[IDW] All the Queen's Treasure 04
Jan. 27th, 2020 06:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: All the Queen’s Treasure
Continuity: IDW, Alternate Canon
Characters: Sunstreaker, Ironhide, Bob the Insecticon, Hardshell, Sharpshot, Kickback, Original Insecticon Character(s)
Pairings: Hardshell/Sunstreaker, Insecticon(s)/Sunstreaker, Hardshell/Sunstreaker/Sharpshot
Rating: M
Enticements: Consensual Body Modification, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Non-Graphic Oviposition, Off-screen Egg Laying, Knotting
Description: After Sideswipe, Sunstreaker returns to Cybertron, lost and alone, until Bob leads him on a wild chase into the wildlands, to a nest beneath the surface of the planet, and a place Sunstreaker might call home.
Part Four
Hardshell took Sunstreaker’s hand and led him to another room, this one indeed smaller and far more intimate than the other. A collective of Insecticons had lined the corridors as Hardshell led him, twittering and cheeping their delight.
Bob trundled along in their wake, and plopped himself down outside the door as if appointing himself Sunstreaker’s guardian. He’d expected to fight Bob for the right to privacy. But he hadn’t had to use a firm word.
The new room was indeed smaller. Slightly larger than a hab-suite on the Lost Light, but it felt more like a home. The walls were wrapped in gauzy web and phosphorescence bathed everything in a pale green glow. The bed was shaped like a traditional berth, large enough to fit three Insecticons, and the padding looked heavy and decadent.
It felt organic, in ways truly Cybertronian tech did not, but it only echoed of Earth. Sunstreaker expected to feel uneasy. Hardshell’s field pressed against his, warm and pliant and reassuring. All Sunstreaker felt was a liquid heat building in his groin, and the anticipation stirring in his lines.
He was actually going to do this.
“In the future, you may wish to share your berth. Or recharge with your colony. Perhaps even rest with your drones or your cadre,” Hardshell said as the door closed behind them, swinging into place. “But you will always have this room for privacy. If you wish to be alone or don’t want to be bothered, you need only think it.”
Sunstreaker ran a hand over the berth cover, which felt like no fabric he’d ever touched before. It was smooth and silken, more organic than metallic. “Think it?” he repeated absently, until the meaning of the phrase sank in. “Wait? I’ll be telepathic?”
Hardshell stepped up behind him, which would have usually felt like a loom, were it not for the light pressure of his hands on Sunstreaker’s shoulders. The heat of him, radiating against Sunstreaker’s back and aft like a promise.
“Among so many other things,” Hardshell purred, the palms of his hands skating down Sunstreaker’s arms and back up again. “You will be connected to us, one mind, one Hive. You will be stronger. Faster. You will be our life. Our light. Our purpose. Our queen.”
There was something in the way Hardshell rumbled the title which made Sunstreaker’s knees wobble. Which made his ventilations catch and his spike throb and his valve cycle hungrily.
Sunstreaker licked his lips, his optics half-shuttering. “That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to bear.”
“You won’t do so alone.” Hardshell’s ex-vents teased the back of Sunstreaker head. He nuzzled Sunstreaker from behind, the curl of his field as much of a caress as his hands. “I will be with you, my queen. Always.”
The inherent promise in the word sent need boiling through Sunstreaker’s lines. He shivered, sinking back against Hardshell, his hands slow-curling into fists.
“Good to know,” he said, and was embarrassed by how hushed his voice had become. Even more so when Hardshell’s hand abandoned Sunstreaker’s arm to slide slowly down the front of Sunstreaker’s frame until the heel of it rested against Sunstreaker’s panel.
A moan eked out of Sunstreaker’s intake. His head tipped back against Hardshell’s chest as those taloned fingers gently scraped over his panel.
“You’ve agreed to this,” Hardshell murmured as the pressure became firmer, steady strokes which ratcheted up the slow build of arousal. “But you are not beholden. Tell me to stop, I will. Refuse at any moment, and I will obey.”
Sunstreaker groaned. He wrapped his right hand around Hardshell’s wrist, keeping that slow stroking hand in place. The other curled around Hardshell’s neck, just beneath the jut of a protective plate.
He considered a dozen responses, but his head spun and the need yawed inside of him, and all he could think was a single word, and so he gave it voice. “More.”
“Anything you wish, my queen.” Hardshell ‘s other hand slid up Sunstreaker’s abdomen, splaying talon-tipped fingers over his windshield. “I would lay you on this berth and introduce myself, if it’s so allowed.”
Sunstreaker moaned. “It’s allowed. Do it.”
Lust unspooled inside of him. His spike throbbed, reminding him how long it’d been since he’d had only his own hands. How it had been even longer since someone had touched him like this. Gentle and appreciative, like a lover rather than a hard, fast ‘face in a back storage closet.
Hardshell lifted Sunstreaker as though he weighed nothing. His back and aft sank into the softness of the berth, the silky fabric gliding against his armor as though it were liquid mercury, teasing his dermal net. Hardshell followed him, hands and mouth tracing a hot, sensual path upward.
Sunstreaker fisted the blankets, head tipped back, as he felt a kiss on his knees, and the exploratory glide of palms on the outside of his legs. He parted his thighs for the heavy weight that settled between them, but Hardshell didn’t seem to be in any rush. If this was seduction, Sunstreaker had no objections.
“You are beautiful,” Hardshell murmured as his lips and denta explored the intricate workings of Sunstreaker’s left knee. “You will be an even lovelier queen.” Thin talons slipped into the seams of Sunstreaker’s other leg, teasing the cables beneath.
Heat flushed Sunstreaker’s face. “I’m going to look different, aren’t I?” he asked, desperate to distract himself from the restless hunger Hardshell’s careful explorations were causing inside of him.
“Yes. You will be larger. More decorated. Stunning.” Hardshell’s mouth trekked upward, nosing into the seam of Sunstreaker’s hip and thigh. “All shall love you.”
Sunstreaker moaned again, louder. Maybe it said something about him, that he was so aroused by the prospect of being so adored. Or maybe it was the delicate way Hardshell kissed and nipped him, the way his glossa slithered into Sunstreaker’s seams, caressing the cables beneath.
“Yes,” Sunstreaker moaned, his hips canting up toward Hardshell in subtle request for more. Spike and valve both throbbed behind his panels, and his fingers twisted harder in the sheets.
Hardshell loomed over him, all danger and spikes, his visor a swath of crimson in the intimate lighting of the room. He moved further between Sunstreaker’s thighs, splaying them wide, his hands gentle as they cradled Sunstreaker’s hips. He leaned forward, lips nibbling at the join of Sunstreaker’s windshield and torso.
“You will be ours,” Hardshell murmured as his mouth moved further up, denta leaving little nips that made Sunstreaker writhe. “We shall be yours. In spark and mind and frame.”
Sunstreaker arched up toward the Insecticon, shivering as hot ex-vents against the seam of his chestplate seemed but a tease. His spark whirred faster. His processor swam with need.
“Will you take my spark?” Sunstreaker asked, and if his spark didn’t throb harder at the sheer thought of it, Sunstreaker certainly thought it had. He wanted it, in that moment, the press of Hardshell above him, the clash and sizzle of their sparks as they combined, the feeling of being connected to another again…
Hardshell chuckled against his chest, the vibrations rattling through Sunstreaker. “If you wish,” he said as his mouth found Sunstreaker’s, denta nipping gently on his bottom lip. “Anything you ask of me, my queen, you shall have it.”
