#another concept has ensnared me oops

[loveinhawkins]

The problem is that a part of Steve knows the spider isn’t real.

But it’s the suggestion of it, right? Cobwebs in his hair, movement just out the corner of his eye; it’s all enough to convince him that there’s something crawling on his skin, to let out a panicked whisper to Nancy, there was a spider. It’s a black widow.

He tries to disregard it as a one-off. It’s an old creepy house. Just got him spooked for a bit, that’s all.

But then… diving into Lover’s Lake. Bats biting into his flesh. Overwhelming dizziness.

Nancy wrapping torn strips of clothing tight around—there’s something crawling, crawling underneath his skin, no, there isn’t, no, there—a bike ride through The Upside Down; one hacking cough, pushing through it, pushing through it—

Swallows it all down. Ignores the sweat, the tackiness around his bandage. Shh. Calm, calm.

Drives the RV. Doesn’t know how he’s even moving, is just grateful—grateful that his mind on autopilot seems to still function.

The War Zone. In and out. Parked. Sun in his eyes. Kids outside.

The feeling comes back. Something. Something under his skin. (In his blood, in all of him—)

“S’there something in my hair?” he asks Eddie, who’s mid-step out of the RV.

Eddie turns back with an air of amusement. “Nope,” he says. “Looks perfectly coiffed to me, man.”

“Can you—can you just check?”

Look closer, something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

“Uh, sure,” Eddie says, bemused. He sits next to Steve and tilts his head before lifting a hand uncertainly. “You want me to, uh?”

“Yeah, thanks. Just… there was a spider on me.”

It’s not what Steve wants to say at all, but there’s a sudden, terrifying disconnect between the thoughts in his head and what actually comes out of his mouth.

“Oh, you don’t like them, huh?”

Eddie’s not even teasing, just sounds understanding; he lifts up a few sections of hair carefully, taking his time. He’s so kind. Steve abruptly wants to cry.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Eddie continues. “I have the same thing with mice. The way they move. Creepy little feet.” He shudders dramatically.

Steve wants to laugh at that. Can’t.

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair a couple more times, gentle.

You don’t have to, Steve thinks. Make it hurt. Get it out. Did you find it? Please say you found it.

“Good news, you’re officially spider-free, Harrington.”

Eddie claps him on the shoulder, stands up.

Steve doesn’t move.

Eddie pauses again, halfway out the door. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Just need some air.”

He goes through the motions of prepping for the fight. Chats with Robin. She talks about a terrible, gnawing feeling, and he wants to scream yes, I know, I know, but he can’t tell her, why can’t he tell her?

Shh. Calm, calm.

Drives the RV. Forest Hills.

He brakes with no warning, sends bottles of alcohol rolling across the floor. He’s mad suddenly that they didn’t smash. He’s so—

Slip away.

Eddie’s trailer. Lets himself in.

Bathroom.

The wound on his stomach pulses. He doubles over the toilet. Throws up.

His skin is crawling.

There, in the back of his mind, a creeping coldness. A thought that is not his own.

I will kill them all. And I will make you watch.

Oh, God. Oh, God, he’s been so stupid.

-

Eddie finds him first.

He picks up one fallen bottle of alcohol before a gut feeling pulls him out of the RV—because Steve Harrington is a good driver, and he’d only brake like that if he had no choice.

“Steve?”

But Steve’s not waiting for them on the porch, he’s not even by the Gate.

Clattering; a strangled cry.

Eddie’s stomach lurches.

He runs towards the noise, opens the bathroom door and is instantly hit by the acrid smell of vomit.

“Steve! Jesus Christ.”

Steve’s pushed up against the cistern. There’s a damp patch all across his stomach, and his chest is heaving.

“Oh my God, Steve, what’s—”

Eddie reaches for him instinctively, and Steve flinches as if he’s been struck.

“No, don’t!”

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” Eddie whispers, drawing his hand back; Steve’s skin is feverishly hot, slick with sweat. He looks around frantically for a cloth, turns on the cold water. “Gotta get you cooled—”

Something slams into him; he’s pinned against the sink, Steve’s hand clamped around his throat.

“No,” Steve repeats. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Eddie manages. He chokes on a swallow. “S-Steve, you’re—you’re—”

His hand flails, trying to pry Steve’s fingers off.

Steve’s grip loosens ever so slightly. His eyes are wide, bloodshot. Pleading.

“Eddie,” he says through gritted teeth. “You need to hurt me.”

With the last of his strength, Eddie gets his knee up and jabs—it’s barely anything, but it works enough to break Steve’s hold.

Eddie staggers; his back slams against the door. He’s shaking.

Steve stares at him. He’s gripping onto the sink so tightly that Eddie thinks it’s a miracle that it doesn’t crack.

And then there’s a horrible, guttural noise like Steve’s started to choke too, like he’s at war with himself.

Barely audible, he says, “Get… get Nancy.”

Eddie runs.

He nearly falls into Nancy as he opens the front door. He’s breathless, can’t think of what to say, save from—

“Wheeler, he needs you.”

It happens in an instant: Nancy’s brow pinches, and then she goes very pale, and she’s shouting for Robin and Dustin to stay in the RV, like she can turn on a dime, launched into an unknown crisis.

She pushes past Eddie, and he follows her, back into the bathroom.

The cold water is still running.

Steve’s got his hands in the sink. He looks at Nancy desperately.

“S-stop me.”

Another choking sound is ripped from Steve’s throat; Eddie realises that it’s actually a dry sob.

“Nance,” Steve says. It’s half her name, half a pained whine. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I—I know everything.”

And then he’s suddenly launching towards them—it’s only the fact that he’s so completely freaked out that makes Eddie move in time, saves him from getting strangled again.

He grabs Steve’s wet hands, pins them behind his back and tries to hold him still.

“Jesus! Wheeler, what the fuck is going—”

“Do you have anything that can knock him out?” Nancy says.

“What?”

“Drugs, Eddie!”

“Are you crazy? There’s no way—oh my God, what are you—”

Crack.

Nancy’s grabbed the cistern lid, brought it down upon Steve’s head. Eddie looks at Steve lying eerily still on the floor in abject horror.

There’s blood in his hair.

Eddie feels sick.

But Nancy just watches, as if to confirm that Steve’s not moving. She looks Eddie in the eye.

“Come on. That’s only gonna work for so long.”

Eddie just follows her out, too shocked to even attempt speaking.

It’s chaotic at the RV; Dustin sees them coming, leaps out of the door as Robin yells at him.

“Where’s Steve?”

