[G1] Idle Hands
May. 26th, 2022 07:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Idle Hands
Universe: Transformers G1
Characters: Prowl, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, Jazz/Megatron, Implied Jazz/Optimus Prime
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Dom/Sub themes, Facesitting, Sex Toys
Description: In a mostly post-war world, Jazz is bored, and a bored Jazz is not safe for anyone – least of all Megatron, who didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy getting bossed around by the Spec Ops mech.
Commissioned by Jee and written for the MegOp server.
“I’m bored,” Jazz complained as he let himself into Prowl’s locked office and threw his frame onto the only piece of furniture not covered in datapads and actual, paper documents.
“Hi, bored. I’m Prowl,” Prowl replied without missing a beat or looking up from the datapad that occupied both his attention and his frown. It was his thinking frown, however, so Jazz wasn’t too concerned.
Yet.
Jazz groaned and tipped his head back against the high-backed chair. “You’re spending too much time with Sparkplug.”
“He is a comforting spot of urbanity in a chaotic storm of treaty negotiations,” Prowl said with a twitch of his sensory panels. He looked tired. He felt tired.
Who knew that trying to negotiate some kind of cease-fire and peace treaty with the Decepticons would actually be more exhausting than the war itself? But needs must. Needs like a lack of resources, dwindling motivations, and the realization that if they didn’t pull their heads out of their afts, Cybertron’s already ruined landscape would become an uninhabitable wasteland that could never be restored.
“Give me something to do,” Jazz demanded, and it wasn’t a whine. “I’m going out of my mind with boredom here. I’m getting itchy fingers, if you know what I mean.”
Prowl’s panels twitched again, and he moved from one datapad to another without missing a beat. “You’re not allowed to kill any Decepticons. We are in a cease-fire.”
“Mildly maim?”
“No.”
Jazz sighed. “I’m bored.” He kicked toward the desk and glared mulishly at Prowl. “And I swear to Primus if you hit me with another dad joke, I’m going to take out my twitchy fingers on you.”
The corner of Prowl’s mouth curved toward the slightest smirk as his shoulders relaxed by a smidgen. “There is plenty of work to be found. Why don’t you see if Ratchet has something for you to do?”
Oh, frack no. Jazz might be bored, but he wasn’t desperate. Ratchet had a list the size of Metrotitan of things he wanted done, and Jazz wanted to be nowhere near that list. Ratchet was a gleeful maniac right now, so delighted by the cease-fire, that he was hunting down unsuspecting Autobots and trapping them in the medbay for a long-awaited full maintenance.
Jazz hadn’t been able to rescue Bluestreak in time, and now his favorite berth-buddy was in Ratchet’s clutches for at least a week. He had to have a flush.
Poor mech.
“No, thanks. I’ll never escape,” Jazz said with a theatrical shudder.
Prowl snorted and finally looked up from his work. "Perhaps Optimus has a task for you. Unless you want to help me with this." He gestured to the mountains of datapads that surrounded him like a paperwork cage.
"That's a very slow death. I'm good." Jazz launched himself out of the chair and headed for the door, waving farewell over his shoulder. "Call me if you find a use for my twitchy fingers."
"Unlikely," came Prowl's response, floating out after him.
Jazz moved on, keeping a wide berth from Ratchet's territory, and ignoring Red Alert in the surveillance room -- another mech who was having a hard time with the ceasefire. Negotiations were currently at a pause while both sides licked their wounds and reconsidered their terms. The battles were being fought with words and legalities and litigation, not blasters and bombs and vibro knives.
These were battles in which Jazz had no use. He was not designed to be clever in documentation. He was built to find weaknesses, the best places to strike. He had nothing to do, here in this cease-fire, and the boredom was breeding restlessness.
Unlike Prowl's, the door to Optimus' office was not locked. Optimus had more of an open-door policy than Prowl, mostly because one would have to get through Ironhide first. Optimus' weapons specialist and ostensibly his bodyguard, currently lounged in a chair outside of Optimus' door, cleaning a massive blaster that would give Megatron's fusion cannon a run for its creds.
"What'cha bothering with that for?" Jazz asked as he lounged against Ironhide's side, folding his arms over the massive soldier's shoulder. "Dont'cha know the war is over?"
"Paused," Ironhide grunted as he raised a part to his optic and examined it intently. "Could start back any moment. Decepticons, ya know?"
Jazz hummed. "It's in the name." He playfully flicked Ironhide's audial. "I'm bored."
"Get off with that nonsense." Ironhide lifted an elbow, jostling Jazz from his perch. "You ain't gonna find entertainment with me. Go play with Blaster."
"He's busy." Jazz chuffed but gave Ironhide his space. Sometimes, 'Hide was fun to bother, and sometimes he was in a mood. Seemed like today was a mood, probably because Optimus was stressed, and when Optimus was stressed, Ironhide shared it. "What about Optimus?"
Ironhide gave him the side-eye before he went back to polishing his gun, sadly without any euphemism involved. "Busy," he grunted. "But I know better than to stop ya." He waved toward the door. "Good luck."
"Thanks, 'Hide." Jazz snuck under Ironhide's guard to pop a kiss to the soldier's cheek, and Ironhide smacked his aft as he went by.
Fair enough.
Jazz pushed into Optimus' office and found Optimus in much the same position as Prowl -- buried behind stacks of datapads, but with the addition of several monitors set up on a nearby wall, each showing something different –most of them news stations. Optimus, at least, had the decency to look up from his work and acknowledge Jazz’s arrival.
Then again, Jazz didn’t give him much choice about it.
“I’m bored,” he complained as he threw himself into Optimus’ lap in a dramatic, but languorous sprawl that put him between Optimus and his paperwork.
Optimus chuckled and dropped his stylus, his hand resting on Jazz’s hip instead. “And you assumed I would solve that problem for you?”
Jazz leaned back, elbows on the edge of the desk. “Give me something to do since apparently I’m not allowed to kill any Decepticons.” He curled his fingers into air quotes. “Or maim them.”
“Or sneak into their berths and frighten them for your own entertainment,” Optimus added with an arched orbital ridge.
“I did that once.” Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. “Besides, I doubt Soundwave complained. It’s part of that game we play.” He flicked his fingers.
“Just Soundwave?” Optimus asked with a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, and was only asking to make a point.
Jazz lifted his chin. “No one else could’ve caught me.”
Optimus hummed and reached around him for the datapad, lifting it into view. “I am currently reviewing proposal seven for the treaty–”
“Nope. Something that suits my skills,” Jazz cut in before Optimus could finish suggesting he proofread or such slag. Jazz was a mech of action, not grammar.
“--and Megatron is being particularly stubborn about it,” Optimus continued as if Jazz had not spoken at all. “Perhaps you might find it in you to provide him with a distraction.”
Jazz squinted at Optimus. “What exactly are you suggestin' I do about that, boss bot?”
“I am sure you can come up with a method that would cause him no harm, but encourage him to be more malleable to our requests,” Optimus said with another hum as if he hadn’t delicately hinted that Jazz go pay Megatron a visit.
“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Jazz declared as he sat up and stole a kiss before he hopped out of Optimus’ lap, though he didn’t go far. “What’re my limits?”
Optimus’ attention went back to his work, or so it seemed, save that his field lingered against Jazz’s with a warm buzz. “You cannot hurt him. You cannot do anything that would risk the cease-fire.”
Jazz gasped and leaned against Optimus’ side, nosing into Optimus’ intake. “I would never do such a thing.” One palm slid over Optimus’ abdomen, toying with the slats of his grill-kibble. “I know how to be creative.”
There was a flash of resigned disappointment before Optimus grasped his wandering hand by the wrist and lifted it away. “I am well aware. Perhaps later you can show me.”
“It’s a date,” Jazz purred as he flicked Optimus’ audial and spun away before Optimus could retaliate.
At last. A mission. Something to do.
“Behave!” Optimus called after him, but Jazz didn’t bother with a reply.
Behave? Jazz snorted. He was pretty sure Optimus intended for him to be very, very naughty. In a completely legal, cease-fire sort of way.
