Thrill of the Hunt

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

NC-17
G1 ish
Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Perceptor, obligatory Skyfire cameo
Sticky
Deanoned kink meme fill.

If you want to know why from here on out comments are disabled, PM me.

  

 “You know,” Sideswipe said, handing an energon cube to his share-mate, “did you ever notice how…big Perceptor is?” 

Sunstreaker took the cube, looking over at the Nerd Corral—Perceptor, Wheeljack and Skyfire, sitting at the same table, each buried in a datapad.  Huh.  The red microscope was fairly large.  Guess he’d never noticed him, the way Perceptor always hunched over.  And sitting next to Skyfire really didn’t help. “Yeah? What’s your point?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Sideswipe said, in that tone that Sunstreaker had learned, from vorns of intimacy, meant…the exact opposite.  He took a coy drink of his cube.  “Just thinking, you know…,” he winked at Sunstreaker over the rim. 

Sunstreaker turned back to look at Perceptor, evaluating.  “I could be convinced.”  He turned back, “Why are you?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “He did some repairs on me the other day and, well, you know how he…,”

“Runs his mouth.”  Dealing with that while interfacing could be…a moodkiller, Sunstreaker thought. 

“Yeah, well, he’s…apparently got a bit of a crush on me.”

“On…you.” Sunstreaker’s mouth flattened, playfully, pretending insult.

Sideswipe grinned, cheekily.  “Hey, I like to share my toys.”

“Huh. Like you have a choice, if I want some,” Sunstreaker retorted, grinning.  “But…the first question is: is he proportional?”

[***]

Sideswipe never backed down from a challenge.  Sunstreaker and he had met ages ago, at the betrothal ceremony. And even then, the golden armored mech had been a challenge, a firebrand of a lover, always vying with him for Quicksilver’s affections.  He’d thought it ego then, but Sideswipe had learned that…that was Sunstreaker’s way of forcing all three of them to work at it, not let the relationship ever get dull, stagnate, ever let them take each other for granted.  And when Quicksilver had offlined, he’d needed the distraction of Sunstreaker’s mercurial moodshifts even more than ever. And their relationship had changed, deepened, to a love that was…beyond sex. 

But not entirely. 

And they both recognized that sometimes they needed a third, like Quicksilver, something, someone, that balanced them out. 

Perceptor’s nervous rambling, hunched over Sideswipe’s exposed hip, had planted an idea.  And the strange gentleness of the large hands, far more delicate and precise than he would have imagined, had sent little tingling brushes over his sensor net.  And if Sideswipe were totally honest, the kind of honest he only ever was with Sunstreaker, he’d admit that the shy, stammering thing really turned him on. 

Almost as much as  what Sunstreaker jokingly called, ‘the thrill of the hunt’.  Which had brought him here, OH SO CASUALLY taking the longest shower in Cybertronian history, waiting to catch Perceptor in the washracks.  He’d run through a half-dozen scenarios to, you know, see the goods, but this was the only one that seemed like it wouldn’t end in a Serious Conversation With Prowl.

FINALLY.  Perceptor stepped into the washroom, glancing nervously around.  Sideswipe ducked his head obviously to one side, studying the…far corner apparently, waiting, waiting, shooting a sidelong glance or two back at the red mech as he scrubbed up his legs, then his arms…then, after an embarrassed ducking of his head, Perceptor opened his interface hatch and…oh my.

“Wow.”

Perceptor twitched, startled.  “I, uh…OH, uh, Sideswipe. It’s…you’re here!” Perceptor babbled, hands clapping over his exposed equipment. “And you’re looking quite attrac—well. You’re looking well. And those repairs?  To your dextral anterior gyroscope, yes? It’s functional?” A look of worry crossed the microscope’s face, as his hands fumbled, trying to jam his spike back in its housing—the spike, apparently, having other ideas. 

Sideswipe was all for those other ideas. 

[***]

“All right, all right,” Sunstreaker said.  “You’ve convinced me. Now…stop talking.  Frag. You’re beginning to SOUND like Perceptor.” 

Sideswipe grinned. “Seriously. He’s fraggin’ adorable.” 

“Not Quicksilver,” Sunstreaker said.

“Of course not!” Sideswipe said, a little hurt. “No one ever could be.  Not trying to replace her. Just…she wouldn’t want us to mourn her forever, you know?”

Sunstreaker snorted, but Sideswipe knew: point taken. “Right. Well. Why this one.” He settled his face into stern lines, determined not to go down easy. It had been his role with Quicksilver, as well. 

