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archie-sunshine · 4 months

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Survey Says-!(Rodimus/EVERYONE)

Chapter 2: Feel The Beat(Rodimus/Blaster)

Rodimus is NOT bitter about the results of the crew satisfaction survey, in fact, he’s fully prepared to change! He’s determined to change his crew’s minds, and what better way to do so than to get to know them- in the carnal sense that is.

There are no problems with this plan in Rodimus’s mind. There are many in Ultra Magnus’s. Magnus engages in some unfortunate(for Rodimus) damage control as head of Cybertronian Resources. Rodimus is not easily deterred.

Chapter 1 Here! Read on AO3 here!

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FIC TAGS: Rodimus/Everyone(But y’know, not like. EVERYONE. Just a lot of various background characters and also more specifically with some others), Takes place post dark cybertron, but pre the whole ship disappearing thing and the mutiny, smut, Chastity, denial, Rodimus is a slut, Ongoing humiliation, HR Violations as comedy, Ultra Magnus is clueless, sticky sexual interfacing, comedy, sexual comedy, dubious consent (if you squint and tilt your head), contains illustrations

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Authors notes: I didnt know blaster very well before writing this, i watched some of the old g1 cartoon funnily enough, and it turns out blaster is a cutie pie and i love him actually?? beautiful boombox boy

CHAPTER TAGS: Rodimus/Blaster(implied rodimus/huffer, crosscut, kindle, siren, and rad), oral, blowjobs, sexual frustration, blaster's servos can vibrate, the most painful nut ever, rodimus continues to make bad decisions

Ultra Magnus’s little magnetizer trick had been dirty, underhanded, cruel, unusual, and downright sadistic(from a certain point of view). But it was also stupid, considering that as long as Rodimus still had one hole, by primus he was gonna use it.

The only thing this horrible device had managed to do was shorten his one on ones. He was still going to give his beloved crew the helm of a lifetime, but without having to worry about chasing his own edge, it meant Rodimus was more inclined to get things done quicker. He had managed to check Siren, Huffer, Crosscut, Kindle, and Rad off his list in the two cycles following the incident, however there were some… adverse effects that these meetings were having on him.

It was hard not to get at least a little bit excited when giving helm, and that became an issue in and of itself, as Rodimus’s array had started complaining more and more as he continued to deny its release.

Rodimus stalked down the ship's hallway, faceplate set in a frustrated scowl as he made his way back towards his office. He felt like he was walking with a limp, which would have been fun and sexy if he was limping because he’d been spiked silly, but instead was infuriating… because he was limping from having to walk with a stupid fragging magnetizer attached to his overheated panels.

The captain absently swiped at his intake, making sure there were no traces of transfluid still there from his ‘meeting’ with Rad. He was a bit shy, considering the captain’s ongoing predicament, but still managed to get a good overload in from the deal. It was getting harder for Rodimus to focus when he was giving out his one on ones, it felt like every encounter added new, angrier popups in his processor screeching for him to overload. His helm was swimming by the time he’d felt Rad finish, and it had taken the bot grabbing him by his finials and dragging him off to bring him back to reality.

So there he was, pouting his way to his office, manually dismissing every one of the popups in his processor to clear his mind so he could think again. He entered the access code, cursing as he flubbed the code the first time and stormed in, letting the door close behind him. He flopped into his chair with an exhausted groan. He eyed the stack of datapads on his desk that he had been instructed to fill out and sign. They were supply manifests… he thought. He wasn’t entirely paying attention to what Ultra Magnus was saying that morning as he’d been considering the unpleasant flavour the aftertaste of transfluid in his mouth made when mixed with his morning energon. Gross. Rodimus chuckled to himself at the thought. Primus, that was fragging disgusting, he was fragging disgusting. He smirked to himself.

He reached across the desk and tapped at the first datapad, propping his legs up as he began the daily slog through datawork. He let his optics go into skimming mode as he scrolled halfheartedly through the document. He had gathered it was some list of acquisition requests that the crew members had personally made, so he began signing off his approval.

A new shipment of high quality engex for swerve’s… approved

A bulk order of plating patches for the medibay… approved

A set of high quality wrenches for Brainstorm’s laboratory… approved

Rodimus shifted around a bit in his chair.

