[IDW] All the Queen's Treasure 08

[dracoqueen22]

Part Eight

The changes came more swiftly, after the first stage. More noticeable. Sunstreaker fell into recharge post-upload, and onlined with new growths, new adjustments. Sometimes, it was so subtle he almost didn’t notice. Sometimes, they came with a lingering ache which kept him aberth, Hardshell never far from his side, offering him energon and coolant and sometimes calling the carers for him. 

It was nice to lay in the berth and be spoiled. The carers were more like drones, and they scurried over his frame, cleaning and polishing, chittering to each other, and occasionally Scuttle would come out and pounce on one in a form of play. 

Sunstreaker settled into his frame, and the changes, with an acceptance he hadn’t felt before. Cybertron. The war. Sideswipe. Ironhide. It was part of a life that wasn’t his anymore. Something he’d left behind, as if he was leaving ‘Sunstreaker’ behind as well. Or at least, the old version of himself. 

He committed to being Queen. 

His newfound devotion must have impressed Hardshell. Or relieved him. Their little discussion had cleared the air, and while Hardshell still acted subservient on occasion, it was only where there were witnesses. As if he had to keep up the facade around the lower-ranked Insecticons, while in private, he would purr Sunstreaker’s designation, and allow himself to be more aggressive. 

Becoming Queen, however, wasn’t all interfacing and recharging and getting spoiled. There was a lot of work involved, or so Hardshell reminded him one morning, after Sunstreaker had woken oddly invigorated and without the ever-present need boiling in his abdomen. 

“Reproducing,” Sunstreaker guessed. 

“Yes. That is one of your main responsibilities, but it’s not the only one,” Hardshell said. “You must also see to the needs of the Hive. You must guide us.” He paused and admitted, “You might also speak with Kickback.” 

“He’s on my list,” Sunstreaker said, and begrudgingly rolled himself out of the languid comfort of the berth, Bob dancing around his heels, and Scuttle dropping down from the ceiling to land on his shoulder. 

Scuttle hadn’t gone back to work, despite Hardshell’s disapproving looks. Sunstreaker liked the builder’s company, and while he knew he could order Scuttle back to his duties, he preferred Scuttle right where he was. 

The Queen wanted company. 

“How about today?” Sunstreaker asked. “Show me where he works and the breeding grounds. Tell me how I’m supposed to, you know…” He gestured to his stomach, and this was the part that still unsettled him. 

Pregnancy was not a thing for Cybertroninans. Carrying young within their frames was not done. They had the Well. They had the Allspark. They had the fields. They had the Matrix. They were not like organics. 

Trust the Insecticons to buck that basic fact. 

“Breed?” Hardshell prompted with a little laugh. It amused him, Sunstreaker’s hang-ups, and Sunstreaker allowed it, because the more comfortable Hardshell was around him, the more likely he was to respect Sunstreaker, and the less likely Sunstreaker was to have an unfortunate accident. 

“Kickback will probably explain it better, but I can start with the basics. Come.” 

He’d learn his way around the Hive eventually, but for now, Sunstreaker still needed Hardshell to guide him. There were so many twisting and turning tunnels, and it was hard to stay oriented underground. 

“Once you are fully integrated, your frame will start to produce the seedlings, but you’ll need a stud to fertilize them,” Hardshell explained as they walked, Sunstreaker more easily keeping pace, especially now that he was closer in size to the Insecticon. “Only a Queen can produce seedlings.” 

Sunstreaker nodded. That much he could follow. “But there are a bunch of different kinds of Insecticons.” He blanched, thinking of tiny Scuttle. “Do I have to frag all of them?” 

Hardshell laughed, and luckily, didn’t sound offended. “No, my queen. There are different subclasses of studs, each uniquely suited to the breeding of a specific class.” He gestured to Scuttle. “Those like the builders, the feeders, and the searchers. They can reproduce on their own.”

So the Hive wouldn’t die without a Queen, it would simply be reduced to drones. Perhaps that’s the mistake Shockwave had made with the Swarm. He hadn’t been able to get his hands on a Queen, and had only used the coding of the drone Insecticons. 