Jazz hummed and strutted out of Optimus’ office, giving Ironhide a distracted wave as he passed. Ideas were already brewing. Last time he’d taken a stroll around the Nemesis, the Decepticon leadership team – though leadership was a strong word – had been ensconced in their private quarters, licking their proverbial wounds.
Soundwave was the closest one to actually doing his job, while Starscream bitched at an indifferent Thundercracker about how Megatron never listened to him. Shockwave had been in his lab, doing frightening Shockwave things, and Megatron had been frowning so severely over Version 2.6 of the treaty Jazz worried it was because Megatron legitimately couldn’t read standard Cybertronian.
Hmm.
Jazz might need a few supplies. He swung by his quarters first, dug out his tool box, and rifled through the fun side. There were a couple toys in here that would be perfect for Megatron if he could manip– convince the Decepticon leader into using them.
After that, it was only a short drive, a strut, and a stroll to where the Nemesis had been docked. As a gesture of good faith, the Autobots had assisted the Decepticons with hauling their ship-slash-home from the depths of the Pacific, and making it buoyant enough to be docked above the surface. With easier access to solar power for energon, the Decepticons were much more inclined to discuss the terms of a treaty.
Of course, easier access to the Decepticons meant easier access for Jazz, too. Oh, it had been fun to swim down to the Nemesis anytime he wanted to have a look-see, but now, Jazz could just take a casual stroll past the cameras and invite himself wherever he pleased without the nasty side effect of getting seawater in his vents.
The usual buzz of Decepticon activity was muted here toward sunset. Most mechs were in their rooms or hanging out in common areas, grumbling to each other about the lack of fighting and/or entertainment. Jazz hummed to himself as he danced from shadow to shadow, keeping to the blind spots in the security array. He'd memorized them by now.
Megatron wasn't in his office, so Jazz took up a perch in the comfy chair, and leaned back to wait, feet propped up on the desk. He amused himself with whatever datapads were within reach, taking a peek at the revisions the Decepticons planned to submit, and what other reports waited for Megatron’s attention.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The door slid open, and Megatron strolled inside, clutching a cube of energon in one hand and a datapad in the other. He spotted Jazz immediately and stopped mid-stride with a scowl. The datapad vanished in a flash, no doubt stowed in subspace as if Jazz couldn’t access it if he wanted to. Pfft.
“Out,” Megatron snapped.
“I ain’t here to cause problems,” Jazz lied. “I have a proposition for ya.”
“This is a violation of Prime’s precious cease-fire!” Megatron snarled, his optics getting all coal-fire dark, and his field prickly with both agitation and glee. At last, a return to war, he must be thinking. “If you don’t–”
Jazz held up his hands and wriggled his fingers. “Look, Megs. No knives. I come in peace.” He dropped his feet from the desk and stood, planting his hands on the desk. “Like I said. Proposition. You. Me. A berth. What do ya say?”
“I don’t have a death wish,” Megatron said with a snort. He looked all around his office as if expecting to encounter a trap. “Did Prime send you here?”
“Nope!” Jazz lied cheerfully. “Also, I don’t typically kill the mechs I proposition. I’d rather have fun.” He flicked his glossa over his lips. “Ain’t you a little bit curious? Or are ya too scared?”
Megatron went still. Hook, line, and–
“I’m not afraid of you,” he snarled.
–sinker.
Jazz vaulted over the desk and sauntered toward Megatron, putting a little sway in his hips that Megatron watched with evident wariness. “Prove it,” he purred, and stepped close enough to share venting space, looking up at Megatron with a tilt of his head. “I’ll even let you brag about it later.”
“Idiot. Why would I brag about that?” Megatron demanded, but it was with less force than his first attempt to make Jazz leave. “What do you want?”
Jazz put his palm on Megatron’s chassis, and while Megatron tensed beneath him, he didn’t immediately swat Jazz aside. Progress! “Thought that was pretty clear. Been a long war, Megs. Wouldn’t it be nice to do somethin’ a lot more fun than tryin’ to kill each other?”
Megatron snorted. "That depends on what it'll cost me. I'm well aware of your reputation."
"You wound me, Megs. Truly." Jazz feigned offense and walked his fingers up Megatron's chassis, delighted to find the Decepticon warlord's armor crawling with static. He was definitely intrigued. "Think of it as solidifying the treaty, hm? Promoting good relations between Bots and Cons."
A hand wrapped around Jazz's wrist, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make sure Jazz didn't slide a blade into Megatron's spark. Not that he was thinking about it or anything.
"You want me to frag you for the sake of peace?" Megatron asked, sounding more bewildered than angry. He was so easy to set off balance.
"Better than fighting, right?" Jazz asked.
Megatron's vents puffed out in a scoff. "That depends on my opponent."
Ah, and there it was. The perfect moment to slide in under Megatron's guard. This was almost too easy.
"Yeah and if you want Optimus, you'll have to go through me first," Jazz purred as he dragged his field along the edges of Megatron's with warm intent. "That's how we work."
Megatron went still, and then he flushed all over, heat venting loudly from his fans. "That's not-- I didn't-- Who says--" Spluttered embarassment meant Megatron couldn't hold on to his indignation long enough to properly deny it.
"You want time with my mech, you gotta prove you know what you're doing," Jazz challenged as he tucked his hands behind his back and circled Megatron, looking him up and down as if assessing his capabilities.
Megatron's armor ruffled, indignation flickering across the plating. His engine rumbled, field wavering between pride and centuries worth of unrequited lust.
"Then again, if you're not confident in your ability, I guess I came to the wrong place," Jazz said with a casual shrug. He sighed dramatically, scratching the side of his nose. "I'll see if Starscream is more interested."
He turned to leave, and Megatron moved faster than a mech of his bulk should be capable, but then Jazz sparred with Ironhide frequently -- another massive mech who was far more nimble than physics suggested he should be.
Megatron intercepted him. "Starscream?" he repeated with a snarl, optics flaring coal-fire crimson. "That fool peacock wouldn't know what to do with his own spike much less someone else's."
"Are you takin' me up on my offer then?" Jazz asked.
Crimson optics narrowed as if Megatron finally realized he'd fallen into Jazz's trap, though his pride wouldn't let him back out. He squared his jaw. "Not in my office," he said, and palmed the door open behind him. "Let's go."
Jazz grinned. "After you."
Megatron turned to leave, and Jazz couldn’t resist the target presented to him. His palm skidded over Megatron’s aft plate before he could think twice about it, and Megatron startled, whirling around toward Jazz with such a look of audacity on his face, Jazz snapped a pic for posterity’s sake.
“You—”
“—can hit much harder than that if ya want,” Jazz offered with a winking flick of his visor.
Megatron growled and stalked out of his office, but with a sideways shuffle that protected his aft from wayward strikes. Oh, Primus.
This was going to be so much fun.
~
Megatron refused the magna cuffs, the restraints, even the thick cabling that Jazz was sure he could snap if he put his mind to it. Megatron wouldn't accept any form of bondage which, disappointing, but nothing Jazz couldn't handle.
"I am not binding myself around Prime's pet assassin no matter what reassurances he gives me," Megatron growled as he reclined on the berth, Jazz perched atop him, king of a mountain he hadn't yet decided how to dominate.
"Fine," Jazz sighed as he coiled his rope and tucked it back away. "Guess I'll have to trust you to keep your hands to yourself."
Megatron curled his upper lip. "How am I supposed to frag you if I can't touch you?"
Jazz dragged a palm down his own chassis. "Never said you couldn't touch me. I just want you to keep your hands where I can see them." He cupped his interface array, and his valve panel slid aside. Arousal had already swelled his folds, and he brushed his fingers over them. "I'm gonna sit on your face."
He waited, expecting Megatron to protest about indignities and whatnot, but instead Megatron focused on Jazz's fingers and didn’t protest at all. He licked his lips, frame rumbling beneath Jazz, as his field spiked with lust.
"Fine," he gritted out like it was a great concession. "What do I get out of it?"
"A lesson in patience," Jazz said, and slipped his second-favorite toy out of subspace, holding it up for Megatron to admire. "And a challenge if you think you're up for it." He gave the toy a few turns, letting Megatron measure the girth of it with his optics, taking in the well-placed ridges and nubs.
Megatron’s optics narrowed.