“Get back inside.”

“Nancy, where the hell is he?”

“We can talk inside.”

“Bullshit, I’m—”

“Dustin, he’s Flayed,” Nancy says, her voice breaking, and all the fight goes out of Dustin at once.

“No, that’s—he can’t—”

Eddie finally finds his voice. “Can someone tell me what the fuck you’re talking about?”

Nancy doesn’t speak, not until they’re in the RV, the door locked behind her.

“I think it’s the—the bites—”

Robin swears, a hand over her mouth.

“Flayed?” Eddie persists.

“The Mind Flayer,” Dustin says numbly. “It’s what we—it’s a part of The Upside Down. It—it used Will to… to spy on…”

“And what, it’s—” Eddie swallows. “It’s inside him?”

“Like a virus. He’s part of the Hive Mind,” Nancy says.

Eddie’s knees feel weak.

“Fuck,” Dustin says. “He knows where we are, he’ll know—”

“It’s too late to change that,” Nancy says. “We just have to—at least someone needs to stay with him.”

“I will,” Robin says instantly, eyes blazing.

“Me too,” Dustin says.

Nancy glances at him, shakes her head—firm but apologetic. “You can join Erica.” And as Dustin opens his mouth, no doubt to argue, she adds, “I’m sorry, Dustin. It’s just—we might need to… to fight him.”

Dustin doesn’t reply, but looks so utterly devastated that Eddie wishes he’d insisted on diving first, that the bats had torn into him instead.

“Keep him warm,” Nancy tells Robin urgently. “And I don’t mean just—it’s got to be unbearable.”

Robin nods, ashen-faced.

Nancy catches Eddie’s eye. “The one thing that fucker can’t stand is heat.”

She paces up and down the RV, checking for stray bottles. Then she comes to a stop right in front of Robin.

“He—he might beg,” she whispers. “And it won’t—it’ll sound like him. Like he just wants the pain to stop.”

Robin’s eyes look glassy. “Nance, I don’t—don’t know if I can—”

“I’ll do it,” Eddie says.

He feels everyone’s eyes on him, but he just looks at Nancy, at the determined set to her jaw.

He doesn’t know when he made the decision, if he can even pinpoint a conscious moment of thought—but now that the words are out, he feels the vow he’s made, deep in his chest.

Nancy hands him a bottle and cloth.

A lighter.

She fixes Eddie with a piercing look. “It’s going to look like you’re killing him,” she says.

Eddie nods.

He turns, offers Robin his hand.

“C’mon, Buckley. Let’s get that bastard out of him.”

#another concept has ensnared me oops #i can only apologise for the cliffhanger #pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve and nancy #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #steve x eddie #flayed steve harrington #body horror cw

[roseymoseyberry]

Request (one-shot)

Oops, guess who’s back with yet another Swerve ship that nobody but me ships

Also definitely inspired by this post by @sinpom​ oooooops

Title: Request

Series: MTMTE/Transformers IDW

Ship/Characters: Megatron/Swerve with guest appearances by Ratchet and Ravage.

Rating/warnings: Explicit for heat cycles, size difference, fingering as far as the eye can see, probably praise kink because i don’t think I am capable of writing smut without it, and some gross fluff

Summary:

“This is about the request,” Megatron confirmed, taking one step inside the hubsuite so the door would close behind him. Swerve’s cooling fans roared and his gaze was completely focused on him. “I’ve come to accept it.”

The first time, Megatron had been flattered.

The second time as well, if not more so. There had been a swing to his hips and added cockiness to his grin.

The third and fourth times came at once, one mech setting the other one off and both requesting him, and with flattery came a dawning dread.

Megatron had since long lost track of how many mecha in heat had requested him. For a while he had continued to note his inability to assist in response to each ping from Decepticon medics. They were simply doing as was expected – when a mech went into heat, more often than not their programming would indicate the ideal candidate to satiate it, so it was common procedure for medics to inquire and send out requests as asked. If they had an interface partner or someone they had already wished to interface with, they would be picked. If there was no such mech, then the programming would pick based on preferred traits.

Unfortunately, the traits Megatron had which drew mecha to join his army were often the same traits those mecha searched for in an ideal berth partner.

His strength and power drew in charged mecha like scraplets to the smelter.

Every cycle his army grew, and with it grew the number of requests.

Eventually, Megatron had had to privately ask Soundwave to take care of it. The lieutenant quickly created a program to respond to all of those requests with a no without his ever have to actually see them. Unless the mech was of military importance, Megatron had no time to bother with it.

Such an insignificant detail about his life was lost in the war.

It unfortunately rushed back on the Lost Light of all places and in front of Ratchet of all mecha.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act as if this is your first time being requested,” Ratchet said, frowning as he held out a datapad to the co-captain. “I was up to my optics in requests for Optimus before a blanket statement that he was indefinitely unavailable was made. I’m sure your army had poor enough taste to do the same to you.”

When the datapad was pressed more aggressively across the desk and wiggled, Megatron finally reached out to take it. “I won’t refute that. However, for that very reason, it’s been millions of years since one actually reached me,” he explained, and his frown only deepened as he glanced at the datapad. “And I think it’s safe to say I’ve never received one from an Autobot.” A quick scroll pulled up a picture and Megatron’s optic ridges furrowed. “Or a minibot for that matter.”

“You’re not the only one surprised.” Without the datapad to hold, Ratchet braced his hands on his hips and lightly shrugged. “If he doesn’t consider you a threat anymore or took your becoming an Autobot seriously” – the glower that Megatron gave at that didn’t cause the medic to so much as pause—“than that could excuse that. I must admit though, the size class difference should have deterred the heat programming.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No. For better or worse, Swerve’s heat picked you.”

With a slow in-vent, Megatron leaned back in his seat, continuing to scan the request form, though little of it actually read.

Swerve.

He was a good mech as far as Megatron was concerned. He had a perchance for getting himself into trouble, certainly, but not for any malicious reasons. Megatron had dealt with his fair share of soldiers and generals who had that same tendency of all but shouting that everything was fine as their plans and comrades burned around them. It was frustrating, and in his more manic moments he had beat more than a few of them into scrap. But ultimately he preferred them to their ever pessimistic opposites who wasted his time when things were actually fine. Without a doubt they were better than certain mecha who caused trouble for the sheer joy of it.

Swerve just needed a little extra push and then space to air his thoughts. Enough cycles of that and the minibot had started to open up to Megatron on his own, be they about any issues he had regarding his business or, under confidentiality, issues amongst crew members he had heard about and thought should probably be handled.