Sunstreaker’s thighs scrubbed along the outside of Hardshell’s legs as he shifted restlessly, arousal building inside of him. He moaned into the gentle press of Hardshell’s lips and shivered with every bite of sharp denta. Hardshell was large and hot above him, half-blotting out the dim lights illuminating the room.
“Then do it,” Sunstreaker breathed, a demand though his tone didn’t support it. “Make me your queen.”
A deep rumble rose in Hardshell’s intake. “With pleasure.” He nosed into Sunstreaker’s throat, tipped his head back, and bit at his intake cables, enough pressure to register but not cause harm.
Sunstreaker groaned and clutched at Hardshell, feeling the pulse of his spark in the cable clenched between Hardshell’s denta. “Stop teasing me.”
“It is not a tease.” Hardshell’s mouth moved back down, leaving tingly licks in his wake, each swipe of his glossa causing a trail of buzzing heat to linger.
Sunstreaker writhed. His panels snapped aside, and any other time, he might have felt ashamed of his neediness. But right now, all he felt was hunger. Especially when the tip of his spike brushed against Hardshell’s armor, leaving a streak of transfluid behind. It took all he had not to reach down and stroke himself.
“Then give me more!” It was absolutely not a whine, if anyone asked.
Hardshell chuckled, such a deep growl that it seemed to vibrate around Sunstreaker’s spark chamber. It resonated against his armor, and he felt both delicate and cherished as Hardshell cradled his hips and stared at his array with something akin to fondness.
“You have a lovely array,” Hardshell said, one palm sliding inward, fingers bracketing the base of Sunstreaker’s spike, thumb slipping down to brush Sunstreaker’s anterior node.
Electric pleasure shot through Sunstreaker's groin as Hardshell continued, "I am sure it will taste as sweet as it looks."
He fisted the blanket and panted, hips tilting toward Hardshell's fingers. "Please," Sunstreaker begged.
"You need never beg, my queen." Hardshell hummed as he cradled Sunstreaker's hips in one hand and lifted him up, mouth falling hot and wet over Sunstreaker's valve.
Sunstreaker keened, his thighs trembling, head tossing back. Lubricant joined the slick of Hardshell's mouth as a large glossa licked over him, tasting his rim first, exploring each node one by one.
His hips rocked onto Hardshell’s mouth, and Hardshell allowed it, letting Sunstreaker dictate the pace and the depth. He licked deep, glossa pushing further than Sunstreaker had ever experienced, the tip of it prodding his inner nodes.
Sunstreaker shook, pleasure lighting him up from the inside out. His spark spun and flared, trembling with ecstasy. He moaned, long and loud, and didn’t care how audible he was. There was no one to hear him and comment.
Hardshell licked and slurped, nibbling at him oh so gently, until Sunstreaker was sopping wet, lubricant freely dribbling out of his valve. He gave a parting kiss to Sunstreaker’s node, and overload hovered in the wings, threatening to spill over him.
“I’m ready,” Sunstreaker said, clutching fistfuls of the silken covers, his hips tilted up and accommodating.
“You are sure?” Hardshell asked as he pressed a kiss to Sunstreaker’s inner thigh, his warm ex-vents washing over Sunstreaker’s exposed array.
Sunstreaker would have grabbed and tugged, if he could reach. “Do it,” he demanded.
“Yes, my queen.” Light flashed in Hardshell’s visor.
He sat back on his knees, and the sound of a panel spiraling open spilled into the quiet. Sunstreaker rose up on his elbows to get a good look at his spike.
It was, admittedly, like nothing he’d ever seen. Much thicker at the base, it tapered to a point at the tip. It was ridged, with thicker bands toward the bottom, and thinner bands toward the tip. Small, inset nodes glowed like biolights. Something jutted away from the base, and it took several long moments for Sunstreaker to realize what it was for.
He squirmed, heat flushing through his system. That little jut would rub right along his anterior node whenever Hardshell was inside him.
Primus.
Hardshell’s hands smoothed up Sunstreaker’s thighs, large as they cradled Sunstreaker’s hips and gently eased him into place. The tip of his spike nudged Sunstreaker’s valve, brushing over the swollen pleats, and Sunstreaker shivered.
“May I?” Hardshell asked, and for the first time this evening, he sounded labored, his field hot and sweeping with need.
“Yes,” Sunstreaker moaned, and if it was possible to cant his hips toward Hardshell, Sunstreaker did. He wanted it, wanted to feel that spike sliding inside of him.
“As you wish, my queen.” Hardshell rolled his hips, less of a thrust and more of a long, lingering slide as he sank into Sunstreaker inch by precious inch.
Nodes lit up like fireworks. Sunstreaker’s backstrut arched as ecstasy licked through his array, through his valve, and overload washed over him. He gasped, optics rolling back, calipers rippling and flexing, charge licking over his frame in a flash fire.
He dimly heard Hardshell purring words, encouragement and praise maybe, but it was lost to the static of overload. His nodes sang as Hardshell sank deeper and deeper, until he was notched against Sunstreaker’s ceiling node, and that protrusion landed firmly over Sunstreaker’s swollen anterior node.
Heat and pleasure swirled together in Sunstreaker’s groin. He moaned, fisting the covers, and went limp in Hardshell’s grasp, letting the Insecticon take the lead. He trusted Hardshell, and that trust was returned as Hardshell moved within him, slowly, carefully.
He built another crescendo, murmuring more praise and compliments. One hand cradled Sunstreaker’s aft, the other stroked over his frame, tracing his seams. It felt like worship, and Sunstreaker soaked it up.
Hardshell was careful with him, so careful. And his spike seemed to grow, swelling and thickening inside of Sunstreaker. Those tiny biolights he’d noticed grew, becoming tangible nodes that rubbed along his lining and had his smaller nodes singing.
He overloaded again, or maybe it was just one continuous release of pleasure, with occasional bursts of something sharper, more present. His valve rippled and clenched, spilling waves of lubricant, and his nodes sang from the friction.
“You are beautiful, my queen,” Hardshell murmured, curved over Sunstreaker now, one hand braced by Sunstreaker’s head, the other cradling him. He loomed over Sunstreaker, not in threat, but a large, protective presence. “You will lead us to greatness. I am certain of it.”
The words washed through Sunstreaker’s audials, took residence in his spark, sent flashes of heat blooming through his sensory net. He tightened his thighs around Hardshell’s waist, the Insecticon’s array flush with his, the base of it seeming to swell. The thickness of it rubbed over and over Sunstreaker’s rim, tugging at it, dragging sensation over the tiny nodes set into his rim.
Hardshell’s trembling became more evident, more earnest. His thrusts increased in urgency, pushing Sunstreaker into the berth. His visor gleamed, his field washing over Sunstreaker with heat and prickles of something Sunstreaker guessed was desire.
“My queen, I am near completion,” Hardshell rumbled, and Sunstreaker could hear the strain in his voice, felt the tension in Hardshell’s frame as he restrained himself. “May I…?”
Sunstreaker rocked down on Hardshell’s spike, taking him to the base and holding himself there, completely enveloping him. “Yes,” he breathed, hooking his fingers in Hardshell’s chestplate, in an armor seam. Beneath his fingertips, Hardshell’s spark seemed to vibrate his armor.
Hardshell rumbled again.
He curved forward, his mouth brushing over Sunstreaker’s forehead. “I apologize,” he murmured as he held himself still, spike throbbing and grinding over Sunstreaker’s ceiling node. “This first time may sting, but I promise, it is only for a moment.”
