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Transformers Private Collection, Porno Private Collection
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Published:
2021-07-05
Completed:
2022-01-16
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3/3
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Gun Maintenance

Summary:

Megatron progressively has a worse and worse day, including but not limited to: getting stuck in the Autobot base with no backup, accidentally hiding in his arch nemesis's room, and getting unknowingly jacked off by said nemesis.

Aka: Megan’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Notes:

I may have a slight fascination with characters being helpless/toyed with by another character who has no idea they are teasing the helpless character. HNNNNNG
Anyway, this fic sat in my WIP folder for...about a year or so, oops?
I didn't have any particular version of these characters in mind, so feel free to use your imagination.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Brushes and bristles

Chapter Text

Optimus sighed as he entered his habsuite. Fresh from the washracks, after a surprise infiltration attempt from the Decepticons. Thankfully, the attempt was successfully repelled by the team of the Ark, and the Cons turned tail and ran with Starscream at the helm.

Although … it irked Optimus some, that Megatron wasn’t in the attacking force. He reasoned that the former gladiator wasn’t really one built for stealth. The imposing stature, the sheer power and presence the warlord could bring to the battlefield … he shook his head, while forcibly terminating that processor chain. It really has been long since the last time he interfaced with anyone, if the thought of his nemesis could threaten to turn his cooling fans on … but then again, it’s not like their borderline obsession with each other escaped the notice of either of their advisors. He can’t even count the times he spilled his woes while overcharged on high-grade to an equally smashed Ratchet and Ironhide.

As he turned on the light in the habsuite, he took notice of something metallic on his berth-covers. A closer look revealed it to be a gun, but not of any make he was familiar with. He approached the berth and picked it up with a careful servo, inspecting it closer. It was a silver base, with black metal barrel attachments, built for both precision and power. The sight was also black in color, the weight of the gun optimally balanced. A marvel of engineering really. He wracked his processor, trying to figure out who could have put it in his hab. Finally arrived at the most likely culprit: Wheeljack. He had asked the scientist for an upgraded handgun, and it looks like he more than delivered. Although - he looked a bit closer - the surface of the gun was carrying some scratches in the paint and there was some accumulated grime in the seams. A repurposed gun then, not surprising given their lack of resources, so he turned to his cabinet and got out his maintenance kit.

The golden rule concerning anything Wheeljack got his servos on: don’t try to take it apart, there are enough explosions in the lab, they don’t need to add to the tally. So, some surface level cleaning and polishing will have to do for now, later, he’ll take it back to the lab for Wheeljack to show him how to put this modified model back together.

A few minutes earlier:

Megatron cursed Primus the 13 Primes the Unmaker and anything in-between.
As he sneaked through the corridors of the enemy base, trying to be as stealthy as his big frame would allow. How has it come to this? Of course it was Starscream’s fault. He gave explicit orders NOT to withdraw before he was out of the bowels of the ship, but naturally, his traitorous second saw this as a chance to leave him for the Autobots to find. At least the map Ravage gave him helped navigate the Ark, even if it had more information about the vent systems than the corridors, it at least had the codes for all of the doors in the base.
Then, he heard voices coming from the other end of the corridor. With few other choices, he turned to the nearest door and hastily inputted the combination. He nearly threw himself through the door and closed it just as quickly. He strained his audials, but when he didn’t hear any rushing pedesteps, he relaxed, and let out a sigh.
He looked around the room. The utilitarian design and lack of personal effects prevented him from guessing who it belonged to by just a glance. So, he brought out the map once more. Then promptly let out some choice words that would have made even his old gladiator friends raise an eyeridge or a high-caste mech instantly faint. Of slagging course he accidentally stumbled into Optimus’s hab.
And because Primus just hates him, that was the moment he heard the tell-tale pedesteps and conversation approaching the door, one of the voices clearly belonging to the Prime. This gave him a few scant seconds to run through his options. He definitely won't want to engage Prime in his own turf, with possible backup and no escape, but the spartan room did not give him much chance of hiding. In a last-ditch frantic idea, he engaged the transformation sequence into his new gun alt, and landed on the berth. If he can get Optimus to ignore him, or just not pay attention to the “innocent gun” in his hab, he might be able to sneak away undetected. He would not ambush the Prime while in recharge, he is nothing like his Air-Commander, if he wanted someone or something dead, he would confront it head-on.