“That leaves… what? Five subclasses?” Sunstreaker squinted, trying to count, but honestly, he still wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of the Hive. He had a lot to learn. 

“Seven.” 

“Primus.” Sunstreaker shivered. 

Hardshell crooked him a smile. “You will only reproduce as needed, my queen. Some classes require more than the others.” 

Still. 

That was a lot of fragging. 

“Okay,” Sunstreaker said. “So the studs fertilize my seedlings. Then what? I just lay around and my belly swells and then I… err… give birth?” 

Hardshell laughed again. “You will not be birthing live young, or fully formed bitlets.” He grabbed Sunstreaker’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Sunstreaker’s were longer now, more elegant, with an extra knuckle, and capped with a burgeoning talon. “You will birth eggs which will be kept in the hatchery to be looked after by the nurses. They will reside in nests of energon where they will grow until they are ready to hatch on their own.” 

Primus, that was complicated. 

Sunstreaker frowned as he reviewed the process. His own body would produce these seedlings, pods probably. Studs would fertilize them. Sunstreaker would carry the seedlings for a bit, then birth them into a hatchery? 

“No wonder you need a queen. This sounds complicated,” Sunstreaker said with a sigh. Though he was glad to hear his future didn’t entail a lifetime of lying in a bed, giving birth to batches and batches of eggs upon end. 

It seemed like reproduction would be only part of his function. What a relief. 

“Kickback can explain it better,” Hardshell admitted, and there was a warmth to his tone, a carefully hidden affection, as though he’d been taught to conceal that part of himself. 

“If he’ll talk to me,” Sunstreaker murmured. 

“He will. You are Queen.” 

Sunstreaker wasn’t so sure. 

~

The breeding grounds were apparently where Kickback could be found. The cavern for medical care was nearby, and it wasn’t far from the oilsprings. Sunstreaker remembered passing through them before, when the little pools had been empty, and the webbing had looked dry and dead. 

Things were different now. 

Builders -- Sunstreaker was getting better at telling the difference between the classes -- scurried all around the ceiling and the walls and the floors and the pools. They shored up cracks and cleaned. The whole breeding cavern had a warm, spicy scent to it. Organic, but metallic, too. Sunstreaker couldn’t name it. 

Some of the pools had been filled with energon, though it was unlike any Sunstreaker had ever seen. It was thicker, more viscous, like a syrup. He paused by one, dipping his finger into it, and his sensors tingled. It was warm, like ambient frame temperature warm, and when he tasted it, something sweet exploded across his glossa. 

“The feeders produce nutrients to enrich the fluid. That is what you taste.” 

Sunstreaker looked up from his crouch. He hadn’t heard Kickback approach, and he’d gotten so used to the ambient noise of Insecticons around him, he hadn’t detected Kickback either. He should have. Paying attention, he could hear the slightly discordant presence of one of his Hivemembers, not at all pleased to see his queen. 

“Kind of jealous of the bitlets,” Sunstreaker said as he pushed to his feet, pleased to find he was nearly on par with Kickback now. Of the cadre, Hardshell was the largest, and Sharpshot the smallest. “It’s pretty tasty.” 

Kickback’s winglets twitched. “You look more like a queen. I approve,” he said. 

“Kickback,” Hardshell’s voice had warning in it. 

Sunstreaker shot him a look, shook his head, before he returned his attention to Kickback. “Do you actually? Haven't you had your fill of queens?” 

Kickback’s visor flared before he could tamp it down. He took a step back, folding his arms at the base of his back. “My coding demands I serve a queen.” 

“Not what I asked, but an answer in itself.” Sunstreaker looked around the cavern, idly stroking Scuttle while Bob chirruped and went bounding after a cluster of nurse drones, who squawked and scattered. “I don’t really know how it works, but I still think the pools look good. The eggs will be comfortable here.” 

Kickback shifted. “They are a pittance compared to the glory they used to be, but they will suffice.” He paused, and there was a flicker across his face, something in the way the light of his visor shifted, as he looked Sunstreaker up and down. “You’ll enter the final stage soon. When shall I expect a summons?” 