Sunstreaker honestly couldn’t imagine anything hurting right now. His entire frame seemed to vibrate with ecstasy, and nothing hurt. There was only pleasure, waves and waves of it.
“Do it,” Sunstreaker whispered.
“Yes, my queen.” Hardshell’s lips pressed against his forehead in a kiss before he thrust again, a bit harsher, deeper than before, and the bulge at the base of his spike slipped in and caught, remaining firmly within Sunstreaker’s valve.
He shivered, arching up against Hardshell, his nodes flashing charge one after another, hanging him on the precipice of overload.
Hardshell’s forehead pressed to his, and his visor dimmed a little, as though he were concentrating. The length of his spike swelled in girth, stretching the limits of Sunstreaker’s valve. He moaned as what felt like thorns jutted into the walls of his valve – not sharp, but prominent – and surges of charge spilled from them like little bolts of electricity.
Sunstreaker jerked, twisting and writhing, as ecstasy shot through his frame. He didn’t know if he were overloading or not, it was far too present to tell the difference. He gasped, struggling to ventilate, heat swallowing him whole. Hardshell kept growing within him, thicker and wider, stretching him wide, until they were locked together.
Sunstreaker ached. It was a good ache. His calipers trembled, stretched to their widest point. His nodes twitched and sang, buzzing in the onslaught of charge. He shook, on the cusp of something he couldn’t identify, his optics squeezed shut, his lips parted to suck in desperate gulps of air.
Hardshell’s hand left his hip, sweeping inward. Sunstreaker trembled, thighs clamped tight around Hardshell’s waist. The soft brush of Hardshell’s fingers seemed to draw electric heat toward the center of him.
It only took a single touch of Hardshell’s finger to his node.
Sunstreaker shattered. Again and again. Wave after wave of ecstasy that immediately precipitated the hot bloom of release inside of him. His spike spurted, his valve cinched tight around the massive spike, and his senses crackled with static.
He distantly heard armor creak. His field exploded in the room. Hardshell moaned, grip returning to Sunstreaker’s hip. The Insecticon’s hot ex-vents washed over Sunstreaker’s frame as he writhed, trapped in an endless cycle of overload, until the last left him limp, collapsing into the embrace of the berth.
Hardshell was still within him, a firm, unmoving presence.
Sunstreaker shivered, exhausted. He didn’t even have the energy to unshutter his optics. He could only twitch as charge zipped up and down through his valve nodes.
“Shhh.” Hardshell stroked the back of his hand over Sunstreaker’s cheek. “Rest now, my queen. I will guard your sleep. You are safe with me.” His lips pressed soft on Sunstreaker’s forehead. “You will always be safe with me.”
Sunstreaker ex-vented, soft and satisfied. He languor pull of recharge pulled him over, and he tipped into it gladly.
~
Sunstreaker came to consciousness slowly, luxuriously, waking from one of the deepest, most restful recharges he had ever undertaken. He was swaddled in warmth and comfort, and nothing hurt. It was an odd enough sensation that for a moment, he wondered if he, too, had died, and this was the Afterspark.
He unshuttered his optics and stared up at a dim, rocky ceiling, gauzy drapes of a silken web fluttering around him. A smell floated to his nasal sensors, a dank, musty odor that wasn’t so much unpleasant as it was organic in nature.
The bed rustled beside him. The surface dipped and then a wriggly weight toppled against his right side.
Sunstreaker didn’t have to look to know who it was. “Hey, bug,” he murmured, vocals dry and scratchy. He lifted a hand, rubbing behind Bob’s audials. “Is it time to get up?”
“As queen, you need only rise when you wish.”
Sunstreaker went still. He didn’t recognize the voice. Nor did he recognize the field accompanying it, tentatively touching his with cool reserve.
He turned his head. There was a large Insecticon standing beside the bed, perhaps a few inches shorter than Hardshell, with a single scar across the entirety of his face. He had both visor and facemask concealing his features, with a pair of stunted antennae and bladed protrusions arching upward from behind his shoulders.
“Who are you?” Sunstreaker demanded. He tried to rise, but a hand planted on his chestplate, keeping him in place.
When Bob didn’t growl and snap at the Insecticon, Sunstreaker decided that meant the stranger was safe. For a certain definition of the word.
“Rest, my queen,” the Insecticon said, and when Sunstreaker didn’t move again, he lifted his hand, retracting it quickly. “I am Kickback. I am the third member of your cadre.”
Sunstreaker blinked. “Cadre?”
“Hardshell will explain.” Kickback’s hands were longer, thinner, his fingers more nimble and quick.
Sunstreaker was a bit jealous. Kickback had an artist’s hands.
“Where’s Hardshell?” Sunstreaker asked, glancing around the room he’d been told would be his main chamber.
It was lit by a soft, phosphorescent glow. The webbing clung to the ceilings, giving it a dream-like feel. The warmth lingered, but it wasn’t as sticky hot as it had felt last night.
Last night.
Sunstreaker looked down at himself, absently petting Bob as he surveyed his own frame. He didn’t look any different. He didn’t feel any different either. His valve felt fine, not the least bit sore.
He hadn’t changed at all.
“I’m right here, my queen.”
Sunstreaker rose up on his elbows, without being stopped by Kickback this time, as Hardshell appeared in the open doorway.
“I’d hoped to be back before you woke,” he said. He passed by Kickback, patting the other Insecticon on the shoulder, before he continued to Sunstreaker’s bedside. “I apologize for leaving your side.”
Sunstreaker tilted his head. “It’s fine.” His gaze slanted to Kickback, but he seemed otherwise occupied arranging some items in a nearby carrying case.
Hardshell sat on the edge of the bed next to Sunstreaker’s hip, twisting to rest one large hand on Sunstreaker’s nearest thigh. “It is not, but you’ll understand that in time.” His visor glowed warmly. “How do you feel?”
Bob bound over Sunstreaker’s lap and chirred, prompting something like a smile from Hardshell, who patted him on the head in greeting.
“Fine.” Sunstreaker glanced at Kickback again. No longer arranging items, he seemed to be packing them away now.
“No pain?” Hardshell asked.
Sunstreaker shook his head. Kickback’s demeanor unnerved him. It was distinctly different from the way the other Insecticon’s behaved in his presence. There was a deference to him, but a distance as well.
“The queen has a strong constitution for a wheeled one,” Kickback commented as he snagged a damp cloth and wiped his slender fingers clean. “The searcher chose well.”
“You mean Bob?” Sunstreaker asked.
“That is what you call him, yes.” Kickback’s tone was dismissive, annoyed even. He snapped his case closed and tucked it under his arm. “Hardshell, if you have this in hand, I will return to revitalizing the nesting grounds.”
Hardshell nodded, head dipping, almost deferential but not quite. “I do. Thank you, Kickback.” His tone was warm, dissonant to the chilly disdain of Kickback’s.
Sunstreaker watched the other Insecticon go without a backward glance. He frowned, not with disapproval, but with confusion.
“He doesn’t want me to be queen,” Sunstreaker guessed.
Hardshell patted Sunstreaker’s thigh, the warmth of his field still alien, but warm and comforting. Like the embrace of an oil bath. “It is not you. Kickback had a tempestuous relationship with your predecessor.”
“He doesn’t like authority?” Sunstreaker could relate to that. Authority had never done him any favors, not even when he had it for himself.
“It is complicated.” Hardshell rose and offered a hand to Sunstreaker, as if to help him off the berth. “He will learn to love you in time.”
