Archive of Our Own

What a silly thought, Ultra Magnus and Megatron stuck in a broken elevator. The Magnus would have scoffed at the idea of such an awkward circumstance being granted to him. It was a bizarre, way-too oddly specific scenario. 

When peace negotiations for a united Cybertron began, the Autobot supreme commander heard his fair share of oddly specific predicaments bestowed upon his primes, agents, and cadets with the opposing faction. There were murmurs of a renowned Autobot agent getting tangled up in the former Head of Intelligence’s limbs, a cadet was nearly crushed by a Con with little-to-no spatial awareness, and one of his best primes got into a hissy fit with another when his drink was spilled. Ultra Magnus could see how these publicly reported incidents were beginning to make the average civilian frame anxious about a formal Autobot-Decepticon alliance. 

The fact that these occurrences were transpiring concurrently put the Magnus on edge. Was he due for an incident as well? He didn’t think so. Besides, he was overly cautious about getting entangled in Autobot-Decepticon troubles. He simply kept himself preoccupied with his duties as Magnus. So, when would there ever be an opportunity for conflict to jump in?

… Oh, how Ultra didn’t like that the question had an answer to it. Never in the many stellar cycles he’s lived did the Magnus think he would find himself in such a predicament. How did he get from point A to point B? It was dreadful luck.

Before Ultra Magnus ended up stuck in the broken elevator, he and the infamous Decepticon warlord had attended a meeting. The summit had only lasted a handful of solar cycles. There were discussions regarding territories, and something about reparations... Ultra would never express it aloud, but this meeting, as well as the few prior,  were draining his energy quicker than a fight with a ‘Con would. It was the same few topics, same questions, same responses. His processor was on the verge of splitting open and wailing like a dying star.

However, it was necessary to conduct himself professionally at the head of the table. Servos were folded, with optics trained on any bot that spoke. He had an obligation to hear all offers and propositions for solutions and inquiries Autobots and Decepticons had for one another. There were proposals about giving Decepticons a city to rule over, but it felt insufficient. They contended with this suggestion for quite some time until it appeared glaringly obvious that the Decepticons were still notoriously stubborn as before. They felt the need to get their point across while simultaneously being understood. For that, he would open the floor for them to speak, as he was the ever-partial Magnus. 

Ultra had moments when he wanted to get up and leave the room to give his processor a break from the oscillation of opposing voices. At times, he could feel his spark fill with the desire to stray from his chamber. But as a Magnus, he had a duty to uphold and therefore he had to stay.

His desire to leave was further enforced with the Decepticon leader on the opposite end of the table. Throughout the meeting, red optics were trained on any speakers, listening for interesting propositions. An ordinary thing, Ultra would think. But occasionally, that same intense gaze would hone into his own optics. There was a glint of trouble in Megatron’s stare, and yet his derma remained in a fine, fixed line, while his EM field continued to be unreadable.. Megatron’s focus would stay on the bot until he looked away, or something pulled his attention elsewhere. The Magnus could feel his pauldrons growing tense with each passing moment.

What was he looking at him like that for? 

Ultra wanted to sit and try to determine what Megatron was thinking but he also had other, more pressing matters on his processor. Peace negotiation for a united Cybertron, as united as it could be. For all he knew, it could have been an intimidation tactic. As Magnus, he knew he should not have been daunted by such things. Thus far, it was something that Megatron has been doing at every meeting, which meant he was required to suck it up, and maintain the illusion that he was unbothered.

The Magnus did his best to avert his gaze, focusing harder on the topic at hand and he would reply as expected of him. All of which were the typical things to do while participating in a negotiation. 

It was apparent to Megatron that Ultra Magnus was uncomfortable with the way he stared at him, which caused a subtle smirk to tug on his derma. This act was all for Ultra to see, while no one else would catch it. If he were Sentinel, he would’ve brought it up and chewed the warlord out, but that might have made him seem accusatory. The warlord’s subordinates would argue, and think they were giving their wonderful leader too much flak, that it was an honor for them to be graced with his benevolent presence. That was the last thing Ultra wanted. He was trying to negotiate for peace amidst some of the most hard headed individuals to exist. 

What irked him above all else, was that his spark skipped a beat every time he caught that impish grin. If Ultra Magnus were to close his optics, that devilish smirk would remain etched into his processor. He just could not escape from it, even outside of meetings, where he may be casually conversing with other bots. Megatron would be around somewhere, and if Ultra turned his helm, he would be met with that devious curl of his derma and his spark would flutter. 

Ultra did not want to admit that there was something his spark was telling him.

The moment Ultra Magnus left the meeting room, a sense of tranquility washed over him. The meeting had adjourned, and they would all reconvene within the next few solar cycles. The quiet halls, except for a few chatters behind him, made his plating rattle gently, and all the tension in his frame simmered away into nothingness. His processor rid itself of all the little bugs that caused it to feel glitched and clogged. Finally, he could have some time to himself. 

Ultra Magnus remembered walking to the elevator, his servo gently clutching his hammer to keep hold. Once he approached and after a few slides of a digit, the arrows on the keypad presented themselves to him. He thought about where he should go, as most of his duties for the solar cycle were done, but of course there were always plenty of things to do as Supreme Commander of the Autobots and leader of the Elite Guard. The Magnus always felt off if he was not participating in any tasks that his role required of him, and  it tended to leave him with a nagging itch. 

Do something productive , his processor would say.

 Logical as it was, those tasks required collaborating with bots that were currently unavailable. It prompted a twitch in his optic shutters, and suddenly it gave him the desire to retreat into his habsuite. He clicked the up-arrow and waited patiently.

As each number lights up and dims on the current-floor display above the doors, he hears the sound of heavy, yet calculating pedesteps approaching him, and his servo reflexively tightens around his weapon.

Who was it? Ultra pondered, his spark had begun pulsing, and an unsettling sensation washed through his system. Magnus feared he recognized who those pedesteps belonged to, and as such, anticipated something to be said by the intruder. Ultra’s optics stared down at the floor, and while it was tempting to look behind him, the Magnus did not give in. He didn’t want to see who he thought it might be. As the heavy footfalls paused a moment, Ultra Magnus stiffened.

“... Megatron,” the Autobot muttered. 

He hated that he guessed correctly. 

A chuckle escapes the warlord’s dermas, the warframe stepping up beside the Magnus with his servos folded behind him, red optics glancing down at the mech’s smaller frame. Ultra doesn’t dare to look up at Megatron. His optics remained on the floor before flicking towards the elevator doors.

“You recognized me rather quick, Ultra Magnus,” Megatron hummed, “Without so much as a glance… Were you anticipating me?”

“No, I was not.” 

Liar. A voice hissed  in his processor.

 “I did not think you were coming down this way.”

“Intriguing…” Megatron smirked and paused in thought.

 The Magnus didn’t respond when Megatron spoke once again. He found himself uninterested in what the warlord wanted to converse about. Though, disinterest wouldn’t be accurate to what Ultra was feeling. Rather, there was a deep, resting, distracting, anxiousness that overrode his protocols to listen to what Megatron was saying to him.

It still hadn’t fully registered with Ultra Magnus that it was Megatron in the plating. Ultra recalled that the warlord’s spark had been extinguished, felled on a foreign organic planet all those stellar cycles ago. A certain prime and an unruly second-in-command had done him in. He was supposedly in smithereens. 

But no, Megatron could never die, could he? Every death was a rebirth, and the warlord that stood  next to him in his hulking stature, was proof of such. His tanks curled inwards when the thought lingered. 

Eventually, the elevator opened with a chirp of a bell. Megatron allows the Magnus to step in first before following, something that Ultra Magnus found slightly redeeming about him regardless if it was the bare minimum. After a few buttons were pressed, the elevator was on its way. 

Ultra Magnus was regretting coming into a space meant for Autobot sizing with the warframe. He could almost feel the other’s chassis pressing into the back of his helm. He took a gander at their situation, and when it fully registered to him what he was seeing, he nearly lost his composure. Megatron was bent over to prevent his helm from pressing into the ceiling, with a look of mild frustration scrawled across his faceplate. His servos were awkwardly pressing the sides of the elevator for balancing support to prevent him from falling. For some reason, Ultra Magnus felt his spark swirling with glee at the odd picture.

To their dismay, the elevator stopped halfway to its destination. Ultra Magnus glanced towards the buttons before looking to see what could be wrong. The lights in the ceiling and buttons were flickering, and the whole box was jittering. Megatron didn’t appear too pleased and was staring off to the side in focus. Ultra had an inkling he was trying to reach out to a line for someone, which prompted him to attempt it as well. 

… Jazz? Sentinel Prime? he asks aloud as the lines crackle in an attempt to connect. 

After a few nanokliks, a connection was secured, and on the other end, a familiar voice broke through some static. 

Ultra Magnus? Jazz calls through the line. Where–e are you and are you alri—ght? A power outage just w—wiped out a sector of the headquarters.

I am alright, Jazz, Ultra replied. 

He opened his intake to speak once more before briefly pausing. Suddenly, he felt troubled and awkward. 

As for where I am … Well… I am in a bit of a predicament.

… What type of predicament are we talkin’?

The Magnus lowered his voice, checking first to see if Megatron was listening to his conversation. 

He wasn’t. 

… I am stuck in an elevator with Megatron.