A blank datapad shipment… approved

Replacement parts for the staff room vending machine that Megatron had accidentally broken… approved

It was impossible to get comfortable, he felt overheated without even being particularly aroused.

A palette of hover scooters… denied

Rodimus froze. He set the datapad down and glanced between his thighs. His faceplate flared hot with embarrassment. He was fragging leaking.

It was a miracle that he hadn’t started doing so before he made it to his office, but all the same, around the edges of his panels he could see prefluid seeping out, making the tiniest little puddle on his chair. Rodimus let out a long, frustrated groan, letting his helm thunk against the back of his chair. This was humiliating. He reached for one of his drawers and plucked out a rag, quickly swiping at his panels and the seat before stuffing it under himself and getting back to work.

Ping! Another popup at the front of his mind ‘Open Interface Array?’

He closed the popup. It wasn’t his fault he was in this mess! He was just trying to show a little gratitude for his crew! Some.. sloppy, sticky gratitude, but gratitude nonetheless. Interface was different now, it was purely a means to making his apologetic feelings known, letting people know he really could change. He’d do anything his crew wanted for their approval.

He swallowed thickly. Anything they wanted… He recalled the servos gripping at his helm, the weight of a spike in his intake or the smooth mesh of a valve under his glossa. Oral was easy, Rodimus had plenty of time to practice in the washracks and supply closets of various barracks during the war. But this fuzzy, syrupy slowness that accompanied the denial of his own overload was something… new.

He felt his fans starting to kick on. He willed them up higher, trying to blow off as much of the excess heat as he could. He refocused on the requests on his datapad.

A new set of parts for one of the busted replicators… approved

A bulk order of glassware for the canteen… approved

… the rag was getting soaked.

Rodimus slammed down his datapad and stood up. He quickly scanned through his itinerary for the day, confirming he had an hour and a half free before his meeting with the comms officer, before wiping up any visible prefluid around his panels and beginning to speedwalk towards the medibay.

“What do you MEAN you can’t do it!!?” Rodimus shouted. He sat up a bit from the slab, only to get a firm servo on his chassis pushing him back down. “You’re Ratchet!”

“I didn’t say can’t, I said won’t, Rodimus.” Ratchet sighed out in exasperation.

“B-but it huuuuurts, I’m dying here, I can feel my spark about to go out!!” Rodimus whined, rolling his helm back.

“I know thats a lie, Rodimus, any discomfort you’re feeling is perfectly normal with a device like this, and I’ve received direct orders not to take it off without dire circumstances or reasons to do so.” Ratchet sounded like he was reciting something, it was likely that he was, considering who was the mastermind behind this whole wicked scheme.

“Direct orders that I as captain-” Rodimus began.

“Co-Captain.”

“WHATEVER! I outrank Ultra Magnus, I should be able to make those orders completely moot, right!?” Rodimus stared pleadingly at Ratchet, searching for some ounce of sympathy in his field.

Ratchet bit back a smug grin. “Not in cases surrounding Cybertronian Resourses violations. I’m afraid you’re stuck with that until Magnus decides otherwise.”

Rodimus let out a pitiful moan, going limp against the slab. “I’m gonna die…” He whimpered.

“You know, as your doctor I would suggest that you find other outlets for mitigating this sexual frustration. Try to focus on your work, get a hobby, something to take your mind off interfacing until you get the clamp off you.” Ratchet began, carefully reaching down to swipe away the excess prefluid that had gathered around Rodimus’s panels during their appointment. Rodimus bit back a desperate moan. “But as someone who knows you, I understand that’s not exactly something you’re going to be able to stop yourself from doing. So I’ll prescribe you some coolant accelerators and hope for the best.” The medic offered an insincere, borderline malicious smile and helped Rodimus off of the slab.

Rodimus glared daggers at Ratchet, clenching his servos. He let his processor wander, wondering if he could convince First Aid to help him out.

“And I wouldn’t get any ideas about begging for help from the crew.” Ratchet had turned away, now gazing at a datapad and beginning to flick through it. “Ultra Magnus sent out a memo to the crew’s comms to let them know any interference with your ‘reeducation’ would be considered grounds for a week in the brig.”

Rodimus growled again. “... thanks doc, always a pleasure…”

“So, just to be clear, theres nothing at all?” Rodimus asked, leaning helm on his servo.