Sunstreaker paused halfway to putting his hand in Hardshell’s. Unease started to curl in his spark at Hardshell’s words. “You sound like he doesn’t have a choice about it.”
Hardshell’s fingers curled inward. He sat back on his heels, and an odd look crossed his face. His field flickered, but Sunstreaker couldn’t read it. He didn’t know if it was because the odd resonance of an Insecticon’s field or if because Hardshell was withdrawing from him.
Sunstreaker stood on his own as Bob leapt off the berth to rest beside him, leaning against his right leg. Sunstreaker absently dropped a hand to his pet’s head as the silence grew into an uncomfortable thickness.
“Well?” Sunstreaker prompted, putting a touch of command in his voice. “Does he?”
Hardshell’s weight shifted. The light of his visor changed in hue. “The bond is complicated,” he said, at length.
Complicated was another way of sidestepping the answer Sunstreaker didn’t want to hear.
The uneasiness grew into a coil of nausea, deep in his tanks. He dropped his gaze, afraid of the answer, as he asked, “Can you even say no to me?”
“… It is not done,” Hardshell said, and there was a recoil to his posture, a flinch in his frame language that suggested even answering Sunstreaker in such a manner was forbidden in some way.
He felt physically ill.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sunstreaker said, and it was barely louder than a whisper. He thought about Hunter. Machina. He thought about being a head, an unwilling pawn, having all of his agency, his freedom, taken from him.
Hardshell shook his head slowly. “My duty is to serve the queen. By obeying, I serve the queen.”
Sunstreaker swallowed down the rising purge. “No.”
“I don’t understand.” Hardshell cocked his head, field one of genuine confusion, for all that Sunstreaker could sense of it.
“No. I’ve been there. I won’t have it.” Sunstreaker’s hands folded into fists at his side. Bob whined, perhaps sensing the distress in his field, and butted against Sunstreaker’s leg. “I won’t have slaves. I can’t. I won’t do it.” He shook his head, a tremble rising in his armor.
He thought of the armies of empty mechs they made him control. He thought of a tiny organic screaming inside his head. He thought of agony that wasn’t his, and a disassembled frame, his wires and cables lying around him as he was mocked by beings he could have stepped on, if they hadn’t been so clever.
Hardshell’s vents emerged in a sharp puff. “It’s in our coding,” he said. “It’s what we know.”
“Then I’m going to fragging change it!” Sunstreaker snapped, voice rising, and damn it, but Hardshell flinched back from him, antennae drooping, armor clamping.
The massive Insecticon, twice his height, easily triple his mass, flinched back. Afraid. Cowed.
No.
Sunstreaker wouldn’t have it.
A thought occurred to him, rising up unbidden, and he tasted the sour purge at the back of his intake.
“Wait,” Sunstreaker said, his vocals raspy, a chill wracking his frame. He looked up at Hardshell. “Did you even want me as you queen? Did you even want… me? Was it only duty?”
Had he fragging raped Hardshell? Had he taken the Insecticon to berth without realizing Hardshell had no choice? Had he taken a position they only offered in desperation? Was he the villain here?
Sunstreaker’s vents came in sharper gasps. His vision tunneled; he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the heat and ice, rising alternatively in his frame.
Arms wrapped around him, dragging him in tight, a warm embrace suddenly so familiar to him, for all that it had been alien less than a day ago. Hardshell’s field wrapped around him as well, and there was comfort in it.
Sunstreaker struggled. “Don’t comfort me,” he said, voice thick with static, his armor clattering. “You don’t even have a choice about it!”
“It is complicated,” Hardshell said, voice low and guttural. Resigned, if Sunstreaker to guess.
“No, it’s not!” Sunstreaker jerked and shoved, pulling himself out of Hardshell’s embrace, taking a hard step back, his legs bumping the berth, Bob cowering at his feet. He stared up at Hardshell, his optics hard. “I need to know. Tell me right now. Give me an honest answer, because I know you have to. Do you want me as your queen?”
Only for this, would he demand. Only for this would he assert his authority. He had to know. He needed the truth.
Silence.
There was a long, heavy pause. Long enough that Sunstreaker almost pelted out to find the nearest smelting pit and toss himself into it. He’d loathed the kind to take the unwilling his entire life, and now he’d become one of them.
Hardshell lowered himself to one knee in a motion so gradual, his cables and hydraulics creaked. He reached up, took Sunstreaker’s hand with one of his own, his thumb sweeping over Sunstreaker’s knuckles. He looked up at Sunstreaker, expression solemn.
“Until you asked me that question, I wasn’t certain.” He bent his head, brushed his mouth over Sunstreaker’s knuckles. “Now I am.”
Sunstreaker swallowed, his hand trembling in Hardshell’s. “You swear?” He sounded like a sparkling, he knew. But he had to be sure.
Hardshell looked up, his visor burning with sincerity, and Sunstreaker couldn’t explain it, but somehow he knew Hardshell told the truth. “With every bolt in my frame, my queen. Kickback was right in one thing only. Our searcher chose well. You are the queen we’ve been waiting for.”
Sunstreaker sagged, like someone had cut his strings. Relief tore through his body, chasing out the taut lines of tension.
He wasn’t the Machination. He hadn’t become the monster.
Hardshell caught him when his knees buckled. His massive hands swept over Sunstreaker’s frame. He made a purring hum somewhere in his chassis, and the sound resonated with Sunstreaker’s spark, calming him.
He breathed easy for the first time in minutes.
“You are not your predecessor. You will be more,” Hardshell said, and it sounded like an intonation, a vow. “You will be a queen we love, not just a queen to serve. You will save us. I can see it in you.”
“I can’t save anyone,” Sunstreaker contradicted, thinking all too much of a pair of optics not unlike his own, as they gradually went gray. He clutched Hardshell, burying his face in the sturdy armor. “I’ve ruined everything I’ve touched.”
Hardshell kept making that sound and the tension kept leaking out of Sunstreaker until he was limp and pliable. “There is always time to start anew,” he said. “Your searcher loves you. Trusts you. Show him you deserve both.”
Sunstreaker sighed. “I don’t deserve any kindness.”
“Everyone deserves kindness.” Hardshell’s hand stroked down his back before giving him a gentle pat. “Come. You need a bath. You will feel better after.”
“A bath?” Sunstreaker hadn’t seen anything that qualified one, unless Hardshell was counting the weird wipedown the tiny, chittering Insecticons had given him. That wasn’t going to be relaxing at all.
“Yes.” Hardshell loosened the embrace so Sunstreaker could slip free of it, though he kept one hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder as his knees wobbled. “We have burrowed well, my queen. It is what we do. Cybertron is much ravaged, but dig deep enough, and there are echoes of what it used to be.”
Sunstreaker stared up at the larger Insecticon, his optics wide. “You found a natural oilspring?” he asked as longing cropped up in his spark. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent soak.
“Indeed.”
Sunstreaker moaned and tilted against Hardshell, palming the Insecticon’s belly. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
Hardshell chuckled and dipped down, abruptly sweeping Sunstreaker into his arms. “If you are, then so are we.” He looked down at Bob swarming around their feet. “Come, little searcher. You can join us in the bath.”
A bath.
Sunstreaker honestly moaned again. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“That is the idea.” Hardshell grinned and nuzzled him, but before he could pull away, Sunstreaker grabbed his head, pulling their mouths together for a kiss.
Need tightened and coiled in his groin, his belly. If he’d had any reservations, they were gone. He’d never felt so wanted, so loved, so needed.