There was silence on the other side, and silence from Jazz was never a good thing. Ultra squeezed his optic shutters shut before letting out a vent and glancing back at the warlord with wary curiosity. Megatron’s faceplate remained still, but occasionally there was a slight furrow to his optic ridges before they returned to normal. Anything he said was in a hushed manner. The Magnus couldn’t determine what the warlord was communicating to whomever was on the other side. 

… You’re stuck in there with the big guy? Jazz finally spoke with a hint of amusement and worry. 

The mirth in his tone did not go unnoticed by the Magnus, and it had him perplexed. What did Jazz find so humorous? 

Primus forbid, okay, okay. Send me your location. I’ll send a maintenance team to track you down and get y'all outta there momentarily. But, are you able to hang in there for a few cycles, possibly even more? It’s all hands on deck to sort out the outage. 

Ultra Magnus frowned before his face settled back on neutral. A few extra cycles with the warframe shouldn’t be terrible, and they’ll be out of here soon. He could imagine that Megatron was thinking along the same lines.

I can handle a few cycles with Megatron. But thank you, I will. Give me a status report on the cause of the outage as soon as you can.

Gotcha, Ultra Magnus. But I’ll catch you later now. Don’t die before we get to you two. … Whether it’s the elevator or him, y’know.

Ultra Magnus felt his tank spin.

Jazz— I will be fine. I will speak to you later.

The communication line fizzled out, and Magnus let out a deep ex-vent. He knew these cycles were going to feel long,  But he was mentally prepared for just about anything at this point in his life. A small bump in the road never harmed him. 

Hesitantly, Ultra Magnus turned to Megatron, as the mech seemed to be wrapping up his conversation. He wore a small frown on his derma with slightly furrowed optic ridges. It was a familiar scowl that Ultra Magnus had seen both occasionally during peace negotiations,  and on the battlefield.

“I presume you communicated with one of your own about our predicament?” Ultra Magnus asked. 

“Yes, I did,” Megatron replied coolly. “He will scout out the cause of the outage with your Autobots, he believes all maintenance crews are attempting to fix  it.”

“Correct.”

“... We are stuck here for a while.”

“Regrettably so.”

“… Regrettably so.”

The Autobot shifted to look at the doors once again. Anything to not stare at the hulking behemoth behind him. His processor lingered on what he should do while waiting, and it definitely did not consist of chatting with  the warlord. Stare at the number pad? The ground looked great, too. Twiddle his digits? He was beginning to count numbers up to twenty-five before counting down to one. Rinse and repeat. 

As he cycled this a few times, he realized how long their circumstance was going to be . Unfortunately, there was no clock to indicate the time, so Ultra was stuck playing a guessing game based on his chrono. He angled his hammer to lean gently against the side, using a lighter grip in case Megatron wanted to attempt anything rash. 

Or, perhaps, Ultra Magnus was too on edge. 

Was this gradual, nonsensical pettiness of not speaking to a former enemy getting to him? 

No ! He had every right to be hesitant! 

But... they were also in the process of doing peace negotiations. They needed to strengthen relations and, for once, have a modicum of faith. Megatron was not stupid or rash, which meant he would not dare try anything in such a confined space. 

As the Magnus’ processor wandered, a creak could be heard coming from one of the corners. At first, Ultra chalked it up to typical elevator noises. But the creak became louder and the ceiling lights were flashing more frequently. The two bots simultaneously turned to the ceiling with equal looks of concern. When they turned back to look at one another with comical timing, Ultra Magnus felt his whole world fall. 

The elevator drops, sending the pair crashing to the ceiling. The sound of screeching flooded Ultra Magnus’ audials, and he felt his intake drop open. He couldn’t tell if he was screaming too, but if he was, it was certainly not loud enough to let Megatron hear him. He just could not get himself grounded. His hammer flew out of his grasp, with the top of it now digging into the ceiling. Ultra knew he had to prepare himself for impact.

When the elevator came to an abrupt halt, the Magnus hit the floor with a resounding crash. His faceplate impacted first and recoiled back, while the rest of him followed thereafter. He groaned, lying face down with a shaken processor, before attempting to get up. The elevator was malfunctioning this badly? He made a note of this in the back of his mind, before it fixated on the pain that was spreading across his faceplate. If the bits of energon splattered on the floor were indicative of what the state of his face was, he knew he had to get checked with a medic.

The Magnus’ digits were splayed out to push himself up. Stumbling on his pedes, he tried to lean on the wall for support. Ultra Magnus felt the world tilt sideways as he straightened his back and realized his pedes couldn’t hold his balance. He tumbled to his left where the elevator tilted, and instinctively, he caught himself on a ledge. He took in a breath and let it out as quickly as it came, the deeper vents helped his neural system cool down.

“Bold of you to lay a servo on my chassis.”

Ultra Magnus’ processor straightened out quickly upon hearing the warlord’s words. When he turned to look at the other, he found Megatron sitting on the floor. He looked a bit smaller in that position, but it occured to the Magnus that the elevator was now contorted from the crash. The walls were deformed where Megatron had fallen, so now the warlord was sitting in that dented corner. Upon looking at his servo and then the position of their frames, the Autobot nearly choked. 

Leaning on the warlord was not what he intended.

This is humiliating, Ultra Magnus thought. 

He quickly removed his servo from the other’s chassis as though he had been burned, and tried his best to keep from leaning on Megatron again. This was proving difficult with the angle which the elevator was tilting. But he knew he could do this.

The act earned a laugh from the bigger mech and left the Magnus scowling. He felt fortunate that there were no prying optics within the confines of this place, except for a single security camera in the corner, though he doubted it was functioning anymore.

Ultra Magnus searched for his hammer until he found it unfortunately lodged into the floor.  He didn’t want to budge the damned thing if the elevator was going to react unpredictably. So instead, he kept one servo to the side of his frame and another holding onto the railings within. 

Unfortunate circumstance after unfortunate circumstance. 

The Autobot was not a superstitious bot, but he was vaguely convinced that being in Megatron’s vicinity was inviting bad luck. Either that, or did Primus have something in store for him? He wasn’t in the mood to be at the hands of the higher being’s whims. 

In his HUD, a little notification beamed. Upon checking the sender, Magnus felt relief that it was from Jazz. He accepted the call with a servo to his audials, awaiting an update on the current issue transpiring outside the elevator.

Ultra Magnus, this is Jazz reporting in, Jazz began.

 There were some clicking sounds in the background. Seems like the cause of the outage was infighting around a power generator. We got some of the Elite Guard to take care of the perpetrators. It’s pretty badly damaged, but the maintenance crew is working hard to get it repaired in a jiffy. But, again, it will take a bit. How are you on your end?

I am mostly well, Ultra Magnus replied quietly. 

He noticed that the warlord across from him had glanced up. He was likely eavesdropping. His optics on him made Ultra’s spark spin, which caused a growing bubble of disdain churn in his tanks. Blue optics averted anywhere that wasn’t where the Decepticon occupied.

The elevator had fallen a few stories. I don’t believe either Megatron or I had sustained any injuries.

Oh Primus. Jazz stopped speaking momentarily. …  I will keep that noted. Regardless, I think you should get yourself checked once you’re outta there. That’s gotta hurt falling in the elevator, no?

Ultra Magnus was going to say no until his faceplate contorted. He couldn’t risk scrunching his face much, unless he was willing to endure the burn, and his frame was another story altogether.

It did… But nothing I cannot handle. I will get myself checked with the medic once I am out. Keep me posted with the details. I will continue to do my best on this end.

Roger that, sir. Catch you later.

The communication link closes with a click.

 Ultra Magnus sighs before looking over at Megatron once again. The warlord was tapping his digits against the floor, optics looking to the side before landing on the Autobot. 

The Magnus didn’t look away immediately this time. His optics couldn’t help but scan the Decepticon from helm to pede. Despite his reservations about the warframe, he couldn’t help but silently admit to himself that he was sort of… Cute? Hunched down with a slight pout… Given that he was sitting down, maybe that’s why. Ultra Magnus didn’t feel as intimidated as he had been beforehand. 

The hexagons in Megatron’s optics seemed to cycle then zoomed in on the Autobot’s face. They  seemed to be observing each other, attempting to read each other’s processors and come to conclusions about their behaviors. Ultra Magnus found himself biting the inside of his intake. Whether it was out of anxiety or anticipation for something (which he didn’t know himself), he eventually chose to glance away. He wasn’t aware of the subtle rust that presented itself on his faceplate.

“Do you like what you see, Ultra Magnus?” Megatron teased.

“... I have no comment,” the Magnus scoffed, turning his head further to avoid seeing a glimpse of the warlord in the corners of his vision. 

Megatron cocked an optic ridge. 

“... Actually, one comment. You have been staring at me since the meeting, as well as the last few. What gives, Megatron?”

“... Nothing really. I merely observe. I will say that you are far more bashful than I took you for. Hilarious .”

The Autobot cocked an optic ridge, before giving Megatron a small glance. “... Really now?”

Megatron pursed his derma, clicking his glossa in thought before smirking. Ultra’s spark plummets to the bottom of his tank, and he looks away with a silent scowl.

“Whenever I tease you, you pull away and avert your attention with innocent embarrassment. I may observe you, but when you notice, you look away rusting. I can read you, you know. So tell me something, Magnus. Do you find me attractive? ”

“No. That’s preposterous.”