As soon as he settled into position, the door slid open and the Prime entered. He said his goodbyes to the officer he had been talking to, and closed the door. Megatron couldn't actually see any of this happening, his form noticeably lacking any type of optics. He was still mentally tearing Starscream apart for his disobedience, when he felt servos picking him up. He tried being extra careful not to involuntarily twitch and give himself away. He felt himself being turned around and being inspected(?), before being set down on some surface he could only assume was his nemesis' lap. He elevated Starscream's punishment from "being dismembered" to "getting dissolved in acid alive".

--

Optimus chose to start with removing the majority of the surface grime with a soft cloth. He then moved up to the brushes, dipping them into the cleaning solution and gently scrubbing out the dust from the transformation seams. The gun got noticeably warmer as he progressed and when it started vibrating, he quickly stopped. The gun cooled down fast, and the vibrations stopped, so he reasoned it must be some kind of energy-storing function. Anyways, he would just need to be careful to stop intermittently.

He was on his third stop when he realized he should have started with his report first, because now, he had polish all over his servos. After a minute he got an idea. He sent a command to the on-ship computer to open the battle log and, after some deliberation, to run speech recognition. He was always better at gathering his thoughts out loud. As he started describing the day's battle, he was absent-mindedly paying attention to the gun, so it didn't overheat or discharge. The cool-down times were getting longer, so he decided to try and speed up to compensate. At least he had an entire night to himself, after all, why would the Decepticons attack again this soon?

--

Megatron decided that NO getting dissolved in acid alive is still not appropriate punishment for Starscream and endeavored to come up with some hellish torture even worse...as soon as he got himself out of this situation. His gamble to "hide" seemingly worked….because Optimus started cleaning the gun he randomly found in his habsuite. At least the Prime knows how to handle a gun. Also, this would have made perfect gloating material later. Imagine, the great Optimus Prime giving the equivalent of a polish job to Megatron. The problem started with the brushes. Megatron really should have taken Hook's advice and NOT transform until all of his sensor placements finalized, because now, every motion of the brush over the sensitive transformation seams lit up his confused system, and infuriatingly, it translated as pleasure. His systems cycled higher and higher, and just as he was seriously considering if he could overload in this form, Optimus just….stopped. Cue more mental cursing, this time aimed towards said Prime in question, as his unspent charge slowly simmered down. This should have been the end of this ridiculous situation, but no, Primus apparently loathes Megatron, because after a few seconds Optimus started up again. Then he stopped once again. The trapped warlord was swiftly leaving "blind rage" and approaching "incoherent with denied pleasure". His systems were desperately trying to compensate for the pauses in incoming sensory input and unconsciously heightening the sensation when it returned. The fact that it was Optimus slagging Prime wasn't helping matters. Why, oh why did it HAVE to be his nemesis, the only one who ever could pose a serious challenge to him, the one who always meets him punch for punch, the one who is now playing his body like an instrument and is driving him closer and closer to a processor crash.

Finally, a brief respite. He could hear the Prime rooting around for something in the box. Then, he started dictating the battlefield report. Megatron really should be paying attention to the potentially tactically significant information, but alas this was the moment Optimus slid the muzzle brush into his barrel and his entire world dissolved into a haze of static. His processor frantically tried to make sense of the incoming data, which it finally interpreted as him getting deeply and thoroughly spiked. He had a half-second thought about what will happen when he finally transforms back into root mode and his interface systems come online and how long exactly Optimus planned to continue this for. This was immediately swallowed by the ecstasy of Optimus moving the brush just so.