Sunstreaker cycled his optics. “Summons?” 

Hardshell folded his arms. “It’s traditional that the cadre accompany the queen on her final ascension to the throne.” 

“Why?” 

“To cement the bonds with the cadre,” Kickback said, but if his distaste grew anymore, it would poison Sunstreaker’s own spark. 

Ugh. How could the previous queen stand it? How could they take Kickback to berth while feeling this noxious emotion? 

Sunstreaker swept his hand over his head and petted Scuttle again, a nervous habit he was developing. “Do you want an invitation to my berth?” 

“It is tradition,” Kickback said, and that nauseating burst of do-not-want nearly made Sunstreaker retch. His tanks churned, and he had to pause, cycle several ventilations, for the wave of disgust to pass. 

He shook his head. “That’s not what I asked. I want to know if you, Kickback, have any interest in coming to berth with me and fragging me. Or letting me frag you.” 

Kickback hesitated. He glanced at Hardshell, who must have given some kind of nod of approval before he looked back at Sunstreaker. He bowed his head, shoulders slumping, and misery poured off him in waves. “No, my queen.” 

Oh, thank Primus. 

“Then no, I don’t want you in my berth,” Sunstreaker said, and Kickback jerked as if struck, head lifting, visor flaring. “I only want mechs who want to be there. If you ever change your mind, the invitation is open, but I’m never going to order you there. Understand?” 

“He’s serious, Kickback,” Hardshell said, and his voice had a queer note to it, like amusement fought with relief fought with pity for his fellow cadre-mate. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. You can say ‘no’.” 

Kickback’s wings flicked harder. “And I’ll lose my position, no doubt. Be cast into the wilds while you seek a replacement, someone more amenable.” He sneered and squared his shoulders. “I will not surrender this. I will do what I must to ensure I keep it.” 

“I want you exactly where you are,” Sunstreaker said, and made a broad gesture to the cavern at large. “Hardshell wants you here, and I’m not stupid. I’m going to be queen of a hive, and I want what’s best for my hive. I don’t need to force anyone into my berth. And I wish I could rip out the spark of the last queen who did that to you.” 

Hardshell made a noise behind him, but Sunstreaker ignored it. 

Kickback stared at him, and Sunstreaker knew it was going to take more than a single conversation to earn Kickback’s trust, but this was a start. It was better than nothing. 

“If you summon me, I will come,” Kickback said, slowly, carefully, his wings fluttering into a low, droning hum behind me. “But if you wait… I may come to you yet.” 

Sunstreaker nodded. Coding was such a terrible thing sometimes. Kickback couldn’t bring himself to definitively refuse Sunstreaker, but if Sunstreaker never forced him to make the choice, he wouldn’t have to. 

“You may never invite yourself to my berth, and I would accept that, too,” Sunstreaker said. He took a step back, into Hardshell’s reach, leaning more on the warmth and undercurrents of desire he could sense in Hardshell, and away from the pain and disgust still leaking out of Kickback. 

“Very well.” Kickback cycled an audible ventilation. “Is there anything I can do for you at the moment, my queen?” 

Sunstreaker shook his head. “No, I’m just taking a tour, trying to familiarize myself with this place and the, uh, reproductive process. I’ll send Hardshell if I have any questions.” 

Hardshell was not meant to be used in such a manner, but for Kickback, Sunstreaker felt it necessary. Any other summons might be misconstrued, whereas Hardshell in his position of authority could explain properly without Kickback thinking Sunstreaker had something nefarious in mind. 

“Very well.” Kickback bowed, more deeply than before, something more genuine in the dip of his head, the flicker of his wings. “You know where I can be found. Good day, my queen.” 

“Thank you, Kickback.” 

Sunstreaker turned to leave so Kickback wouldn’t feel obligated, falling into step beside Hardshell. He waited to speak until they were out of the birthing grounds. He wasn’t sure where Hardshell led him, save that it wasn’t back to his personal quarters. 