Ultra Magnus had been impressed and Rodimus had fumed about Swerve asking to talk to Megatron instead of him.

And, for all that Ultra Magnus tried to talk with him about the bar since that conversation had gone nowhere with Rodimus, Megatron defended the establishment. Swerve was a fine bartender and ran his business as well as could be expected, considering who his clientele was. And truthfully, it helped to build a comradery between crew members.

Better overcharged brawls when they could barely keep on their pedes than true sober battles.

It had even touched the former Decepticon when Swerve found out about the fool’s energon farce, and immediately insisted that Megatron let him welcome him back to the world of good taste with a drink of his own making. The minibot hadn’t pried when Megatron requested it be free of engex, instead rambling about how he had become quite an expert at making ‘mock-tails’ as he put it, and then trying to explain how it was a human concept that worked great when you had a crew of former soldiers with PTSD and control issues. Megatron had felt uncomfortable entering the bar, sure that none of the rest of the crew wanted to see him there, but Swerve had kept talking to him the entire time, not even pausing when he mixed the drink.

Truthfully, it was far too sweet for Megatron’s tastes, but he had been happy to drink it while Swerve made him feel at ease with his cheerful chatter.

Swerve was too good for a mech like him.

But heat programming rarely factored in morality.

“How long will his heat last?”

“Minibots’ heats are infamously quick,” Ratchet replied. “I’d estimate one day, maybe two days at most, with one additional one for recuperation.”

“And without a partner?”

“That is without a partner.”

Megatron looked up at Ratchet, surprised. “That fast?”

Ratchet huffed with vague amusement as he nodded. “Same amount of charge in a smaller frame means a higher concentration, so more of it is discharged with an overload than in larger frames.”

Megatron placed the datapad down on the desk and leaned forward to brace his arms on his desk. “But if it’s more concentrated, then that would mean--”

“It’s quicker but also extremely intense, thus it’s infamy,” Ratchet confirmed. “Unlike larger frame types, there won’t be periods of normalcy in any real capacity. He won’t be able to leave his habsuite for the duration, or generally be capable of any tasks that don’t involve relieving his heat. I’ve already informed Ultra Magnus that his shifts will have to be covered.”

Megatron simply stared as he tried to comprehend such an experience. His own heats had been irritating enough considering the infernal itching of too-tight plating and lingering thoughts as he tried to keep his army functioning as normal. Having to fit a couple extended interfacing sessions everyday into his already packed schedule was a logistical nightmare, never mind the occasional moments of lucidity during them and realizing how powerless he was against his own programming.

To be trapped in the haze that came when the frame demanded satiation without any sort of reprieve to continue life as usual? To be ensnared by seemingly endless charge for not hours at a time, but an entire day, possibly two?

Megatron’s expression must have given away his horror at the concept because Ratchet was quick to add, “To be clear, while intense and certainly uncomfortable, it’s not dangerous.” The medic lifted his servos to figuratively count on his digits as he spoke. “Swerve has experienced heat before and knows what to expect. He has enough energon in his suite to fuel a mech twice his size for three days, so even his heightened fuel needs will certainly be met and readily available to him. First Aid or I will be checking in on him every six hours to be sure he’s healthy.” The servo then opened in a placating gesture. “It will only take a day or two of heat, a day of rest, and then he’ll be back on duty as normal.”

While slightly comforted, Megatron still hated the very idea of Swerve having to face that sort of heat.

Barely a moment passed before Megatron asked, his tone neutral, “And how long would his heat last if I gave him my assistance?”

Ratchet’s optics widened somewhat, looking rather incredulous.

“Six to twelve hours.”

Megatron hummed in thought as he pulled up another datapad. His shift would end in a few hours, and if he could convince Rodimus or Ultra Magnus to cover his shift the next day—

“Are you actually considering it?” Ratchet’s ridges were furrowed over sharply focused optics, arms crossed over his chest. “All ramifications of interfacing with a crewmember aside, you will not be able to interface with Swerve. This is not an issue of it being a tight fit—you will damage him.”

“We both know there are ways to interface besides that,” Megatron replied casually as he quickly typed up a message to Ultra Magnus. Their Second was a much more reliable replacement for Megatron’s duties.

His comment got a snort in response.

“I know that. I don’t know if you do.”

“I have countless flaws, Ratchet,” Megatron said, sending the short message off before looking up at the medic again, “but I like to imagine my creativity is not one of them. I can certainly manage more than just shoving my spike into a willing valve.”

Ratchet was most certainly sizing him up, optics discerning.

“He’ll be fine without you.”

“He will be fine sooner with me.”

A moment passed in silence as Ratchet cycled a slow ventilation.

“Why?”

Megatron held Ratchet’s gaze as he replied, “If my assistance will end such an uncomfortable experience for him in a matter of hours, then I would like to give it.”

Ratchet frowned but, finally, nodded.

“Fine. Sign the document.”

One datapad lit up, a preview of Ultra Magnus’s response appearing. It was enough to see that he would take Megatron’s shift.

Without hesitation, Megatron marked the box indicating he agreed to assist and signed it.

The end of the war and the beginning of this new and turbulent journey on the Lost Light had forced Megatron to face countless feelings he had either ignored or simply not experienced for those millions of years.

Most of them though were at least more profound than the nervous energy prickling along his circuits as he pressed the intercom by Swerve’s habsuite door.

Certainly they weren’t as crude as the stirrings of interest he dared not even contemplate when the comm came alive with Swerve’s strained “H-hold on! I need a second!”

Nothing could have fully prepared him though for the moment that the door would finally open and reveal Swerve sitting on his berth, a blanket thrown over his lap to hide panels that must have refused his requests to close. His plating was all fluffed up, inviting touch beneath them, and even from here Megatron could see a small arc of charge flit between plates. What was most captivating though was how brilliantly bright Swerve’s visor was, nearly white, as if it would have only taken one more stroke along the right nodes to send it sparking with overload.

Swerve’s expression had been one of self-deprecating humor until that very visor finally focused on the mech standing in his doorway.

“You’re not Ratchet.”

“No, I’m not.”

Swerve visibly shuddered, the visor strobed, and his servos tightened their hold on the blanket.

“Look, if this is about the request, I’m sorry if that was weird! I definitely didn’t see it coming, at all – I mean, ok, I knew my heat was coming, but I didn’t think it would choose you. But I’ve always dealt with my heats alone so the requests are just a formality at this point. Who’s going to actually say ‘oh, sure, I’ll take time out of my busy schedule to frag you since you asked nicely,’ right?” His laugh nearly sounded genuine at that, though Megatron knew better. “So you know, sorry if that’s weird, but I never thought you’d say yes anyway so you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be totally fine and this will just be a hilarious story we can look back on fondly!”

