the Offerran behind him. The feel of the warm, slick goo against his armor didn't immediately revolt him.

Perhaps Rodimus had the right idea.

"No nicknames," Megatron said as he drew in a heavy vent, trying to encourage his spike deeper into Rodimus' mouth.

The flame-painted menace winked at him and swallowed Megatron deeper, until the head of his spike bumped the back of his intake. Megatron moaned, his head tilting back against Jareth, his spike pulsing a low beat of pleasure.

Well, at least Rodimus' mouth was good for something.

Very good, actually, if the pleasure pulsing merrily through his array was any indication. Megatron's armor loosed from its tight clamp, allowing trapped heat to escape, as he rocked his hips toward the silken embrace of Rodimus' mouth. Lips and glossa suckled at him as though he were a rare treat, and the occasional brush of denta only heightened the pleasure.

Rodimus' fingers kneaded at his thighs, and he looked up at Megatron. He smiled around the spike in his mouth, winked again, and swallowed Megatron whole, until his nasal ridge pressed to Megatron's housing, and Megatron's spike slid down his intake.

Words burbled up and died on Megatron's lips. He went utterly still, refusing to hurt Rodimus no matter how much of a brat he was, even as his spike was squeezed in tight, wet heat. His engine rumbled, vibrating everything, even the pool beneath them. It rippled, as did the tentacles wrapped around his frame.

Tentacles, Megatron belatedly realized, that had worked their way to his array. Or perhaps he should use the singular, because there was only one, barely the width of Rodimus' smaller finger. It nudged at his valve, slick and soft like a glossa as it traced the plump folds of his rim and glided over his anterior node. Heat flooded Megatron's array, from the pulsing of his spike deep in Rodimus' intake, and the low curl gathering in his valve.

His internal calipers fluttered, intrigued by the soft firmness pressing harder and harder against his valve rim. It lapped over his array like a glossa, until the tiny tip of it nudged past his rim and breached his valve.

Megatron groaned, optics going dim, as the tentacle wriggled inside of him, carefully exploring. It twisted and writhed as if it had sentience, seeking node after node, touching upon each of them in return. It was covered in some kind of slick goo, perhaps similar to the pool around them, but that didn't matter. Megatron was producing enough lubricant of his own. It seeped from his valve, trickled over the caudal edge, until he could smell his own arousal, secondary to the strange organic odor of Jareth and the nursery pond.

"Your associate was correct," Jareth murmured. "This is much better." A second tentacle, no bigger than the first, teased at the lip of Megatron's valve. It stroked over his folds and flicked over his anterior node.

Megatron's hips bucked, despite his attempt to be still, and Rodimus made a muffled sound around his spike. His intake rippled against the head of Megatron's spike, squeezing against a ring of tiny sensors, and Megatron moaned. The knot in his belly tightened and tightened, heat coiling all around, into a dizzying press of need. His frame sank fully backward, into the Offerran's embrace, as Rodimus' mouth moved over his spike, base to tip, again and again.

The second tentacle slipped past his valve rim and curled, the bulbous tip rubbing against the node cluster right behind his rim. Megatron's backstrut arched, his engine racing, as overload struck him all at once, stealing coherent thought from his processor. He didn't even have time to warn Rodimus before his spike spurted directly down his co-captain's intake. If it bothered Rodimus, he gave no sign, only moaning around Megatron's spike, his glossa greedily slurping up the length of it.

Tension abandoned Megatron in a rush, leaving him limp and relaxed in the cradle of the vine-chair and Jareth's tentacles. He panted as he looked down at Rodimus, who drew off his spike slowly, like he wanted to savor every last drop of transfluid. Megatron's spike slipped from his mouth with a pop.

Rodimus made a show of licking his lips as he leaned back. "Feel better?"

"You know I do," Megatron grumbled, only for his vents to hitch.

Jareth had slid the second tentacle deeper within him, until it grazed his ceiling node alongside the other. Megatron's valve fluttered around the intrusions, soft though they were. Without sensor nodes to exchange charge, Megatron's array was confused. Though there was little doubt that it felt good.

"You are more relaxed," Jareth said as his tentacles shifted around Megatron, squeezing and loosening as they manipulated Megatron's frame as though he were made of paper and not heavy metals. "This is good. And that overload had been powerful. You will save the next for the pods?"

"I'll try," Megatron said. His glossa swept over his lips as he worked his intake. "You mean to implant them now?"

"Soon." A third tentacle tickled at the rim of Megatron's valve, sliding up into him without any preamble and with relative ease. "There is still some work to be done."

There was no pain. That above all else stripped away the last of any tension. With Rodimus right there, hands stroking up and down Megatron's thighs, and Jareth carefully, yet efficiently, filling his valve with those soft, pliable tendrils, Megatron sighed a ventilation. He was allowed to enjoy this, wasn't he?

Of course he was.

"How big are the pods anyway?" Rodimus asked as his fingers stroked along Megatron's inner thigh. His field still wrapped around Megatron, pulsing heat and reassurance, and part of Megatron was ashamed by how desperately he clung to it.

One of Jareth's larger tentacles emerged from the pool, liquid dripping from it. The end was fairly bulbous though small. Megatron wouldn't call it any larger than the head of a spike.

"About the size of the nodule," Jareth said.