Acceptance in the embrace of an Insecticon? He never would have guessed.
***
Continuity: IDW, Alternate Canon
Characters: Sunstreaker, Ironhide, Bob the Insecticon, Hardshell, Sharpshot, Kickback, Original Insecticon Character(s)
Pairings: Hardshell/Sunstreaker, Insecticon(s)/Sunstreaker, Hardshell/Sunstreaker/Sharpshot
Rating: M
Enticements: Consensual Body Modification, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Non-Graphic Oviposition, Off-screen Egg Laying, Knotting
Description: After Sideswipe, Sunstreaker returns to Cybertron, lost and alone, until Bob leads him on a wild chase into the wildlands, to a nest beneath the surface of the planet, and a place Sunstreaker might call home.
Hardshell took Sunstreaker’s hand and led him to another room, this one indeed smaller and far more intimate than the other. A collective of Insecticons had lined the corridors as Hardshell led him, twittering and cheeping their delight.
Bob trundled along in their wake, and plopped himself down outside the door as if appointing himself Sunstreaker’s guardian. He’d expected to fight Bob for the right to privacy. But he hadn’t had to use a firm word.
The new room was indeed smaller. Slightly larger than a hab-suite on the Lost Light, but it felt more like a home. The walls were wrapped in gauzy web and phosphorescence bathed everything in a pale green glow. The bed was shaped like a traditional berth, large enough to fit three Insecticons, and the padding looked heavy and decadent.
It felt organic, in ways truly Cybertronian tech did not, but it only echoed of Earth. Sunstreaker expected to feel uneasy. Hardshell’s field pressed against his, warm and pliant and reassuring. All Sunstreaker felt was a liquid heat building in his groin, and the anticipation stirring in his lines.
He was actually going to do this.
“In the future, you may wish to share your berth. Or recharge with your colony. Perhaps even rest with your drones or your cadre,” Hardshell said as the door closed behind them, swinging into place. “But you will always have this room for privacy. If you wish to be alone or don’t want to be bothered, you need only think it.”
Sunstreaker ran a hand over the berth cover, which felt like no fabric he’d ever touched before. It was smooth and silken, more organic than metallic. “Think it?” he repeated absently, until the meaning of the phrase sank in. “Wait? I’ll be telepathic?”
Hardshell stepped up behind him, which would have usually felt like a loom, were it not for the light pressure of his hands on Sunstreaker’s shoulders. The heat of him, radiating against Sunstreaker’s back and aft like a promise.
“Among so many other things,” Hardshell purred, the palms of his hands skating down Sunstreaker’s arms and back up again. “You will be connected to us, one mind, one Hive. You will be stronger. Faster. You will be our life. Our light. Our purpose. Our queen.”
There was something in the way Hardshell rumbled the title which made Sunstreaker’s knees wobble. Which made his ventilations catch and his spike throb and his valve cycle hungrily.
Sunstreaker licked his lips, his optics half-shuttering. “That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to bear.”
“You won’t do so alone.” Hardshell’s ex-vents teased the back of Sunstreaker head. He nuzzled Sunstreaker from behind, the curl of his field as much of a caress as his hands. “I will be with you, my queen. Always.”
The inherent promise in the word sent need boiling through Sunstreaker’s lines. He shivered, sinking back against Hardshell, his hands slow-curling into fists.
“Good to know,” he said, and was embarrassed by how hushed his voice had become. Even more so when Hardshell’s hand abandoned Sunstreaker’s arm to slide slowly down the front of Sunstreaker’s frame until the heel of it rested against Sunstreaker’s panel.
A moan eked out of Sunstreaker’s intake. His head tipped back against Hardshell’s chest as those taloned fingers gently scraped over his panel.
“You’ve agreed to this,” Hardshell murmured as the pressure became firmer, steady strokes which ratcheted up the slow build of arousal. “But you are not beholden. Tell me to stop, I will. Refuse at any moment, and I will obey.”
Sunstreaker groaned. He wrapped his right hand around Hardshell’s wrist, keeping that slow stroking hand in place. The other curled around Hardshell’s neck, just beneath the jut of a protective plate.
He considered a dozen responses, but his head spun and the need yawed inside of him, and all he could think was a single word, and so he gave it voice. “More.”
“Anything you wish, my queen.” Hardshell ‘s other hand slid up Sunstreaker’s abdomen, splaying talon-tipped fingers over his windshield. “I would lay you on this berth and introduce myself, if it’s so allowed.”
Sunstreaker moaned. “It’s allowed. Do it.”
Lust unspooled inside of him. His spike throbbed, reminding him how long it’d been since he’d had only his own hands. How it had been even longer since someone had touched him like this. Gentle and appreciative, like a lover rather than a hard, fast ‘face in a back storage closet.
Hardshell lifted Sunstreaker as though he weighed nothing. His back and aft sank into the softness of the berth, the silky fabric gliding against his armor as though it were liquid mercury, teasing his dermal net. Hardshell followed him, hands and mouth tracing a hot, sensual path upward.
Sunstreaker fisted the blankets, head tipped back, as he felt a kiss on his knees, and the exploratory glide of palms on the outside of his legs. He parted his thighs for the heavy weight that settled between them, but Hardshell didn’t seem to be in any rush. If this was seduction, Sunstreaker had no objections.
“You are beautiful,” Hardshell murmured as his lips and denta explored the intricate workings of Sunstreaker’s left knee. “You will be an even lovelier queen.” Thin talons slipped into the seams of Sunstreaker’s other leg, teasing the cables beneath.
Heat flushed Sunstreaker’s face. “I’m going to look different, aren’t I?” he asked, desperate to distract himself from the restless hunger Hardshell’s careful explorations were causing inside of him.
“Yes. You will be larger. More decorated. Stunning.” Hardshell’s mouth trekked upward, nosing into the seam of Sunstreaker’s hip and thigh. “All shall love you.”
Sunstreaker moaned again, louder. Maybe it said something about him, that he was so aroused by the prospect of being so adored. Or maybe it was the delicate way Hardshell kissed and nipped him, the way his glossa slithered into Sunstreaker’s seams, caressing the cables beneath.
“Yes,” Sunstreaker moaned, his hips canting up toward Hardshell in subtle request for more. Spike and valve both throbbed behind his panels, and his fingers twisted harder in the sheets.
Hardshell loomed over him, all danger and spikes, his visor a swath of crimson in the intimate lighting of the room. He moved further between Sunstreaker’s thighs, splaying them wide, his hands gentle as they cradled Sunstreaker’s hips. He leaned forward, lips nibbling at the join of Sunstreaker’s windshield and torso.
“You will be ours,” Hardshell murmured as his mouth moved further up, denta leaving little nips that made Sunstreaker writhe. “We shall be yours. In spark and mind and frame.”
Sunstreaker arched up toward the Insecticon, shivering as hot ex-vents against the seam of his chestplate seemed but a tease. His spark whirred faster. His processor swam with need.
“Will you take my spark?” Sunstreaker asked, and if his spark didn’t throb harder at the sheer thought of it, Sunstreaker certainly thought it had. He wanted it, in that moment, the press of Hardshell above him, the clash and sizzle of their sparks as they combined, the feeling of being connected to another again…
Hardshell chuckled against his chest, the vibrations rattling through Sunstreaker. “If you wish,” he said as his mouth found Sunstreaker’s, denta nipping gently on his bottom lip. “Anything you ask of me, my queen, you shall have it.”