“It vibrates,” Jazz said as he thumbed his anterior nub and let a shiver run across his frame. A few drops of his lubricant splattered Megatron’s chassis, and yet, not a single word of protest. Interesting. “In case you were wondering.”
“Very well,” Megatron conceded as if he were doing Jazz a favor. He folded his hands behind his head like a good mech.
So he could be taught after all. Good information to have!
“Do your worst,” Megatron said, his tone bored, but his field telling another story. If it got any more hungry, it would set Jazz on fire.
“This one is nothing but a good time, I promise,” Jazz said as he scooted down and settled himself between Megatron’s thighs. “Open up for me, Megs.”
A crackle of blue static erupted in the gaps of Megatron’s plating, a flicker in his thigh armor preceding the slow spiral of his interface array. His valve came into view, biolights brimming with arousal, and his valve pleats plump and juicy.
Jazz was tempted to give him a taste, but then he’d get distracted, and lose sight of his mission. Maybe next time. For now, he thumbed Megatron’s anterior node, and was rewarded with a trickle of lubricant from Megatron’s valve. Oh, ho. Someone was a lot more aroused than he seemed to be.
“Hurry up,” Megatron snarled, but his hips rolled up against Jazz’s thumb, seeking more pressure, and his thighs scooted further apart.
Jazz clicked his glossa and slid two fingers into Megatron’s valve, giving them a few curious curves as he searched for a cluster of nodes that should be right about – Megatron made a sound Jazz was absolutely going to call a squeak – there.
“I think you’re forgettin’ the part where I said ya had to be patient,” Jazz purred as he stroked that cluster again and again, more slick seeping out over his fingers, Megatron twitching and writhing beneath him.
“Your fingers are not that contraption,” Megatron gritted out.
Jazz swallowed a laugh. “Eager to try it, I see. I can’t blame you. This is one of Wheeljack’s best.” He removed his fingers and replaced them with the toy, which was a bit too much of a stretch for Jazz, but would be perfect for Megatron.
It slid into him with remarkable ease, and Megatron shuddered as Jazz nudged it deeper and deeper, until the head rested against his ceiling node and the wide base sat flat against Megatron’s valve rim. A tap to a button on the base and the toy buzzed as tiny magnetics powered on to make sure it stayed in place.
Megatron groaned, his heels digging into the berth, but his hands stayed firmly folded behind his head like a good mech.
“And that’s just the teaser,” Jazz said as he climbed back up Megatron’s frame, perching on Megatron’s chassis once again. He wiggled the remote pointedly. “Do a good job and you get a reward.”
He flicked the switch, dialing the vibrator up to the lowest setting, a nice thrum that tantalized and made the sensors sing. Megatron’s engine vibrated the berth as he rolled beneath Jazz, probably clenching all sweetly down on those nubs and ridges.
“Got it?” Jazz asked as he flicked the vibrator back off.
Megatron’s optics darkened. “Don’t patronize me,” he growled and licked his lips, his gaze focusing at the apex of Jazz’s thighs. “Get up here.”
Jazz barely concealed his shiver. He had to admit, this was perhaps one of the most dangerous things he’d done, playing this game with Megatron, and now putting his intimate bits in reach of those sharp denta. But Megatron’s threatening aura had shifted to one of lust, and who knew that buried beneath the anger was a mech desperate to submit?
Primus, Jazz was tempted to keep him. It was definitely something to think about. For now, however, he scooted forward until he was in the perfect position to bracket Megatron’s head with his thighs, to feel Megatron’s ex-vents over his valve.
“Come on then,” Megatron growled, the vibrations of his vocals buzzing against Jazz’s anterior node. “Don’t tell me you're shy.”
“Hah. Picture that.” Jazz shimmied closer until he was right where he wanted to be, perched over that dangerous mouth. “Get to work, Megs.”
Megatron’s engine rumbled, oh-but-he-was perfectly obedient. Jazz made a strangled sound as Megatron licked at him, one long and deep swipe of his glossa, like he wanted a good taste before he truly got started.
Oh, frag.
Jazz was in for it now.
“Good start,” he said as he flicked the vibrator on to his lowest setting. “Keep that up and you’ll earn rewards.”
Megatron’s response was to latch onto his anterior node and give it a hearty suck, one that made Jazz’s thighs shake. He gasped and ground down, riding the pressure of Megatron’s lips and glossa, and oooo, there it was. Just a bit of denta, not enough to cause harm, but enough to remind him they were there. A tiny scrape, a hint of danger.
Jazz stopped being so careful. He sunk the rest of the way down, letting his weight rest on Megatron, and an approving rumble rose in Megatron’s intake. He licked and sucked harder, making little happy noises that were unfairly arousing. Such a good mech he was, his arms twitching, but he kept himself from grabbing at Jazz.
Who knew?
“So far so good,” Jazz gasped as he rocked his hips down and shivered when Megatron lapped at him, again and again, flicking over his node with the perfect pressure.
It was deserving of an award so Jazz flicked the vibrator up to the next setting, which made it audible now. Megatron groaned against his valve, frame jerking, and his field lashing out with sizzling need. His engine roared and the vibrations of it rattled up into Jazz’s frame, his valve clenching down on nothing as lubricant seeped out, dripping onto Megatron’s face.
Click.
Jazz straightened and glanced over his shoulder, one orbital ridge arching. Megatron’s spike had popped, fully pressurized and already oozing pre-fluid. The grey and red banded length made Jazz’s valve twitch with appreciation.
“Oh? What’s this?” Jazz asked as he rose up on his knees, lifting his valve away from Megatron’s mouth. “Someone’s feeling hopeful.”
“It’s an involuntary response,” Megatron growled, but his vocals were heavy with static, and his field clung to Jazz with tendrils of want, want, want.
“Is it?” Jazz asked as his valve clenched and dripped a pearl of lubricant onto Megatron’s cheek. “So you’re saying you don’t want me to scoot down there and give it a ride?”
Megatron’s spike visibly jerked and another dribble of pre-fluid seeped from the tip, which was a ‘frag yeah, get down here’ if Jazz ever saw one.
“I thought you wanted my mouth,” Megatron growled as his hips shifted restlessly, the vibrator ceaselessly doing its work.
Jazz hummed. “Good point.” He sank back down, letting his weight settle directly on Megatron’s face. Good thing Cybertronians didn’t need to breathe. “Back to work, Megs.”
He flicked the vibrator up another notch just because he could. This one activated a set of tiny rings within the shaft which rippled up and down, grinding sweetly against interior node clusters.
Megatron made a muffled noise against his valve before he dove into Jazz’s valve with desperate licks and sucks. Jazz moaned as flashes of ecstasy danced up his spinal strut, curling in his lines. Megatron was too damned good at this, like he was made to have his face ridden, his mouth buried in someone’s valve.
Jazz said as much, and Megatron growled, nipping at his anterior node. The light slide of his denta made Jazz hiss, entire frame twitching at the sharp burst of pleasure.
“Naughty mech,” Jazz gasped as he dropped the vibrator back down to the lowest setting which was, at best, a teasing hum. “No biting.”
Megatron licked over his node as if in apology and treated Jazz’s valve to long, delicate laps, sweetly sucking at the swollen pleats. Jazz groaned and cupped Megatron’s head with one hand as he rode that talented glossa, sparks of want twisting and tightening in his abdomen. He ex-vented heat as he ground down against Megatron’s mouth, and Megatron’s field burst in a dizzying blast of yes, yes, more.
Frag, it wasn’t fair.
Jazz panted, half-dizzy, and then Megatron scraped his denta over Jazz’s anterior cluster once more, that perfect sharp edge of too-much, and Jazz shattered. His valve clenched on nothing, liberally drooling across Megatron’s face. He curved forward, shaking as he overloaded, chanting swears in at least a half-dozen languages.
He rose up on his knees to get away from Megatron’s hungry mouth, sucking air through his vents.
“Damn Megs,” Jazz breathed. “That’s a good first showing. Maybe I’ll let you have a taste of my mech after all.”
He looked down, and Megatron was licking his lips, optics burning hot with need, but a hazy look in them, too. His face was smeared with Jazz’s lubricant, and Jazz half-expected a scowl, some kind of rude remark.
“You’re not done,” was what he said instead, vocals thick and syrupy.