“This is about the request,” Megatron confirmed, taking one step inside the hubsuite so the door would close behind him. Swerve’s cooling fans roared and his gaze was completely focused on him. “I’ve come to accept it.”

Swerve sucked his bottom lip between his dentae and bit down hard enough that Megatron feared he’d draw energon. His frame shivered and leaned towards the larger mech, trying to get closer even as he kept himself seated.

“Really? Like, really really? Because if this is a guilt thing--”

“Really,” Megatron confirmed as he allowed himself a small smile for the minibot, hoping it might help reassure Swerve. “I simply want to help you.”

Swerve’s hips shifted and rolled under the blankets and his visor flared nearly white, and when he finally spoke it was practically a whine.

“Please.”

Permission granted, Megatron strode over to the berth and gently took the servos that Swerve reached out towards him in his own. Instantly there were sparks arcing from the minibot’s digits, tingling as they raced along Megatron’s arms like quiet whispers luring him into the heat’s thrall. It didn’t help that Swerve was shifting up onto his knees to get anywhere close to Megatron’s height and the blanket slid away as he did. Conductive fluid stained the insides of his thighs with fresh lines now dribbling down to further the mess and his spike twitched with need.

“How do you want me? Whatever you want, I’ll do it, no problems, I’ll make sure this is really good for you--”

Megatron tried to sound kind as he hushed Swerve, squeezing his servos reassuringly as he moved to sit on the berth. “This is about you, Swerve. What do you want?”

“You,” he blurted, and a brief flash of embarrassment twisted his expression before he stumbled over himself to clarify, “I mean, obviously, right? Since I requested you and all--”

“Swerve.”

It was barely what Megatron would consider a commanding tone, but Swerve trembled. However, it seemed to only draw him closer as he slowly crawled into Megatron’s lap, visor flicking from his frame to his face, as if looking for rejection even though he never stopped his progress. It would have been difficult for the minibot to refuse his heat, especially if it was as intense as Ratchet suggested.

“Sorry. I’m rambling, that’s not sexy--”

This time Megatron let go of one servo so he could press his thumb against Swerve’s mouth to silence him long enough to reiterate his point. However, Swerve’s visor dimmed, his engine purred, his servo lifted to hold Megatron’s against his cheek so it would not move, and his glossa slipped out to lave attention on the thick digit.

Megatron said Swerve’s name a few times, to try to focus him back on their conversation, but the minibot was practically in a trance as he mouthed at the thumb. He kissed it wetly, humming in pleasure as his lips parted to take the tip between them. The gentle scrape of his dentae was like a shock to Megatron’s systems, warmth building in his own array at the sorts of ideas it brought up.

It was with sheer determination that Megatron retracted his thumb, though he did still hold Swerve’s helm to make him look up at his own optics. “Swerve, I realize it’s difficult, but I need you to focus. I have no intentions to take advantage of your situation, so I ask that you tell me what you want me to do.”

Swerve’ servos tightened against Megatron’s, as if trying to anchor himself so he could get his thoughts straight.

“I don’t – I don’t really have any specifics,” he admitted weakly, his visor flickering. “I just know I need you to touch me, and frag me, Primus do I need you to frag me. A lot.”

“Alright. Then I ask that you tell me immediately if you don’t like something,” Megatron said, his servos releasing Swerve’s face and servo so he could carefully grasp his sides, guiding him to turn so his back would be to Megatron’s front. “And if something does occur to you that you would like, tell me.” Swerve was eager to follow the silent commands, settling in Megatron’s lap and leaning back so they were in full contact. In this position Megatron could insure as much physical contact as possible, using his own frame to ground some of Swerve’s charge. “Do you think you’ll be able to manage that?”

Swerve’s frame practically purred in his hold.

“Yep, definitely. I hear you loud and clear, Captain.”

Megatron frowned. “I would prefer to leave official positions out of this encounter.”

“Oh, right, of course!” Swerve stammered, visor flickering. “Sorry, won’t do that again, I promise.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m simply letting you know.”

One of Megatron’s servos pressed against Swerve’s chest, holding him close and allowing the tips of his digits to slide along the vents there. That alone had Swerve squirming. But when Megatron trailed his other servo down to encompass the minibot’s array with its large span, the base of his spike cradled between thumb and foredigit while the other digits explored his valve to find it soaked and scalding hot, Swerve bucked with a loud gasp, frame arched back into Megatron’s wide chest.

“F-frag!”

It made sense, and Megatron had known it logically going into this experience, but the minibot’s array was so small. His spike was about as large as one of Megatron’s digits. And his valve – even pressing lightly against the rim proved how very tight the channel was.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure more than one of his digits would be able to fit inside without discomfort.

“I assume you were self-servicing before I arrived.”

“Yeah,” Swerve admitted quietly, though Megatron could not decide if it was out of shame or if he had slipped back into the haze of heat. “But not—well—no, that would be a lie, I – haaaah – was thinking about you, I still don’t know if I believe this is actually happening for real--”

Megatron leaned down so he could speak softly, hoping to interrupt without upsetting.

“How many digits did you put inside yourself?”

Swerve’s whole frame shuddered, his hips alternating erratically between pressing insistently down against Megatron’s digit on his valve and up against the hold around his spike. “T-two.”

With a quiet hum, Megatron loosened his hold on Swerve’s chest to grab one of the minibot’s servos from where it had been nearly digging dents into his thighs. Truthfully, Swerve’s servos were surprisingly large in proportion to the rest of his frame, though they were still smaller than his own. Two digits would have been enough in a pinch, but they had time, and Megatron wouldn’t dare push Swerve anywhere near his limits.

“Will you do something for me, Swerve?”

Swerve whined when Megatron removed his digit from his valve rim, but grasping his spike fully and giving it an experimental stroke seemed to make up for the transgression. His visor was bright and his moan was hot.

“Anything.”

“I need you to stretch yourself enough to fit three digits,” Megatron explained as he moved Swerve’s servo down to his valve rim. That seemed to be more than enough motivation for the minibot as he nodded vigorously and his digits surged into his frame.

Three at once.

Swerve’s gasp wasn’t like before and Megatron was quick to pull his servo from his valve.

“Slowly,” he chastised, manipulating Swerve’s digits until they were all curled into his palm except two. “Work yourself up to it. There’s no rush.”