The tunnels led away from the breeding grounds, at a slight incline, but not enough to suggest they were going to the surface. The air was less moist here, and there were fewer builders scurrying around the ceilings. These corridors felt older, like perhaps they were part of the original Hive, before they’d had to move. 

“I think I’m making progress with Kickback,” Sunstreaker said, to fill the quiet. 

“Time will tell,” Hardshell replied. “I have been speaking with him, and I know Sharpshot has as well. We both speak in your favor.” 

Sharpshot. 

Sunstreaker hadn’t spent much time with the third member of the cadre. He would need to rectify that. Especially if tradition dictated his cadre join him for the final transformation. An invitation would need to be extended, whether or not Sharpshot accepted it, though he’d been more accepting of Sunstreaker’s ascension from the beginning. He put a lot of faith in Bob. 

Then again, if the searchers fell under his purview, no wonder Sharpshot trusted in Bob’s abilities and insight. 

Though, if Hardshell were to be believed, their searchers had failed twice before. Perhaps Sharpshot felt the sting of that failure. 

“I should talk to Sharpshot,” Sunstreaker said. “I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him or neglecting him.” 

Hardshell rested a hand at the base of Sunstreaker’s spine, the warmth of his touch flowing through Sunstreaker. “He knows your spark. And he knows you are in the midst of the most important part of your assimilation.”

“That’s reassuring.” Sunstreaker reached up to pet Scuttle, who chittered and rubbed against his intake, radiating happiness. “Where are we going now?” 

“I thought I might take you to the soldier barracks, that you might see the army at your disposal, before the next heat strikes.” 

“You’re going to show me around the entire Hive at some point, aren’t you?” 

Hardshell laughed and rubbed the base of his back, his fingers leaving trails of static in their wake. It felt a lot like a lover might, and Sunstreaker had to admit, it was intoxicating. 

“Yes, my queen. Eventually, you will know your Hive even better than I do.” 

“I doubt that, but I appreciate your faith in me.” 

~

Sharpshot came to him first. 

Sunstreaker was delighted about that, or at least he would have been, if Sharpshot hadn’t come to call when Hardshell was knot-deep in Sunstreaker, post-overload, while they waited for his knot to depressurize. Usually, Sunstreaker would be in recharge, but every change brought increased stamina, and now, he was online, sprawled on Hardshell’s chassis, listening to Hardshell’s engine purr. 

His valve twitch-twitched with lingering pleasure, and if Hardshell kept petting him the way he was, Sunstreaker suspected he’d get another overload out of it. It was addicting, the kind of ecstasy Hardshell brought him. He couldn’t get enough. 

His door swung open. 

Sunstreaker went from relaxed repose, to alert in an instant. He sat up, shifting Hardshell within him, the knot rubbing against a node cluster and making him shudder, even as he groped for a blaster that was no longer in his thigh compartment. 

Hardshell growled and went tense, but it lasted only a moment before his hand curved around Sunstreaker’s nearest thigh with a gentle squeeze. 

“Peace, my queen. It is Sharpshot,” Hardshell said, but there was annoyance in his tone as much as relief. 

Sure enough, when Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder, Sharpshot stood just within the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, his high-arched antennae spitting a few lone sparks. 

“I apologize for interrupting. Interrupt I shouldn’t have,” Sharpshot said with a deep, deep bow. His armor clamped tight, as though he expected to be punished. 

Of all the things Sunstreaker felt in the moment, shame was the least of it. Hardshell remained knotted within him, and pleasure was a low-buzz in his sensornet, but oddly, Sharpshot’s arrival didn’t feel like an intrusion. Perhaps his coding already recognized Sharpshot as one of his cadre, someone who belonged around Sunstreaker in such a weakened state. 

“You’re always welcome in my quarters, Sharpshot,” Sunstreaker said, cutting off what was likely to be a chastisement on Hardshell’s part. “Is this an emergency?” 

“No.” Sharpshot’s gaze flicked around, from Hardshell to Suntreaker to the berth and back again, his armor fluttering around his substructure. “We should talk. Talk about my place. My place with my queen.”