"That little thing?" Rodimus chuffed a vent. "You can handle that no prob, Megs."

He narrowed his optics at his co-captain.

Rodimus held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. Megatron," he corrected. He grinned as he lowered his hands, curling one of them around Megatron's semi-pressurized spike. "How about I just shut up and make myself useful, hm?"

"I would not protest," Megatron said. He shivered, tilting his hips toward both Rodimus and the tentacles easing into his valve.

A fourth introduced itself, this one twice as thick as the one preceding it, making for a nice stretch as it wriggled its way into Megatron's valve. The twist and flex made it glide over previously untouched nodes, igniting a new fire in his abdomen. Megatron sucked in a ventilation, his valve rippling around the tentacles.

"Are you in pain?" Jareth asked.

Rodimus chuckled. "That is not pain, my friend. I promise." His thumb swept over the head of Megatron's spike, gathering up dribbles of pre-fluid. "If anything, I'd say Megatron here is about to beg you to hurry up."

Megatron glared at him.

Jareth, however, shifted behind him, the warm mass of his body pressing against Megatron's backstrut. "Is your companion correct?"

"I appreciate your taking the time to ensure my comfort," Megatron said, his tone gentle while he reserved narrow optics for a beaming Rodimus. "But he is correct. You can proceed faster without harming me."

"Very well."

Two gooey tentacles emerged from the liquid pool, each as thick as the largest one most recently penetrating Megatron's valve. He worked his intake as he watched them move around Rodimus' frame and head unerringly for his valve. His calipers rippled around the four already within him.

His vents caught with anticipation.

“Are you certain?” Jareth asked, the tentacles poised to breach Megatron’s rim, their bulbous tips rubbing incessantly over his swollen folds.

Rodimus pinched the tip of his spike, making him jerk. His valve clenched, squeezing out pearls of lubricant and whatever slick coated the tentacles. He ached, deep inside.

“Yes, I am,” Megatron said, and tilted his hips upward as much as he was capable. “Do it.”

Jareth warbled a wordless reply. The sound vibrated against Megatron’s backplate once more, reverberating through his frame. It sent a pleasant sensation through his chassis, making him arch back against Jareth, his thighs trembling.

The two tentacles pressed to the lip of his valve, applying pressure to the swollen rim, before they popped past and into him, the combined girth stretching him wide. Megatron’s optics flickered, his head tilting back as he moaned. Internal sensors lit up one by one with glorious sensation, his calipers fluttering around the six tentacles, clinging to them desperately.

He sucked in a heavy vent, hips rolling toward Rodimus’ warm grip on his spike, and the tentacles inching their way deeper and deeper into his valve. The tips of the smaller one jutted against his ceiling node, while the bulbous end of the largest one knocked on the spiraling panel guarding his gestational tank. It rubbed against it, again and again, as the smaller tendrils mercilessly stroked his ceiling node.

He firmed in Rodimus’ grip, spike pulsing, dribbling freely. Rodimus’ field tugged at his, ripe with heat and lust.

Megatron’s hips moved of their own accord. The tentacles writhed and wriggled within him, pushing at the walls of his valve, stretching him wider and wider. They tested the reach of his calipers, and twisted over his internal nodes. With nothing else to latch onto, the charge in his valve folded in on itself.

Megatron moaned again, grinding his denta.

Another tentacle emerged, this one the largest of the lot by far. It was easily the size of the average mech’s spike alone. Megatron’s valve clenched, nothing but anticipation in the quiver of it. If his legs hadn’t already been parted to the reach of his flexibility, they would have opened further.

He was ready.

Megatron’s backstrut arched as the spike-thick tentacle pressed against his valve, grinding where six others already filled him. It pushed and pushed and pushed before the rounded tip finally popped free. It slid against its brethren and worked its way deeper, Megatron’s calipers straining to accommodate it.

The struggle forced another soft sound from Megatron’s intake. He refused to call it a whimper. It left nothing but pleasure, more and more of it, and every bit of his focus shifted to following the steady push of that last tentacle. The others pushed against the walls of his valve, making room, forcing his calipers wide open.

Deeper, deeper, deeper still, until it brushed against the gestational panel. It nosed the port as though confused to find the path blocked, and then ground against it. More firmly than the one before, it seemed determined to wriggle its way through.

Megatron panted. He squirmed. His processor spun as lights danced behind his optics. The smallest tendril wrapped around his ceiling node and squeezed, even as Rodimus gave a long, thick pull on his spike.

Overload took him by surprise, rattling through his entire frame. He bucked in Jareth’s grip, his spike spurting again, a weaker stream this time, as his valve rippled and at last, relented, allowing the spike-thick tentacle to surge through his port and into his gestational tank. The feel of it sliding against never-touched internal sensors made Megatron writhe, lips parting in a soundless cry.

His entire array throbbed. Colors danced in his optics, his engine rumbling a sated sound. His hips twitched in the chair, valve rippling around the tentacles still shifting restlessly within him. All but the one. The largest of them wriggled its way even deeper until it stopped, seemingly content to linger within Megatron’s gestational tank.

“Very good,” Jareth said, his grip on Megatron’s limbs tightening and releasing in a steady rhythm as though caressing him. “You are ready for the implantation.”

Megatron had to reboot his vocalizer twice before he could get it to cooperate. “That is good news,” he said and forced his optics to online.