Swerve sighed much sweeter this time and his hips twitched into his own palm as his digits sunk into his wetness. That managed to leave him with just enough processor left to tilt his helm back, attempting to look back and up at Megatron. The minibot tried for humor, but his tone was too genuine as he said, “That’s easy for y-you to say. I feel like – mmh – I’m dying here.”

“Ah, right.” Megatron shook his helm, trying to clear his processor, because of course the minibot wouldn’t want to wait for his overload. The pressing need to dump the excess charge his frame had built up would have already been uncomfortable, but considering Megatron had interrupted Swerve’s self-service, it must have been nearly excruciating. “I shouldn’t have made you wait.”

Megatron had certainly never allowed his heat partners to waste time with unnecessary foreplay, so why was he treating Swerve like—

The thought was stopped and dismissed immediately.

Megatron focused instead on tightening his hold on Swerve’s spike and stroking it in earnest. With their size difference, he could completely encompass it in his servo, slowly milking from root to tip with each pull. Swerve’s dentae dug into his bottom lip and his visor offlined as his whole frame jerked. His digits pumped into his valve at a desperate pace that Megatron matched with his servo.

“Oh frag, oh fraaaag, Megatron! W-wait, I’m – hah! I’m already gonna--!”

”Go ahead. Let yourself overload.”

Swerve’s frame shook before suddenly going rigid, his visor onlining and flaring bright enough to blind. It was worth the risk though to watch his mouth fall open, swollen bottom lip trembling as stuttered moans tumbled across it.

Charge soaked into Megatron’s frame everywhere they touched, and unlike the crawling pace of before, this charge raced along his circuits, feeling as if it singed them in its wake. Combined with the view of Swerve completely succumbing to the pleasures of his own frame and the pounding of his spark beneath Megatron’s servo, Megatron felt his grip on his self-control slip for several long seconds as the heat beckoned.

How sweet it would be to burn off their charge together.

And then Swerve’s visor off-lined, his cooling fans roaring as he panted from his mouth, the corners of which curling into a blissful grin.

And after only those few seconds, his hips began to roll again, pumping up into Megatron’s fist again, starting to softly whine again.

Ratchet hadn’t been exaggerating about minibot heats. Swerve’s spike had barely dribbled any transfluid into Megatron’s fist with his overload, meaning he had already brought himself to enough overloads before Megatron’s arrival to run himself dry. And yet still he overloaded quickly once stimulated and his refraction period was all but non-existent, desperation for another overload burning as hot as Swerve’s frame against Megatron’s.

That Megatron could focus on. Swerve needed help, and so it was his desires Megatron needed to focus on.

His control clamped down again.

“I have it in.”

Megatron furrowed his optic ridges as Swerve gazed up to him, grinning. It was when the minibot removed his servo from his array to raise three digits glistening with lubricant that Megatron made the connection. Swerve looked so proud of himself as he moved his servo back down, visor flickering as all three slipped inside himself again and his sigh was all pleasure.

With a small smile, Megatron said, “Good. Is it comfortable?”

“Feels good,” Swerve murmured, his voice becoming distant and his visor no longer focusing on Megatron as closely. His hips rolled down onto his digits and he gasped when Megatron squeezed his spike. His voice came out needy as he asked, “Are you going to spike me?”

Megatron had to resist frowning, afraid that Swerve would notice and apologize again. So instead he lowered his helm enough that it bumped against Swerve’s, knowing that the minibot would thrive under more physical contact. Swerve immediately shifted and tried to nuzzle against his chin, sighing.

“No,” Megatron admitted softly as he held Swerve closer to his chest. “I would damage you.”

Instead of pulling away with fear though, the minibot shivered and slammed his digits into his valve.

“I-I can stretch, I can even do it slowly, as slow as you want, just tell me how many digits!”

“It would take days at least, Swerve,” Megatron explained, “and that’s assuming your capacity goes that far. I don’t know that it would even be possible.”

“But--!”

Megatron hushed him before saying, “It’s alright. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

Swerve whined, but he didn’t argue further. He just nodded and when asked he removed his digits from his valve. When Megatron replaced them with his foredigit, pressing against the slick rim to gauge its flexibility, Swerve arched and babbled out pleas – “Oh Primus, please, pleasepleaseplease, I’ll take anything, please!”

“Touch yourself,” Megatron suggested, and once the minibot grasped and started to stroke his spike, he pressed the tip of his digit past the first caliper of Swerve’s valve.

“A-ahn! Frag!” When Megatron pulled his digit back out, ready to ask if it was alright, Swerve quickly continued, “No, it’s good, it feels so good, big and good and please put it back in!”

“Are you--?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Swerve whined, stroking himself harder while his other servo grabbed onto Megatron’s arm around his chest, holding on for dear life as he jerked his hips down, trying to take the digit into his valve himself. “Need it, need you.”

Megatron shifted his arm from wrapping around Swerve’s chest to around his waist, restraining the minibot’s hips a bit more before slowly pushing his digit back inside. Even after fingering himself, Swerve’s valve was still tight around his digit, and it continued to concern Megatron as he passed the first caliper and made it to the second. It wasn’t that the calipers wouldn’t stretch at all – they allowed him inside, but then clenched down too tightly, as if grabbing and holding, too desperate to keep him.

“Relax,” Megatron urged, slowly moving his digit back and forth, pressing in a little further each time. Swerve shivered, and his valve relented for a moment before clenching down again.

“I can’t. I just keep thinking about it, you know? And then the charge gets worse, and I--” Swerve’s visor dimmed for a moment as a whimper slipped from his vocalizer. His frame was trembling, caught between desperation and a rush of anxiety. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Megatron reassured. Nevertheless, the minibot’s arousal was flagging as he was caught in in the cycle of panic, trying to relax, tightening around Megatron again and panicking all over again. Something needed to interrupt it for Swerve to truly enjoy himself. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Why don’t you talk to me? We can focus on conversation.”

“I’ll say something embarrassing though.”

“You’re in heat, Swerve. Of course you will.”

“Hey!” the minibot yelped, squirming and twisting so he could look up and to the side at Megatron, practically pouting. However, the distraction worked and his valve eagerly accepted another fraction of Megatron’s digit which cut off whatever else he had to say in response with a gasping stutter.

Megatron couldn’t help smirking as he stroked the pliant mesh walls under his touch.

“I mean that I doubt there’s a cybertronian alive who hasn’t said something embarrassing during their heat, so I can hardly judge you for anything you say.”