Hardshell cupped Sunstreaker’s aft, shifting beneath him, and Sunstreaker shivered as the knot softened further, enough Hardshell could slip out if he wanted. His thumbs rubbed over Sunstreaker’s pelvic arch, keeping him in place. Feeling possessive perhaps? 

Sunstreaker rested a hand on Hardshell’s abdomen with a little pat. “Come over here, Sharpshot. I don’t want to have to talk to you over my shoulder.” 

“Yes, my queen, my queen.” Sharpshot dipped his head in a bow and approached, pausing beside the berth where he could see both Hardshell and Sunstreaker -- and what they were currently in the middle of. 

Sunstreaker could move if he wanted. 

He opted to stay where he was, the scent of interfacing thick in the air, the heat of their exertions surrounding them. 

“The final stage will be soon. Soon you will be our queen,” Sharpshot said as he assessed Sunstreaker’s frame in a quick glance. 

Sunstreaker skated both of his palms over Hardshell’s abdomen, while he shifted his attention to Sharpshot. “I already know Kickback won’t be here for the last upload. Dare I ask or will you feel compelled to whether you want to or not?” 

Sharpshot’s mouth opened. Closed. He visibly hesitated, glancing at Hardshell, and Sunstreaker frowned. 

“Don’t look to him for an answer, look to me,” Sunstreaker snapped, and then cycled his optics because. 

Whoa. 

Where had that come from?

Sharpshot snapped to attention, his antennae giving another array of sparks. “I am obedient, obediently loyal, loyal to my queen,” he said, and Sunstreaker inwardly cursed at himself. 

Frag, frag, frag. He needed to get these queenly instincts under control before they controlled him. He didn’t want to be another tyrant. 

Damn it. 

Sunstreaker cycled a ventilation and patted Hardshell’s belly, gaining his attention. “Help me up. As fun as this is, I can’t have this conversation with your spike in me.” 

“Too much temptation, my queen?” Hardshell said, and maybe it was meant to be a tease, or maybe he was trying to remind Sharpshot where they stood in the hierarchy. 

Maybe Sunstreaker didn’t care either way. 

He tossed Hardshell a wry grin. “You could put it that way.” 

Hardshell laughed and lifted Sunstreaker with ease, setting him comfortably on the berth. He leaned in for a kiss, nuzzling their faces. “I’ll fetch a cloth to clean you. I shall return.” 

“Do.” 

Hardshell stole another kiss before he walked away, briefly squeezing Sharpshot’s shoulder as they passed. Something wordless passed between them, but whatever it was, seemed to take the stiffness out of Sharpshot’s posture, and the worry from his optics. 

Sunstreaker sat on the edge of the berth, valve still bared and swollen from the most recent upload, and didn’t feel an ounce of shame. 

“I know your coding forces a certain obedience,” Sunstreaker said to gain Sharpshot’s attention. “I know your previous queen had expectations. I’m not like them. I won’t be like them. And I don’t want anyone in my berth who doesn’t want to be there.” 

Sharpshot nodded, his antennae exchanging sparks. “I live to serve, serve my queen,” he said, but there was uncertainty in his tone, as if he wasn’t sure what Sunstreaker wanted to hear. 

Damn, but it was going to be aggravating to make them understand this. 

“I will never tell you to come to my berth,” Sunstreaker said, and tried to think about how else to phrase this. Prowl would have been good at it. He’d always been better with words. “I’ll never ask you either. But you’re welcome to it whenever you want.”

Sharpshot lowered himself to one knee, pressing a hand to his chassis, over where Sunstreaker imagined was the core of him. His spark. Did Insecticons have sparks? There were partially organic, partially mechanical. He’d never thought to ask what powered them. 

A question for another day. 

“I would be honored. Honored to serve. Serve my queen,” Sharpshot said, and he rested a hand on Sunstreaker’s thigh, warm and gentle. “Serve by choice. Choice to love. Love to embrace. Embrace my queen.” 

Sunstreaker covered Sharpshot’s hand with his and cupped Sharpshot’s face, drawing him close enough to feel Sharpshot’s ex-vents tickle him. “You approve of me?” 