“Well,” Sideswipe said. “He’s smart. He does good repairs.”

“So let’s buy him some flowers,” Sunstreaker retorted.  “Not worth our time just because of that.”

“You didn’t let me finish!”  Sideswipe prodded playfully at Sunstreaker, knowing this was just another step, another thing they had to do, to move beyond Quicksilver. It was only right that Perceptor be…worth it.  The first after so long…? Yeah, he better be at least some kind of special.  

Sunstreaker cocked a supraorbital ridge. 

Sideswipe continued. “Well, like…that polish he makes that you like so much.” 

Sunstreaker nodded, granting Sideswipe a point.  He did love that polish.  And if Perceptor was with them, who knows what refinements he might make to it?  “What else?”

“He, well, if you think about it, does anyone ever say anything bad about Perceptor?”

“Brawn says he's a coward.”

Sideswipe's turn for a cutting look. “Thought we agreed that anything Brawn said is 90 degrees off stupid.” 

Sunstreaker nodded. Brawn? Not his favorite mech. But he was arguing for the principle of arguing.

“Who...that actually matters.”

“Nerd,” Sunstreaker retorted.

“Okay, other than you,” Sideswipe grinned.  “And I’m serious. I mean, Mirage is a snot, Ironhide’s got a temper, Bumblebee’s a fraggin’ snitch gossip…but Perceptor?”  He shook his head. “Worst thing anyone can say is he talks a lot, but compared to Bluestreak?”

Sunstreaker ticked points off on his fingers. “All right. Smart, nice, well-equipped, useful.” He shrugged, downplaying the magnitude of the admission. “Okay, I’m in. Next stage.”

Sideswipe beamed. “Acquisition.” 

Sunstreaker felt a matching grin grow on his face. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Sideswipe settled down next to Sunstreaker, running his hands with the familiarity of an old lover over the golden armor. “Perceptor won’t know what hit him.”

Sunstreaker leaned into the touch, pulling Sideswipe down into a kiss. “This whole fraggin’ ship won’t know what hit it.” 

[***]

Perceptor did not only not know what hit him, for the longest, and most frustrating time, it seemed he didn’t even NOTICE.  Which meant that the whole ship, indeed, had the benefit of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s slightly rusty ‘courtship’ techniques, once they had escalated from coy looks (that Perceptor never seemed to see) and gentle suggestions to things that were…a bit more obvious. 

Perceptor, watching a holovid in the rec room about Earth animals—particularly lions in Africa— suddenly found himself leaned against.  “You don’t mind, do you?” Sunstreaker said, sliding a golden thigh along Perceptor’s teal.

“M-mind?  Why would I mind?  It’s a, uh, room for recreation and this is, I suppose, recreation of a sort and, oh hello!” Perceptor twitched as Sideswipe flopped against his other side.

“Hey, Perceptor,” Sideswipe purred.  “Mind if we join you?”

“I…no. Not at all.” Perceptor tried to squeeze himself smaller, to make more room for the two car bots on either side, each of whom leaned against him, companionably. He could feel the gentle  hum of two different engines, synchronized, vibrating over his armor.  He shivered.

A gold arm stretched itself behind his scope.  Perceptor squeaked at the contact, as the fingers slid over the scope’s tube, coming to rest around his shoulders.  “Don’t mind, do you?” Sunstreaker said, curling against him. “You’re just…warm.” 

And getting warmer: Perceptor’s heat sinks hummed on, as he glued his attention stolidly to the screen and the nature program, trying his best to ignore Sideswipe as he, too, curled against Perceptor’s side, reaching his hand to meet Sunstreaker’s, their fingers interlacing behind Perceptor’s neck, their others joining on Perceptor’s lap. “Th-thank you? But, I assure you, my core temperature is well within normal parameters and with very little variation from the set tolerance for your frame and--,”

“Oh!” Sideswipe interrupted. “I remember this program. Hey , let me show you my favorite part!”  He plucked the remote out of Perceptor’s suddenly nerveless fingers, clicking to advance the feed. The lions went from sunning themselves in the golden grass of the savannah, to trotting after a kill, to…mating.  Sideswipe sat back, engines purring.  “Hot, huh?”

Yes.  Perceptor noticed the room suddenly felt a whole lot hotter, his optics locked onto the pistoning hips of the male lion.  He bolted upright, racing from the room, hot with mortification, stammering and choking. 