Sunstreaker’s thighs scrubbed along the outside of Hardshell’s legs as he shifted restlessly, arousal building inside of him. He moaned into the gentle press of Hardshell’s lips and shivered with every bite of sharp denta. Hardshell was large and hot above him, half-blotting out the dim lights illuminating the room.
“Then do it,” Sunstreaker breathed, a demand though his tone didn’t support it. “Make me your queen.”
A deep rumble rose in Hardshell’s intake. “With pleasure.” He nosed into Sunstreaker’s throat, tipped his head back, and bit at his intake cables, enough pressure to register but not cause harm.
Sunstreaker groaned and clutched at Hardshell, feeling the pulse of his spark in the cable clenched between Hardshell’s denta. “Stop teasing me.”
“It is not a tease.” Hardshell’s mouth moved back down, leaving tingly licks in his wake, each swipe of his glossa causing a trail of buzzing heat to linger.
Sunstreaker writhed. His panels snapped aside, and any other time, he might have felt ashamed of his neediness. But right now, all he felt was hunger. Especially when the tip of his spike brushed against Hardshell’s armor, leaving a streak of transfluid behind. It took all he had not to reach down and stroke himself.
“Then give me more!” It was absolutely not a whine, if anyone asked.
Hardshell chuckled, such a deep growl that it seemed to vibrate around Sunstreaker’s spark chamber. It resonated against his armor, and he felt both delicate and cherished as Hardshell cradled his hips and stared at his array with something akin to fondness.
“You have a lovely array,” Hardshell said, one palm sliding inward, fingers bracketing the base of Sunstreaker’s spike, thumb slipping down to brush Sunstreaker’s anterior node.
Electric pleasure shot through Sunstreaker's groin as Hardshell continued, "I am sure it will taste as sweet as it looks."
He fisted the blanket and panted, hips tilting toward Hardshell's fingers. "Please," Sunstreaker begged.
"You need never beg, my queen." Hardshell hummed as he cradled Sunstreaker's hips in one hand and lifted him up, mouth falling hot and wet over Sunstreaker's valve.
Sunstreaker keened, his thighs trembling, head tossing back. Lubricant joined the slick of Hardshell's mouth as a large glossa licked over him, tasting his rim first, exploring each node one by one.
His hips rocked onto Hardshell’s mouth, and Hardshell allowed it, letting Sunstreaker dictate the pace and the depth. He licked deep, glossa pushing further than Sunstreaker had ever experienced, the tip of it prodding his inner nodes.
Sunstreaker shook, pleasure lighting him up from the inside out. His spark spun and flared, trembling with ecstasy. He moaned, long and loud, and didn’t care how audible he was. There was no one to hear him and comment.
Hardshell licked and slurped, nibbling at him oh so gently, until Sunstreaker was sopping wet, lubricant freely dribbling out of his valve. He gave a parting kiss to Sunstreaker’s node, and overload hovered in the wings, threatening to spill over him.
“I’m ready,” Sunstreaker said, clutching fistfuls of the silken covers, his hips tilted up and accommodating.
“You are sure?” Hardshell asked as he pressed a kiss to Sunstreaker’s inner thigh, his warm ex-vents washing over Sunstreaker’s exposed array.
Sunstreaker would have grabbed and tugged, if he could reach. “Do it,” he demanded.
“Yes, my queen.” Light flashed in Hardshell’s visor.
He sat back on his knees, and the sound of a panel spiraling open spilled into the quiet. Sunstreaker rose up on his elbows to get a good look at his spike.
It was, admittedly, like nothing he’d ever seen. Much thicker at the base, it tapered to a point at the tip. It was ridged, with thicker bands toward the bottom, and thinner bands toward the tip. Small, inset nodes glowed like biolights. Something jutted away from the base, and it took several long moments for Sunstreaker to realize what it was for.
He squirmed, heat flushing through his system. That little jut would rub right along his anterior node whenever Hardshell was inside him.
Primus.
Hardshell’s hands smoothed up Sunstreaker’s thighs, large as they cradled Sunstreaker’s hips and gently eased him into place. The tip of his spike nudged Sunstreaker’s valve, brushing over the swollen pleats, and Sunstreaker shivered.
“May I?” Hardshell asked, and for the first time this evening, he sounded labored, his field hot and sweeping with need.
“Yes,” Sunstreaker moaned, and if it was possible to cant his hips toward Hardshell, Sunstreaker did. He wanted it, wanted to feel that spike sliding inside of him.
“As you wish, my queen.” Hardshell rolled his hips, less of a thrust and more of a long, lingering slide as he sank into Sunstreaker inch by precious inch.
Nodes lit up like fireworks. Sunstreaker’s backstrut arched as ecstasy licked through his array, through his valve, and overload washed over him. He gasped, optics rolling back, calipers rippling and flexing, charge licking over his frame in a flash fire.
He dimly heard Hardshell purring words, encouragement and praise maybe, but it was lost to the static of overload. His nodes sang as Hardshell sank deeper and deeper, until he was notched against Sunstreaker’s ceiling node, and that protrusion landed firmly over Sunstreaker’s swollen anterior node.
Heat and pleasure swirled together in Sunstreaker’s groin. He moaned, fisting the covers, and went limp in Hardshell’s grasp, letting the Insecticon take the lead. He trusted Hardshell, and that trust was returned as Hardshell moved within him, slowly, carefully.
He built another crescendo, murmuring more praise and compliments. One hand cradled Sunstreaker’s aft, the other stroked over his frame, tracing his seams. It felt like worship, and Sunstreaker soaked it up.
Hardshell was careful with him, so careful. And his spike seemed to grow, swelling and thickening inside of Sunstreaker. Those tiny biolights he’d noticed grew, becoming tangible nodes that rubbed along his lining and had his smaller nodes singing.
He overloaded again, or maybe it was just one continuous release of pleasure, with occasional bursts of something sharper, more present. His valve rippled and clenched, spilling waves of lubricant, and his nodes sang from the friction.
“You are beautiful, my queen,” Hardshell murmured, curved over Sunstreaker now, one hand braced by Sunstreaker’s head, the other cradling him. He loomed over Sunstreaker, not in threat, but a large, protective presence. “You will lead us to greatness. I am certain of it.”
The words washed through Sunstreaker’s audials, took residence in his spark, sent flashes of heat blooming through his sensory net. He tightened his thighs around Hardshell’s waist, the Insecticon’s array flush with his, the base of it seeming to swell. The thickness of it rubbed over and over Sunstreaker’s rim, tugging at it, dragging sensation over the tiny nodes set into his rim.
Hardshell’s trembling became more evident, more earnest. His thrusts increased in urgency, pushing Sunstreaker into the berth. His visor gleamed, his field washing over Sunstreaker with heat and prickles of something Sunstreaker guessed was desire.
“My queen, I am near completion,” Hardshell rumbled, and Sunstreaker could hear the strain in his voice, felt the tension in Hardshell’s frame as he restrained himself. “May I…?”
Sunstreaker rocked down on Hardshell’s spike, taking him to the base and holding himself there, completely enveloping him. “Yes,” he breathed, hooking his fingers in Hardshell’s chestplate, in an armor seam. Beneath his fingertips, Hardshell’s spark seemed to vibrate his armor.
Hardshell rumbled again.
He curved forward, his mouth brushing over Sunstreaker’s forehead. “I apologize,” he murmured as he held himself still, spike throbbing and grinding over Sunstreaker’s ceiling node. “This first time may sting, but I promise, it is only for a moment.”