“No, I’m not,” Jazz agreed and planted his aft on Megatron’s chassis, smearing his lubricant across gunmetal gray armor. “But that spike of yours ain’t bad lookin’ if you know what I mean.”
Megatron’s arms lifted as though he were going to reach for Jazz, but Jazz scooted back another few inches, leaving a healthy scrape and smear of fluid behind. “Ah, ah. No touching.”
Megatron’s arms snapped into place so fast, Jazz couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Good mech,” he purred and raised his hand, making a show of dialing the toy back up to the third setting, with the heavy vibrations and the rippling rings.
A shudder ran visibly over Megatron’s frame. He radiated heat like a furnace, little nips of charging slipping free of his seams. But he hadn’t overloaded. He was holding back. Why? Because he preferred spike overloads?
Or was he waiting for permission?
“Do not play with me, Autobot,” Megatron said, like he was trying to be threatening, but it sounded more like a desperate plea to Jazz.
“Who’s playing?” Jazz asked as he inched backward, delighted by the way Megatron eagerly watched him, frame heaving with heavy vents.
Jazz didn’t stop until he was kneeling over Megatron’s hips, thighs spread wide, valve hovering inches above Megatron’s spike. He planted his palms on Megatron’s abdomen to keep himself just out of reach, teasing Megatron with every tiny drip of lubricant onto Megatron’s spike, the vibrator buzzing merrily away.
“Do ya want my valve, Megs?” Jazz purred as he dipped his hips down, kissing Megatron’s spike with his valve before lifting up again. “Ask for it.”
Megatron’s jaw clenched. He planted his feet on the berth and rolled his hips upward, chasing Jazz’s valve, but it took only a wiggle for Jazz to move out of range.
“That’s not asking.” Jazz clicked his glossa and grabbed the vibrator remote, switching the toy into idle. “Naughty, naughty.”
“I am not here to be humiliated,” Megatron snarled as his vents rattled, and his fans sucked in desperate gulps of air. He shook with restrained pleasure, the berth beneath him probably soaked with lubricant.
Jazz arched an orbital ridge, tightening his knees on Megatron’s hips. “Good, cause I ain’t here to humiliate,” he said. “But how do I know you want something if you don’t tell me? Hm?” He rolled his hips back, dragged his valve up the length of Megatron’s spike.
They both groaned. Frag, Megatron radiated heat like a furnace and those tiny nubs on his spike were going to feel amazing once Jazz got him inside.
Megatron snarled a curse that was purely Decepticon in origin, and his hands snapped up, fingers curling against the top of the berth, making the metal creak. “Give me your valve!” he snapped.
Jazz rolled his hips again, teasing himself with Megatron’s spike. “That sounded more like a demand, not a request.”
Megatron’s engine roared, and the berthframe rattled ominously. “Please,” he gritted out through clenched denta, side vents flicking open to vent a furious heat.
That was probably as close as Jazz was going to get without threats of bodily harm. He wanted to see how far he could push Megatron, but he also wanted to keep his arms attached to his frame, which wouldn’t technically violate the terms of the cease-fire.
“That’ll do,” Jazz said with a sigh. “We can work on that.”
Megatron growled, but if he had anything to say, he swallowed it because Jazz canted his hips, caught the head of Megatron’s spike against the damp pleats of his valve, and sank down – slow and steady. Jazz’s backstrut arched and he moaned as Megatron’s spike stretched him wide, the good kind of stretch, a shade too much, making his calipers strain and protest the lack of preparation.
“Frag,” Jazz breathed as he rolled down and down and down, until Megatron nudged up against his ceiling node, and Jazz’s valve clenched lovingly on all those little nubs. “Ohh, I wanna keep this spike.”
Megatron made a strangled noise, but he kept his hands where they belonged, so Jazz rewarded him with the toy. He flicked the switch back up to the third stage as he started to move, riding Megatron’s spike with long and slow pumps of his hips, tasting every one of those ridges against his sensory nodes.
Megatron’s engine roared loud enough to rattle the berth, and the vibrations of the toy reverberated through his frame, through his spike, up into Jazz as well. It was such a great idea, Jazz flicked the toy up to the fourth stage.
The berthframe made an ominous noise as Megatron’s backstrut arched. and he yelped, though his field clung with sticky-hot want to Jazz’s.
“Too much?” Jazz panted as he braced himself on Megatron’s abdomen and kept moving, harder, faster, valve sloppy wet and frame twitching with every grind against his nodes. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this.
“F-frag y-you,” Megatron stuttered as he dragged up his feet, braced himself on the berth, and thrust up against Jazz, hard enough to bounce him.
The head of his spike slammed against Jazz’s ceiling node, and his visual feed briefly striped with static as the pleasure radiated through his frame, stealing his vents. Jazz would have chastened Megatron, had he the words for it. All he could think was more.
He must have said it, because Megatron did it again, and again. Jazz slammed down to meet the rough thrusts, and his fingers scraped furrows into Megatron’s armor. He tilted forward, just a smidge, and his anterior cluster must have caught on some kind of rise in Megatron’s armor, because the scraping pressure sent him right over the edge.
Jazz spasmed, clamping down hard on Megatron as he overloaded, valve squeezing tight and lines spitting wave after wave of electric ecstasy through his frame. Distantly, he heard Megatron hiss and moan through his clenched jaw. The berthframe groaned and then there was a sharp snap before the hot splash of transfluid jetted up into Jazz, the charged fluid making Jazz’s oversensitive nodes sing.
He collapsed on top of Megatron’s frame, dragging desperate vents, his valve clinging tight to Megatron’s spike. Megatron went equally limp beneath him, entire frame thrumming in post-overload stupor.
“The t-toy,” Megatron managed through a vocalizer stripped with static.
Oh, frag.
Jazz patted around for the remote that he must have dropped and managed to hit the button to deactivate the whole thing. A dull click disengaged the magnetics and tension bled out of Megatron’s frame immediately.
“My bad,” Jazz panted as he patted Megatron’s chassis with shaking fingers. His thighs trembled and he sprawled back over Megatron’s chest.
“Nnngh,” Megatron said, dragging in several ragged ventilations. He thrummed beneath Jazz as though he still had charge to spare.
Jazz would get to taking care of that eventually. Once he put his thoughts back into his processor where they belonged.
Wait. Hadn’t he heard something snap?
Jazz tilted his head from where it was pillowed on Megatron’s chestplate and peered above Megatron’s head. The berthframe looked like something had crashed into it, and Jazz cycled his optics.
Holy Primus.
Megatron had broken his berthframe. Thank Primus Jazz had the good sense to tell Megatron to keep his hands to himself. That could have been Jazz, however accidentally.
Jazz forced himself upright, perched on Megatron’s abdomen, as he stared dumbly at the broken furniture. “You broke your berth.”
“I noticed,” Megatron rasped.
Jazz looked down at Megatron with something akin to pride in his visor. “I made you break your berth.” He grinned and planted his palms on Megatron’s chestplate. “That was me. I did that.” He could barely contain his glee.
Megatron rolled his optics and lowered his arms to his side, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders to ease what had to be cramped cables. “Congratulations.”
“Who knew we were so compatible,” Jazz hummed as he traced his fingers along Megatron’s seams while Megatron watched him warily – he was rather close to Megatron’s central seam after all. “The night’s young.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Am I still auditioning?”
“Oh, you definitely passed,” Jazz purred as he gave his hips a little circle and clenched down on the semi-pressurized spike taking residence in his valve. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”
Megatron flexed his fingers with several pop-pop-pop’s of his joints. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
Jazz grinned. “My mech, those are some magic words.” He pushed himself upright once more, and Megatron shivered as Jazz settled into place. “There are three more settings you haven’t experienced on that toy. Interested?”
“You are a menace,” Megatron growled, but his spike was starting to firm up within Jazz and his hands had found Jazz’s thighs, lightly palming them up and down, thumbs sweeping teasingly toward Jazz’s interface array with each upward stroke.
“It’s part of my charm.” Jazz laughed and licked his lips. He held up the remote. “Ready for round two?”
Megatron’s optics darkened back to coal-fire crimson. “Try and keep up.”
Challenge accepted.