“Well,” Sunstreaker said, sliding back against the couch. “Smooth move, there, Sideswipe.”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Planted the seed, Sunstreaker. You’ll see.”

“Scared him off, more likely.”  Shame, because, well, he was kind of fun.

Sideswipe spread across the couch, filling the empty area left by Perceptor’s sudden departure, laying his head along Sunstreaker’s thigh. “If he’s that wussy, we don’t need him, anyway,” he said, still watching the lions mating on screen, engines purring happily as Sunstreaker tweaked his helm affectionately.  “But have a little faith.  Like these earth creatures here,” he said, drowsily, “thrill of the hunt.”

[***]

Their next stage was, perhaps, to ‘water’ the seeds. Or to bait the trap. Or whatever.  Frag stupid analogies, anyway.  This, they both decided, was too much fun. Even if things fell through with Perceptor, the sheer fun they were having was doing wonders to clear the cloud of boredom that had been louring over them.

“Is he even looking?” Sunstreaker murmured, nuzzling against Sideswipe’s helm, letting one hand strafe over Sideswipe’s pelvic frame.

Sideswipe rolled his head to one side, exposing more of his throat to Sunstreaker, letting his half-lidded optics drift to the table Sunstreaker’d always called the Nerd Corral. “Yup,” he murmured. Perceptor was staring, open-mouthed, his energon cube frozen halfway to his mouth.  The only reason Skyfire and Wheeljack hadn’t said anything about his odd ‘freeze’ was that, well, Wheeljack was nose deep in a datapad, and Skyfire…was staring right along with him.  Sideswipe fought the urge to give a cheeky wave. 

But all this attention was pretty damn scorching. Sideswipe turned, his own hands starting with Sunstreaker’s audial fins, gliding his thumbs down their receiver vents, nosing against the helm for a moment before tipping in for a slow, gentle kiss. “So much hotter with an audience, don’t you think?” he whispered, his mouthplates moving against Sunstreaker’s. 

Sunstreaker made a soft grunt in his vocalizer, but he leaned forward, pushing the red shoulder back, twisting his share mate’s body back along the refectory bench.  His own way of answering. 

Sideswipe purred, letting his hands travel around the gold and black shoulders, sliding down the torso armor, bringing one knee up to slide along Sunstreaker’s hip.  “Just think,” he whispered, “everyone’s watching us. Not just Perceptor.” 

Sunstreaker’s pelvic arch  ground down against his. “They can look all they want,” he replied.  “Not going to get much further.”

“Not with the both of us,” Sideswipe agreed, squirming along the narrow bench.  “Frag, I missed this.”

Sunstreaker gave an unaccustomed wink.  “Me, too.” 

“You know, we don’t have to…?” Sideswipe knew he was pushing Sunstreaker.  Who…really hadn’t wanted to let go of Quicksilver. Ever.  And he’d rather have this, keep this, than push too hard and risk ruining it. This was good enough. 

Sunstreaker arched up, letting Sideswipe’s hands run over his frame again, while he turned his head to look Perceptor squarely in the optics, licking his lips. Perceptor jolted, optics flaring wide and blue. Sunstreaker ducked down, burying a laugh in a hard kiss before he pulled away. “No, I want to. He’ll be…good for us.” 

Sideswipe felt a flare of happiness burst up, riding over the warm prickling heat of his aroused sensornet. 

[***]

Perceptor was  mortified.  “I…don’t know what to do, Skyfire. I mean…I can barely concentrate.  It’s all in my cortex, I think there’s something wrong with me.  Everywhere.  It’s like they’re everywhere and…,” he wrung his hands, “and very, very distracting.”

Skyfire leaned back against the wall of his workshop, next door to Perceptor’s.  “It’s not in your cortex, Perceptor. At least not…all of it.”

“But it’s…they’re everywhere. Places I never used to see them. Down by my quarters, suddenly, Sideswipe’s cleaning his armor. And doing this human thing called ‘yoga’ which apparently involves some very—VERY—unusual and, erm, interesting positions. And Sunstreaker. He came for some polish and…he…he said ‘thank you!’”  A moment of stunned silence. “A-and he, I could swear even though I know this must be my imagination, but I could swear he let his hand, you know…touch mine. In a, a...a certain way.” 

Skyfire grinned.  Normally yes, he would presume Perceptor was just imagining things—Sunstreaker touching anyone! Much less...cuddling against him. Any other mech and Skyfire would have presumed delusion.  But this was different. “Had it occurred to you, Perceptor—just as a theory, mind you, a scientific hypothesis, that it’s not all in your head?”