That no came out quicker than Ultra Magnus would like. A twinge of guilt grew in his spark, especially when he stole a quick glance to see a discouraged look surface on the warlord’s faceplate.

“How harsh and disappointing.”

Disappointing?

“Elaborate.”

“Well—”

The elevator suddenly and briefly dropped once again. It was enough to knock Ultra Magnus off his pedes and tumble forwards into the warlord’s arms. He gasps, trying to get himself off the bigger bot’s frame, which only results in him stumbling and flailing. Megatron giggled, giggled. The warlord can giggle? He was entertained by the Magnus’ failure to keep his composure and balance, which was driving Ultra Magnus insane. He tried to pull himself up by gripping the railings and searching for a spot on the floor that wasn’t occupied by Megatron’s limbs to ground his pede on. 

As Ultra Magnus repositioned himself to get off, he stopped. There was a new warm, tingling sensation in his array. He took a glance downward, and it took a lot in him to not widen his optics at the straddling position he found himself in. In his field of vision, the Magnus swore he saw a twitching grin on Megatron’s face. Hesitantly, he looks up  for confirmation. 

There it was… 

That horrendous, mischievous grin. 

Megatron kept a servo against his helm as the other had its digits tapping off to the side in anticipation. His red optics fixated on him, reading his faceplate for anything he could latch onto and tease the Autobot about. Ultra gave a subtle, quiet gulp when his frame slowly began to heat up. After some observation, the fixated optics soon made their way down, over Ultra Magnus’ chassis, down to his array.

If the Magnus was right, Megatron had a hungry, ferine look on his face. His optics didn’t budge, and his attention turned to the servo against his face. 

While still, for the most part, it had its digits twitching slightly. Like it was itching to grab something, something like Ultra’s frame. Maybe to caress, fondle, or even mess with it. Those servos were huge, and he did not doubt that they could wrap around his hips and interlock their digits. Oh , the directions that the implication had in his processor were awful. Perhaps the warlord could use that to his advantage to take him and—

The Magnus immediately ceased lingering on the increasingly dirty thoughts.

Megatron’s servo eventually closed, seemingly restraining itself from doing anything. A vent of relief wafts from the Magnus’ intake. But then, when Ultra Magnus dared to look the warlord in the faceplate, his venting stopped.

The warlord was glancing back once more.

The staring… was getting a bit uncomfortable, and the teasing on top of it did not help. Everything that had been happening within these last few cycles, with each action lingering in the back of his processor. It was weird, for lack of a better word. He wondered if Megatron knew what he was doing.

He looked away awkwardly, then tried to shift around to get up, but he couldn’t. His frame was refusing to cooperate, and instead was having him remain seated on the warlord’s array. A flurry of heat from his array raced throughout his frame, leaking through the seams and fizzling out. His faceplate was heating up the longer he was straddling Megatron. He recognized the sound of his fans whirring to life, and the inside of his intake was getting dry. Then finally, the thing that he dreaded the most popped up on his HUD.

[ Permission to open interface panels? ]

“You’ve been sitting here for some time,” Megatron said. His voice snapped Ultra Magnus’ attention away from the message. “You look mortified, too. By the way—”

“Do not speak to me right now.”

“So quick to shut me up, how rude . I was going to kindly point out how you are so rigorously heating up against my frame.”

Megatron ends that with his usual smirk. That stupid smirk on that damned ‘Con. Ultra Magnus was itching to wipe it off his face, and he was leaning forward to argue with the warlord. He was going to give him a piece of his mind, his patience with the bot now worn thin. 

But no.  

His frame decided otherwise.  

A sudden pulsing wave ripples from his valve panel throughout the entirity of his frame. He stops mid-chastising and hunches over. His stabilizers were attempting to close in on themselves as much as they physically could. 

That was his first mistake. It pressed the panel harshly against his valve lips, which in turn also pressed against his little node that was sequestered away within the folds. His fans kicked faster and were practically screaming. He held back from making  a sound, and kept his optics fixated on that gleaming Decepticon sigil on the Megatron’s chassis. The purple was almost beaming at him. He could’ve sworn it was practically mocking him now. It made his tanks twist in a building frustration.

A servo snuck its way in to lift Ultra Magnus’ helm by the chin. The other’s optics stared into his gleaming blue ones with certain victory for a battle the Magnus did not realize he was fighting. When the warlord sat up and inched his way close to the latter, he isn’t sure what he should say. His processor became scrambled from the increasing heat searing through his frame. The proximity sent his spark into a spiral, and he tried not to imagine what could transpire from this. Ultra’s optics glanced down to Megatron’s servo, then to his derma, and then back to where it formerly was. 

Right next to the Autobot’s audial, Megatron whispered, “I can help you, Ultra Magnus. You can get your problem out of your system, as can I, because of your little mishap.” 

His mishap? It almost echoed in his processor. 

“... Consider this our trust exercise for our future alliance. What do you think?”

The Magnus said nothing at first, but eventually shook his head. He pulled his helm away from the warlord. He refused the idea of interfacing in a place like this. … A place like this? More like he shouldn’t even consider the idea of interfacing with the Decepticon at all. That would be treasonous. And during peace negotiations? What would happen if someone were to find out? 

Ultra Magnus ignored the second time the prompt appeared on his HUD. He forced himself to rise, despising that his array mourned the loss of contact. Upon standing almost upright on his pedes, he stammered and sputtered when he unclenched his stabilizers. The sudden weight on his valve lips being lifted had them clenching for contact. The HUD message persisted. 

Frustration was becoming clearer on the Magnus’ faceplate, which the warlord relished with a smug look that Ultra noticed. As he turned, he attempted to hold onto the railings, but his stabilizers trembled and gave way.

“My offer still stands, Ultra Magnus,” Megatron hummed, getting up to the best of his abilities on uneven ground. “Unless you want to remain standing and struggling until the maintenance crew arrives. You aren’t doing well enough to reel in your field.” 

Ultra Magnus let out a hiss when he felt the other’s digits ghost along his back. He bucked over as the message became bolder and louder in his helm, his dentae grinding together to not allow a whimper escape his intake. Logically, he would ride out this wave of pleasure and never look back at this embarrassing moment. Just then, Megatron’s dermas brushed against his audial receptors. A chill escapes down his spinal strut, and his valve squeezed tightly. 

“Your field is overflowing with need,” he whispered. “Your stabilizers are growing weak. You can’t even hold yourself up, and the condensation on your plating is practically dripping off of you. Yet, you want to play tough and stand there, refusing to listen to what your frame wants.” 

Ultra Magnus shook his head, trying to focus on cooling down as quickly as possible. His node and valve were pulsing under his panel, begging for someone to touch them. A sensation of fingers gliding over his hips almost caused his stabilizers to crash. His frame was starting to twitch and shake from more than the ghostly, distant touches. He hated that his processor was taking him to places he hadn’t thought about since stellar cycles ago. Those fantastical, processor-numbing dreams. It wanted the warframe to just take him there and then. To grab him by the hips and yank his panel off for him. To ruin, defile, and destroy his valve from the inside—

“It looks rather pathetic,” Megatron hissed, snapping Ultra Magnus out of his fantasy. The Magnus remembered his duty. He tried to push the warlord away, to get him to stop talking into his audials. He did not need to be flooded with insignificant, lustful thoughts. No, he had obligations. Didn’t the warlord have some too? 

“D–Do not talk to me like that.”

“Your frame. It wants me, doesn’t it?”

The Autobot shook his head. No, it didn’t. But yes, it did? Yes, he did. … No. No. Yes?

“ You want me.”

“No.”

“You say so, but your array says otherwise. Look at you.”

Ultra Magnus yelped when Megatron grabbed one of his thighs and pried it wide for his panel to be on full display. Involuntarily, the panel finally snapped open without the Magnus permitting it to do so. Interface protocols had begun to spring in his HUD. Some of the lubricant seeped out of his valve, rolling down his inner thighs. His exterior node was blinking. The outermost caliper started to cycle open and close, anticipating something to penetrate him. His optic ridges furrowed, shutters closing completely as he turned his faceplate away.

“You are soaking wet. Are you sure you don’t want me?”

The Magnus felt his chin being grabbed and pulled in one direction. His dutiful self wanted to resist, but his simple nature gave in. Derma planted against the side of his auditory receptor, letting a vent pass through it and causing him to shudder.

“I could just drive my fingers into your wet valve, and it would accept me without an ounce of resistance. It would suck me in and keep me there for as long as it could. Your inner nodes would cry as I coax and press them. I can already imagine the squelching, the clenching, and all those obscene noises that your prudeness cannot fathom .”

A gasp escapes Ultra’s derma. The vivid and salacious imagery overtaking his thoughts, rendering him with almost nothing but the desire for Megatron to fill his valve with his digits and spike. What was duty anymore? That wasn’t a priority.

The Magnus’ optics shot open to give the other a pleading, desperate look. What he saw looking back at him was a vicious, ravenous Decepticon that could eat him whole right there and now, and tear him open from the inside out. No one would hear him scream or cry. His spike housing ached at the thought of it.

“M-Megatron— You have made your point— Just please.”

“Please, what?”