Rodimus licking his fingers clean was the first thing Megatron saw. Blue optics widened in surprise, and Rodimus' faceplate colored a hint of pink before he shrugged and finished sucking Megatron's transfluid off his thumb.

"What? Didn't want it to go to waste," he said.

"I do not think I will ever understand you," Megatron said, and was surprised by the raspiness of his vocals. Had he been as loud as he feared he was?

Rodimus laughed. "That's probably a good thing." His glossa swept over his lips as he tilted his head. "You know, you're pretty hot for a fossil. Kinda jealous I'm not the one sitting where you are."

"You would be." Megatron squirmed as the tentacles continued to wriggle about in his valve, though they were more gentle on sensitive nodes. "Hedonist that you are."

"How do you even know I'm a hedonist?" Rodimus squinted, lips forming a pout.

Megatron side-eyed him. "You wander around with flames on your hood, Rodimus. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that much."

"Maybe I do it for the aesthetics."

"I think someone has misinformed you as to the meaning of that word," Megatron replied.

He startled as the spike-thick tentacle in his valve shifted. It was minute, but still noticeable. Behind him, Jareth at once felt a little warmer. His tentacles tightened around Megatron's limbs, and the spike-thick one nudged a bare inch deeper. It paused, withdrew, and then surged forward again. Each thrust was a bare minimum of motion, but the smaller tentacles around it suddenly moved in earnest.

"I am implanting the pods now," Jareth said, and he sounded a little strained, as though finally affected by the circumstances. "Do try not to overload until I am done."

Megatron worked his intake, a shiver wracking his armor. "I will do the best I can," he replied, though it would not be easy. The motion of the tentacles before had been almost random, more exploration than determination.

Now, they felt planned. Rhythmic. Then rolled and wriggled within his valve in a steady wave, stimulating each node in a pattern that his hips recognized until they, too, moved with it. The spike-thick tentacle shifted, in and out, in and out, gliding against the rim of his gestational port.

"Wow," Rodimus breathed, his optics bright and wide. "What does that feel like?"

Megatron flicked a gaze up at him. "I couldn't even begin to describe it," he grunted. His hands clenched in and out of fists as the spike-thick tentacle nudged deeper, almost to the apex of his gestational chamber.

Jareth rippled behind him. He made a low sound, like a moan heard from beneath the surface of a liquid body. The largest tentacle went rigid, though the exterior part of it seemed to pulse. Megatron's optics widened in sudden realization.

The spike-thick tentacle was the ovipositor. When he'd encouraged Jareth along, the Offerran had taken him up on the offer apparently. He watched it now, watched a barely perceptible bump move up the length of the thick tentacle before it passed through the lip of his valve. He could track it visually, but couldn't feel it, not with the other tentacles in his valve.

Rodimus was right. The pod was very small. He only felt it when it squeezed past the port of his gestational tank.

"It's... odd," Megatron finally said as he avidly watched more pods come up the ovipositor, faster now that the first had been deposited.

Jareth made all of these sounds behind him. Odd little squeaks and burbles, his body getting increasingly warm. Every exterior tentacle rippled, and the ones holding Megatron's limbs continued to squeeze rhythmically.

"Good odd or bad odd?" Rodimus asked. His hands had moved to Megatron's knees which was perhaps for the best. Megatron had the feeling hands on his spike would only encourage him to overload. Which, apparently, he wasn't supposed to do yet.

"Just odd," Megatron said as what was perhaps the sixth pod passed through his port and into his chamber. He squirmed as he finally felt them press against the walls of the chamber. He wasn't full, not yet, but he could definitely detect them now.

Two more came and suddenly, they stopped.

"Eight?" Megatron asked, confused. He certainly had room for more, unless eight was the maximum an Offerran could produce at once.

“I am not certain that you will be able to sustain any more than that,” Jareth replied with a soft sigh. The ovipositor began to withdraw, every flick and twitch of it making Megatron writhe.

Primus but it felt good.

“Why?” Rodimus asked with a frown. “They’re really small.”

“That is only how they start out,” Jareth said. His gelatinous mass grew warmer, exuding heat against Megatron’s back. “Right now, they are waiting to be ignited, ready to absorb as much charge as possible. They will grow.”

“Grow?” Megatron repeated though his thoughts were growing hazy. The thick tentacle removed itself at a crawling pace, as if determined to excite every node upon its exodus.

Left behind, the pods jostled around in his tank, bumping against the walls. It was almost as if they had sentience of their own already, and were exploring their environment now.

“How big?” Rodimus asked.

The ovipositor popped free of Megatron’s valve, and the rounded tip rested against his abdomen, directly over where his gestational tank was located. Megatron zoomed in on it, and found that the tip had a star-like pattern as though it was meant to unfurl. Perhaps it had, deep within him, to unload the pods inside Megatron’s tank.

“Big,” Jareth said as he undulated against Megatron’s back.

The ovipositor rubbed its tip over Megatron’s armor. It secreted a thin, oily fluid as it did so, leaving streaks on Megatron’s plating with an opalescent sheen. Was everything on this planet meant to glitter?

The gooey tentacles within Megatron’s valve softened, though Megatron wasn’t sure that was the right word to use. Either way, they churned and rubbed together, pressing against his nodes as though determined to feed him nothing but pleasure. He was simply glad that there was no pain.