Perceptor blinked.  “What?”

“Maybe they’re interested in you. Notice how these, uh, these displays only take place where and when you’re around. Even when—like the holovid thing—you’re the only one around?” 

“Yes but…?”

“But…?”

“They’re…together. Aren’t they? Why would they want anyone else?” The unspoken question: why would they want Perceptor. 

“Better question. Do you want them?”

Perceptor jolted as if Skyfire had electrocuted him. “I…uh…yes.”  His index fingers tapped together, nervously. “They’re very attractive and outgoing and…,” his voice dropped to nearly a whisper, “related.”

“By marriage,” Skyfire corrected.  “They’re not frame-brothers.”

“Close enough,” Perceptor whispered. “They…act very close.”  He ducked his head, trying to hide his embarrassment. 

Skyfire grinned.  “So, you’re interested?”

Perceptor stammered for a long moment before throwing his hands up in surrender.”But…they never would. Not me. I’m not…really…worth it.”

At that moment, Skyfire wanted to hug the smaller scientist.  He knew more than a little something about feeling unworthy, inadequate.  “Perceptor.  Just some…advice.  Chances like this don’t come very often. Especially for mechs like us.  Don’t lock the door before the doorknob turns, okay?” 

[***]

Sunstreaker had to admit that Sideswipe had a point.  He’d been having…more fun than he remembered in ages cooking up ways to throw themselves in front of Perceptor.  Half the fun was imagining hot-and-bothered Perceptor, but the other half was that this was actually the closest, the most open he’d been with Sideswipe in ages. And the more he thought about it, the more he looked at Perceptor, the more he thought…yeah, this could be pretty hot.  The challenge was, of course, getting the microscope to commit.  Sideswipe’s little flirtations were cute and all, but apparently Perceptor needed the equivalent of C4 to break through his wall of shyness. Rampart of Nerd. Whatever.

C4 or…Sunstreaker.

He heard the door to the lab whoosh open. His cue.

“Hey, Perceptor,” he said, breezily, leaning his hips against the workbench. 

Perceptor gaped at him for a moment, like—Sunstreaker HOPED—he was having some deliciously wicked fantasy trot across his cortex.  “S-sunstreaker. I…your polish isn’t ready yet,” he said, finally. “I, well, the spreadsheet indicates that the quantities I've provided you with should be sufficient for another few weeks.” 

“Tsh,” Sunstreaker said, waving one hand. “That.”   He grinned at Perceptor’s awkward silence.  Sunstreaker could practically hear the cortex whirling, trying to figure what Sunstreaker could possibly, possibly be doing in the lab if not coming for more of his special custom wax.

“I…well, can I help you?”

About two dozen lewd answers exploded across Sunstreaker’s processor.  No. Stick with the plan.  Improvising is for combat, Sunstreaker.  “Yeah,” he said. “I have a problem and…I don’t really feel comfortable seeing Ratchet about it.”

“I’m not really a medic. I mean I have some of the basic qualifications but if you want the best opinion, I really don’t think and OH.”

Sunstreaker had taken the time while Perceptor was running his vocalizer on warp speed to pop open his interface hatch.  “See? Pressurization problems. It’s…kind of personal.” 

Despite himself, Perceptor’s optics were glued to the erect spike. “Is this a,…uh…how did this happen?”

Sunstreaker shrugged, grinning. “Oh, you know,  Sideswipe gets a little…excited.  When he overloads he gets really,” he hesitated for dramatic effect, “thrashy.”  He fought the chortle at Perceptor’s response.  Was that thump someone’s spike against the pressure housing?  By the gingerly way Perceptor dropped to one knee to examine the spike, Sunstreaker would guess yes.  Very solidly yes. 

“Do you…often?”  Perceptor tore his gaze away, searching for tools with an almost frantic haste, his pelvic frame rocking uncomfortably. Aroused.  Sunstreaker hadn't made it a hobby of vorns to tease Sideswipe to within an inch of his limited temper without learning, intimately, that frustrated, rocking dance.

“For years,” Sunstreaker purred. “Know each other inside and out.” 

“Oh,” Perceptor squeaked. And fell silent. Well, Sunstreaker smirked.  There IS a way to shut him up. 

“Though lately he’s been a bit more enthusiastic than usual,” Sunstreaker added. Why stick it in if you weren’t going to twist it while it was there?  He gave a showy shrug. “He gets frustrated when he can't have what he wants.” 