“Yes.” A single word, without the odd echo Sharpshot usually used. 

Sunstreaker kissed him, and the vibrations of Sharpshot’s hum against his lips sent a thrill of pleasure across his sensornet. Sharpshot tasted of energon, as though he’d recently refueled, and his denta were blunter than Hardshell’s, though far more dangerous than the average Cybertronian. 

He kissed like he wanted to savor, more servile than Hardshell’s aggressive, claiming, biting kisses. Sunstreaker approved. He moaned into the kiss, deepening it, letting their glossa tangle. He dragged his fingers over Sharpshot’s antennae, felt their charge kiss his fingertips, and Sharpshot shudder beneath him. 

Yes, there was desire here. Genuine desire. 

Sunstreaker nipped Sharpshot’s bottom lip as he drew back from the kiss, his valve twitching in an attempt to reignite. “Your interest is real, I see.” 

“I am delighted to share, share in pleasure,” Sharpshot murmured and his optics were bright crimson, his armor fluffing around his substructure. "Pleasure my queen."

Sunstreaker grinned and slipped a leg between Sharpshot's thighs, nudging his foot at the apex of them, right over his interface array. "And get pleasure for yourself right? Are you a valve or a spike mech?" 

Sharpshot loosed a staticky groan. "Either. Both. Valve." 

Sunstreaker hummed and fondled Sharpshot's antennae again, his mouth laving a hot, wet line around the sharp cut of Sharpshot's jaw. "I look forward to it then. I'm eager to try out my new spike, and if you're willing, I'd love to watch you squirm on it." 

A strangled sound of pure want freed itself from Sharpshot's intake. His hands tightened on Sunstreaker's knees, and the smell of charged ions filled the room as arcs of static danced between his antennae. 

"May I taste, taste my queen?" Sharpshot asked and his hands curled around Sunstreaker's knees, nudging them apart, fitting himself between them, his intent evident. 

Sunstreaker groaned, his valve throbbing with anticipation. "Go right ahead." 

Sharpshot rumbled, that's the only way to describe the sound. He tugged Sunstreaker closer to him with a show of strength, before his mouth fell over Sunstreaker's valve, glossa immediately sweeping over his rim, lapping up the mix of transfluid and lubricant sticky on his valve. 

Primus. 

Sunstreaker's back arched. He braced himself on the berth, thighs trembling, as Sharpshot pushed his legs wider, and pushed his glossa deeper, lapping into Sunstreaker's valve. He suckled on Sunstreaker's anterior node, each suck pulling a sharp throb of pleasure, until Sunstreaker's arms wobbled and down he went. 

Sharpshot licked into him with a single-minded intensity, and Sunstreaker's awareness went white-hot. He writhed on the berth, engine revving, gasping for a vent, fisting the berth covers and rending them with his new talons, still unused to their sharpness. 

Sharpshot sucked and sucked and sucked until Sunstreaker's backstrut arched and he overloaded with a keen, knees pushing against Sharpshot's grip, his valve pulsing new dribbles of lubricant, which Sharpshot eagerly lapped away. Sunstreaker collapsed into the berth, fans spinning wildly, satisfaction pulsing through his frame. 

He pawed at Sharpshot, tried to pull him in for a kiss and succeeded, tasting himself on Sharpshot's lips. 

"You now," he said, groping for Sharpshot's panel, which felt scorching hot to his fingertips. "How can your queen serve you, Sharpshot? What do you want from me?" 

Sharpshot leaned over him, bucking into Sunstreaker's palm, one knee on the bed. "Anything," he said. "Anything." 

"Then open," Sunstreaker demanded, and Sharpshot's panels immediately sprung aside, valve dripping, spike seeping pre-fluid, pressurizing hot and full into Sunstreaker's fingers. 

Sharpshot's other knee landed on the berth, until he straddled Sunstreaker's thighs, his spike pushing into the tunnel of Sunstreaker's fist. He planted his hands to either side of Sunstreaker's shoulders, freeing Sunstreaker's other hand to slip between Sharpshot's thighs, seeking the hot slick of his valve. 