His hips danced, riding each wriggle and flex of the tentacles. His frame seemed to have a mind of its own, eagerly chasing the ecstasy Jareth had to offer.

“Now what?” Rodimus asked, voicing the question dancing on Megatron’s glossa, but sensation kept chasing away.

“Now we offer him pleasure,” Jareth said with a soft grunt. “Now he must overload often.”

Rodimus’ glossa swept over his lips. “That sounds terrible,” he said, his optics brightening. “Can we have a moment though?”

Megatron blinked. “What?”

“You should refuel,” Rodimus said, one hand groping at his side where he popped a panel and pulled out a cube of energon.

Regular energon. Megatron had never seen anything so delicious. His tank clenched. His mouth filled with lubricant. His memory core helpfully brought up past flavors to taunt him.

“Rodimus, I can’t--”

“I’m co-captain,” Rodimus said firmly, his tone speaking of an authority he rarely used. “And if you’re going to help the Offerrans, you need to be fueled. I’m rather certain with as many overloads as he wants from you, you’re going to burn this off anyway. So I’m saying, you should drink this.”

Megatron’s glossa swept over his lips again. How badly off was he that even the idea of tasting low-grade made his tanks rumble and made him crave.

He worked his intake. He looked into Rodimus’ optics, felt into Rodimus’ field. There was nothing but encouragement and sincerity. Concern.

“The overloads must be strong,” Jareth said. There was a breathless echo to his voice, a strange difference compared to the fluid burbles of earlier. “If you are underfueled, they will not be, and my podlings will not mature as well as the others.”

Megatron cycled a heavy ventilation. He briefly shuttered his optics.

“I won’t make you drink it,” Rodimus added, urging it toward Megatron again, as if trying to waft the scent of it in range of Megatron’s sensors. “But I sincerely suggest that you do.”

--I asked Magnus and Ratchet, too,-- he sent in a private comm. --Got both of their permission. Ratchet insisted, actually.--

“This had better not be a trick,” Megatron growled, aggressively flaring his field in warning. “Get me the damn energon.”

“It’s not a trick,” Rodimus said, and cupped his jaw, his thumb gentle as it swept over Megatron’s chin. He moved the cube toward it, pressing it to Megatron’s bottom lip. “Open up.”

His willpower faltered. Megatron tried to keep the aggressive flare to his field, but the moment the energon touched his glossa, he purred and gulped it down. It was so sweet compared to the Fool’s Energon, and it went down so smoothly.

His engine rumbled, his field softening to a purr. The energon hit his tanks, cascading energy through his systems, and it was such a shock that it was pleasure. He arched his backstrut, wriggling in Jareth’s hold, his array throbbing with sudden and intense need.

The cube emptied faster than he would have liked, and he licked around the rim for every last drop. He made a mournful sound as Rodimus pulled the cube away, but then Rodimus’ mouth fell over his, their lips moving together in a kiss. Megatron groaned into the kiss, one unexpectedly soft and chase, even as Jareth started to move again, his tentacles shifting in concert, sliding in and out of Megatron’s valve as one thick mass.

He shivered as the quiet heat within his frame suddenly surged into a blaze. He undulated against the press of Rodimus against him, the careful grip of Jareth’s gooey limbs, and the tentacles writhing within him. A delicate touch to his anterior node had Megatron gasping, his hips canting upward.

It was warm, pliant, as agile as a glossa save that Rodimus was still kissing him. Each slick slide of the tentacle made Megatron buzz. His nub throbbed, eager for the attention as it had been sorely neglected, and his valve rippled around the twisting, thrusting tentacles. They spiraled together, forming a thick, ever-moving mass.

Megatron moaned against Rodimus’ mouth as he arched his backstrut, moving eagerly into the thrust of the tentacles now. The energon sat in his tanks, suffusing his entire frame with energy, and charge licked out from beneath his armor. His array pulsed, cycling faster toward overload.

Rodimus nipped at Megatron’s bottom lip and then pulled away, his optics dark with heat. “You’re really hot, you know that?” he asked as he drew back, leaning into the careful hold of the tentacles still wrapped around his lower frame.

“It has come to my attention before,” Megatron said dryly, only to hiss air through his denta as another, smaller tentacle wrapped around his spike, stroking with the perfect amount of pressure and slickness.

“Kinda jealous.” Rodimus dragged a hand down his chestplate, fingers toying with his seams before he palmed his interfacing panel. “You look like you’re having so much fun, and here I am, all this charge and nothing to do with it.” He rubbed his palm against his panel, spoiler halves twitching.

Megatron licked his lips. “You’re getting a show.”

“Mm. Yes, I am.” A light click was barely audible over the slick, squelching sounds of the tentacles thrusting into Megatron’s valve. It still caught his attention and his gaze, his optics hungrily devouring the sight of Rodimus’ spike surging into view before his fingers wrapped around it.

Rodimus shivered, his optics flickering. “So are you,” he said with a smirk. He stroked himself, root to tip, his thumb rubbing circles over his transfluid slit.

Megatron’s engine rumbled. His array pulsed with heat, valve fluttering. Rodimus had a nice spike. Showy, to no surprise, but adequately sized for Rodimus, and decorated with finely placed ridges and nubs.