“Oh,” Perceptor said.  “Well, it seems he has, at least, a, uh, a productive way to channel his frustration?”  He squatted down in front of Sunstreaker, squinting at the dented spike.  It wasn't as bad as it looked—an old injury, actually, that didn't really do much to impede functionality, but just like with the polish, Perceptor took it as deadly serious. 

“Be better,” Sunstreaker said, his voice husky, “If he could get what he wanted.” 

“Ooooh?” Perceptor's voice crackled the sound into a half-dozen syllables.  The wrench fell from his fingers, and he scrabbled after it. 

“Well,” Sunstreaker corrected, “WHO he wants.” 

Perceptor froze for a long moment, long enough that Sunstreaker's triumph almost faded into a flare of worry. Then again, terminally glitching a mech just by words? All part of the Sunstreaker mystique. He might even let out that he'd had Perceptor examining his spike at the time. Nothing but the truth, after all. Yes. 

But Perceptor unfroze, venting deeply, and turned, determined, to the spike.  And he tried his best—Sunstreaker would give him credit for effort—but his hands shook as he undid the fine screws that held the damaged plate in place.  Sunstreaker purred at the contact, the large black hands gentle and shaking, but still confident about their business. And Perceptor was all business, patching the split hose, hammering out and replacing the dented panel with a swift precision that Sunstreaker...actually kind of admired.  He might stammer when he talked, he might use seventy words where one might do, but he knew what he was doing and did it well. 

“I suppose,” Perceptor said, quietly, squinting at the last screw as he seated it home, “that might be the best option.  That is...if who he wants is, well, worth it.”  The hands pulled away, shaking.  Perceptor leaned, reaching for a can of spray lubricant to waterseal the seams. Sunstreaker gave a tremor of pleasure at the cold sting of the waterseal, Perceptor's hand trying to be clinical, cold, as it rubbed the clear sealant up and down the shaft.

Sunstreaker felt a flare of real desire as Perceptor pushed to his feet. This close, he could feel the other's EM field buzzing against his own. This close, and his hands could just...close around Perceptor's hips, puling their bodies together. Perceptor quivered, his own hands awkward, floating above Sunstreaker's shoulders, afraid to touch.  “I don't know,” Sunstreaker said, shifting his hips to slide his spike against Perceptor's hip. “Are you?”

[***]

Perceptor’s tanks fluttered nervously as he chimed the door. He was more than well aware that this whole thing might be some sort of elaborate prank, but Skyfire’s words haunted him.  The worst that could happen was that this was a prank, and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would laugh uproariously at him and  he’d feel like a blazing-faced fool.  But if it wasn’t?  If it wasn’t a prank and he turned aside or lost his nerve he would be missing out on more than he ever thought would be offered to someone like him. 

You’ve been made fun of before, he told himself, palming the chime again.  One more time won’t kill you.

The door opened, light spilling into the corridor, but brighter than that was Sideswipe’s smile. No, no trick or prank there, just a sort of surprised happiness. The kind of look that no one gave Perceptor.  “Come on in!” Sideswipe said, tugging at a wrist.  “We thought you’d maybe, you know, chickened out.”

“Told you Brawn was an idiot,” Sunstreaker mumbled, from inside the room, continuing some conversation that they’d apparently been having.

Perceptor ducked his head, stepping into the room, nodding at Sunstreaker, his optics dazzled by the high gloss on the armor.  The thought that it might have been done for him made his spark pulse.  Whatever he’d thought he was going to say, that speech he’d prepared about how he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint them with his inexperience just sort of…clattered to the floor around his feet. “Hi,” he managed. “I mean, uh, it’s a lovely evening and I’m glad to see you’re both operating within pleasant functional parameters and….” Shut up, Perceptor.

Sideswipe nudged him to a chair near where Sunstreaker had propped himself, arms folded, settling into another chair.  “I thought we’d talk for a bit, you know.  Get to know each other.”

That didn’t seem like a good idea to Perceptor. The more he talked the more he…talked.  And the more—he knew—annoying others thought he was.  He perched on the chair, twitching as Sunstreaker elbowed himself off the wall, ambling over to settle on the arm of the chair, half behind him.

“Have any questions?” Sunstreaker asked, leaning in enough to let his arm brush against Perceptor’s shoulder.

“I, uh well, you’re not actually brothers, are you?”

Sideswipe laughed. “No.”