***
Universe: Transformers G1
Characters: Prowl, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, Jazz/Megatron, Implied Jazz/Optimus Prime
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Dom/Sub themes, Facesitting, Sex Toys
Description: In a mostly post-war world, Jazz is bored, and a bored Jazz is not safe for anyone – least of all Megatron, who didn’t realize how much he’d enjoy getting bossed around by the Spec Ops mech.
Commissioned by Jee and written for the MegOp server.
“I’m bored,” Jazz complained as he let himself into Prowl’s locked office and threw his frame onto the only piece of furniture not covered in datapads and actual, paper documents.
“Hi, bored. I’m Prowl,” Prowl replied without missing a beat or looking up from the datapad that occupied both his attention and his frown. It was his thinking frown, however, so Jazz wasn’t too concerned.
Yet.
Jazz groaned and tipped his head back against the high-backed chair. “You’re spending too much time with Sparkplug.”
“He is a comforting spot of urbanity in a chaotic storm of treaty negotiations,” Prowl said with a twitch of his sensory panels. He looked tired. He felt tired.
Who knew that trying to negotiate some kind of cease-fire and peace treaty with the Decepticons would actually be more exhausting than the war itself? But needs must. Needs like a lack of resources, dwindling motivations, and the realization that if they didn’t pull their heads out of their afts, Cybertron’s already ruined landscape would become an uninhabitable wasteland that could never be restored.
“Give me something to do,” Jazz demanded, and it wasn’t a whine. “I’m going out of my mind with boredom here. I’m getting itchy fingers, if you know what I mean.”
Prowl’s panels twitched again, and he moved from one datapad to another without missing a beat. “You’re not allowed to kill any Decepticons. We are in a cease-fire.”
“Mildly maim?”
“No.”
Jazz sighed. “I’m bored.” He kicked toward the desk and glared mulishly at Prowl. “And I swear to Primus if you hit me with another dad joke, I’m going to take out my twitchy fingers on you.”
The corner of Prowl’s mouth curved toward the slightest smirk as his shoulders relaxed by a smidgen. “There is plenty of work to be found. Why don’t you see if Ratchet has something for you to do?”
Oh, frack no. Jazz might be bored, but he wasn’t desperate. Ratchet had a list the size of Metrotitan of things he wanted done, and Jazz wanted to be nowhere near that list. Ratchet was a gleeful maniac right now, so delighted by the cease-fire, that he was hunting down unsuspecting Autobots and trapping them in the medbay for a long-awaited full maintenance.
Jazz hadn’t been able to rescue Bluestreak in time, and now his favorite berth-buddy was in Ratchet’s clutches for at least a week. He had to have a flush.
Poor mech.
“No, thanks. I’ll never escape,” Jazz said with a theatrical shudder.
Prowl snorted and finally looked up from his work. "Perhaps Optimus has a task for you. Unless you want to help me with this." He gestured to the mountains of datapads that surrounded him like a paperwork cage.
"That's a very slow death. I'm good." Jazz launched himself out of the chair and headed for the door, waving farewell over his shoulder. "Call me if you find a use for my twitchy fingers."
"Unlikely," came Prowl's response, floating out after him.
Jazz moved on, keeping a wide berth from Ratchet's territory, and ignoring Red Alert in the surveillance room -- another mech who was having a hard time with the ceasefire. Negotiations were currently at a pause while both sides licked their wounds and reconsidered their terms. The battles were being fought with words and legalities and litigation, not blasters and bombs and vibro knives.
These were battles in which Jazz had no use. He was not designed to be clever in documentation. He was built to find weaknesses, the best places to strike. He had nothing to do, here in this cease-fire, and the boredom was breeding restlessness.
Unlike Prowl's, the door to Optimus' office was not locked. Optimus had more of an open-door policy than Prowl, mostly because one would have to get through Ironhide first. Optimus' weapons specialist and ostensibly his bodyguard, currently lounged in a chair outside of Optimus' door, cleaning a massive blaster that would give Megatron's fusion cannon a run for its creds.
"What'cha bothering with that for?" Jazz asked as he lounged against Ironhide's side, folding his arms over the massive soldier's shoulder. "Dont'cha know the war is over?"
"Paused," Ironhide grunted as he raised a part to his optic and examined it intently. "Could start back any moment. Decepticons, ya know?"
Jazz hummed. "It's in the name." He playfully flicked Ironhide's audial. "I'm bored."
"Get off with that nonsense." Ironhide lifted an elbow, jostling Jazz from his perch. "You ain't gonna find entertainment with me. Go play with Blaster."
"He's busy." Jazz chuffed but gave Ironhide his space. Sometimes, 'Hide was fun to bother, and sometimes he was in a mood. Seemed like today was a mood, probably because Optimus was stressed, and when Optimus was stressed, Ironhide shared it. "What about Optimus?"
Ironhide gave him the side-eye before he went back to polishing his gun, sadly without any euphemism involved. "Busy," he grunted. "But I know better than to stop ya." He waved toward the door. "Good luck."
"Thanks, 'Hide." Jazz snuck under Ironhide's guard to pop a kiss to the soldier's cheek, and Ironhide smacked his aft as he went by.
Fair enough.
Jazz pushed into Optimus' office and found Optimus in much the same position as Prowl -- buried behind stacks of datapads, but with the addition of several monitors set up on a nearby wall, each showing something different –most of them news stations. Optimus, at least, had the decency to look up from his work and acknowledge Jazz’s arrival.
Then again, Jazz didn’t give him much choice about it.
“I’m bored,” he complained as he threw himself into Optimus’ lap in a dramatic, but languorous sprawl that put him between Optimus and his paperwork.
Optimus chuckled and dropped his stylus, his hand resting on Jazz’s hip instead. “And you assumed I would solve that problem for you?”
Jazz leaned back, elbows on the edge of the desk. “Give me something to do since apparently I’m not allowed to kill any Decepticons.” He curled his fingers into air quotes. “Or maim them.”
“Or sneak into their berths and frighten them for your own entertainment,” Optimus added with an arched orbital ridge.
“I did that once.” Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor. “Besides, I doubt Soundwave complained. It’s part of that game we play.” He flicked his fingers.
“Just Soundwave?” Optimus asked with a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, and was only asking to make a point.
Jazz lifted his chin. “No one else could’ve caught me.”
Optimus hummed and reached around him for the datapad, lifting it into view. “I am currently reviewing proposal seven for the treaty–”
“Nope. Something that suits my skills,” Jazz cut in before Optimus could finish suggesting he proofread or such slag. Jazz was a mech of action, not grammar.
“--and Megatron is being particularly stubborn about it,” Optimus continued as if Jazz had not spoken at all. “Perhaps you might find it in you to provide him with a distraction.”
Jazz squinted at Optimus. “What exactly are you suggestin' I do about that, boss bot?”
“I am sure you can come up with a method that would cause him no harm, but encourage him to be more malleable to our requests,” Optimus said with another hum as if he hadn’t delicately hinted that Jazz go pay Megatron a visit.
“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Jazz declared as he sat up and stole a kiss before he hopped out of Optimus’ lap, though he didn’t go far. “What’re my limits?”
Optimus’ attention went back to his work, or so it seemed, save that his field lingered against Jazz’s with a warm buzz. “You cannot hurt him. You cannot do anything that would risk the cease-fire.”
Jazz gasped and leaned against Optimus’ side, nosing into Optimus’ intake. “I would never do such a thing.” One palm slid over Optimus’ abdomen, toying with the slats of his grill-kibble. “I know how to be creative.”
There was a flash of resigned disappointment before Optimus grasped his wandering hand by the wrist and lifted it away. “I am well aware. Perhaps later you can show me.”
“It’s a date,” Jazz purred as he flicked Optimus’ audial and spun away before Optimus could retaliate.
At last. A mission. Something to do.
“Behave!” Optimus called after him, but Jazz didn’t bother with a reply.
Behave? Jazz snorted. He was pretty sure Optimus intended for him to be very, very naughty. In a completely legal, cease-fire sort of way.
Jazz hummed and strutted out of Optimus’ office, giving Ironhide a distracted wave as he passed. Ideas were already brewing. Last time he’d taken a stroll around the Nemesis, the Decepticon leadership team – though leadership was a strong word – had been ensconced in their private quarters, licking their proverbial wounds.