“Well, I wouldn’t say nothin’ at all, but radio signals have gotten sparse now that we’re back on our way, no urgent notices from Cybertron, some minor radio chatter from ships we’ve passed, but nothing terribly concerning.” Blaster explained, turning his datapad to indicate the waves coming in.

Rodimus nodded inquisitively, shifting again in his seat. “Cool, thats good news, thanks Blaster.” Rodimus said.

“... Yeah…” Blaster said slowly, looking the captain up and down for a moment. Rodimus squeezed his crossed legs a bit. “Listen, cap, I gotta say, uh… I heard about the whole… Ultra Magnus… CR violations… thing.” He said awkwardly, glancing away.

“...Yeah. It’s not a big deal, I gotta learn to be professional.” Rodimus gritted out, failing to hide his adverse feelings on the whole matter. He was fighting to keep his field to himself, but it was clear that Blaster was seeing through it.

“I did also hear about your… one on ones.” Blaster lowered his voice, putting the datapad away in his subspace.

Rodimus perked up. “Yeah?”

“Well- Yeah, obviously, Roddy, you sent a comm to the whole crew about it.” Blaster chuckled.

“The whole crew- except for Megatron and Ultra Magnus.” Rodimus corrected.

“Yeah, listen man… I dunno if I agree with the whole thing Mags cooked up, I dunno if its the best like… plan? On your part, to go around slingin your array at whoever’ll take it…” Blaster glanced around bashfully.

Rodimus frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

“I mean you gotta know that actions speak louder than words, you gotta show the crew that you’re on their side, that you do stuff for their benefit, all that stuff- but!” Blaster kicked one of his pedes a bit. “Y’know, I wouldn’t say no to ah… what was it you called it? An ‘apology’?”

Rodimus perked up again, slowly standing up from his chair. “Oh yeah?” Rodimus remembered the rag he’d stuffed on the seat and quickly snatched it up, covertly tossing it into one of his drawers while Blaster wasn’t looking. “Sure, I’d be happy to- Wait- You gotta promise me this isn’t a test or anything, like- Mags didn’t put you up to this did he?”

Blaster shook his helm, expression melting into an easy-if slightly relieved- smile. “Nah- I figured you’d still be at this whole thing… heard some intel from some other bots… wanted to see if you’re all you’re cracked up to be.”

Rodimus quickly denied his fans request to turn on, clearing his vocalizer. “Well, I guess I got time between my meetings… Have a seat.” He said, gesturing to his desk chair.

Rodimus eagerly rushed to the office door, punching in the locking code as Blaster sat down. A lance of embarrassment struck through him as Blaster made a surprised noise.

“Primus, Rod, you uh- heh- you a little worked up there?” His Comms officer chuckled. “Your seat’s a bit sticky-”

“ITS NOTHING!” Rodimus bleated out, face flaring as he trotted over and knelt down between Blaster’s thighs. “Just- just coolant, nothing else.”

“Yeah, sure.” Blaster smirked, rubbing a servo over his own panels. “You’re sure you’re up to this, pal?”

“‘Course I am, c’mon, we both got places to be.” Rodimus hissed impatiently.

Blaster shrugged, exhaling a little chuckle before letting his panels open. Rodimus let out a relieved sigh at the sight of it, running a digit gently around the edge of his slowly pressurizing spike. It was that sleek, warm grey colour along the underside, red on the top all the way up to a yellow tip, with little triangular yellow biolights along the underside. Rodimus licked his dermas, letting his optics dim a bit. He almost went for it, before remembering what all these apologies were about.

“So, Blaster, how do you want me?” Rodimus asked pleasantly, fighting to keep his voice from sounding too desperate. His optics flickered a bit when Blaster’s servo came around to rest gently on the side of his helm.

“I’d love to get my spike in that mouth and see you work your magic, Cap…” Blaster breathed, letting his digits trace the edge of Rodimus’s lower finials. Rodimus’s fans kicked on without thinking.

“A-” Rodimus cleared his vocalizer. “Alright, heard and listened to!” Rodimus said, allowing himself a pang of pride at his line usage when Blaster’s vents stuttered. He opened his intake, lolling his glossa out to lave over the tip of Blaster’s spike. Offlining his optics, he wrapped his dermas around the shaft, slowly bobbing his helm downwards towards the base. He laved his glossa slowly over the ridges and edges of Blaster’s biolights, allowing himself a moment to feel at the smooth texture of them. Rodimus hummed quietly as he worked, taking the spike two thirds down before leaning his helm back and drawing it slowly up to the tip.