“We don’t even look alike!” Sunstreaker sighed, irritated. Perceptor shrank in his chair. 

“We get that…a lot,” Sideswipe explained.  “Like mechs have never seen frame brothers before.” He grinned. “Why? You into that?”

“Well, uh…it would be fascinating,” Perceptor mumbled, staring at his hands. “I mean, the interfamilial dynamic and then the whole, well, I suppose you’d call it the transgressive nature of the act but mostly, I think, the… the sort of intimacy?” 

“That’s a ‘yes’,” Sunstreaker said.  Perceptor could feel that A Look was being exchanged between them.  He twitched. Even that was hot. The intimacy, the ability to communicate with looks, to finish each other’s thoughts.  His core temp spiked a few degrees.

“So,” Sideswipe said. “Ever done this before?”

“This? This like interfacing?  I,…of course, I mean, interfacing, of course I’ve done it.  I mean, what kind of mech could, you know, not.  At my age.  That would be highly improbable, honestly and—“

“Shut him up,” Sunstreaker groaned, and the next thing Perceptor knew, Sideswipe’s mouth was over his, the smaller mech crawling into his lap. Perceptor’s train of words stopped with a muffled squeak, his hands gently, cautiously, moving to rest on Sideswipe’s shoulders, his mouth opening under Sideswipe’s gentle movements, asking admission.  He gave a soft sound, his glossa brushing shyly against Sideswipe’s, as the smaller mech twined his arms behind Perceptor’s neck.  Sunstreaker popped off the arm of the chair, moving out of Perceptor’s periphery and a moment later Perceptor’s spinal struts shocked upright, rigid, at a demanding, hot mouth on his scope.

“Oh!” he cried. “Th-the scope’s lens—yes, THAT,” he shuddered, hands clutching onto Sideswipe as though to keep himself from slipping, “—it’s extraordinarily sensitive and—“

“Figured that out already,” Sunstreaker murmured, huskily.  He ducked his head back down, drawing a long hot line up the scope’s tube, chuckling at Perceptor’s shuddering whimper.

Sideswipe slithered down Perceptor’s frame, palms pushing aside Perceptor’s knees to nuzzle against the interface hatch.  Perceptor’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair, breathless, as Sideswipe opened the hatch.  His spike nearly burst out, once released, stabbing into the air.  A wolflike smile spread on Sideswipe’s mouth, before he prodded the spike with his glossa. 

Perceptor gasped. Yes, he had interfaced before but nothing like this: two confident, attractive mechs piling this attention onto him, as though he were desired, wanted.  As though he were special.

Sunstreaker moved, pushing himself forward over Perceptor’s shoulder, looking down the length of Perceptor’s chassis at his spike, just as Sideswipe took the length in and then slowly, slowly released it.  “Nice,” Sunstreaker decided, tipping his face in, flicking his glossa over Perceptor’s audio.  Perceptor turned his face, imploring a kiss. Well, who was Sunstreaker to deny—he curled his hand over the far side of Perceptor’s helm, tilting the mouth toward his.  Their kisses were different, Perceptor noted. Similar, similar enough to send him dizzy with the thought, but Sunstreaker’s mouth was demanding , taking, while Sideswipe’s was gently insistent.

Sideswipe’s gentle mouth rode down his spike again, causing him to arch up, undulating in his seat.  Sunstreaker broke the kiss, sliding around to lick over the audio. “Sideswipe,” he whispered, “is very good at that.”

“He is,” Perceptor squeaked. 

“It feels really good, doesn’t it?” Sunstreaker purred. “Especially the way he zigzags his glossa on the offstroke, right?”

Perceptor made some random syllable, both at Sideswipe’s glossa doing exactly what Sunstreaker’d described, but the idea of…how Sunstreaker knew that.  An image: Sunstreaker in this chair, Sideswipe between his knees, black helm between the golden thighs. Oh.  My.

Sunstreaker gave a throaty sound, “I know what you’re thinking. And yes.”

Perceptor whimpered, Sideswipe laughing against him, the vibration of his laugh traveling like waves of pleasure against his spike. 

“Know what else he likes?” Sunstreaker murmured. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “He likes being taken, hard.  Especially if you brace one leg over your shoulder.”

Perceptor writhed, Sunstreaker laughing in his audio.  But not a mean laugh, not the prank sound, the laughter intending to hurt. This was a laughter of enjoyment, Perceptor’s discomfiture feeding something rich and pleasurable, not small and mean.