“I—”

Ultra Magnus yelped when Megatron repositioned his frame against a tilted wall where gravity was in the latter’s favor. One side of his faceplate had pressed itself against the surface. His servos ground him by gripping the new set of railings that sat below him. His spinal strut was bent where he had his aft high enough to meet the other’s array, having him on the tip of his pedes. Ultra felt a weight rest against his back. Derma returned to its rightful place on the side of his audial. When a digit was pressed against his exterior node, he resisted the urge to rock back and forth.

”I-I accept your proposal,” the Magnus relented, letting out a silent sob when the digit applied a bit of pressure. “Please, pleasure me. Use my valve. A–Abuse it if you wish.” He lowered his helm, pressing the front of it against the wall before him. “But please, please do not let a single spark know about this. Nobody can know.” 

For a moment, a deafening silence followed. He couldn’t see Megatron’s expression, and the only indication of what he might be up to was through the stillness of his servo near his valve. 

“… Our little secret will stay with me, sir ,” Megatron whispered.

The sudden use of a formality brought a rush of heat into his array that the Magnus did not anticipate. Lubricant sputtered out of his valve at the sound of it. His calipers clenched as well, causing him to groan, which Megatron so deliciously lapped up. 

A weight had been lifted off of Ultra Magnus’ pauldrons. For now, he trusted the Decepticon’s words, despite logically, he knew he shouldn’t. Perhaps this will be used as blackmail down the line, something for Megatron to flaunt and hang over his head. The dirty little secret that the Ultra Magnus, one of the beacons of Autobot society, an idol to many in the Elite Guard, was defiled by Megatron of Tarn, the gladiator, the Decepticon warlord whose name struck fear into the sparks of many. Every bot would know how much the warlord had Ultra under his thumb.

Despite all of that, he still felt grateful for the promise. He couldn’t fathom the thought of this escapade getting out. The hypothetical looks of disappointment, horror, and pure disgust that every Autobot would have weighed on him. The verbal reassurance had given him relief.

“Do let me know if anything hurts. I’d hate for my partner to be in a pain that isn’t enjoyable.’

That moment of relief was cut short when a digit had prodded its way through the first caliper. Ultra’s stabilizers nearly buckled as it quickly ascended through the next, and with caliper after caliper, eventually, the tip rested near his ceiling node. The edging sensation sent rippling flurries of heat through his array. His frame trembled in satisfaction, and he only wished that the digit could press against his ceiling node wholeheartedly. The thought of that sensitive, special button being abused and manipulated, had him nearly rolling his optics back to the point he almost overloaded from that alone. 

But with the modicum of restraint he had left, he used it. No , he wasn’t going to overload so soon. Megatron would find it amusing that the Magnus was quick to please. Did he want that? A small part of him wanted to impress the warlord, prove to him that yes, as prudish as he was, he wasn’t a pushover in the berth. He was a magnus for goodness' sake, he had to remind Megatron of that. 

“... Are you not sealed?” Megatron inquires. “I don’t feel a seal.”

Ultra Magnus resets his vocaliser before replying, “No. I am not.”

“Who is the lucky bot that got to spike you?”

“Lucky– … Nobody that you would know.”

“A shame.”

The near overload, though, reminded him how much his valve lacked in use. He hadn’t gotten the chance to pleasure himself for several stellar cycles due to the constant fighting and searching for the Allspark. Missions, the likes of it. It almost felt a bit shameful that if he couldn’t pleasure himself when, perhaps, a subordinate could. No, he had a responsibility as a superior not to use anybody in his team to merely interface. It was simply immoral.

As Ultra Magnus’ train of thought drifted, the digit began to curl and unfurl within, continuing in a beckoning motion as his valve began to loosen up. He swung a servo over his intake when it brushed over his ceiling node. Megatron chuckled at that.

“Aw, I want to hear you,” the warlord cooed. “Let me hear you sing. ” 

“N-No–” 

 A free servo reaches out to grab Ultra’s, prying it away from his intake. The Magnus wanted to physically resist, but clearly, the other was physically stronger. His servo was right out of his reach, and with another beckon of a digit, he tried to hold back a moan. His vocaliser was straining into static the more he held back, Megatron had him spasming and rendering him nearly incapable of speaking. All he could do was let out low whimpers at particularly good curls. Low squelching noises bounced off the walls into his audials, so lewd and salacious that it had more lubricants squirting out of the small openings that the single finger couldn’t fill. Internally, the finger nearly filled the Magnus by sheer girth alone. 

He had remembered; he was an Autobot. Despite his height being bigger than most Autobot frames, he can never compare to the height of any warframe. They dwarfed him in every way imaginable. Of course, warframes were built tanky for the sake of fighting on the frontlines. It was a miracle that he and any other Autobot had ever won a fight against them.

Eventually, more digits were added. The second one already had the Magnus reeling. It stretched the outermost caliper almost excruciatingly, and Megatron had to rock his fingers back and forth to ease its way up his valve cavity. He figured that when the warlord circled the side of his thigh in a way of comfort and coaxing, it helped relax the Autobot to open up further. He almost wanted to loosen up and lean into the touch if he wasn’t so focused on keeping himself grounded.

… Was this real?

“You’re doing so well for me,” Megatron whispered. Ultra Magnus opened his intake to respond, but instead, he let out his first audible groan of the night. “Keep opening up~ We’re almost there…” 

His helm pressed harder against the wall, and his servo around the railing tightened. He felt himself being speared open as Megatron continued to dig into him. The digits progressively thrusted quicker, grinding and probing against the inner nodes to forcibly activate them, being stimulated over and over again. Lubricants continue to gush out of his valve. Every thrust sputtered more and it dripped onto the floor. 

The Autobot almost slammed his stabilizers shut when the third finger pushed through. He gave a silent cry, instinctively searching for comfort and earning it when Megatron kissed the side of his audials gently. It burned his outermost caliper, straining it as it attempted to cycle down on a girth it wasn’t used to. It collided with the three digits, spasming out when it couldn’t close tightly. A shaky sob left his intake.

“Just a little bit more…” Megatron continued to scissor his fingers in and out of the valve, readjusting his wrist so that the palm of his servo pressed and rubbed against his outer node. Ultra Magnus’s hips naturally twisted against the ministrations, wanting more of it as the heat rose in his array.

Megatron shoved his fingers down to the knuckles, sending a wave of pleasurable pain shooting through his array and rippling throughout his whole frame. Ultra’s valve spasmed, attempting to stretch out further to accommodate the sudden new girth. He threw his helm back with a glitchy wail, stabilizers twitching violently at the sudden assault. He nearly overloaded again. 

“There’s that beautiful cry I was looking for.” The warlord smothered his dermas against the side of his shaken partner’s helm, savoring the increasing heat by leaving himself there before pulling away. 

For a few nanokilks, the fingers remained there. It allowed his inner calipers to adjust to the width, occasionally curling to keep the inner nodes activated. He massaged the mesh walls to part ever so slightly, to accept his fingers with more grace. Ultra’s dermas quivered, attempting to voice his quiet pleas to frag him already. But nothing could be voiced with a shorting-out vocaliser. He was holding onto the railing like his life depended on it.

The digits wiggled within the valve before slowly sliding out, caliper by caliper. Megatron also dragged his palm and digits across the node while he could, eliciting some gasps. Lubricant spills out with the fingers, leaving a string of it still connected. If what Ultra Magnus heard was correct, Megatron licked each of his digits off clean, purposefully slurping on them loudly for his audials to pick up on. He couldn’t tell if he felt disgusted, but his valve certainly said otherwise. 

“You’re ready,” the warlord purred. He releases the servo he had withheld from the Magnus, allowing it to situate itself back onto the railing alongside his other servo. 

Ultra Magnus didn’t turn his helm when Megatron’s spike housing clicked open, allowing his spike to pressurize. If he was honest with himself, he was frightened at the thought of the size of his spike. There was no doubt that Megatron was huge and very possibly thick. He could already visualize the length, the girth, and its appearance. He has heard of Decepticons frequently modding their spikes and valves, from knots to barbs, which sounded frankly mortifying to him. But again, what did he know? This was Decepticon interfacing culture. Outside of what propaganda and stigma would tell its citizens, he was more curious about them than not. What mods did Megatron possibly have in store? It was a leap of faith.

A fat, thick spike pressed up against the Magnus’ valve lips, spreading them open. He could feel his tank drop, and condensation built up immediately. It felt too large. Too thick, perhaps too long. It didn’t compare to the thickness of just three of Megatron’s digits alone. He also felt a pattern of ridges from the tip down to the base– Where was the base? It dawned on him that he didn’t even feel his array meeting Megatron’s. He was just resting atop the spike like a pole.

Ultra Magnus’ optics darted downwards, his helm tilting just enough where it gave him a good view of where the spike was. 

“... That is not going to fit,” he muttered, looking toward the warlord with a look of disbelief. His vocaliser raised his voice just a tad. “Megatron, there is no possibility that you can squeeze that monstrous thing into my valve. Your digits were already bad enough.”

Megatron shrugged. “I have had smaller valves to work with.”

“Smaller!?” 

Ultra Magnus’ voice stammered when he felt the spike pressed up into his node. Electrical currents shot through his frame to his processor. There was a tight grip planted onto both sides of his hips, sending tingling sensations throughout his frame. The resulting heat was burning him up. His fans weren’t catching up, as much as Ultra had permitted it to go into overdrive. But he recollects himself to the best of his abilities.

“Where on Cybertron would you have found smaller valves that weren’t from your hulking Decepticon subordinates?”