Soundwave was the closest one to actually doing his job, while Starscream bitched at an indifferent Thundercracker about how Megatron never listened to him. Shockwave had been in his lab, doing frightening Shockwave things, and Megatron had been frowning so severely over Version 2.6 of the treaty Jazz worried it was because Megatron legitimately couldn’t read standard Cybertronian.
Hmm.
Jazz might need a few supplies. He swung by his quarters first, dug out his tool box, and rifled through the fun side. There were a couple toys in here that would be perfect for Megatron if he could manip– convince the Decepticon leader into using them.
After that, it was only a short drive, a strut, and a stroll to where the Nemesis had been docked. As a gesture of good faith, the Autobots had assisted the Decepticons with hauling their ship-slash-home from the depths of the Pacific, and making it buoyant enough to be docked above the surface. With easier access to solar power for energon, the Decepticons were much more inclined to discuss the terms of a treaty.
Of course, easier access to the Decepticons meant easier access for Jazz, too. Oh, it had been fun to swim down to the Nemesis anytime he wanted to have a look-see, but now, Jazz could just take a casual stroll past the cameras and invite himself wherever he pleased without the nasty side effect of getting seawater in his vents.
The usual buzz of Decepticon activity was muted here toward sunset. Most mechs were in their rooms or hanging out in common areas, grumbling to each other about the lack of fighting and/or entertainment. Jazz hummed to himself as he danced from shadow to shadow, keeping to the blind spots in the security array. He'd memorized them by now.
Megatron wasn't in his office, so Jazz took up a perch in the comfy chair, and leaned back to wait, feet propped up on the desk. He amused himself with whatever datapads were within reach, taking a peek at the revisions the Decepticons planned to submit, and what other reports waited for Megatron’s attention.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The door slid open, and Megatron strolled inside, clutching a cube of energon in one hand and a datapad in the other. He spotted Jazz immediately and stopped mid-stride with a scowl. The datapad vanished in a flash, no doubt stowed in subspace as if Jazz couldn’t access it if he wanted to. Pfft.
“Out,” Megatron snapped.
“I ain’t here to cause problems,” Jazz lied. “I have a proposition for ya.”
“This is a violation of Prime’s precious cease-fire!” Megatron snarled, his optics getting all coal-fire dark, and his field prickly with both agitation and glee. At last, a return to war, he must be thinking. “If you don’t–”
Jazz held up his hands and wriggled his fingers. “Look, Megs. No knives. I come in peace.” He dropped his feet from the desk and stood, planting his hands on the desk. “Like I said. Proposition. You. Me. A berth. What do ya say?”
“I don’t have a death wish,” Megatron said with a snort. He looked all around his office as if expecting to encounter a trap. “Did Prime send you here?”
“Nope!” Jazz lied cheerfully. “Also, I don’t typically kill the mechs I proposition. I’d rather have fun.” He flicked his glossa over his lips. “Ain’t you a little bit curious? Or are ya too scared?”
Megatron went still. Hook, line, and–
“I’m not afraid of you,” he snarled.
–sinker.
Jazz vaulted over the desk and sauntered toward Megatron, putting a little sway in his hips that Megatron watched with evident wariness. “Prove it,” he purred, and stepped close enough to share venting space, looking up at Megatron with a tilt of his head. “I’ll even let you brag about it later.”
“Idiot. Why would I brag about that?” Megatron demanded, but it was with less force than his first attempt to make Jazz leave. “What do you want?”
Jazz put his palm on Megatron’s chassis, and while Megatron tensed beneath him, he didn’t immediately swat Jazz aside. Progress! “Thought that was pretty clear. Been a long war, Megs. Wouldn’t it be nice to do somethin’ a lot more fun than tryin’ to kill each other?”
Megatron snorted. "That depends on what it'll cost me. I'm well aware of your reputation."
"You wound me, Megs. Truly." Jazz feigned offense and walked his fingers up Megatron's chassis, delighted to find the Decepticon warlord's armor crawling with static. He was definitely intrigued. "Think of it as solidifying the treaty, hm? Promoting good relations between Bots and Cons."
A hand wrapped around Jazz's wrist, not enough to cause pain, but enough to make sure Jazz didn't slide a blade into Megatron's spark. Not that he was thinking about it or anything.
"You want me to frag you for the sake of peace?" Megatron asked, sounding more bewildered than angry. He was so easy to set off balance.
"Better than fighting, right?" Jazz asked.
Megatron's vents puffed out in a scoff. "That depends on my opponent."
Ah, and there it was. The perfect moment to slide in under Megatron's guard. This was almost too easy.
"Yeah and if you want Optimus, you'll have to go through me first," Jazz purred as he dragged his field along the edges of Megatron's with warm intent. "That's how we work."
Megatron went still, and then he flushed all over, heat venting loudly from his fans. "That's not-- I didn't-- Who says--" Spluttered embarassment meant Megatron couldn't hold on to his indignation long enough to properly deny it.
"You want time with my mech, you gotta prove you know what you're doing," Jazz challenged as he tucked his hands behind his back and circled Megatron, looking him up and down as if assessing his capabilities.
Megatron's armor ruffled, indignation flickering across the plating. His engine rumbled, field wavering between pride and centuries worth of unrequited lust.
"Then again, if you're not confident in your ability, I guess I came to the wrong place," Jazz said with a casual shrug. He sighed dramatically, scratching the side of his nose. "I'll see if Starscream is more interested."
He turned to leave, and Megatron moved faster than a mech of his bulk should be capable, but then Jazz sparred with Ironhide frequently -- another massive mech who was far more nimble than physics suggested he should be.
Megatron intercepted him. "Starscream?" he repeated with a snarl, optics flaring coal-fire crimson. "That fool peacock wouldn't know what to do with his own spike much less someone else's."
"Are you takin' me up on my offer then?" Jazz asked.
Crimson optics narrowed as if Megatron finally realized he'd fallen into Jazz's trap, though his pride wouldn't let him back out. He squared his jaw. "Not in my office," he said, and palmed the door open behind him. "Let's go."
Jazz grinned. "After you."
Megatron turned to leave, and Jazz couldn’t resist the target presented to him. His palm skidded over Megatron’s aft plate before he could think twice about it, and Megatron startled, whirling around toward Jazz with such a look of audacity on his face, Jazz snapped a pic for posterity’s sake.
“You—”
“—can hit much harder than that if ya want,” Jazz offered with a winking flick of his visor.
Megatron growled and stalked out of his office, but with a sideways shuffle that protected his aft from wayward strikes. Oh, Primus.
This was going to be so much fun.
Megatron refused the magna cuffs, the restraints, even the thick cabling that Jazz was sure he could snap if he put his mind to it. Megatron wouldn't accept any form of bondage which, disappointing, but nothing Jazz couldn't handle.
"I am not binding myself around Prime's pet assassin no matter what reassurances he gives me," Megatron growled as he reclined on the berth, Jazz perched atop him, king of a mountain he hadn't yet decided how to dominate.
"Fine," Jazz sighed as he coiled his rope and tucked it back away. "Guess I'll have to trust you to keep your hands to yourself."
Megatron curled his upper lip. "How am I supposed to frag you if I can't touch you?"
Jazz dragged a palm down his own chassis. "Never said you couldn't touch me. I just want you to keep your hands where I can see them." He cupped his interface array, and his valve panel slid aside. Arousal had already swelled his folds, and he brushed his fingers over them. "I'm gonna sit on your face."
He waited, expecting Megatron to protest about indignities and whatnot, but instead Megatron focused on Jazz's fingers and didn’t protest at all. He licked his lips, frame rumbling beneath Jazz, as his field spiked with lust.
"Fine," he gritted out like it was a great concession. "What do I get out of it?"
"A lesson in patience," Jazz said, and slipped his second-favorite toy out of subspace, holding it up for Megatron to admire. "And a challenge if you think you're up for it." He gave the toy a few turns, letting Megatron measure the girth of it with his optics, taking in the well-placed ridges and nubs.
Megatron’s optics narrowed.
“It vibrates,” Jazz said as he thumbed his anterior nub and let a shiver run across his frame. A few drops of his lubricant splattered Megatron’s chassis, and yet, not a single word of protest. Interesting. “In case you were wondering.”