“Really?” When Megatron nodded, Swerve cleared his vocalizer of static and asked, “Have you?”

“Unfortunately.”

Swerve twisted further, nearly sat sideways on one of Megatron’s thighs so his visor could properly focus up at Megatron, and his grin was mischievous and mirthful and, for the first time since Megatron had opened the door, completely genuine. It was as if the heat had lifted for this one moment, even the programming-deep instinct no match for Swerve’s love of situational comedy.

“You have to tell me now!”

Megatron couldn’t resist taking advantage of Swerve’s distraction, pressing his digit in to the second knuckle and watching sheer pleasure battle personal frustration on his face. “Th-that’s not fair!” Swerve stammered and whined, traitorous hips undulating with Megatron’s movements despite himself, his valve pulsing around his digit. A small wave of charge arced from the Swerve’s frame to Megatron’s, tantalizing him.

“I thought I was here to give you physical pleasure,” Megatron commented, keeping his tone casual, but he couldn’t help the curl of his lips that betrayed his humor, “not to embarrass myself for your entertainment.”

Swerve keened, gnawing on his lip, but his visor never left Megatron’s face. Through the lust he managed to grin weakly.

“You’re not the one in heat, so I think you can handle multitasking.”

“Fair enough,” Megatron conceded. “Though most of it was the usual tripe. That I couldn’t wait a second longer” – Swerve’s servo tightened around his spike and his visor dimmed as he listened intently – “I want you, I need you, those sorts of things.” With a blissful sigh, Swerve’s mouth dropped and then hung open, panting to try to help overclocked cooling systems, fans clicking and spinning helplessly. “Though I was rather demanding about it, so I can’t imagine it sounded as sweet.”

Suddenly Swerve’s visor flared to life and his expression was almost bashful. Nevertheless, his pace on his spike sped up and his other servo reached up to splay across Megatron’s chest. Charge burned through the armor and crackled against the outside of his spark chamber.

It was so tempting.

And it was oh so easy to work the minibot up with his words.

“There was once though, when I waited too long to finally leave my command to relieve the heat. I never told another spark about it, and threatened his afterwards if he ever repeated what I had said.”

Digits fisted against the design on Megatron’s chest. Swerve curled as close as he could with the angle he sat at and the shape of his frame. “Will – hnn – will you tell m-me?” he asked, strained with static, visor nearly white, and he had to be close.

The hungry heat of his valve had easily accepted most of Megatron’s digit by now, and the previously untouched calipers gave no resistance as he pushed deeper yet.

“I asked to be sparked up.”

His digit bottomed out inside the suddenly writhing minibot. Swerve’s visor flared and his frame curled around Megatron’s arm, trembling as static-laced pants and moans dripped from his lips. Blunt digits managed to scrape a couple lines of paint from Megatron’s chest. Charge crackled along Megatron’s circuits, white hot up his arm.

Once he had given the minibot a moment to come back to his senses, Megatron couldn’t help but tease, “I never would have guessed you were so passionate about sparking.”

Swerve’s visor onlined with a flash and he glanced away in embarrassment, as if he wasn’t already moving his hips, already trying to ride Megatron’s digit. “N-no, that’s – I was already close, and you pushed all the way in, and – and you’re the one who said it, not me.”

“Like I said, I was in heat.” The large mech obliged Swerve, slowly working his digit back out. “Though I will admit that regardless of what you’re usually interested in, I knew that sparking would appeal to you in your current state, and I unfairly took advantage of that.”

Swerve let out a long, low moan as, slower than it left, Megatron pressed his digit back in. His frame trembled.

“You don’t sound particularly sorry,” Swerve managed between pants, dimmed visor slowly brightening, and a goofy grin on his lips.

“Likely because I’m not.”

There was nothing quite like Swerve’s breathless snicker, bright and gleeful, and to listen as it hiccupped suddenly into a gasping groan. The scalding hot walls of his valve grasped at Megatron’s digit as if it were a spike, trying to milk it for transfluid that would never come.

“You don’t have to be, if you keep – oh Primus, keep doing that, but faster.”

“How commanding of you.”

“My heat, my rules,” Swerve insisted. He twisted more, looking up at Megatron, before saying, “In fact, could you – could we – oh frag, hnn!” His visor dimmed nearly offline Swerve shuddered, his valve fluttering around Megatron’s digit as it picked up a steady pace of thrusting, and it was difficult to tell if it was an intense wave of charge or a small overload. Whatever it had been, it eased enough for the minibot to manage, “I-I want to see you better, so maybe I could lay on my back, or – hahh – or something?”

And, for the first time since Megatron had waited outside the door, his spark pulsed with something too much like anxiety considering how pleasant it felt.

His digit slowed in hopes of leaving Swerve a bit more clear-minded as he replied, “It will be more difficult to ground your excess charge without smothering you like that.”

Swerve still wiggled in Megatron’s lap, shifting away while always making sure he wasn’t too far from that digit piercing him, but the slowed fragging left his visor clearer, focused. He smiled up at the large mech. “Meg, this is the most cognizant I’ve ever been during a heat. Seriously. So – hah!” His shifting must have brushed a sensitive node as the minibot stiffened, expression going glossy until Megatron moved his digit back. However, not before noting the location of that sweet spot. “S-so, yeah, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Megatron hummed with consideration, watching as Swerve settled himself so he was awkwardly straddling his thighs. In truth, the span of his frame seemed to push the limits of Swerve’s hips, forcing them to their maximum spread which wasn’t enough, so he was balanced there instead of actually sitting. It couldn’t have been comfortable or stable.

Not that Megatron had a chance to point that out before that very balance faltered and Swerve reached out to steady himself by grabbing at Megatron’s chest plates.

With his still lubricant-slicked servo.

The servo slipped and Swerve let out a squeaking noise as his frame pitched backwards. He didn’t go far though as Megatron caught him with his free servo, the span of his digits wide across Swerve’s back. In turn, Swerve grasped at Megatron’s arms, scrambling to brace himself too late. There was lubricant smudging across Megatron’s armor, Swerve’s visor was bright with surprise, Swerve’s frame was awkwardly sprawled across and away from Megatron’s lap and into his grip, and a small, abashed smile was tugging at Swerve’s lips, all while Megatron’s digit was still buried inside his valve.

The perfect absurdity of the situation – of lust mixed with inconsequential mistakes mixed with something purely Swerve – cut Megatron straight to the spark and he laughed warmly.

Swerve looked starstruck before his smile grew impossibly wide and his visor burned nearly white and charge sparked anew across his frame in bright arcs.