“Take a guess, Magnus . Do you recall a Decepticon in my ranks that would be smaller than that of you?”

As much as curiosity urged him to ask about it, Ultra Magnus didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know who in his ranks or what Autobot had decided to pop open their valve for the warlord before he did. It was a new box of bolts that he didn’t want to deal with just yet… He was already dealing with his own.

Before Megatron could attempt to push his spike into the Magnus, a notification pops up in the latter’s HUD. The Magnus quickly gave the warframe a signal not to proceed just yet. 

… What ill-timing. 

Ultra spots the message despite his processor being in a heavy haze. He holds a servo to the side of his audials, accepting the call as the communication link boots up. He can hear Jazz shouting orders.

Apologies for that, Ultra Magnus, Jazz sighed. The Jettwins are being ridiculous. Sentinel’s getting his hands on them as soon as he can. But we did get the power generator fixed. The maintenance crew should be on the way now.

Now? Ultra Magnus almost inquired in disbelief, until he realized how that would have sounded. … Good. I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. There was an insulted nudge from Megatron’s spike, gliding his ridges over the beating node. Ultra Magnus bucked into the motion with a sharp hiss.

… You okay over there? Did Megatron do something to you?

I—I am fine. And no. He didn’t do anything. — Somewhere in there, a glare was shot at the warlord. That was his mistake. — That elevator fall took a bit out of me. Again, nothing I cannot handle. I hope that it doesn’t move, otherwise I have to resend my coordin—

The outermost caliper gave way the moment Megatron pressed the tip of his spike against his valve, entering with a sharp snap. It paused at the first couple of inner calipers, nudging against them to ease in. But with each couple of ridges entering, something plush yet firm hit and dragged against his node, vanishing into his valve. The Magnus bit his bottom derma, letting a heavy ex-vent out once he felt the urge to cry dissipate. He couldn’t figure out what that was. But he did not doubt that it was a mod. He whipped his helm around to face the warlord, almost loudly chastising the bigger bot for nearly embarrassing him in front of one of his best subordinates and blowing their cover. All Megatron responded with was a cheeky little grin. That brute.

Apologies. I-I believe the connection is wavering.

… That’s fine… I think that’s my cue. I’ll go give Sentinel a servo to get the twins to calm down. Inform me when you get outta there. Again, catch you later.

The moment the communication link shut down, Ultra Magnus was prepared to give Megatron a piece of his processor.

“The maintenance crew is on their way?” Megatron asked innocently. “We have little time then, no?”

“Yes, they’re on their way, and…” Unfortunately … “... yes, that would mean we have less time. But do not ever do that again. You almost had our cover blown.”

“Tch, a little risk doesn’t hurt, does it now?” Megatron scoffed, rocking his array back and forth to gently break through the next set of calipers.

“O-Of course you would say that.”

The spike slides through further. Each ridge popped through each caliper ring, digging itself deeper and deeper. The firm bumps dragged against his node, producing electrical currents fluttering through his valve, sending feedback into his helm that rendered it as pure ecstasy. How could someone smaller than him handle this? It was beyond him. They were split open while he was on the verge of doing so. 

The Magnus drooped his head low. His optics squeezed shut, refraining from looking down and seeing how Megatron’s spike was deliciously protruding from his abdomen. He had begun accepting requests on his HUD to reorient his internals to try and accommodate the new girth. He feared that if he looked, it'd send him into a deeper haze he wouldn’t want to come back from. The desire to lose himself in the pleasure, neglect all duties his role demands of him, and allow the warlord to have his way with him, was very tempting.

“For one, you already accepting my offer was a major risk in itself, no? I assume there’s a daredevil in your spark.”

Ultra Magnus shook his head. “I-I accepted because you cornered me. You and your little advances ever since the first set of negotiation meetings… You had me where you wanted me the moment you came into this damned elevator. I refuse to believe it was all by coincidence.” 

Megatron seemed to dislike that accusation. He yanked the Magnus back by wrapping an arm around his neck, slamming his chassis into the other’s back and pinning him to the wall in front. Ultra Magnus cried out with widened optics. How did the elevator not waver or drop from that alone? Perhaps Primus was holding it for them. Damn him.

The Magnus was about to mention it, but the spike popped in even further, continuing to drag against all his internal nodes and mesh walls. The tip nearly crushed his ceiling node, even going past it toward his forge, causing optics to roll back before fluttering shut. He couldn’t keep the tips of his pedes on the floor any longer, resorting to clasping one stabilizer around Megatron’s for some support. He was trying to vent through his intake, but the arm tightened. His servos instinctually gripped onto them as a plea for release. From this position, he could see part of the ‘Con’s faceplate.

“Ah-ah, you do not get to accuse me of such things,” Megatron hissed. His other servo moved from the Magnus’ hips to his faceplate, pulling it upward so that he could see the desperate look that Ultra had on. “As I said, I merely observe . What feelings you may have developed for me are all because of you , not me. I only reacted when you looked away because I found it charming. Nothing more, nothing less.” He then leans down to meet the level of the other’s audials. “You are paranoid, Magnus . Let yourself loose for a nanoklik, will you?” 

Ultra Magnus couldn’t respond. 

It was not a coincidence , he wanted to argue. It was calculating. Surely, the mech wanted to get his guard down so he could consume him, change him, scatter his thoughts, and rearrange his internal system until it could only accept Megatron and Megatron alone. To have him under the warlord’s thumb so the deals could go accordingly to what his faction wanted. The Magnus in him was hollering at him to get himself together and realize the fragger’s schemes. Only a fool would accept this wholeheartedly and not think otherwise.

But of course, Ultra could be a simple fool. He was already drowning in the other’s violent affections, as it consumed his processor slowly but surely. His frame just wanted to stay like this and accept all of the harsh, passionate beatings. He wanted to see more. He was so far gone at this point. 

So, what can he say? 

His valve fluttered at the sound of Megatron’s voice. He would hate to admit aloud that his voice tickled his processor very nicely. His frame conceded, calipers opening wider and letting the warlord nearly down to the base. The tip was pressing into his gestation seal, and all his vocaliser could give was a garbled whimper. His optics couldn’t look into the other’s without wanting to squirt, thus accepted to stare down at the arm around him.

“... Good Autobot. ”

Such a title sent a shiver down Ultra Magnus’ spinal strut. As he savored the little praise, Megatron pulled his array back until only the tip was inside. The other’s insides suctioned down on nothing, trying to suck the other back in desperately. Ultra earned himself a chuckle.

“As much as I will accept your offer to abuse your precious little valve, tell me when it truly hurts.”

Ultra Magnus nodded shakily before his optics were blown open, and his intake dropped with a scream. Their arrays crashed together with a symphonic CLANK . His stabilizers shook violently. The tip of his spike bashed into his gestation seal, ridges and bumps pulling on nodes with it as it grounded itself within. With a sharp vent, the warlord violently pulled back and thrusted in deeply once more. 

“Ah— Megatron— Plea-SE~!”

“Y-You are unbelievably tight– Hah~”

Megatron did not hold back on setting a grueling, harsh pace, with each thrust resulting in the aggressive collision of their arrays. His inner nodes were frying him from the inside, continuously sending flurries of heat throughout his frame. Heatwave after heatwave would meet his processor, melting it until he couldn’t think about anything but the spike that was violating and defiling his frame. His optics would roll back with coolant bursting from the corners. He couldn’t keep his intake shut anymore, as a cry was torn out of his vocaliser at every thrust. 

Through the tears, he could vaguely see the warlord cast a look over his faceplate. His red optics burned through all the blurs in his vision. He saw how half-lidded his optic shutters were and if he squinted hard enough, he could witness how strained and satisfied Megatron appeared. 

The warframe must have thought how amazing it was to reduce a Magnus to his little whore. There he was in his servos, twitching and sucking up each thrust that was handed to him. Continuous waves of euphoria and ecstasy rushed into his helm and spun his processor quicker than he could catch up. 

“Megatron, I—” At a good thrust, Ultra Magnus felt his valve implode with an explosive overload, sending his helm backwards with a choked-out keen. His whole array attempted to buck forward, but Megatron’s frame prevented it, making his back strut arched harder than it already was. His whole frame was spasming. A bucket of fluids squirted out of his valve, leaking down Megatron’s spike and spilling onto the floor.  Though, he would not be given any reprieve. Megatron continued to frag him through the overload, giving him a new rising pressure for another incoming overload to hit the Magnus. His vocaliser was beginning to short out again.

“M-Megatron, please– My processor can’t–”

Megatron stopped once his whole spike was snuggled up in his valve, pressing against the seal to his forge. Ultra Magnus could feel it through his abdominal plating into the wall, giving him an increasingly gratifying sensation that rippled a tingling sensation around that part of his frame. 

“We have limited time,” Megatron whispered. “Until I get my overload, we are not stopping for anything.”

The Magnus wanted to argue, but he was flipped and let down onto the floor. His whole frame ached upon the drop, pain deriving from both the initial fall and the earlier drop of the elevator. He did his best to recollect himself, rubbing the forefront of his helm into the palm of his servo. As he looked above him, his energon lines went cold. He could now see Megatron in all his glory, with that huge spike resting upon his blinking anterior node. 