“Very well,” Megatron conceded as if he were doing Jazz a favor. He folded his hands behind his head like a good mech.
So he could be taught after all. Good information to have!
“Do your worst,” Megatron said, his tone bored, but his field telling another story. If it got any more hungry, it would set Jazz on fire.
“This one is nothing but a good time, I promise,” Jazz said as he scooted down and settled himself between Megatron’s thighs. “Open up for me, Megs.”
A crackle of blue static erupted in the gaps of Megatron’s plating, a flicker in his thigh armor preceding the slow spiral of his interface array. His valve came into view, biolights brimming with arousal, and his valve pleats plump and juicy.
Jazz was tempted to give him a taste, but then he’d get distracted, and lose sight of his mission. Maybe next time. For now, he thumbed Megatron’s anterior node, and was rewarded with a trickle of lubricant from Megatron’s valve. Oh, ho. Someone was a lot more aroused than he seemed to be.
“Hurry up,” Megatron snarled, but his hips rolled up against Jazz’s thumb, seeking more pressure, and his thighs scooted further apart.
Jazz clicked his glossa and slid two fingers into Megatron’s valve, giving them a few curious curves as he searched for a cluster of nodes that should be right about – Megatron made a sound Jazz was absolutely going to call a squeak – there.
“I think you’re forgettin’ the part where I said ya had to be patient,” Jazz purred as he stroked that cluster again and again, more slick seeping out over his fingers, Megatron twitching and writhing beneath him.
“Your fingers are not that contraption,” Megatron gritted out.
Jazz swallowed a laugh. “Eager to try it, I see. I can’t blame you. This is one of Wheeljack’s best.” He removed his fingers and replaced them with the toy, which was a bit too much of a stretch for Jazz, but would be perfect for Megatron.
It slid into him with remarkable ease, and Megatron shuddered as Jazz nudged it deeper and deeper, until the head rested against his ceiling node and the wide base sat flat against Megatron’s valve rim. A tap to a button on the base and the toy buzzed as tiny magnetics powered on to make sure it stayed in place.
Megatron groaned, his heels digging into the berth, but his hands stayed firmly folded behind his head like a good mech.
“And that’s just the teaser,” Jazz said as he climbed back up Megatron’s frame, perching on Megatron’s chassis once again. He wiggled the remote pointedly. “Do a good job and you get a reward.”
He flicked the switch, dialing the vibrator up to the lowest setting, a nice thrum that tantalized and made the sensors sing. Megatron’s engine vibrated the berth as he rolled beneath Jazz, probably clenching all sweetly down on those nubs and ridges.
“Got it?” Jazz asked as he flicked the vibrator back off.
Megatron’s optics darkened. “Don’t patronize me,” he growled and licked his lips, his gaze focusing at the apex of Jazz’s thighs. “Get up here.”
Jazz barely concealed his shiver. He had to admit, this was perhaps one of the most dangerous things he’d done, playing this game with Megatron, and now putting his intimate bits in reach of those sharp denta. But Megatron’s threatening aura had shifted to one of lust, and who knew that buried beneath the anger was a mech desperate to submit?
Primus, Jazz was tempted to keep him. It was definitely something to think about. For now, however, he scooted forward until he was in the perfect position to bracket Megatron’s head with his thighs, to feel Megatron’s ex-vents over his valve.
“Come on then,” Megatron growled, the vibrations of his vocals buzzing against Jazz’s anterior node. “Don’t tell me you're shy.”
“Hah. Picture that.” Jazz shimmied closer until he was right where he wanted to be, perched over that dangerous mouth. “Get to work, Megs.”
Megatron’s engine rumbled, oh-but-he-was perfectly obedient. Jazz made a strangled sound as Megatron licked at him, one long and deep swipe of his glossa, like he wanted a good taste before he truly got started.
Oh, frag.
Jazz was in for it now.
“Good start,” he said as he flicked the vibrator on to his lowest setting. “Keep that up and you’ll earn rewards.”
Megatron’s response was to latch onto his anterior node and give it a hearty suck, one that made Jazz’s thighs shake. He gasped and ground down, riding the pressure of Megatron’s lips and glossa, and oooo, there it was. Just a bit of denta, not enough to cause harm, but enough to remind him they were there. A tiny scrape, a hint of danger.
Jazz stopped being so careful. He sunk the rest of the way down, letting his weight rest on Megatron, and an approving rumble rose in Megatron’s intake. He licked and sucked harder, making little happy noises that were unfairly arousing. Such a good mech he was, his arms twitching, but he kept himself from grabbing at Jazz.
Who knew?
“So far so good,” Jazz gasped as he rocked his hips down and shivered when Megatron lapped at him, again and again, flicking over his node with the perfect pressure.
It was deserving of an award so Jazz flicked the vibrator up to the next setting, which made it audible now. Megatron groaned against his valve, frame jerking, and his field lashing out with sizzling need. His engine roared and the vibrations of it rattled up into Jazz’s frame, his valve clenching down on nothing as lubricant seeped out, dripping onto Megatron’s face.
Click.
Jazz straightened and glanced over his shoulder, one orbital ridge arching. Megatron’s spike had popped, fully pressurized and already oozing pre-fluid. The grey and red banded length made Jazz’s valve twitch with appreciation.
“Oh? What’s this?” Jazz asked as he rose up on his knees, lifting his valve away from Megatron’s mouth. “Someone’s feeling hopeful.”
“It’s an involuntary response,” Megatron growled, but his vocals were heavy with static, and his field clung to Jazz with tendrils of want, want, want.
“Is it?” Jazz asked as his valve clenched and dripped a pearl of lubricant onto Megatron’s cheek. “So you’re saying you don’t want me to scoot down there and give it a ride?”
Megatron’s spike visibly jerked and another dribble of pre-fluid seeped from the tip, which was a ‘frag yeah, get down here’ if Jazz ever saw one.
“I thought you wanted my mouth,” Megatron growled as his hips shifted restlessly, the vibrator ceaselessly doing its work.
Jazz hummed. “Good point.” He sank back down, letting his weight settle directly on Megatron’s face. Good thing Cybertronians didn’t need to breathe. “Back to work, Megs.”
He flicked the vibrator up another notch just because he could. This one activated a set of tiny rings within the shaft which rippled up and down, grinding sweetly against interior node clusters.
Megatron made a muffled noise against his valve before he dove into Jazz’s valve with desperate licks and sucks. Jazz moaned as flashes of ecstasy danced up his spinal strut, curling in his lines. Megatron was too damned good at this, like he was made to have his face ridden, his mouth buried in someone’s valve.
Jazz said as much, and Megatron growled, nipping at his anterior node. The light slide of his denta made Jazz hiss, entire frame twitching at the sharp burst of pleasure.
“Naughty mech,” Jazz gasped as he dropped the vibrator back down to the lowest setting which was, at best, a teasing hum. “No biting.”
Megatron licked over his node as if in apology and treated Jazz’s valve to long, delicate laps, sweetly sucking at the swollen pleats. Jazz groaned and cupped Megatron’s head with one hand as he rode that talented glossa, sparks of want twisting and tightening in his abdomen. He ex-vented heat as he ground down against Megatron’s mouth, and Megatron’s field burst in a dizzying blast of yes, yes, more.
Frag, it wasn’t fair.
Jazz panted, half-dizzy, and then Megatron scraped his denta over Jazz’s anterior cluster once more, that perfect sharp edge of too-much, and Jazz shattered. His valve clenched on nothing, liberally drooling across Megatron’s face. He curved forward, shaking as he overloaded, chanting swears in at least a half-dozen languages.
He rose up on his knees to get away from Megatron’s hungry mouth, sucking air through his vents.
“Damn Megs,” Jazz breathed. “That’s a good first showing. Maybe I’ll let you have a taste of my mech after all.”
He looked down, and Megatron was licking his lips, optics burning hot with need, but a hazy look in them, too. His face was smeared with Jazz’s lubricant, and Jazz half-expected a scowl, some kind of rude remark.
“You’re not done,” was what he said instead, vocals thick and syrupy.