"You're ready for me," Sunstreaker purred as he traced the rim of Sharpshot's valve -- oval rather than circular, he noticed, with a carpet of nubs along the lining. His lubricant was hotter, stickier, and his anterior nub was a large button to Sunstreaker's thumb. "Take your pleasure, Sharpshot. Let your queen show you how he serves." 

Sharpshot keened and rutted against his hands, rocking into the tunnel of Sunstreaker's fists, grinding down on one, then two, then three fingers he fit up inside the Insecticon, curving them to seek out sensory nodes, while his thumb relentlessly circled Sharpshot's nub. 

"Overload for me, Sharpshot," Sunstreaker urged as he stroked Sharpshot's spike, squeezing and pulling on the thick unit, which was slimmer than Hardshell's, but far more nubbed and tapered. "Spill all over me." 

Sharpshot made a sound that wasn't Cybertronian, it wasn't speech. It was pure Insecticon. An ululating chitter and rasp that spilled out of his intake and filled the air. He rutted hard against Sunstreaker's hands, hips moving in sharp, desperate intervals, until charge erupted from his antennae, and he overloaded, spike spurting over Sunstreaker's fist, valve soaking Sunstreaker's fingers. 

Sunstreaker worked him gently, stroking him through the overload, extending the pleasure as long as he could. "Perfect," he murmured. "Thank you." 

A raspy chuckle rose from Sharpshot. "I should thank, thank my queen," he said, and shifted to the side, with a tired slump onto the open space of the berth. Little nips of charge danced between his antennae. "Truly you know, know how to serve."

"Glad my berth skills are acceptable." Sunstreaker laughed. 

"I see I missed the introduction." Hardshell's voice spilled into the room, but it was warm, affectionate, and a touch disappointed. 

Bah. He would be able to see it first hand soon enough, if Sharpshot returned for the final stage at any least. 

Sharpshot, however, went a little still. Sunstreaker noticed his apprehension, both in the clamp of his armor, and the way his awareness of Sharpshot went worried and tense. 

Sunstreaker grasped the nearest bit of Sharpshot he could reach -- his shoulder -- and squeezed. "You took too long in getting a cloth. It's not my fault you missed the show." He rolled over, though it took some effort, and snuggled into Sharpshot's frame. "Clean me later. The upload is kicking in." 

He slid his arm around Sharpshot's waist, his fingers splaying over Sharpshot's abdomen, and hooked his chin over Sharpshot's shoulder, staring at Hardshell over the rise of Sharpshot's frame. He still wasn't sure how the hierarchy worked here, and he wouldn't call it fear that Sharpshot had of Hardshell. It was something else. 

"It seems you have all the company you need, my queen," Hardshell said, and yeah, that was definitely jealousy in his tone, enough to make Sharpshot's anxiety linger, rather than be soothed by Sunstreaker's presence. 

Sunstreaker offlined his optics. "And if I'm not mistaken, this berth has always been big enough for myself and my cadre. You're welcome to join us."

"Traditionally, you are mine alone until you are finally made," Hardshell said, a grumble if Sunstreaker had words for it, but he slipped onto the berth behind Sunstreaker, possessive in the way he curled against Sunstreaker's back. 

Ah, that explained both the jealousy and Sharpshot's agitation. 

"Some traditions are meant to be broken," Sunstreaker murmured as he grabbed Hardshell's hand where it was slung over him, and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the talontips. 

"You have quite the hunger, my queen," Hardshell purred into his audial, and the vibrations of it buzzed down Sunstreaker's spinal strut. "That's good. You will breed well." 

"Our queen is strong. Strong and fair," Sharpshot said, and at last he relaxed in Sunstreaker's arms, Sunstreaker's sense of him shifting to relief and satisfaction. "Serve us well." 

"Yes, he will." Hardshell nuzzled the back of Sunstreaker's head. "Rest, my queen. We will guard your sleep." 

Sunstreaker relaxed between them, safe in their arms. 

He slept. 

***