Sideswipe sucked his way along the length of the spike, letting it pop from his mouth, rising up for a kiss. His mouth brushed Perceptor’s—long enough for Perceptor to taste his own lubricant—before sliding off to one side, mouth locking with Sunstreaker’s.  And Perceptor could see the sheen of his own lubricant on Sideswipe’s lip plates, his chin, and the two were kissing, sharing the sweet sour taste of him, and it was…the hottest thing he’d ever seen. His spike raged upward. 

Sunstreaker gave a quick harsh nip on the scope. “Go on, Perceptor. He wants you.” He bit Sideswipe’s mouthplates between his own.   Perceptor hesitated. “And I…want to watch.” Sunstreaker gave a laugh as Perceptor pushed forward, hand guiding Sideswipe’s shoulder, collapsing down to the ground.  Sideswipe’s equipment was already exposed, and Perceptor sank his spike slowly into the valve, heeding the size difference, his spike sliding slowly into the warm lining, pushing its way in.  Sideswipe moaned, hands clutching at Perceptor’s shoulders, squirming with his hips, encouraging, inviting Perceptor to push in more, just a little more, until the entire spike was sheathed inside him.  They both hung for a moment, venting deeply. 

“Frag,” Sideswipe breathed. Perceptor blinked, nodded, accepting Sideswipe’s succinct summary of the moment. He moved, slowly, experimentally, testing the range.  Sideswipe sighed under him, shifting to spread his thighs farther.  Perceptor took the hint,  hooking one hand behind a knee, shuddering as Sideswipe moaned, as the angle changed, the valve twitching against him.

Perceptor looked up, catching Sunstreaker’s gaze where the gold-armored mech had crouched, next to them, his own spike unsheathed, hand closed around it, staring intently at the gap between their two bodies, at Perceptor’s spike sunk into Sideswipe. Sunstreaker’s gaze enflamed him, focused on the small flashes of silver as his spike rode slowly in an out of the black of Sideswipe’s pelvic frame. 

The audience, Sunstreaker’s gaze, set him aflame with lust, and he found himself thrusting into Sideswipe, carried on the crest of the smaller mech’s rising moans, pushing harder, faster, deep into the valve, his own ventilations growling and deep until he was on the verge of overload.  He heard a sound from Sunstreaker, the golden mech’s hand pumping furiously at his spike. Sunstreaker growled, body hitching, his spike crackling into an overload  that shot silver through the air between them, a few droplets spattering Perceptor’s arm.  Perceptor thrust in, deeply twice, before his own overload wracked him, like a giant hand shaking him, a hot spill of lust and transfluid echoing into Sideswipe.  He jammed his hips forward again, sinking hard enough into Sideswipe that he lifted the black hips of the ground, the lower frame impaled on his spike.  His own transfluid seeped around the rim.

He shifted back, lowering Sideswipe’s pelvic frame, sheepishly; Sideswipe purring in contentment as Sunstreaker leaned in, planting a kiss on his mouth.  Perceptor sat back on his knees, easing the spike out, panting , hands shaking on his thighs as Sunstreaker slithered his way down Sideswipe’s frame, mouth licking a hot line over the chassis, rising up to lick Perceptor’s still-pressurized spike, flicking the silver fluid over his mouthplates before turning his gaze up to meet Perceptor’s.  Sideswipe stirred, tilting his head to nuzzle against Sunstreaker’s thigh. 

“My turn,” Sunstreaker murmured.

Perceptor shifted, to retreat.  “I understand.” 

“Pff, no.” Sunstreaker reached up, grabbing Perceptor’s shoulder, hauling him back down.  “I can have him any time I want to, Perceptor,” he whispered. “You…on the other hand….” 

Perceptor found himself tumbled to the ground, Sunstreaker on top of him, mouth hot and hard and earnest, hands demanding as they explored his armor, his own hands shyly returning the gesture. 

Sunstreaker laughed, the sound, the vibration traveling through the kiss, before he slid one hand boldly down Perceptor’s chassis, skimming over his black pelvic frame for the covered valve.  “Guess,” Sunstreaker said, pulling away from a kiss Perceptor had been hoping would never end, “what I want.” Perceptor released the valve cover, but Sunstreaker’s hand simply curled, hard enough to make him gasp, around the rim. “Guess,” he repeated.

“You want to,” Perceptor stammered for a moment, shy, aroused, “sp-spike me.” 

Sunstreaker smiled, the wild, edged smile Perceptor had seen on his face when he came back from battle. “Yes.  And I’m going to, aren’t I?”