His valve cycled down on Megatron, desperate and needy as it dumped charge into his servo, into the gaps between plates and zapping at his wiring.

“Kiss me,” Swerve demanded as he tugged at Megatron’s arms. “Kiss me, frag me, please, Meg, come on--”

Megatron tipped the minibot back, laying him on the berth, fondly hushing Swerve as he removed his digit. “I know, I know, just give me a moment to get situated.”

Swerve whined, the heat overtaking him utterly as his visor flared and his legs splayed open, trying to entice Megatron back with the view. And it was quite a view at that – valve gaping open slightly from being stretched, lubricant dribbling out from between swollen lips, anterior node blinking fitfully, spike twitching and bouncing against his belly.

It took mere seconds for Megatron to get onto his knees and lean over Swerve, one arm braced beside Swerve’s armor cowl to keep his frame from crushing the minibot while the other was quick to find itself between Swerve’s thighs and resume its duty. The foredigit was swapped out for his middle digit, barely a noticeable difference in size to Megatron, but enough that when it pressed home, Swerve jerked as he moaned.

And, this close, it was too easy to watch the waves of pleasure washing over the minibot on his face.

“Oh frag, oh frag fragfrag—Megatron!”

To watch the way his visor flickered, always starting from the edges to bleed into the rest to either leave his visor blinding or nearly offline altogether.

“--please move, please, yes, yes, it’s so good, you’re so good--”

The way his mouth never properly closed, too busy babbling and gasping and moaning, and in those rare moments in between his bottom lip would be sucked between his dentae, leaving little dimples in the metal mesh that begged to be smoothed away.

“--Meg, come on, kiss me, shut me up, please--”

It was impossible to refuse the servos grabbing at his helm, digits taking whatever edges they could find and tugging Megatron down. And even if it weren’t, the completely wrecked expression on Swerve’s face couldn’t be denied.

However, Megatron took a small detour, his lips so gentle against the overheated mesh of Swerve’s chubby cheek, contrasting the sharp thrusts of his digit into the blistering heat of Swerve’s valve.

“I could gladly listen to you all night, Swerve.”

Swerve hiccupped and trembled and his arms did their best to wrap tightly around the back of Megatron’s neck, holding him close. And, finally, Megatron kissed him.

For all the differences in size their frames had, their mouths fit perfectly. Kissing was looser and, truthfully, wetter than Megatron preferred, but Swerve moaned so prettily against his lips that he couldn’t find it in him to mind. The charge arcing from Swerve’s lips and arms swamped Megatron’s processor, heady as it danced along his circuits, and distantly he knew his own array was hot and tight and longing to become involved.

The way Swerve’s valve squeezed Megatron’s digit on each push and pull and how he suckled on Megatron’s tongue was so, so tempting.

And then Swerve arched back sharply, shouting Megatron’s name as he shook and his valve throbbed with overload, and Megatron forgot his own frame in favor of focusing on Swerve’s.

“More?”

Swerve nodded vigorously when words failed him.

He all but sobbed when Megatron returned to his ruthless pace, writhing under him as the minibot’s frame seemed caught between trying to escape and embracing the burning pleasure of oversensitivity, but Swerve’s hold on Megatron never wavered. His visor was offline now and mouth open in a desperate attempt to suck down cool air, but still he tilted his helm when Megatron laid kisses against his cheeks, seeking the slide of Megatron’s lips on his. Megatron was more than willing to oblige.

When he overloaded again, Megatron bit down on Swerve’s bottom lip, tasting the charge that cascaded from Swerve’s frame before soothing the dents with his glossa.

Once it sizzled away though, it did not linger. Swerve’s heat had finally be satiated enough to momentarily ease.

And this time there was no mistaking that the sound Swerve made as the charge waned away was a genuine sob. Megatron’s servo stilled completely and he pushed himself up enough to get a good look at Swerve. The minibot’s face was crumpled and his visor fritzed at the edges, and his gasps were halting and choked. Megatron could have sworn his spark stopped for a moment.

The concern must have shown on his face because once Swerve’s visor had onlined, the minibot weakly tugged at him again, a wobbly smile trying to pull his lips up.

“I-I’m fine, it’s ok, it’s—it’s just, you were so good, and I feel good, and I never feel good during heats, and I can barely even feel the heat anymore which is insane, and – and I don’t know what else to do, I’m sorry, I just--” Swerve’s laugh was more like a shaky hiccup. “Well, I guess what I’m doing is crying, which is pretty sad, but I promise I’m not sad--”

Megatron kissed him gently.

Swerve shook, his plating rattling as his cooling fans roared, but his grip on Megatron’s helm held strong. The kiss quickly became as desperate as before, with Swerve mouth open and wet and needy, lips trembling as he continued to weep. And Megatron indulged him, distracting him with lips and glossa and dentae. He shifted the arm he was braced on so his fingers could stroke along Swerve’s cowl and swirl the tips of his digits along the grooves of his tire.

Slowly, Swerve’s frame eased against the berth. Megatron started to focus solely on Swerve’s lips, kissing more sweetly and softly, simply enjoying the slide of his mouth along the plush mesh.

Swerve’s ventilations hitched once, then twice more, and finally evened out completely.

When their lips finally parted, Swerve gazed up at Megatron with warm smile, his visor a clear, smooth blue.

“Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” Megatron replied. He shifted and, carefully, removed the digit still inside the minibot. Swerve winced a bit but didn’t protest. There was only the slightest tingle of charge that Megatron could feel coming from Swerve’s frame, much closer to what you might find in any mech who was a little aroused. Certainly not the flood of heat from before. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, ‘m good,” Swerve slurred. His visor was rapidly dimming, exhaustion visible in the way his ventilations slowed and his frame went completely slack on the berth. However, his helm still followed Megatron as the co-captain briefly left the berth, gathering up some energon cubes and dampening a servo-ful of rags with cleanser. “You uh, you don’t have to do that. I can clean up and refuel in a bit--”

“Nonsense. All you should do is recharge while you have the chance.” Megatron took a moment to first quickly wipe down his own digits. Truthfully, there was lubricant seeped in past the plating, so he would have to do a deep clean to rid himself of the mess. But the rags would do for now – deep cleaning would come once Swerve’s heat fully lifted. That done, he sat on the edge of the berth and held the energon cube towards Swerve. “Do you think you can sit up?”

Swerve groaned dramatically before rolling onto his front, arms braced on the berth to lift his helm off the surface. “No. But I can drink like this, so no worries, Meg.”