He clenched again, imagining those ridges and nubs working their way into his valve. The tentacles felt good, they were the perfect pressure, the perfect slickness against his inner nodes. But they were no substitute for the match of charge between node and receptor, and Megatron shuddered at the mere thought of it.

His thighs trembled. He sucked in a heavy ventilation, his hips and aft moving to its own rhythm. He couldn’t look away from Rodimus stroking his spike -- slowly, as though he wanted to savor the pleasure.

Megatron’s glossa swept over his lips again. He squeezed down hard on the tentacles and gasped when the one against his nub gave him a firm, deep rub.

He overloaded suddenly, limbs jerking in Jareth’s grip, his spark pulsing. He writhed, gritting his denta against embarrassing noises, as charge danced over his frame in bright flashes.

The tentacles persisted, wriggling with abandon now, as though energized by his overload. Instead of easing, they intensified, and seemed to thicken in his valve, stretching the flex of his calipers. He groaned, sucking in a humid ventilation, head tossing back against Jareth.

The tip of a tentacle flicked at his swollen, sensitive exterior nub again. And again. His hips jerked with uncontrolled pleasure, valve seeping lubricant. He tried to speak, but only managed a garbled noise, as the tentacles in his valve swelled once more, pressing against his walls, his nodes, his receptors. One of them coiled into a tight knot and rubbed incessantly against the node cluster near his rim. Another found his ceiling node and mercilessly palpated it.

Lights danced in the back of Megatron’s optic. He wheezed, cables straining, as his spike was squeezed, long and slow, from root to tip. Something tickled at his transfluid slit, like the thinnest of tentacles, teasing around the opening as though threatening to breach it.

Megatron’s engine roared.

He overloaded again, near-thrashing in Jareth’s grip, pleasure sparking up and down his spinal strut and sending another sharp burst of charge across his armor. Both Offerran and liquid-pool alike seemed to absorb it, however, wicking it away from his frame. The tentacles remained, thrusting into him, wriggling and writhing.

Megatron felt it now, distant to the pleasure, to everything wracking his frame. The once-small pods had grown in his chamber. He felt them jostling for space, pressing against the sides of his tank and rubbing against one another. They’d doubled in size, if he had to guess.

Big, Jareth had said.

Now Megatron wondered, how big?

Until the thought was stripped away from him by the wide, wide stretch of his valve. By Jareth shifting just so, and his legs parting even wider. His hips canted up, tilting him back fully into Jareth’s embrace. He couldn’t be still, not with the slick mass moving in and out of him, filling him up. Not with the hot, damp suction on his nub, turning liquid heat into white-hot pulses of pleasure. Not with the tentacle milking his spike more. Somehow he hadn’t de-pressurized. It was like he couldn’t.

Megatron jerked, backstrut bowing, as another overload came so fast in the wake of the other that it nearly hurt. Static spilled from his mouth until his vocalizer necessitated a reboot. He panted, drawing in desperate ventilations, but there was no cool air to be found.

The pods swelled again, far more than before. They eclipsed the last of the space in his tank, and now forced the walls to stretch, his internal systems shifting aside to make room. His armor creaked, gaps widening, his abdomen swelling.

And still, the tentacles persisted.

Megatron heard, distantly, Rodimus moan. He forced his optics online, somehow missing that he’d shuttered them.

Rodimus still had a hand wrapped around his spike and was furiously stroking himself. He’d risen from the pool by a few feet, enough that Megatron could see Jareth must have taken pity on him. A single tentacle worked in and out of Rodimus’ valve, Rodimus’ lubricant streaking the glittery mass.

He panted, optics bright, fully focused on Megatron. Despite seeking his own pleasure. Rodimus continued to watch, to guard, to ensure Megatron’s safety. His field kept pulsing safety, comfort, pleasure.

Lust.

“Fragging hot, that’s what you are.”

Rodimus was talking. That explained the dull drone at the edge of Megatron’s comprehension. His lips were moving, a constant stream of words spilling from his mouth.

“Primus, look at you. You’ve loving this, aren’t you?”

Megatron groaned, his mouth open as he sucked in oral ventilation after oral ventilation.
Rodimus’ voice should not have been so alluring. Somehow, it was.

Jareth rumbled at his back, more vibrations traveling through Megatron’s frame. He continued to make these noises, grunts and burbles and glugs. The rhythmic clenching of his tentacles increased in earnest.

And then he started to sing.

Not in a manner Megatron recognized, but it was the closest thing he could call it. There weren’t words or beautiful sounds, but like a low droning that dropped and rose in pitch. It seemed to reverberate through Megatron’s frame, straight to his spark, which flared and pulsed and danced.

Megatron moaned, dangerously close to a whimper, as he writhed in Jareth’s grip, pleasure at once assaulting him from all directions. His calipers twitched, struggling to squeeze down on the mass thrusting into his valve, his nodes spitting charge at gooey tentacles.

The one focusing on his nub started to pull at it again, little sucking motions that made his nub throb and pulse. It grew hotter, like plasma fire, and sent shocks of pleasure radiating through his array.

Jareth’s singing reached a low, low pitch, one that seemed to resonate to the very core of his spark.

Megatron thrashed as he overloaded, hearing the pool splash beneath him, hearing Rodimus moan, his field pulsing with lust and overload as Rodimus tipped over as well.