Blaster let out a low, pleased moan, his thumb rubbing fondly at the side of Rodimus’s helm. “Ahhh, thats it… hah, you must be pretty glad you got sparked with an intake like this, huh?”

Rodimus hummed lightly in confirmation, peeking up at Blaster coquettishly as he rubbed the tip of his glossa over the comms officer’s spikehead. A shudder wracked through Rodimus’s frame as the other mech moaned, low and deep in his chassis. He felt a lick of Blaster’s charge ground through him and tightened his grip on Blaster’s thighs. He started pumping his helm up and down, darting his glossa out against the underside of his spike and swallowing the growing flow of prefluid where it pooled at the back of his intake. Rodimus brought one of his servos up, wrapping around the base gently as he massaged the soft protoform there.

Suddenly, Blaster’s grip on his helm shifted, now grasping the back of his helm and dragging him down further. Rodimus felt his optics glitch and reset, his gaze flicking up to the larger bot’s face. There was hunger in Blaster’s optics, deep and carnal, held back by a thin, fraying thread of propriety.

Rodimus’s processor produced several popups at once, warning him of an obtrusion squeezing down his throat, demanding he open his panels, informing him his fans were working hard to stave off overheat. Rodimus gagged, feeling his optics glitch again, bits of charge fritzing over the bridge of his nose between them. He fought back as much control as he could, beginning to close out the popups. He was swiftly interrupted when Blaster’s spikehead slid readily back into his throat and his nose brushed against his panels. Rodimus let out a muffled whine.

“Ah.. attabot, frag…” Blaster licked his dermas, a curl of steam escaping his lustful smile. “You take it so well, cap…”

Rodimus’s processor screamed, overfilling with warnings and demands. That ounce of praise rocked him to his core, drawing a pitiful, staticky whimper from his vocalizer. He dragged his glossa frantically against whatever part of his spike he could reach. A bubble of intake lubricant dribbled down his jaw. He could feel his frame shivering with charge. What was happening to him? Giving helm had never had him this worked up before.

Rodimus swallowed and began to move his helm again, relishing the slippery, undignified noises that filled the room. He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks against Blaster’s shaft and earning another punched out groan. He could feel him start to twitch in his intake and moaned in anticipation. Blaster’s other servo reached down, curling around one of his finials as his hips began to stutter.

“Ah- Primus- frag-! Roddy-” He gasped, his fans roaring. Rodimus strained to pull his helm back, focusing all his attention on Blaster’s tip. With a glitchy, choked out groan, Rodimus felt transfluid hitting the roof of his intake. He greedily swallowed down what he could, gasping in surprise as it escaped his dermas. Rodimus felt as though he was about to overheat watching Blaster stroke his spike, splatters of his transfluid hitting his helm and faceplate.

Rodimus panted, fighting to close out the dozens of popups clouding his processor. He laid his messy helm against Blaster’s thigh, trying to get his vents under control. He could already feel his panels were overheated and embarrassingly sticky with excess prefluid. He absently pawed at the plating there, drawing his servo back with a pained hiss.

“... Whoooooh….” Blaster breathed, clearing his vocalizer and sitting up a bit. “That was quite the show, captain, thanks..” He chuckled. “Oh- uh… sorry for- er..” He gestured generally at his face.

“‘S fine… h..how would you rate uh… your…” Rodimus mumbled blearily. He noted Blaster was rummaging around his desk, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He offlined his optics and relished the feeling of a cool rag swiping the transfluid off his face and finials.

“It was great, Roddy, thanks for helpin me blow off some steam.” Blaster murmured. Rodimus could feel the warmth in his voice and swelled with unfocused pride. He drank in the relaxation and fondness in Blaster’s field, wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

“Happy to help…” Rodimus wheezed hoarsely. He shakily got up off the ground, wincing as a thick drizzle of prefluid dripped from his panels. When he onlined his optics again, he was greeted with Blaster’s pitying look, optics focused between the captain’s legs. “D-don’t worry about me!” Rodimus said, attempting a confident and chipper tone, but unable to force the strain completely from his voice. “This was all for you, Blaster, see, I’m all about listening to my crew and rewarding their efforts.”