--

Optimus was halfway through his report when he received the urgent signal from Ironhide. Seems like the Decepticons did actually come back for a second round, which was concerning to say the least. Nevertheless, he left his hab post-haste, leaving the gun laying on his bed.

--

Getting thrown down to the bed while on the cusp of an overload, and getting left there is NOT how Megatron wanted to end this encounter. He terminated every thought process aimed at what he would have wanted this night to end (Not thinking about a blue and red cassis pressing him down, and a thick spike spearing him open, definitely not). He finally noticed the multiple high-priority alerts from Soundwave. Seemed like his loyal third came back to cause a distraction, so he can escape. He needed to get moving. So, he braced himself for anything and transformed back.

He landed on his back on the berth, and it was fortunate, because as soon as his back hit the surface, his interface protocols engaged full force, and dumped the charge of the countless denied overloads into his system. Both his panels snapped open, spike pressurizing so fast it hurt and valve lubricating at such a rate he felt like he sprung a leak. Before he could even consciously register it, his servos descended onto his array, pumping his spike and showing three digits deep into his valve, frantically chasing overload. When he finally tipped over the edge, he nearly fell offline from the force of it. As he lay there, panting, covered in his fluids on the bed of his worst enemy, he received a message from Soundwave that Ravage is en-route to his location, to help him get out undetected. He really should think up an excuse for this to say to his subordinates he reasoned. Maybe he'll do so when his processor no longer feels like mush.

--

Fighting the Decepticons once is tiring enough, fighting them twice in a span of less than a day? Definitely not ideal. Even if the only attacker is Soundwave. While the spymaster is a formidable opponent by himself, the bigger problem are his cassettes and the numerous security sweeps they necessitate afterwards. When Red Alert pulled him aside to talk, Optimus prepared himself for the worst as he stepped into the office of the Head of Security.

"Before anything else, I'm glad to see you up Red Alert, I heard Ratchet only released you from the med-bay a few hours ago"

"Thank you Prime. The problem I've run into has to do with my...unplanned absence"

That is….concerning to say the least. He motioned for him to continue.

"As you are aware of, I usually do a lot more...through sweep than regulation after a fight. But I was only able to review the camera footage now. This is the video from your hab...I'm just going to let it speak for itself."

With this, the red bot handed Optimus a datapad and left the room muttering something about "getting industrial-grade bleach for his cranial unit". With some trepidation, Optimus opened the video file, and watched as the "gun" he was cleaning earlier transformed into one very frazzled warlord and proceeded to frantically self-service right on his bed. Oh Primus...he needs a lethal amount of highgrade after this...and, as his tightening codpiece reminded him, maybe a good self-service session.

Chapter 2: A Horny Warlord

Summary:

That incident still haunts Megatron. But what happens when he is faced with the indisputable proof of his obsession?

Notes:

This chapter was NOT planned, in fact, I don't even know where I hot the horny energy for it.
Anyway
Enjoy the smut!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

This...this is real madness. The soft bristles of the brush sensitize every sensor on his surface, even getting into the seams and tickling the protoform beneath. Charge crackles across his surface as overload hits again. Megatron lost count how many times he had these faux overloads, as his interface systems are not fully online while in alt form. He dreads what will happen when he transforms back. He recalls the last time...oh how he wishes he didn't. 

 

There are now battle-scarred digits caressing him, almost as if searching for something. But what? He gets his answer as one of the digits flips the manual release of his transformation. The change is dizzying, but his gyros can't even compensate before his gathered charge violently rolls through him. It can't even be compared to the last time. He can't move, struts locked as he convulses violently experiencing overload after overload. 

 

At last the tremors subside, and he collapses onto the berth like a puppet with its strings cut. He's only vaguely aware of the veritable puddle of lubricant under his aft and the splatter of transfluid against his plating. 

 

"Oh my, how messy."

That voice! He manually overrides his optic shutters to be able to see. And yes, kneeling over him, like a robo-hound inspecting a freshly caught petorabbit is Optimus Prime.