Sunstreaker honestly couldn’t imagine anything hurting right now. His entire frame seemed to vibrate with ecstasy, and nothing hurt. There was only pleasure, waves and waves of it.
“Do it,” Sunstreaker whispered.
“Yes, my queen.” Hardshell’s lips pressed against his forehead in a kiss before he thrust again, a bit harsher, deeper than before, and the bulge at the base of his spike slipped in and caught, remaining firmly within Sunstreaker’s valve.
He shivered, arching up against Hardshell, his nodes flashing charge one after another, hanging him on the precipice of overload.
Hardshell’s forehead pressed to his, and his visor dimmed a little, as though he were concentrating. The length of his spike swelled in girth, stretching the limits of Sunstreaker’s valve. He moaned as what felt like thorns jutted into the walls of his valve – not sharp, but prominent – and surges of charge spilled from them like little bolts of electricity.
Sunstreaker jerked, twisting and writhing, as ecstasy shot through his frame. He didn’t know if he were overloading or not, it was far too present to tell the difference. He gasped, struggling to ventilate, heat swallowing him whole. Hardshell kept growing within him, thicker and wider, stretching him wide, until they were locked together.
Sunstreaker ached. It was a good ache. His calipers trembled, stretched to their widest point. His nodes twitched and sang, buzzing in the onslaught of charge. He shook, on the cusp of something he couldn’t identify, his optics squeezed shut, his lips parted to suck in desperate gulps of air.
Hardshell’s hand left his hip, sweeping inward. Sunstreaker trembled, thighs clamped tight around Hardshell’s waist. The soft brush of Hardshell’s fingers seemed to draw electric heat toward the center of him.
It only took a single touch of Hardshell’s finger to his node.
Sunstreaker shattered. Again and again. Wave after wave of ecstasy that immediately precipitated the hot bloom of release inside of him. His spike spurted, his valve cinched tight around the massive spike, and his senses crackled with static.
He distantly heard armor creak. His field exploded in the room. Hardshell moaned, grip returning to Sunstreaker’s hip. The Insecticon’s hot ex-vents washed over Sunstreaker’s frame as he writhed, trapped in an endless cycle of overload, until the last left him limp, collapsing into the embrace of the berth.
Hardshell was still within him, a firm, unmoving presence.
Sunstreaker shivered, exhausted. He didn’t even have the energy to unshutter his optics. He could only twitch as charge zipped up and down through his valve nodes.
“Shhh.” Hardshell stroked the back of his hand over Sunstreaker’s cheek. “Rest now, my queen. I will guard your sleep. You are safe with me.” His lips pressed soft on Sunstreaker’s forehead. “You will always be safe with me.”
Sunstreaker ex-vented, soft and satisfied. He languor pull of recharge pulled him over, and he tipped into it gladly.
Sunstreaker came to consciousness slowly, luxuriously, waking from one of the deepest, most restful recharges he had ever undertaken. He was swaddled in warmth and comfort, and nothing hurt. It was an odd enough sensation that for a moment, he wondered if he, too, had died, and this was the Afterspark.
He unshuttered his optics and stared up at a dim, rocky ceiling, gauzy drapes of a silken web fluttering around him. A smell floated to his nasal sensors, a dank, musty odor that wasn’t so much unpleasant as it was organic in nature.
The bed rustled beside him. The surface dipped and then a wriggly weight toppled against his right side.
Sunstreaker didn’t have to look to know who it was. “Hey, bug,” he murmured, vocals dry and scratchy. He lifted a hand, rubbing behind Bob’s audials. “Is it time to get up?”
“As queen, you need only rise when you wish.”
Sunstreaker went still. He didn’t recognize the voice. Nor did he recognize the field accompanying it, tentatively touching his with cool reserve.
He turned his head. There was a large Insecticon standing beside the bed, perhaps a few inches shorter than Hardshell, with a single scar across the entirety of his face. He had both visor and facemask concealing his features, with a pair of stunted antennae and bladed protrusions arching upward from behind his shoulders.
“Who are you?” Sunstreaker demanded. He tried to rise, but a hand planted on his chestplate, keeping him in place.
When Bob didn’t growl and snap at the Insecticon, Sunstreaker decided that meant the stranger was safe. For a certain definition of the word.
“Rest, my queen,” the Insecticon said, and when Sunstreaker didn’t move again, he lifted his hand, retracting it quickly. “I am Kickback. I am the third member of your cadre.”
Sunstreaker blinked. “Cadre?”
“Hardshell will explain.” Kickback’s hands were longer, thinner, his fingers more nimble and quick.
Sunstreaker was a bit jealous. Kickback had an artist’s hands.
“Where’s Hardshell?” Sunstreaker asked, glancing around the room he’d been told would be his main chamber.
It was lit by a soft, phosphorescent glow. The webbing clung to the ceilings, giving it a dream-like feel. The warmth lingered, but it wasn’t as sticky hot as it had felt last night.
Last night.
Sunstreaker looked down at himself, absently petting Bob as he surveyed his own frame. He didn’t look any different. He didn’t feel any different either. His valve felt fine, not the least bit sore.
He hadn’t changed at all.
“I’m right here, my queen.”
Sunstreaker rose up on his elbows, without being stopped by Kickback this time, as Hardshell appeared in the open doorway.
“I’d hoped to be back before you woke,” he said. He passed by Kickback, patting the other Insecticon on the shoulder, before he continued to Sunstreaker’s bedside. “I apologize for leaving your side.”
Sunstreaker tilted his head. “It’s fine.” His gaze slanted to Kickback, but he seemed otherwise occupied arranging some items in a nearby carrying case.
Hardshell sat on the edge of the bed next to Sunstreaker’s hip, twisting to rest one large hand on Sunstreaker’s nearest thigh. “It is not, but you’ll understand that in time.” His visor glowed warmly. “How do you feel?”
Bob bound over Sunstreaker’s lap and chirred, prompting something like a smile from Hardshell, who patted him on the head in greeting.
“Fine.” Sunstreaker glanced at Kickback again. No longer arranging items, he seemed to be packing them away now.
“No pain?” Hardshell asked.
Sunstreaker shook his head. Kickback’s demeanor unnerved him. It was distinctly different from the way the other Insecticon’s behaved in his presence. There was a deference to him, but a distance as well.
“The queen has a strong constitution for a wheeled one,” Kickback commented as he snagged a damp cloth and wiped his slender fingers clean. “The searcher chose well.”
“You mean Bob?” Sunstreaker asked.
“That is what you call him, yes.” Kickback’s tone was dismissive, annoyed even. He snapped his case closed and tucked it under his arm. “Hardshell, if you have this in hand, I will return to revitalizing the nesting grounds.”
Hardshell nodded, head dipping, almost deferential but not quite. “I do. Thank you, Kickback.” His tone was warm, dissonant to the chilly disdain of Kickback’s.
Sunstreaker watched the other Insecticon go without a backward glance. He frowned, not with disapproval, but with confusion.
“He doesn’t want me to be queen,” Sunstreaker guessed.
Hardshell patted Sunstreaker’s thigh, the warmth of his field still alien, but warm and comforting. Like the embrace of an oil bath. “It is not you. Kickback had a tempestuous relationship with your predecessor.”
“He doesn’t like authority?” Sunstreaker could relate to that. Authority had never done him any favors, not even when he had it for himself.
“It is complicated.” Hardshell rose and offered a hand to Sunstreaker, as if to help him off the berth. “He will learn to love you in time.”