Blaster chuckled. “Yeah, thanks cap.” He slowly rose from Rodimus’s seat, closing his panels up. “Just hate to leave a bot hanging, is all.”

Please don’t leave me like this. Rodimus thought. Please don’t let me die of overheating.

“Nah- Not much either of us can do about it anyhow.” Rodimus waved a dismissive servo.

“On the contrary, actually… at least- I think?” Blaster offered. “I dunno about getting that thing off you, but I bet I could get you an overload at least?”

Rodimus’s intake felt dry. “... huh?”

Blaster smirked, sitting back down in the chair. He patted his lap. “C’mere.”

Rodimus shifted uncomfortably, climbing backwards into Blaster’s lap and leaning against the other bot’s chassis. He shivered at Blaster’s servos on him, one wrapping around his slender waist to hold him in place while the other delicately hovered over his panels.

“Might be a bit intense, okay? Just hold on and let me know if you want me to stop.” Blaster warned, finally bringing his digits down to hold Rodimus’s overheated panels.

“J-just do it, please-!” Rodimus gritted out through a whine.

Rodimus’s optics fritzed and rebooted at the first sensations of vibration on his panels. He let out a loud, surprised moan, half cutting out with static as the oversensitive protoform below his panels seared with pleasure. The vibration was intense, just dancing on the line of painful and pleasurable, heady and bassy and rocking him to his very core.

“Feel good, cap?” Blaster asked.

“Aa-auhuh!!” Rodimus answered intelligently, bucking his hips against Blaster’s hand. His vocalizer felt raw, his voice breaking and cracking as he moaned out.

“Keep it down- someone’s gonna hear!” Blaster hissed, upping the vibration as he did and forcing another desperate cry from Rodimus’s vocalizer. Rodimus’s optics glitched and flared as Blaster clamped a servo over his intake, silencing him only partly as he writhed and bucked in his lap.

It was starting to hurt now, his processor more full and garbled than ever as his array pulsed and throbbed in need. His optics flickered. Drool bubbled between Blaster’s digits. He could feel every bit of his plating searing against Blaster’s.

Rodimus let out a pitiful, needy sob as the other mech’s servo squeezed his panels down tighter against his array. He was practically humping Blaster’s servo at this point, chasing that painful, burning edge as he dumbly whined into his digits.

(go to my AO3 for the illustrated version)

Blaster kicked the vibrations up one more notch and Rodimus saw white. He was dying, he was crashing, he was overloading- Rodimus’s frame arched back, strung taught as a bowstring as transfluid poured from the seams in his panels messily over the magnetizer and Blaster’s digits. He shuddered and bucked and twitched as Blaster drew his servo back, curling back over on himself and grabbing the edge of his desk. Blaster carefully released his faceplate, a string of drool sloppily escaping his dermas as he let out one final, broken moan.

Rodimus curled his hips forwards, drawing the desk chair in against the desk so he could rest his helm against it. His array ached, now sloppy and coated with his own transfluid beneath his panels. He could feel himself leaking copiously onto his chair, embarrassment pooling in his tanks as he heard it dribble off the edge of the seat and onto the floor.

“Th… thanks Blaster…” Rodimus mumbled brokenly.

Blaster patted his aft gently, carefully lifting the captain up enough to slip out from under him. “No worries, captain.” Rodimus felt a half wet rag hit his panels and hissed in discomfort. He let out a stringy whine as Blaster cleaned him and the seat up, leaving the rag on the arm of his chair.

Rodimus lifted his helm up, watching Blaster unlock the door. “Keep up the good work!” He called after him, earning a laugh as Blaster walked off down the hallway.

Rodimus sat back, examining the state of himself. That was truly the most painful overload he had ever had.

…

He didn’t like how good that notion felt in his processor.

He didn’t like how good the overload had felt either.

“... This had better not awaken anything in me.” Rodimus muttered, before shakily reaching for another datapad to work on.

#transformers #my art #my fic #maccadam #transformers mtmte #rodimus #blaster #ratchet #valveplug #/nsfw #blaster/rodimus #VERY stupid fic #i love writing fics that are dumb #smut

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