Once the minibot was refueling, Megatron returned to using the now dirty rag to wipe away the stray lubricant streaks on his arms and chest. When he checked his lap however, Megatron could feel his face heat up when he found not just Swerve’s lubricants straining his thighs, but some of his own seeping out from behind his panel.

His frame itched with unaddressed charge.

Megatron ignored it and simply grit his dentae as he cleaned the mess away, ignoring the jolt of desire the touch reignited.

“Hey, but uh, Megatron?”

“Yes?”

“I really mean it when I say thanks.”

Megatron flicked his optics up to Swerve, but the minibot’s visor was turned away as he sipped at his energon intently, as if the tight corners of his lips didn’t give away his embarrassment.

Megatron couldn’t help smiling.

“You’re a good mech, Swerve. I couldn’t leave you to deal with this alone.”

Swerve’s visor flickered and the corners of his mouth curled up.

“You’re the good one.”

“I have to disagree with you there.”

“My heat, my rules,” Swerve insisted. Finally he glanced over at Megatron, his bottom lip caught between his dentae. “So you’re a good guy and that’s that. No arguing allowed.”

Megatron shook his head with a bemused chuckle and Swerve grinned wide and wobbly.

“You’re awfully late.”

Megatron ex-vented tiredly as he avoided Ravage’s gaze, simply closing the habsuite door behind him and heading straight for the wash. He knew it was asking too much to hope the cassette might stay in recharge at the late hour.

“Nothing to worry about.”

Out of the corner of his optics he noticed Ravage’s tail twitch and his small frame expand as he took a large in-vent.

His snicker was soft.

“Apparently. Smells like you had fun with the bartender.”

Megatron reached up to scrub a hand down his face.

“It was a heat request, and that’s all.”

“I thought you were above accepting those.”

“I wasn’t aware that it was any of your business.”

Ravage didn’t seem the least bit off-put by the irritation in Megatron’s tone. He simply stood on the berth and leaned back on his back pedes, stretching out his forelegs.

“It is if you start bringing him around here.”

“Are you even listening to me?” Megatron groused, fighting back the flickers of frustration when he heard the nearly silent padding of light pedes following him. There went his plans to finally release some charge in the privacy of the wash. He could close the door on the cassette, but Ravage had a habit of sitting outside and waiting for him to come out. It was easier to simply leave the door open so at least Megatron would know if he was still there, and half the time that appeased the curious cassette enough that he would leave. “It was a heat request. We’re not courting.”

As expected, Ravage did not follow him through the door, instead sitting just on the other side of the door frame.

“Personal heat requests are practically the same thing as courting requests.”

The cleaning solution was cool and Megatron didn’t bother to turn the nob and wait for it to warm. The cold felt calming on his frame considering it had been above his normal temperature for hours on end.

“It wasn’t personal. His heat simply picked me.”

Ravage snorted and his tail slapped the floor.

Megatron turned and glowered at him from under the spray.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ravage replied casually. “Just that you really don’t know much about minibots, do you?”

Irritation grabbed onto the excess charge itching beneath Megatron’s plates and pulled his patience too thin.

“If you have something to say, Ravage, then do so. Otherwise, this conversation is over.”

The lithe cassette was back on his pedes, arching his back in a casual stretch, before finally replying, “As someone of a similar frame size as him, I can assure you, no minibot’s heat chooses a mech of your size class. You’re welcome to ask any minibot you want. They’ll tell you the same thing.” Ravage stretched up, standing on his hind legs and bracing his front pedes on the wall by the door. “When a minibot requests a big bot, it’s personal.”

Megatron stared at the cassette who just smirked back at him.

“Enjoy your shower, Megatron.”

And just like that, Ravage pressed a pede to the door commands and Megatron was finally alone in the wash.

And his spark was racing.

“Hey! Megatron!” Swerve crowed, waving as the co-captain entered the bar. He couldn’t help noticing some of the patrons shooting him looks, but they were easy to ignore when Swerve was bounding over to him, handing a tray of dirty cubes off to a service droid on the way. His visor was bright, but a normal, healthy shade of blue, and his smile outshone it. “Come on in! What can I get you? It’ll be on the house no matter what, so don’t be afraid to ask for anything.”

“I’m still on duty, so I can’t stay long. I just wanted to check and make sure you were alright.”

The service smile faded into something soft and genuine, even as Swerve shifted from one pede to the other nervously.

“Uh, wow, you didn’t need to do that. But I’m totally fine. Ratchet seal of approval and everything.” Swerve moved up onto the tips of his pedes, and Megatron had to lean down a ways so that the minibot could whisper to him so the other crew members wouldn’t hear. “You should have seen the look on his face when I came in only three hours after my heat started. You’d think I had grown another tire or something.”

Megatron huffed an amused ex-vent. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re well.”

“All thanks to you, Meg,” Swerve replied. “So, really, whenever you’re off duty, let me make it up to you with free drinks, ok?”

Megatron’s spark sputters for a moment and, after a quick moment of internal debate, he replied, “I’m free in three hours.”

“Oh, well, the bar will be closed then, unfortunately. It’ll just be me cleaning up the mess, so I wouldn’t really be able to make you more than one or two drinks.”

“No drinks are necessary,” Megatron insisted with the slightest curl of his lips. “I was only really looking to talk.”

“Talk?” Swerve stared up at him, expression puzzled. “Is something wrong? I’m sorry if I said anything weird—”

Megatron lifted a servo to stop the minibot’s rambling. “Nothing like that, Swerve. I just wanted to talk. Get to know you better.”

Were it possible, Megatron would have sworn Swerve’s visor grew wider.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Like a—well, ok, I don’t want to presume, but I mean, it kind of sounds like maybe a date, so I just want to clear that up before either of us get the wrong idea--”

“That’s what I mean,” Megatron admitted, and it was a struggle to keep himself from fidgeting. He couldn’t recall the last time he had ever done anything like this. “That is if you’re comfortable with that. I realize that it’s unprofessional, but--”

“Yes!” Swerve all but shouted. His smile was so wide and so brilliant. Almost immediately he winced and glanced around, worried about prying audials.“Uh, I mean, yes, I’m totally comfortable with that. I accept your date request.”

Megatron couldn’t help a quiet chuckle and Swerve practically glowed with excitement.

#Fanfiction #can you believe that i have another megatron/minibot fic in the works too? #i have a size difference kink a mile wide y'all and it cannot be stopped #also pom you 100% don't actually have to read this haha #i just figured you should know you inspired it #transformers #tfidw