Reality was hitting him with how huge the other was. He could see the spike in its entirety, with its intricate ridges, red biolights lining each side. There were little protruding knobs of red that lined from under the tip to the base. Was that what was bumping into his node? No wonder it felt amazing. 

Coolant dripped down the side of Ultra’s helm. The fact that his frame could take that monstrous thing was a miracle.

“I want to see your cute face when you overload again,” the warlord cooed, before lining up Ultra Magnus’ hips with one servo with his array, another grounding itself above the other’s helm, and bringing his valve down on the spike. 

There was little resistance this time, apart from the ridges pushing past tight calipers. The Autobot couldn’t do anything but hold on for dear life with the set of railings and cry. His stabilizers wrapped themselves around Megatron’s waist for more security, bouncing with each pull and thrust.

Upon looking down at his abdominal plating, Ultra Magnus almost went still. Feeling the way the spike tore through his valve up against his forge was one thing. To see it hit higher than he initially anticipated in his imagination was a whole new world. He hated how much his frame kicked up with more heat than his fans could combat at the sight and sensation of this. It was building up the charge within his valve faster than he could process, and an electrical current was about to rip through him.

Then suddenly, Megatron stopped. And when he stopped, the current came to a halt as well. He had his spike nested almost fully once more, letting out a shaky ex-vent through his intakes. Ultra Magnus tried to move his array to get some friction back. However, attempts were futile with Megatron’s strong servo keeping them there. Rather than move, he sat and quietly observed with labored vents. 

There was steam coming off the warlord’s frame. His bottom derma lowered ever so slightly, having labored vents as he did, though not as harsh. Those red optics were furrowed with focus and tension, trying his best to keep himself at bay. Ultra Magnus tried to read his faceplate, pondering what he was thinking, when Megatron himself said they had little time.

“... Beg.”

“H-Huh?” Ultra Magnus furrowed his optic ridges and stammered, “... For what?”

“Your overload. I know that you are almost there again, aren’t you?”

The audacity.

“... Megatron, you brute— You said we had limited time.” Ultra Magnus almost got up to fight with the warlord before both servos were violently pinned to the sides of his helm.

“Rude. And yes, I did say that, but I want to have a little fun. Now come on, beg .”

“No. I demand you to get on with it and frag me stupid like you’ve already been.”

“You are in no position to order me around, Magnus . Your stabilizers can barely hold themselves up as it is.”

Megatron shifts backwards to drag the Magnus off the wall, having him flail his servos with nothing to grab onto. The Autobot’s back was to the floor. His pedes were wobbling from no support until Megatron lifted his stabilizers, and he was practically folded in half with his aft up and pedes to the floor right beside his helm. He didn’t even know he had the flexible capabilities to do so. The tip of a thumb planted itself atop his anterior node, not budging around one bit even if the Magnus tried to rock against it. It was no use.

“How cruel of you– You—”

From this angle, Ultra Magnus could feel the tip of the spike pressing deeply against his forge, nearing the verge of penetrating the seal. He gritted his dentae, nearly heaving when Megatron pushed down on his hips to continue to press harder on it. 

“Do you want them to find you in this position?” the warframe asked snidely. “Your stabilizers spread as though you opened them up just for me? Flailing your silly servos around without your hammer in your possession? This can be over if you just say the words.” 

Ultra Magnus huffed, trying to move his frame around to stimulate himself. His servos attempted to reach out to get Megatron’s grip to loosen. 

The warlord watched acutely at the other’s poor attempts to get the upper hand, with this position that he had chosen being too effective. He could just sit back and let the bot exhaust himself, or until the maintenance crew came. Ultra Magnus knew he was in for a rude awakening if they did.

“... Fine, please let me overload,” he snarled. “Are you happy with that?”

“Mmm… Not desperate enough.” 

The thumb against the anterior node began to shift in place. Ultra threw his helm back and loudly vented through his intake. No, he can’t beg. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have to. His spark held him too high to be degraded to this level. Megatron was massaging and flicking the little bud, building up a massive charge to only release the applied pressure, leaving the Magnus dissatisfied. 

Ultra attempted to beg once more.

“P-Please?” 

“Still not enough~”

Another charge was built up, before it died once more. Ultra Magnus clawed at Megatron’s arms, valve cycling down on the spike harder every time he approached his peak, but took several steps back. 

Ultra can’t do this. He wasn’t going out like this. Megatron would not give him a moment to breathe, and he should’ve expected it. Hah! How could he not have foreseen this? Megatron was and still is a sadistic little glitch. Ultra was so out-of-touch and naive that it had gotten up to this point, in this humiliating position, at the mercy of this damned Decepticon, getting edged to damnation. How? How–

Again, Megatron would not let him get his overload. So much coolant was welling up in Ultra’s optics, it was blinding him. 

Even after charge build-up after charge build-up.

“P-Please–”

“No.”

Begging after begging.

“PLEASE–”

“Hmm… No.”

Nothing was ever enough for the warlord.

“Megatron– Please– PLEASE !”

“Not enough.”

Until he was broken, Ultra Magnus knew. 

There was a small part of him ready to jump into that place of no return, if it meant that he could relieve himself of the thoughts of having to think about his duties and morals to focus on this bliss. Perhaps for this one moment, he will get to savor that. Maybe it’ll hurt. Maybe it won’t. Maybe both? Of course, he reminded himself briefly that he was a Magnus, leader of the Elite Guard. Supreme Commander of the Autobots. He can handle it. 

Ultra’s processor was becoming a heater. His fans were sputtering as it couldn’t function and keep up. He was crumbling under the thumb of pressure, helm thrown back and dentae grinding. The spike tip continued to be smushed harder against the seal. He was wincing as his seal was straining to keep Megatron out. It was stubborn, just as he was during this whole exchange. The spike kept pushing and pushing, and instinctively, he was trying to push back at it, too. He never had his gestation seal penetrated before, even during the times he did interface with another. His spark was sinking with anticipation and alarm. 

How would it feel? Would it hurt? Would it damage his internals? He tried to open his intake, but was incapable of voicing his fear and concern. His vocaliser wasn’t cooperating, and Megatron was going for it regardless of what Ultra wanted to say. He really was. Ultra squeezed his optics. 

The fragger was going to pop it, pop him . The last bit of sanity he held was going to the incinerator, and he had to accept it. No , he wanted to accept it.

And the pressure grew and grew, all until finally, the seal gave out. 

The head popped inside his forge, and Ultra Magnus wailed . His stabilizers spasmed violently, and so did his servos, with his spinal strut arched to its limited maximum. Megatron growled into his audials, almost bucking over from how tightly the valve strangled his spike with its calipers. Right as Ultra’s optics rolled back, it blew out into white.

It hurts. It hurts so bad. And he knew he should’ve expected it. The burning sensation was spreading viciously throughout his array, and it didn’t help that his frame was still aching from the initial fall. He clawed at Megatron’s forearms, harsh enough that the paint from the tip of his digits scraped off. 

He cried, screaming incoherent garbles of pleas and strings of letters that could only be understood as the warlord’s name. Optic lubricant spilled down his face plate. He felt pathetic lying on the floor, incapable of properly pulling his helm up to look at the fragger. His whole frame was nearly thrashing.

Though simultaneously, it was intoxicating. After the initial burn subsided, a more pleasant sensation rippled across the pain, replacing it with a residual heat that hugged his insides nicely and securely. It was coaxing his frame to calm itself and embrace it all. Everything eventually came to a exhilarating standstill. 

His processor melted. Oral lubricant could no longer be contained in his intake, gurgling up too much of it that it seeped out. This was pure, unadulterated bliss... Did he really miss out on this? He was ashamed that he didn’t experience this sooner. This processor-blowing moment…

For the mech above, Megatron stared blankly at the Magnus below him while heavily venting. It gave him a chance to observe him again, up close and personal this time. Ultra was almost on the verge of blue screening, with optics that were flickering, incapable of keeping them fully online. There was still a tight grip from the bot onto his forearms, quickly loosening up as the other wallowed in the blissful heat. 

I really just did that , Megatron thought. He really just sent the bot’s processor to the Well of Allsparks. A childish glee arose in Megatron’s spark. Oh, to be the one to witness and cause a whole new face on the supposed stoic, fierce leader of the Elite Guard. Even better, there was a bigger rush of euphoria when he could sense on the latter’s EM field that he was purely satisfied, something that he didn’t exactly expect coming out of this. 

The warlord had thought back to earlier when Ultra Magnus was apprehensive. For once, he was being honest about just observing the mech. There had been moments where he had gotten up and personal with the other, whether exchanging foul words or blows to the plating. They were at war. So of course, he would be fighting and getting all vicious. It was anything to fight for his cause. 

But now, in time of peace, Megatron could sit down to read the bots around him that weren’t just his subordinates. It had been a while since he could do that. Ultra Magnus was one of the bots he had been keen on watching closely. But the teasing? Well, he couldn’t help it, as the Magnus was very entertaining to provoke. He simply thought he was being a cheeky little fool. But alas, he had forgotten that it never bodes well when you’re a warlord of a faction that the fragger has reservations about. Of course… Course… Perhaps he had gotten a bit too comfy too quickly. For that, it was a mistake and oversight on his part. But it was a happy little mistake that gifted him this perfect snapshot of the Magnus quivering under his frame, utterly processor-fried and speechless from ecstasy. 