Sunstreaker paused halfway to putting his hand in Hardshell’s. Unease started to curl in his spark at Hardshell’s words. “You sound like he doesn’t have a choice about it.”
Hardshell’s fingers curled inward. He sat back on his heels, and an odd look crossed his face. His field flickered, but Sunstreaker couldn’t read it. He didn’t know if it was because the odd resonance of an Insecticon’s field or if because Hardshell was withdrawing from him.
Sunstreaker stood on his own as Bob leapt off the berth to rest beside him, leaning against his right leg. Sunstreaker absently dropped a hand to his pet’s head as the silence grew into an uncomfortable thickness.
“Well?” Sunstreaker prompted, putting a touch of command in his voice. “Does he?”
Hardshell’s weight shifted. The light of his visor changed in hue. “The bond is complicated,” he said, at length.
Complicated was another way of sidestepping the answer Sunstreaker didn’t want to hear.
The uneasiness grew into a coil of nausea, deep in his tanks. He dropped his gaze, afraid of the answer, as he asked, “Can you even say no to me?”
“… It is not done,” Hardshell said, and there was a recoil to his posture, a flinch in his frame language that suggested even answering Sunstreaker in such a manner was forbidden in some way.
He felt physically ill.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sunstreaker said, and it was barely louder than a whisper. He thought about Hunter. Machina. He thought about being a head, an unwilling pawn, having all of his agency, his freedom, taken from him.
Hardshell shook his head slowly. “My duty is to serve the queen. By obeying, I serve the queen.”
Sunstreaker swallowed down the rising purge. “No.”
“I don’t understand.” Hardshell cocked his head, field one of genuine confusion, for all that Sunstreaker could sense of it.
“No. I’ve been there. I won’t have it.” Sunstreaker’s hands folded into fists at his side. Bob whined, perhaps sensing the distress in his field, and butted against Sunstreaker’s leg. “I won’t have slaves. I can’t. I won’t do it.” He shook his head, a tremble rising in his armor.
He thought of the armies of empty mechs they made him control. He thought of a tiny organic screaming inside his head. He thought of agony that wasn’t his, and a disassembled frame, his wires and cables lying around him as he was mocked by beings he could have stepped on, if they hadn’t been so clever.
Hardshell’s vents emerged in a sharp puff. “It’s in our coding,” he said. “It’s what we know.”
“Then I’m going to fragging change it!” Sunstreaker snapped, voice rising, and damn it, but Hardshell flinched back from him, antennae drooping, armor clamping.
The massive Insecticon, twice his height, easily triple his mass, flinched back. Afraid. Cowed.
No.
Sunstreaker wouldn’t have it.
A thought occurred to him, rising up unbidden, and he tasted the sour purge at the back of his intake.
“Wait,” Sunstreaker said, his vocals raspy, a chill wracking his frame. He looked up at Hardshell. “Did you even want me as you queen? Did you even want… me? Was it only duty?”
Had he fragging raped Hardshell? Had he taken the Insecticon to berth without realizing Hardshell had no choice? Had he taken a position they only offered in desperation? Was he the villain here?
Sunstreaker’s vents came in sharper gasps. His vision tunneled; he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the heat and ice, rising alternatively in his frame.
Arms wrapped around him, dragging him in tight, a warm embrace suddenly so familiar to him, for all that it had been alien less than a day ago. Hardshell’s field wrapped around him as well, and there was comfort in it.
Sunstreaker struggled. “Don’t comfort me,” he said, voice thick with static, his armor clattering. “You don’t even have a choice about it!”
“It is complicated,” Hardshell said, voice low and guttural. Resigned, if Sunstreaker to guess.
“No, it’s not!” Sunstreaker jerked and shoved, pulling himself out of Hardshell’s embrace, taking a hard step back, his legs bumping the berth, Bob cowering at his feet. He stared up at Hardshell, his optics hard. “I need to know. Tell me right now. Give me an honest answer, because I know you have to. Do you want me as your queen?”
Only for this, would he demand. Only for this would he assert his authority. He had to know. He needed the truth.
Silence.
There was a long, heavy pause. Long enough that Sunstreaker almost pelted out to find the nearest smelting pit and toss himself into it. He’d loathed the kind to take the unwilling his entire life, and now he’d become one of them.
Hardshell lowered himself to one knee in a motion so gradual, his cables and hydraulics creaked. He reached up, took Sunstreaker’s hand with one of his own, his thumb sweeping over Sunstreaker’s knuckles. He looked up at Sunstreaker, expression solemn.
“Until you asked me that question, I wasn’t certain.” He bent his head, brushed his mouth over Sunstreaker’s knuckles. “Now I am.”
Sunstreaker swallowed, his hand trembling in Hardshell’s. “You swear?” He sounded like a sparkling, he knew. But he had to be sure.
Hardshell looked up, his visor burning with sincerity, and Sunstreaker couldn’t explain it, but somehow he knew Hardshell told the truth. “With every bolt in my frame, my queen. Kickback was right in one thing only. Our searcher chose well. You are the queen we’ve been waiting for.”
Sunstreaker sagged, like someone had cut his strings. Relief tore through his body, chasing out the taut lines of tension.
He wasn’t the Machination. He hadn’t become the monster.
Hardshell caught him when his knees buckled. His massive hands swept over Sunstreaker’s frame. He made a purring hum somewhere in his chassis, and the sound resonated with Sunstreaker’s spark, calming him.
He breathed easy for the first time in minutes.
“You are not your predecessor. You will be more,” Hardshell said, and it sounded like an intonation, a vow. “You will be a queen we love, not just a queen to serve. You will save us. I can see it in you.”
“I can’t save anyone,” Sunstreaker contradicted, thinking all too much of a pair of optics not unlike his own, as they gradually went gray. He clutched Hardshell, burying his face in the sturdy armor. “I’ve ruined everything I’ve touched.”
Hardshell kept making that sound and the tension kept leaking out of Sunstreaker until he was limp and pliable. “There is always time to start anew,” he said. “Your searcher loves you. Trusts you. Show him you deserve both.”
Sunstreaker sighed. “I don’t deserve any kindness.”
“Everyone deserves kindness.” Hardshell’s hand stroked down his back before giving him a gentle pat. “Come. You need a bath. You will feel better after.”
“A bath?” Sunstreaker hadn’t seen anything that qualified one, unless Hardshell was counting the weird wipedown the tiny, chittering Insecticons had given him. That wasn’t going to be relaxing at all.
“Yes.” Hardshell loosened the embrace so Sunstreaker could slip free of it, though he kept one hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder as his knees wobbled. “We have burrowed well, my queen. It is what we do. Cybertron is much ravaged, but dig deep enough, and there are echoes of what it used to be.”
Sunstreaker stared up at the larger Insecticon, his optics wide. “You found a natural oilspring?” he asked as longing cropped up in his spark. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent soak.
“Indeed.”
Sunstreaker moaned and tilted against Hardshell, palming the Insecticon’s belly. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”
Hardshell chuckled and dipped down, abruptly sweeping Sunstreaker into his arms. “If you are, then so are we.” He looked down at Bob swarming around their feet. “Come, little searcher. You can join us in the bath.”
A bath.
Sunstreaker honestly moaned again. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“That is the idea.” Hardshell grinned and nuzzled him, but before he could pull away, Sunstreaker grabbed his head, pulling their mouths together for a kiss.
Need tightened and coiled in his groin, his belly. If he’d had any reservations, they were gone. He’d never felt so wanted, so loved, so needed.
Acceptance in the embrace of an Insecticon? He never would have guessed.