Perceptor nodded, then added, hastily, “Yes.”

“And you want me to.”  It was beginning to take the air of a catechism.

“Yes.”

The smile quirked. “Say it, Perceptor.  Say you want me to spike you.”

Perceptor ducked his head, his facial heat sinks firing on.  “I…I want  you to….spike…me.” Broken into pieces, he could manage it. Barely.

“Hard,” Sunstreaker added. “Try it again, but say ‘hard’.” 

Perceptor could feel the thrum of Sunstreaker’s systems against his, wild, aroused. 

“I want you to spike me…hard.” Perceptor squeezed his optics shut, embarrassed, even as a tingle of lubricant released from his valve, over Sunstreaker’s fingers. 

Sunstreaker leaned in, his voice a husky whisper. “You do, don’t you?” 

Perceptor, optics still shut, nodded. 

“Good,” Sunstreaker breathed, and Perceptor felt the slide of high-gloss armor over his own, Sunstreaker slipping down over his body, wedging his thighs apart.  Sunstreaker paused, hands on Perceptor’s thighs, just long enough for Perceptor to lift his head, confused, curious.  Sunstreaker grinned.  “Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.” He rocked forward on his knees, sinking his spike into the valve, burying it deep in one smooth, practiced gesture that put Perceptor’s own attempt with Sideswipe to shame.  Perceptor groaned, his valve cycling down against the spike as it stayed, still, waiting to be noticed, adjusted for. 

“Hey,” Sideswipe crawled over, optics still drowsy, sated. “Not leaving me out of this, are you?”  He pulled himself up, hands braced on Perceptor’s belly, mouth meeting Sunstreaker’s. Perceptor quivered, unable to hide the flush of lust at the sight of them—intimate, knowing, teasing and yet somehow deadly serious.  No, they weren’t really brothers in one sense…but in another, they were closer than that. They had shared something beautiful and lost it, together.  It was a bond stronger than frame.

And, they were sharing it with him. Or, more precisely, sharing him, as they had their mate: Sideswipe pulled away from the kiss, optics blazing blue and hot as he turned to Perceptor. “Now,” Sideswipe drawled, “Don’t think that I’m done with you, Perceptor.”  He clambered over, swinging one thigh, straddling Perceptor’s shoulders, grabbing the larger hands.  His valve, still seeping the silver of Perceptor’s own fluid, was a handspan—less—away from Perceptor’s face. He grinned down in challenge. 

Perceptor’s hands closed over the thighs, hauling Sideswipe closer, mouth seeking the valve, glossa circling the rim, probing, delicately, into the still-friction-hot lining. Sideswipe moaned, rocking into the gesture, hands closing over Perceptor’s.  Perceptor, emboldened, probed more deeply, dimming his optics in concentration—the slick lining of the valve, the salt of the lubricant mingling with the sweetness of the transfluid, the hard bumps of sensor nodes, the soft murmuring of the valve’s mechanism trying to spiral down on a spike that wasn’t there.

And above that, Sunstreaker’s hands, hooked over his black pelvic frame, bracing as he picked up speed, moving smoothly from slow, deep, even strokes to faster, harder thrusts, still deep, ramming against his valve’s ceiling.  Perceptor wanted to move, to thrash, to transfer all this buildup of energy, anticipation, desire, into motion, as though he were afraid he couldn’t contain it all. Yet at the same time, he wanted to be still, to be quiet, see where this could lead, see how much he could actually take of pleasure, lust, desire.  See how much he could give.

Sideswipe rocked back, one palm against Perceptor’s abdomen, leaning backward as Sunstreaker pushed forward, turning his head over his shoulder so the two met in a fierce, devouring kiss, Sideswipe’s moaning gone underground, subvocal, like a bassline of a melody.  And Perceptor’s own arousal spiked at the sight—the two of them taking him, being taken by him, clinging to each other.  His valve gave a rippling clench on the spike, causing Sunstreaker to break the kiss with a roar of ecstasy, snapping him into overload just as Sideswipe jolted suddenly, hard enough to bruise against Perceptor’s mouth plates, another salty wash of fluid from his valve. 

Sideswipe sagged back against Sunstreaker, ventilations in deep, ragged pants.  “I,” he managed, exhausted, “say we keep him.”

Sunstreaker laughed.  “Oh yeah.”  Two pairs of blue optics swiveled to Perceptor, in that intimate unison that made him quiver. “You in?”