Megatron had refocused himself from his thoughts to the bot below him. Right, they were on a time crunch. There was nothing near them that would hint at the maintenance crew’s proximity to their location. But he wasn’t willing to risk it. 

The warlord freed the other’s stabilizers, letting them lie on the floor gently. He hummed with satisfaction at his beautiful work. 

“Now, Magnus, ” Megatron said sweetly. His thumb remained on the node, and the other caressing the Magnus’ helm. The Autobot let out a shaky sob at the warmth. “ Beg for me. ”

Without hesitation, Ultra opened his intake to speak. At first, it was too staticky. So staticky that his vocaliser had to reboot itself. He quickly shuts up temporarily upon this realization, with hints of embarrassment flooding his EM field. 

“... Please—Megatron,” Ultra whimpered. “ L-Let me overload. Please let me overload. I need it. I need you . I can’t do this anymore—”

Megatron couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He smashed his dermas onto the Magnus’ own, the other mindlessly accepting the warlord without a thought. Oral lubricant was exchanged, with glossas twisting and tangling up in each other’s intake. For not a single nanoklik did Megatron pull back to get a vent of fresh air. He pushed his glossa further, voracious to lap up all of the Autobot’s lubricants until it was nothing but his own.

The warlord resumed rutting violently into the Magnus. He was pulling and slamming his array into the other without caring that the paints of their arrays were transferring quickly, with the tip of his spike cruising through the seal, into the edges of the chamber and back out in an attempt to chase his overload. The ministrations on Ultra’s anterior node persisted, digits doing their due diligence and pulled and rubbed at the bud with heat building up within. Ultra loudly wept into smushed intakes. His optics were still flickering at the edge of shutting down, rolling back far enough that it was completely blue. 

His processor was completely blank. Not a single thought was present aside from the fact that all he wanted was for the damned ‘Con to crush his gestational chamber with that thick head on his spike. He wanted Megatron to fill him so much that the chamber and valve couldn’t hold it all anymore. And if Megatron thrusted hard enough, he’d break both, breaking into his forge and the rest of his internals so badly that he’d let all the transfluid fill the rest of his frame. It was already ruined and soiled, so what more destruction was unacceptable? 

Ultra Magnus watches his visual feed short out as he finally overloads again, a returning explosive heat bursts inside his node. Electrical signals rushed through his frame in ripples as he jerked under Megatron’s frame. He couldn’t cry, not with Megatron’s dermas on his and his glossa gagging him. As before, he was fragged through the rushing flame. The ridges and bumps on his spike clawed past all his calipers and mesh walls, igniting them in a burning, pleasing sensation that flooded him. The plating of his array creaked at every thrust, screeching, generating sparks that flew off to the side. His servos tried to claw at Megatron’s back strut for grounding to touch upon reality for just a moment, but he couldn’t do so. 

His helm was burning. Reality was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t muster the strength to keep in touch. 

The warframe begins to thrust inconsistently, becoming shakier as he can feel the incoming overload approaching. He lets out a low moan into Ultra’s intake, quickly shutting himself up by lapping at his glossa. He hoped to hold out just a little longer, but no. Increases of heat flooded his spike, and that was it. 

“I— I’m about to— FRAG—” 

Megatron pulls away from the kiss and sinks his spike to the base with a hiss, resisting the urge to bite the other on the intake cables. The tip crashed past the ceiling node and back into the snug warmth of the gestational chamber with a loud CLANG . Barely a squeal from the Magnus can be heard. 

Ultra felt his valve and abdomen warming up, feeling the slick transfluid pumping into his chamber and then his forge. His intake hung open to get a deep vent with a seizing frame, struggling to accept the laps of the fluid. Eventually, it resorted to expelling some past the base, completely going limp with the occasional twitches of his fingertips.

Megatron smiled with satisfaction at his work. He licked his derma and ducked down, lapping up Ultra Magnus’ coolant and oral lubricant with a pleasant hum.

“… Amazing… Amazing little Autobot~”

Ultra Magnus could only respond with a quiet hum of appreciation before falling into recharge. Megatron wasn’t too worried about it, but hoped the bot would wake up before the maintenance crew arrived. He wasn’t prepared to be accused of pounding him into a seemingly unconscious state when he… Well, he was pounding Ultra Magnus with his spike if that counted. 

When the warlord felt ready, he slowly slid his spike out. Each ridge and bump made a squelching pop as it exited Ultra’s valve, sending a shiver down the limp mech every time. Once the tip pops out, Megatron pries the folds of the valve open to peek at his handiwork. 

Pink fluids were covering every caliper and mesh within, occasionally sputtering out onto the floor. The calipers would seldom cycle, but not down to their former sizing that it was once used to. It made Megatron’s spark sing. He was tempted to sit here and eat out the Magnus’ valve for all its worth, and the taste on his glossa would be satiating. But alas, they had no time.

And so he expected. His optics darted around when he heard distant footsteps rushing about. With his best effort, he gets his spike to depressurize and tuck nicely into its housing with a satisfied click. He coaxes the other’s array to close its panel with gentle beckoning motions. Ultra would probably have to clean himself out later, or he could come and help if Ultra isn’t opposed to it…

A warframe can dream.

Megatron glances around for fluids in the area that could incriminate them. After a little rub and scrape on stained surfaces, it looked fairly cleaned up. The only thing difficult to clean up was the energon stain from Ultra Magnus’ initial faceplant, but they could easily come clean to the crew about it if they asked. He had an idea of how to excuse both of their roughed up frames, and so kept it in the back of his processor. There was also the lodged Magnus hammer in the floor that he wouldn’t try to pull out, which again, he can chalk it up to the elevator falling. Perfect.

Eventually, Ultra Magnus wakes with his usual self… Partially. His visual feed was correcting itself, clearing out missing or glitching pixels. He felt loopy from the continuous stimulation during their interface. His unfurled field had indicated no shame or regret, and he only looked a little worn out and out of it. He looks down at his frame, then his surroundings. His frame looked fine… Aside from the paint transfers. Hopefully, the maintenance crew won’t stand and look at his aft with certain grey splotches. 

When moving his limbs, Ultra was met with layers of an uncomfortable ache. He attempted to stand up on his pedes, only to fall forward into a certain warframe’s arms.

“Good morning to you,” Megatron quipped, before getting the Magnus to stand straight. The Autobot briefly glanced at the warlord, observing the state of his frame. He looked fairly unscathed, other than the finger streaks across his arms. A little hint of blue was on his array, but it blended in with the dark grey. “I can hear the maintenance crew coming along.”

“...” The Autobot said nothing, for now. He stares at his hammer before cautiously removing it from where it was lodged. All that was left was a dent in its former spot. 

Ultra Magnus stood quietly, using the hammer as a crutch. He hated how his calipers clenched at the sound of the other’s voice. The transfluid was almost sloshing in this gestation chamber when he moved ever so slightly, threatening to leak out past his valve canal and panel. The thought of it leaking in front of the maintenance crew made him squeeze his stabilizers together.

His frame still yearned for more of that delicious warmth... no, Ultra will ride out the remainder of his sensations, or so he told himself. 

The elevator doors finally opened, and the maintenance crew stood at the opening. Such a short group of bots, the warlord would think. Small yet efficient at their jobs, akin to nanites within a frame. They jumped when they laid their optics upon the warlord, and increases of fear could be sensed in their EM fields. For the most part, Ultra Magnus’ presence reassured them.

“Ah, salutations, Ultra Magnus, sir!” the leader greeted. “To you as well, Lord Megatron. Er, what happened to your face, sir?” Ultra briefly forgot that there were probably energon stains mixed with oral and optic lubricant on his face plate. He feigned a little surprise and scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, during the outage, the elevator had fallen a few stories, and we sustained a few external injuries. But we are alright for the most part.” He could’ve sworn Megatron almost giggled behind him. The urge to hit the other over the helm with his hammer was strong.

“Primus– Sounds about right… Well, we will get this elevator repaired as soon as possible. Please carefully step out. My crew will assist if needed!” 

“... Thank you, little ones.” Ultra could feel his whole frame nearly collapsing as he stiffly moved out of the elevator, with Megatron following close behind. “Please be careful. The elevator’s behavior has been rather… Unpredictable. I do not know if or when it will fall again.”

“Note taken. We will watch out for it while we repair it. ”

As the two stepped away, Ultra Magnus could feel a lingering stare on his back strut. A shiver rushes down his spine, pondering what to say to the other. 

Thank you for keeping our cover? 

Thank you for the much-needed fragging?

It made him feel a renewed, bubbling sensation settling in the bottom of his tank. 

When the duo were far away from any bots’ stares, he felt his knees finally buckle. He tried to hold himself with his hammer, but he fell forward onto the floor with a loud smash. How that didn’t attract nearby bots was beyond him. 

A cackle erupts from Megatron.

“Do you need assistance getting to your habsuite?” Megatron asks sweetly. A bit too sweetly for the Magnus’ liking. He almost refused, but he didn’t want to remain straggling in the hallways now, did he? His remaining pride couldn’t fathom the glances he’d possibly earn. 

“... Yes,” Ultra Magnus grumbled. Without faltering, Megatron lifts the other into his arms, carrying him as though he were his little conjunx. Conjunx?! The Magnus shook his helm. He gripped his hammer close to himself as the warframe strolled through the halls, being careful not to get caught by the occasional bot that passed through. No conversation ever erupted between the two during their little journey. The Magnus was too occupied with his thoughts to consider a conversation. 