"You really are shameless" he says, cupping his overheated helm in his palm, those maddening digits just brushing his audial "the great leader of the Decepticons, a trembling, sobbing wreck under me" 

 

Oh, so his blurred vision is from the welling optic cleanser and not permanent optic damage. Megatron is becoming aware of more and more of his body, and as much as he loathes to admit it, Optimus is right. His face is a mess of his oral solvents and optic fluid and his frame is trembling like a newbuild. How? How did it come to this?

"And you want to know the most shameless part?" Optimus asks, leaning closer "By your expression I can clearly see, you are just begging…" Oh Primus, is the thing brushing against his valve, what he thinks it is? "for a good spiking!" He says as he hilts himself into his valve in one push. Static takes over Megatron's mind, as his valve frantically tries to match the parameters of the spike entering him. It should hurt. It should feel like he's splitting in two. But why? Why does it feel like the deepest ecstasy? 

 

"Oh my! You really are just gagging for it aren't you? What a great warlord, moaning at being impaled on his enemies spike like a cheap whore." The Prime says, as he slowly pulls out, leaving an unbearable emptiness behind. When….when did Megatron cross his legs behind Optimus’s back? "I see, you want my spike back this badly? Then don't blame me if I indulge myself" The push back is like an unstoppable force, like he intends to conquer Megatron from the inside-out. It activates all of the nodes in his valve, the pleasure running a hot-red line from his valve straight to his processor. "You had all the overloads you wanted, it's time I take my share, don't you think?" He asks before he really puts his weight behind pounding Megatron through the berth. He can’t even struggle properly, the pleasure has sapped all of his energy. He can only weakly clutch at the shoulders of Optimus and try to hold onto sanity. 

 

The feeling of charged transfluid filling his valve catapults him into overload, his valve calipers milking the spike still buried in his channel. His legs fall down onto the berth, all strength leaving him. His vents cycle desperately, trying to cool his boiling frame. 

He feels his legs being lifted. "What makes you think we're done? Hmmm?" Optimus says, as he rearranges him with frightening ease, nearly folding Megatron in half. "We're only done…" He enters him again, the different angle scraping his spike against his anterior wall. The sudden jump in his charge produces visible arcs of electricity between their plates. Every trust makes an obscene squelching sound as their mixed fluids get forced out of his valve. "...when I say we're done. And I intend to wring every…" trust "...last…" trust "...drop of charge from your frame."

Megatron is going to die here, he is sure of it. He will not die on the battlefield in a blaze of glory, but under his greatest enemy, being fragged to death. And by Primus...why does he love it? With the last of his strength he clutches at the helm of Optimus, and just as he feels that spike breaching into his gestation chamber….

 

He jolts awake in his own berth. Was that…. Oh Primus, that was a recharge flux…

He wishes desperately that he somehow imagined this, but the ocean of lubricant he's sitting in is proof enough. He needs to kill something, violently. But first...how to dispose of his sheets discreetly?

Notes:

*On a different part of the Nemesis, a telepath is trying desperately to get the mental images out of his processor, with limited success*

Chapter 3: In the dark of the night

Summary:

Did you think I would forget about out dear Prime?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"This" Optimus thinks "is what hell must be like".

"For a Prime, you really have a short attention span"

And here it is, the source of his torment. Megatron is the bane of his existence on most days, but today it's a different flavor of torture. Optimus is bound from helm to pede, with no room to even wriggle, and with the Lord of Decepticons in the room with him. Only difference from the usual is the reason for his predicament.

"Maybe there was another reason why I had to take care of myself last time, hmmm? Maybe memory problems perhaps? Let me give you a refresher."

And without further ado, the silver tyrant just...bares his valve, right in front of his face. Optimus’s engine audibly kicks into higher gear and his tight control on his EM field slips, broadcasting his ravenous lust for the mech currently displaying himself for him. Megatron smirks and uses his digits to spread the petals of his valve, the dark protoform slowly plumping up with energon and beading lubricant. The red biolights rimming the entrance seemingly beacon his optics, drawing his gaze to the clenching calipers and the gently pulsing red anterior node.