“No, I’m not,” Jazz agreed and planted his aft on Megatron’s chassis, smearing his lubricant across gunmetal gray armor. “But that spike of yours ain’t bad lookin’ if you know what I mean.”
Megatron’s arms lifted as though he were going to reach for Jazz, but Jazz scooted back another few inches, leaving a healthy scrape and smear of fluid behind. “Ah, ah. No touching.”
Megatron’s arms snapped into place so fast, Jazz couldn’t help but be impressed.
“Good mech,” he purred and raised his hand, making a show of dialing the toy back up to the third setting, with the heavy vibrations and the rippling rings.
A shudder ran visibly over Megatron’s frame. He radiated heat like a furnace, little nips of charging slipping free of his seams. But he hadn’t overloaded. He was holding back. Why? Because he preferred spike overloads?
Or was he waiting for permission?
“Do not play with me, Autobot,” Megatron said, like he was trying to be threatening, but it sounded more like a desperate plea to Jazz.
“Who’s playing?” Jazz asked as he inched backward, delighted by the way Megatron eagerly watched him, frame heaving with heavy vents.
Jazz didn’t stop until he was kneeling over Megatron’s hips, thighs spread wide, valve hovering inches above Megatron’s spike. He planted his palms on Megatron’s abdomen to keep himself just out of reach, teasing Megatron with every tiny drip of lubricant onto Megatron’s spike, the vibrator buzzing merrily away.
“Do ya want my valve, Megs?” Jazz purred as he dipped his hips down, kissing Megatron’s spike with his valve before lifting up again. “Ask for it.”
Megatron’s jaw clenched. He planted his feet on the berth and rolled his hips upward, chasing Jazz’s valve, but it took only a wiggle for Jazz to move out of range.
“That’s not asking.” Jazz clicked his glossa and grabbed the vibrator remote, switching the toy into idle. “Naughty, naughty.”
“I am not here to be humiliated,” Megatron snarled as his vents rattled, and his fans sucked in desperate gulps of air. He shook with restrained pleasure, the berth beneath him probably soaked with lubricant.
Jazz arched an orbital ridge, tightening his knees on Megatron’s hips. “Good, cause I ain’t here to humiliate,” he said. “But how do I know you want something if you don’t tell me? Hm?” He rolled his hips back, dragged his valve up the length of Megatron’s spike.
They both groaned. Frag, Megatron radiated heat like a furnace and those tiny nubs on his spike were going to feel amazing once Jazz got him inside.
Megatron snarled a curse that was purely Decepticon in origin, and his hands snapped up, fingers curling against the top of the berth, making the metal creak. “Give me your valve!” he snapped.
Jazz rolled his hips again, teasing himself with Megatron’s spike. “That sounded more like a demand, not a request.”
Megatron’s engine roared, and the berthframe rattled ominously. “Please,” he gritted out through clenched denta, side vents flicking open to vent a furious heat.
That was probably as close as Jazz was going to get without threats of bodily harm. He wanted to see how far he could push Megatron, but he also wanted to keep his arms attached to his frame, which wouldn’t technically violate the terms of the cease-fire.
“That’ll do,” Jazz said with a sigh. “We can work on that.”
Megatron growled, but if he had anything to say, he swallowed it because Jazz canted his hips, caught the head of Megatron’s spike against the damp pleats of his valve, and sank down – slow and steady. Jazz’s backstrut arched and he moaned as Megatron’s spike stretched him wide, the good kind of stretch, a shade too much, making his calipers strain and protest the lack of preparation.
“Frag,” Jazz breathed as he rolled down and down and down, until Megatron nudged up against his ceiling node, and Jazz’s valve clenched lovingly on all those little nubs. “Ohh, I wanna keep this spike.”
Megatron made a strangled noise, but he kept his hands where they belonged, so Jazz rewarded him with the toy. He flicked the switch back up to the third stage as he started to move, riding Megatron’s spike with long and slow pumps of his hips, tasting every one of those ridges against his sensory nodes.
Megatron’s engine roared loud enough to rattle the berth, and the vibrations of the toy reverberated through his frame, through his spike, up into Jazz as well. It was such a great idea, Jazz flicked the toy up to the fourth stage.
The berthframe made an ominous noise as Megatron’s backstrut arched. and he yelped, though his field clung with sticky-hot want to Jazz’s.
“Too much?” Jazz panted as he braced himself on Megatron’s abdomen and kept moving, harder, faster, valve sloppy wet and frame twitching with every grind against his nodes. He wasn’t going to last long, not like this.
“F-frag y-you,” Megatron stuttered as he dragged up his feet, braced himself on the berth, and thrust up against Jazz, hard enough to bounce him.
The head of his spike slammed against Jazz’s ceiling node, and his visual feed briefly striped with static as the pleasure radiated through his frame, stealing his vents. Jazz would have chastened Megatron, had he the words for it. All he could think was more.
He must have said it, because Megatron did it again, and again. Jazz slammed down to meet the rough thrusts, and his fingers scraped furrows into Megatron’s armor. He tilted forward, just a smidge, and his anterior cluster must have caught on some kind of rise in Megatron’s armor, because the scraping pressure sent him right over the edge.
Jazz spasmed, clamping down hard on Megatron as he overloaded, valve squeezing tight and lines spitting wave after wave of electric ecstasy through his frame. Distantly, he heard Megatron hiss and moan through his clenched jaw. The berthframe groaned and then there was a sharp snap before the hot splash of transfluid jetted up into Jazz, the charged fluid making Jazz’s oversensitive nodes sing.
He collapsed on top of Megatron’s frame, dragging desperate vents, his valve clinging tight to Megatron’s spike. Megatron went equally limp beneath him, entire frame thrumming in post-overload stupor.
“The t-toy,” Megatron managed through a vocalizer stripped with static.
Oh, frag.
Jazz patted around for the remote that he must have dropped and managed to hit the button to deactivate the whole thing. A dull click disengaged the magnetics and tension bled out of Megatron’s frame immediately.
“My bad,” Jazz panted as he patted Megatron’s chassis with shaking fingers. His thighs trembled and he sprawled back over Megatron’s chest.
“Nnngh,” Megatron said, dragging in several ragged ventilations. He thrummed beneath Jazz as though he still had charge to spare.
Jazz would get to taking care of that eventually. Once he put his thoughts back into his processor where they belonged.
Wait. Hadn’t he heard something snap?
Jazz tilted his head from where it was pillowed on Megatron’s chestplate and peered above Megatron’s head. The berthframe looked like something had crashed into it, and Jazz cycled his optics.
Holy Primus.
Megatron had broken his berthframe. Thank Primus Jazz had the good sense to tell Megatron to keep his hands to himself. That could have been Jazz, however accidentally.
Jazz forced himself upright, perched on Megatron’s abdomen, as he stared dumbly at the broken furniture. “You broke your berth.”
“I noticed,” Megatron rasped.
Jazz looked down at Megatron with something akin to pride in his visor. “I made you break your berth.” He grinned and planted his palms on Megatron’s chestplate. “That was me. I did that.” He could barely contain his glee.
Megatron rolled his optics and lowered his arms to his side, flexing his fingers and rolling his shoulders to ease what had to be cramped cables. “Congratulations.”
“Who knew we were so compatible,” Jazz hummed as he traced his fingers along Megatron’s seams while Megatron watched him warily – he was rather close to Megatron’s central seam after all. “The night’s young.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Am I still auditioning?”
“Oh, you definitely passed,” Jazz purred as he gave his hips a little circle and clenched down on the semi-pressurized spike taking residence in his valve. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”
Megatron flexed his fingers with several pop-pop-pop’s of his joints. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
Jazz grinned. “My mech, those are some magic words.” He pushed himself upright once more, and Megatron shivered as Jazz settled into place. “There are three more settings you haven’t experienced on that toy. Interested?”
“You are a menace,” Megatron growled, but his spike was starting to firm up within Jazz and his hands had found Jazz’s thighs, lightly palming them up and down, thumbs sweeping teasingly toward Jazz’s interface array with each upward stroke.
“It’s part of my charm.” Jazz laughed and licked his lips. He held up the remote. “Ready for round two?”
Megatron’s optics darkened back to coal-fire crimson. “Try and keep up.”
Challenge accepted.