Hall after hall and stairs after stairs, the two make it to Ultra’s habsuite. Ultra Magnus was quick to punch in the designated code, and the door slid open with a click. Megatron ducks under the frame and into the little suite. 

The room was very organized and fairly big. Of course, not as big as a Decepticon like Megatron to fit in, but it was better than what the average suite size was. There weren’t any personalized things that the warlord could see, but it felt on par with the Magnus’s general taste. 

The hammer slips from the Autobot’s weakening grip, clattering on the floor without any damage. Megatron takes a glance at the weapon before looking at the bot in his arms.

“... Are you able to wash yourself, or do you want my help?” the warlord asked. Ultra Magnus’ optics fluttered shut before waking himself abruptly upon registering the question. 

The other was being very… Accommodating. He didn’t know whether to appreciate it at face value or look between the lines for any malicious intent. 

“... I will accept your help.”

“Wonderful~”

Megatron felt a jump of glee and victory in his spark. All was going so well in his favor, but he had to refrain from verbalizing that. A quiet victory would suffice.

The warframe carried him into the washracks, shutting the door behind him with the press of a button. Same as the berthroom, it was bigger than the average personal washrack that a civilian frame would have. It had all the essentials, and oh, wonderful. A little seating area on the side of the shower. Ultra Magnus felt himself being seated on it. For a moment, he took a moment to lean his helm back and watch the warlord carefully as he tested the temperature of the solvent. 

As usual, Megatron’s field was reeled in. Focused, he was. However, there was an unmistakable little grin on his face. Whatever it was for, Ultra didn’t feel the need to care. The warlord was humming something quietly to himself, like a little tune of the sort, which was very cute, and somewhat chippy. The humming went on until the faucet was turned on. 

The warmth of the solvent rushed over his helm and down his frame. His optics closed as he took in the heat. A servo gently rubbed against one side of his face plate, rubbing it of any stains of energon from his fall before moving onto the next. His processor refused to think about anything else but what was happening in the now. All the aching sensations temporarily escaped him, with a sigh of relief and satisfaction leaving his dermas. It felt so nice after their little session, he could stay here for the next megacycle or so. 

“Spread your stabilizers for me,” Megatron instructed. As asked, Ultra Magnus did so. His optics opened and glanced down to find Megatron scratching at any transfluid in any of the seams near his array.

“... You’re rather thorough,” Ultra Magnus muttered. Megatron halts mid-scratch and throws a look at the other. He smiled a little, though the other couldn’t tell if it was a mischievous or genuine one.

“I have to be. I wouldn’t leave an interface partner completely in disarray and not clean them up. As much as we have… Tense history, you are my current interface partner. I will treat you decently as such.”

Megatron resumed his little scrubs before tapping at the valve panel.

“Open.”

The Magnus froze. “...”

“I’m not going to frag you with my digits,” Megatron sighed with a roll of the optics. “I’m cleaning you out of any remaining transfluid that isn’t in your forge.” Before Ultra opened the panel, Megatron smirked. “Unless… You want me to.”

Ultra Magnus looked to the side with a bit of bashfulness. “... Another time.”

“Another– Oh? What was that?” Megatron leaned against the other’s stabilizers and rested his chin against a servo with a cheeky grin. “What has graced my audials?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Another time, you say?”

“Yes, and?”

“Oh my~ But I jest , Magnus. I am just surprised. But to be clear, you are open to another session?”

“... Yes.”

Megatron hummed with glee before continuing his mission to clean up the Magnus. The panel opens for the warlord to start cleaning out his valve, taking great care to get every nook and cranny while not overly stimulating him. Ultra could feel his array warm up and hiss for more, but he squeezed his optics shut and focused on something off-topic, such as duties. Not now, not yet. He wanted his frame to take a break. 

Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure if he was going to regret saying that to Megatron. First of all, his duty and responsibility as a Magnus and Supreme Commander was creeping back up in his processor. No more was the processor drowning in the ecstasy and bliss of interfacing, but now reset to its usual logical self. Perhaps, their little escapades would make peace negotiations slightly less tense. If they ever did converse about it before, during, or after their little sessions, they’d cooperate better during the meetings, and things would start moving forward. Fragging a warlord for the sake of peace? Sure, if he must. 

… He would bet that his self from a couple of cycles ago would be screaming at him. 

When Megatron was done cleaning the Magnus and himself, he dried both of them off before carrying him in his arms once more. 

They find themselves in the berthroom once more. Megatron walks over the berth and gently lays the Magnus flat against it. The cushion sinks him in, gently embracing the bot. The warlord slowly takes a couple of steps back, gazing upon the other with an unreadable look. Ultra looks back at the other curiously, his spark seeming to cry out for the other to come lie with him, even if it’s just for a moment.

… He wasn’t fond of this new development in his spark.

“... I shall go now before one of your subordinates finds us in here together,” Megatron muttered. “Again, I promise not to say a word.” Ultra Magnus, at first, didn’t say anything. He simply stared at the other with a blank look. 

His spark continued to cry, seeping out through his EM field in the form of yearning. How long has it been since he had properly lain in berth with another? He couldn’t remember or give an approximate time. But for what he did remember, his spark ached for the warmth that a decent cuddle would bring. He was usually the one to wrap his arms around his partner, giving them sweet little kisses and nuzzles. Rarely was he ever on the receiving end of an embrace in the berth, as he was expected to be the one dishing it out.

Megatron seemed to pick up on this yearning. He looked at the door, back to the berth, before making his decision by strolling over quietly and sitting beside the Magnus. For a moment, there was an awkwardness and tension that began to fill the silence. Ultra Magnus was uncertain what to do or say, mustering the strength to lean closer to the other’s thigh. In return, Megatron gently laid a servo against Ultra’s helm.

It surprised the Magnus what he was doing almost subconsciously, being this vulnerable with his supposed enemy. Logic was chastising him for doing something so stupid, again. What if Megatron ripped his helm off right here and now? Nobody would know what truly happened other than what he could say afterward. Perhaps he’d be humiliated by the Decepticons for popping open his panel for the warlord and getting himself killed. Maybe his few loyal subordinates would go and investigate themselves, only to be disappointed that Ultra Magnus willingly got himself fragged. 

“First shy, and now clingy. You always know how to subvert my expectations.”

The awkwardness turned to annoyance. Right. Ultra Magnus was reminded of the prick’s teasing nature. 

“Shut up now, will you?”

“That would be a hefty request, Ultra Magnus. … Anyway, admittedly, I like you better like this, under my servo and being all over me.”

“If you want me to continue to be like that, stop making fun of me.”

“Continue? Fine~ Whatever you say.” 

The next couple of cycles would consist of Ultra lying there beside the warlord, simmering in the closeness of their frames. Not once was the silence disturbed as requested by the Magnus. It was anything for Megatron to see the usually uptight Autobot commander being vulnerable and quiet in his presence. A nice diversion was what it was. Once he settled into recharge, Megatron slowly got up and made his way out of the habsuite. 

As the warlord walked through the halls towards his habsuite, he didn’t expect to come across his fellow subordinates. Lugnut was conversing with Shockwave, though a conversation wouldn’t properly describe the two’s current interaction. He walks up behind the two discreetly, curiously eavesdropping on what the two could be arguing about.

“- They expect us to only be satisfied with one city for Decepticons when there’s plenty of us to span several?!” Lugnut exclaims. “It’s preposterous, and a spit to the face! Megatron deserves more, if not all the cities, if they are this selfish!”

“Lugnut, we have to be patient,” Shockwave murmured. “Megatron can settle for one to start with before we negotiate for more. Playing the long game garners better results.”

“But in the case they refuse to hand us more, thinking settling for one is already enough? We can’t put up with that slag from the damned Autobots! They already have us under their thumbs as is.”

Megatron almost cackled at that. Not when he knew what he had just walked away from. Unbeknownst to the two of them, he had a certain advantage. Though, he was already beginning to enjoy the Magnus’ presence too much to hurt him by strictly pursuing the goals his mechs wanted by force. So, he will play the long game to earn trust from Ultra Magnus and make peace negotiations run smoother than before.

… If the plan is going accordingly…

“I believe I can disagree with that, Lugnut,” Megatron chuckled, causing his two subordinates to leap.

“L-Lord Megatron! You surprise us!” Lugnut stammered, getting onto his knee pads and bowing forth to his master. “How gracious of you to bless us with your presence!”

“Greetings, Lord Megatron,” Shockwave greeted and bowed after recollecting himself. “I assume you heard a handful of our conversation… No?”

“I have, Shockwave.” Megatron hummed, finding himself to be too giggly about a certain Autobot. “I will say… Lugnut, I believe it is the other way around. I have gotten a certain advantage to have the Autobots under our thumbs instead.”

“Oh?! Of course you have, Lord Megatron. Forgive me for ever doubting us!”

“But how?” Shockwave tilted his helm.

Megatron tapped his digits, determining how to explain without outing the Magnus. Of course, he wasn’t one for exposing one’s sexual escapades. That would be low… Unless it called for it.

He pursed his dermas before grinning cheekily.

“Well, let’s just say I talked to a certain Autobot… We had some wonderful conversations… And now we are on friendlier terms. Our plans should run smoother.”

Friendlier terms... Psh. What a silly way to put it.