There wasn’t a part of his frame that didn’t ache with need, that didn’t twitch or buzz. Blue-white fire danced over his armor. His head lolled as he felt the pods swell again, though there was nowhere left for them to go. They pushed and jostled at the walls of his tank, forcing the protomesh to stretch, until his abdomen was made to stretch as well.

His abdominal vents were pushed up, creaking as they shifted. His chestplate shifted as well, granting space to the protomesh beneath. His cables stretched, his plating shifting with it, until the flat planes of his ventrum were replaced by the rounded swell of a full gestational tank.

Megatron would never admit to a whimper, but that’s what fell from his lips as he collapsed into Jareth’s grip, his vents wheezing, and his frame straining. Only then did he noticed that the singing had stopped, becoming a low hum that soothed more than excited. The tentacles, too, had ceased their frantic writhing. The touch to his spike, to his nub, were gentle. Soothing rather than arousing.

“Are we… done?” Megatron asked, rebooting his optics which had once again gone dim without him realizing it.

“Nearly.” The ovipositor came into view again, rubbing over the swell of Megatron’s ventrum. “They are charged. Very strong. I am impressed.”

Rodimus panted where he hung in Jareth’s grip, though the tentacle in his valve was now gone. “Well, it is Megatron you’ve got there. I’d be surprised if they were anything but strong.”

That was… almost a compliment.

Megatron drew in a heavy ventilation, trying to find some focus in the middle of the dizzying pleasure suffusing his frame. “What’s next?”

“Now they must be laid,” Jareth said as the tentacles gripping Megatron’s limbs rearranged him again, shifting so that he was less reclined and more upright. “But I will assist with that. For now, drink.”

Drink? Drink what? Rodimus didn’t have a cube of energon.

Something slithered into view. Megatron cycled his optics as the ovipositor rose, the bulbous tip glistening as it approached his lips. A sticky fluid had gathered at the end, shimmering like engex.

“What is it?” Megatron asked.

“Something that will help.” The tip nudged against Megatron’s lips, spongy soft, the fluid smelling oddly sweet. “It will encourage the pods to evacuate your tank.”

“It’s safe?” Rodimus asked, sounding more alert now.

“Quite.”

The tip painted Megatron’s lips with the substance, and his glossa swept across them, swiping it up. His glossa tingled where it touched the fluid, but it did taste sweet. Like fine coolant. His chemo-receptors didn’t detect any nefarious substances.

He would trust that Jareth didn’t mean him any harm.

Megatron opened his mouth and allowed the ovipositor to slip past his lips. Sticky goo settled on his glossa before his head tilted back, and it slid down his intake. It seeped toward his tank, where it settled warmly, leaving tingles in its wake.

Tingles that felt good. Megatron moaned around the tentacle, his optic dimming. He felt pressure on his belly, like a tentacle palpating his armor, before all of the tentacles within his valve began to slowly withdraw.

His calipers quivered, mourning the loss. He felt empty and swollen, hungering for more, even as the fluid continued to seep down his intake.

The last of the tentacles left him, and his valve rim contracted. Warm air puffed across his array, making him twitch. He still ached, with need rather than pain.

The ovipositor withdrew as well, and Megatron licked his lips clean. He looked down his frame, at the swell of his abdomen, and felt particularly wanton. The ovipositor rubbed over his rounded ventrum, prodding at the swollen pods beneath.

The pool rippled, capturing Megatron’s attention. He watched as another tentacle emerged from the oily fluid. This one was as large as all the others put together. The tip was concave, however, with a deep impression. As it approached his valve, the walls folded inward to make the tip of it smaller, forming a smooth round shape.

“That--”

“Will help remove the pods from your chamber,” Jareth said. The strokes of the ovipositor over Megatron’s belly turned soothing. “You need only sit back and relax.”

The rounded head of the tentacle pressed against his swollen rim. It was firmer than Megatron expected, given that it was constructed of a gelatinous mass, but Megatron was so open, so wet, that it slid right in.

He groaned, a shudder passing over his armor, as the tentacle worked its way within him. It was the perfect thickness, perfectly sleek, perfectly sized to tease along every sensitized node and give his calipers something to grasp at. Slightly smaller than the combined tentacles of earlier, it graced his valve rather than strained it.

If Jareth had not meant to arouse him, he’d failed. Megatron worked his intake, licking his lips. He tried to focus on the path of the tentacle instead of the pleasure it evoked in him, and that only made his valve tingle more.

It worked deeper, deeper, butting up against the port of his gestational tank before slipping inside and coming into contact with the first pod. The tentacle rippled within Megatron’s valve, the goo undulating. He couldn’t see what was happening, except to feel it shifting, probing around inside his gestational tank. The tentacle pressing against his tank from the outside continued to palpate his plating, as though moving the pods around.

Within him, the suction tentacle started to withdraw, bringing a pod with it. A pod that was large, slightly larger than the opening of his port. The rim had to stretch wide to allow it to pass, and the strain sent waves of pleasure through Megatron’s frame.

He grunted, denta gritting, hands pulling into fists.

“You okay?” Rodimus asked.

His vocals sounded distant, through a rushing in Megatron’s audials. His spark throbbed, hips twitching, as the pod started moving through his valve, so thick and firm, grinding against every sensory node on its way out.