"You seem to be hungry for something if the drool running down your chin is any indication." Megatron says, raising an optic-ridge. 

And sure enough, there is oral solvent painting a shameless trail down his chin. His engine gives a mortified rev as he desperately swallows, energon rushing to his faceplates.

"Oh~~~" Megatron gloats "Is someone embarrassed?"

"Don't worry your pretty little helm..." he straddles Optimus’s chest, his array just a few inches from his faceplates. He can smell Megatron's arousal, spicy and bold, untamed, like the mech himself. "...by the time I'm done with you, no one will notice those trails. Now, be a good Prime and open wide"

Optimus makes the mistake of opening his intake, just as Megatron sits down on his face. His frontal processing crashes from the sudden influx of sensation. The taste of his greatest rival on his glossa wrestles a honest-to-Primus moan from him. The sensation must have felt good, because Megatron grinds down on his face and there MUST be something wrong with his processor because Optimus actually extends his glossa to start licking.

"Tha...aaats that's much better. See? You can use that mouth of yours for better purposes than to make those awful speeches." 

Optimus really should bite back with something, but he did just find a shallow node cluster, which when he tongues over, Megatron's entire frame shudders and he is rewarded with another gush of lubricant. 

It's as if he entered a trance. Licking those shiny supple lips, gently nibbling on the sensitive protoform and nuzzling those blinking biolights. But the things that make his charge rise the most are the SOUNDS. Oh, the sounds.

The bitten-of ghasps, the whine of Megatron's engine and the half-finished praises that fall from his lips.

"Yes, yes, yes! Just like that… See how nice you can be when you decide not to be a tease… Should have done this eons ago… Your place is here, underneath me, worshipping me, isn't it? You like it when I tell you how GOOD you are being don't you? I can feel those cute finials of yours trembling. Yes, YES, YES!"

The mech above him overloads with a shout. "He is beautiful." Optimus thinks, before he can stop himself. But really how could he deny that Megatron, the Scurge of the Autobots, looks magnificent in the throes of passion. Helm thrown back, spinal strut arching, bolts of charge leaping from his plating. 

He makes sure to slow down and let him down gently. Megatron slows and stills, seemingly collecting himself. Optimus takes this moment to take stock of himself. 

His faceplates are absolutely drenched in lubricant, it's sticky tendrils still connecting his lips to Megatron's valve. His fans are blasting on full but they are still having trouble expelling the heat built up by his charge. And his array has seemingly overwritten his conscious control, because his spike is extended and is steadily dripping pre-fluid. All-in-all, he is the very picture of debauched.

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

Says Megatron, accompanied by the reintroduction of his valve to his intake.

"I have plans for you."

This sentence makes his tanks sink, and his internal temperature rise.

"I'm going to see if you will actually overload just from servicing me. And believe me, we have" grind "all" grind "night."

There is something nagging on the edge of his consciousness, but he is too preoccupied with that tempting anterior node to pay any attention to it.

The feeling grows and grows until suddenly the world shatters and…

 

Optimus bolts upright in his berth, dizzy, confused, and horribly charged up. It takes him a couple of seconds to put everything together but when he does, he drops his helm in his servos in mortification. He is NOT going to analyze the implications of that particular recharge flux, thank you very much. The thing that woke him up was his alert for the start of his shift. Which means he has to deal with his problem. 

He glares down his spike, which is still straining upwards, the traitor.

"Maybe I do need a vacation" he thinks as he takes his spike in servo and pointedly DOES NOT think about silver thighs, dark valve lips and red biolights. (He fails miserably)

 

 

Notes:

The two leaders are unable to look each other in the eyes next time they clash on the battlefield.
It's noticeable on both sides.
A telepath is silently despairing, while a certain visored saboteur starts plotting.

Notes:

Remember: kudos make my day, comments make my whole week!

To those who found this because of the popular ship tag: Welcome! I will probably not be writing a lot with canon characters, but feel free to stay for my other shenanigans.