“F-fine,” Megatron managed. His head tilted back, vents coming fast and uneven. The tingling in his valve intensified. His calipers fluttered.

The pod moved toward his valve rim, a thick, undeterred mass. It knocked up against his node cluster, applying a firm pressure.

Megatron gasped, his backstrut arching.

“Are you in pain?” Rodimus asked.

The pod tugged at the lip of his valve, catching where the rim had contracted. The tentacle had to tug at it repeatedly, each pull jamming it against the node cluster and sending shocks of pleasure through Megatron’s valve.

Tug, tug, tug.

Megatron shook his head negatively, unable to activate his vocalizer as his hips moved in time with the tugging.

Tug, tug, pop.

The pod popped free, and Megatron overloaded then and there, his frame twitching in Jareth’s hold, his engine roaring an exultant sound. Fire licked up and down his backstrut as the pod plopped into the fluid between his legs and started to bob there.

The suction tentacle wasted no time in diving back between Megatron’s thighs, surging up into his valve and unerringly seeking out his gestational tank once more. As charge licked across Megatron’s armor, he felt it slide back into his tank, grasp another pod and begin to tug.

The remaining pods jostled around in his tank, wriggling on their own. They started to move, tossing about, butting up against the sides, and knocking against one another.

“Oh, dear,” Jareth said.

“What? Why ‘oh dear’?” Rodimus demanded, sounding alarmed.

It was distant to Megatron, so distant. All he could feel was another pod being slowly drawn down his valve, as something wriggled internally. The remaining pods danced around his tank, knocking against the walls, pushing against the port.

“I did not realize how pleasurable this would be for him,” Jareth replied as the second pod popped free of Megatron’s valve, sending pleasure radiating through his array.

He moaned, head lolling, fingers uncurling from fists. The pod plopped into the liquid, and the suction tentacle moved forward to return, but something was already evacuating Megatron’s valve of its own accord.

He thought, perhaps, he was laying the pod on his own. That the contractions of his tank had urged it free. But, no.

This was too gooey, too slick and slippery, to be the firm pod. Teeny, tiny graspers sucked at his valve walls, pulling at nodes, as the wriggling mass crawled through his passage. It seemed to vibrate warmly, intensifying the tingling waves as they radiated through his array.

“The added charge is speeding the maturation process,” Jareth said, and the ovipositor pressed more firmly against Megatron’s rounded belly, jostling the pods within. “They are unfurling inside of him.”

“What!?”

Megatron gasped, backstrut arching, as the sticky, writhing mass breached the rim of his valve. He looked down to see tiny tendrils emerging from his valve folds right before a large mass of glittery gelatin worked its way free, oozing out of his valve and plopping right into the fluid.

Six large projections spiraled from the central mass. It bobbed in the water, squirming about, before the central mass surged forward and the tentacles streamed along behind it.

“Th-that’s--”

“An unfurled podling,” Jareth confirmed. “My apologies. I intended to remove the pods before this stage. But your charge is more effective than I could have hoped.”

“No slag,” Megatron wanted to say, but a third and fourth podling had evidently unfurled.

They twisted and tumbled and pushed against pne other as they crawled through his valve. They were as gooey as their sire – creator? Mother? Parental unit? – but were also stickier. Their limbs pressed and sucked against internal nodes as they climbed free.

Megatron writhed at the unexpected pleasure. It was arrhythmic, incidental at best, but it was intoxicating. He thought he should be angry. That he hadn’t agreed to have live young pass through his array, but the pleasure stripped all rational thought from him, narrowing it down to one, single demand.

More.

He overloaded again as the third and fourth podlings tumbled free, their suckery tendrils kissing his anterior nub as they clambered out of his valve. Charge erupted in a static fire over Megatron’s armor. Jareth’s grip was all that kept him in the vine-chair as he thrashed, caught in the arms of pleasure.

They came faster now, both the podlings and the overloads. The suction tentacle no longer bothered to assist. Instead, it joined the ovipositor against his belly, pushing and rolling over his armor to urge the other podlings to free themselves.

Megatron felt ensnared by endless pleasure, his frame twisting and writhing, his valve clenching, his thighs trembling. The last of the podlings unfurled all at once, and came wriggling free, suckering their way through his passage, igniting nodes he forgot existed.

He stopped counting them and the overloads both. His spark throbbed faster and fuller, filling every nook and cranny of his casing. His vision was awash with colors, his cables tense and trembling, every inch of him gripped by ecstasy. His cooling fans rattled as his engine roared.

He might have screamed as another overload tore through his frame, glitching his vocalizer, with sparks dancing in his optics, and his spike erupting with transfluid. His valve clenched repeatedly on nothing, nodes so sensitive as to be sore, his rim scorching hot and swollen

His hips pumped into empty air, and it took him several gulping ventilations to realize how empty he felt. How there was no longer anything wriggling in his valve. That his gestational tank was empty, if sore, the walls contracting back to their usual size.

He was done?

Megatron groaned static, and tried to reboot everything, though his sensory suites were slow to come back online. His optics flickered before the world came back to light, hazy though it was.

Exhaustion left him limp, his limbs slack, his frame ticking and humming where he slumped in Jareth’s hold. He tried to lift his head, and even that took effort.

He realized he was moving. No, he was being carried. And his arms and legs were no longer restrained. His thighs were parted, as drawing his legs together put pressure on his swollen valve. Bad idea. But his arms were tucked to his sides.

He was cradled against a warm, pliant mass. It glittered in his peripheral vision. Jareth carried him, he realized. They waded through the pool, multicolored blobs dancing in their wake.

The podlings.

“It worked,” Megatron observed, though his vocals were hoarse, far from their usual strength.

“Indeed it did,” Jareth replied. He hummed, the soft vibrations cascading over Megatron’s frame like a light massage. “All eight podlings are healthy and strong.”

“Good.” Megatron ex-vented slowly, exhaustion tugging at every inch of him.

He turned his head and found Rodimus already free of the pool. Rodimus sat on the ground, his armor still covered in flecks of glitter. He had a small smile on his face, and as Jareth carried Megatron out of the pool and laid him down next to Rodimus, his co-captain’s field reached out.

“No pain?” Rodimus asked.

“None,” Megatron said. He fought back a yawn as languor suffused his frame.

Rodimus had been right at least. The low-grade he’d offered Megatron had completely burned from his tanks. It had granted him no advantage at all in the end, save that multiple overloads hadn’t sent him into stasis lock.

“I thank you for your service, Captain Megatron,” Jareth said as he stood over them, not quite looming, but casting a show. He looked a little dimmer, as if the colors were muted in his body.

Perhaps because he was no longer carrying pods? How curious. He didn’t seem unhealthy at least. If anything, he seemed to be beaming. His limbs wriggled around him with a kind of exultant glee.

“Co-captain,” Rodimus corrected.

Megatron managed a raspy laugh.

“Co-captain,” Jareth acknowledged, and his central mass rippled. “You are welcome to return at any time to help with the next brood. Though I am told you’ve offered your services to others.”

“As many as I can manage,” Megatron replied. Though right now, what he really wanted was some recharge. Perhaps a full day’s worth.

He was exhausted. The good kind of exhausted.

“You sure?” Rodimus asked. He looked Megatron up and down, lips curving into a frown. “You look a bit sore and swollen.” He made a pointed gesture to Megatron’s valve.

“I’ll heal.” He cracked a smirk. “It’s the good kind of sore.”

Rodimus chuckled. “I’ll bet.” He scooted closer and rested his hand on Megatron’s head, tentative at first, before he gathered up enough confidence to stroke over the curve of Megatron’s head. “Sure you aren’t hurting?”

His concern was touching. And genuine, if his field gave any indication.
Megatron shifted, wriggling about with what little energy he had left, until he could pillow his head on Rodimus’ thigh. If his co-captain insisted on being a tactile nanny bot, then Megatron insisted upon taking advantage of the comfort. Though, to be fair, the thickly woven web of vines beneath him was far from rough and stiff.

“Yes. Though I won’t be closing my panel anytime soon.” His valve lips were still swollen. They throbbed with the heat of well-used components. He didn’t have to touch them to know they were tender.

He wondered if he, too, were stained the same garish glitter as Rodimus right now. Hopefully, it would come clean in the washrack. He could abide by many things, but walking around shimmering was not one of them.

“Any news on the others?”

“Yeah. Nothing to worry about.” Rodimus patted the top of Megatron’s head. “Everyone’s reporting satisfactory success.” Amusement glimmered in his optics, though his lips drew into a pout.

“Good.” Megatron rested his hands over his ventrum, unsurprised to find that his armor had yet to resettle and there was still something of a swell there. “I assume you’ll want a turn then, if your eager ride of that limb earlier is any indication.”

Rodimus’ pout turned into a rather salacious grin. “Damn right I do,” he said. “Can’t let you have all the glory.”

Glory. Only Rodimus would call it such.

“We would welcome any who are willing to assist,” Jareth said, and the upper half of his central mass leaned forward as though in a bow. “Rest. Recharge. And accept our sincere thanks.”

Megatron shook his head. “None are needed. We are righting a wrong. That is all.”

“Even so.” Jareth burbled a sound that might have been a laugh. “We thank you all the same.” His gelatinous limbs wriggled around. “I will leave you to rest now.”

It would be a waste of energy to argue otherwise, Megatron decided.

“You are welcome,” he said instead and shifted to get more comfortable, surprised that the weight of Rodimus’ hand on his head was more welcome than bothersome.

“Want to go back to the Rodpod?” Rodimus asked.

“I honestly don’t think I can move.” Megatron shuttered his optics. “I will recharge here.”

On an organic planet. In an organic domicile. With some kind of organic fluid clinging to his lower half and staining his paint with a coating of glitter.

Oh, how the times had changed.

“You trust me to guard your recharge?” Rodimus sounded surprised, and his field fluttered with a mixture of shock and pride.

“Yes.”

Odd to answer in the affirmative. Odder still that he hadn’t had to have a lengthy internal debate about what the answer would be.

Clearly, something about the Lost Light was infecting him with Autobot optimism.

“Oh. Well then.” Rodimus shifted a little, adjusting Megatron’s head, making them both more comfortable. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Mmm. Quiet now.”

Rodimus chuckled. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Heh. He was learning. Maybe you could teach a baby Prime new tricks after all.

****

a/n: Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. I had such a fun time with this. :)