Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

hello and hello again. after much consideration, I have decided to roll the dice and have some fun taking requests for bumblebee-centric valveplug-y goodness from you all. this basic starter chapter is the guideline set up for accepting requests, including my will’s, my won’ts, and what continuities I’m open to.

fair warning, I’m a fairly slow writer so fulfillment might take a bit, but I hope to get to a good majority of any requests received. now, onto the guide:

Will Not Do:

• graphic rape/non-con
• incest
• underage
• watersports/scat
• soft body
• physiological body horror

Will Do:

• dubious consent*
• mind control/hypnosis
• corruption
• grooming
• love bombing
• mind break
• objectification/degradation
• voyeurism/exhibitionism
• bad ending/tragic ending
• rough sex
• aphrodisiacs
• pet play
• genderbending (for yuri/wlw purposes)
• humanformers/gijinka
• bimbofication/sluttification
• breeding/mechpreg
• oviposition/eggpreg

*in the case of dubious consent, it needs to be in the range of genuine obfuscation

(other kinks/fetishes will likely be on a case by case scenario)

Transformers Media:

• G1
• TFA
• Earthspark
• Cyberworld
• Transformers: One

when it comes to making your request, for the best and most accurate results follow this helpful format:

ship:

top character | bottom character:

specific kink/fetish:

source media:

prompt summary:

feel free to go as detailed, or in as little depth, as you want with your prompt. with each story I’ll do my best to not deviate from anything specifically mentioned. make sure to leave them on this specific chapter to ensure they don’t get lost.

and that should be everything! happy requesting, I look forward to seeing what you all come up with~

editing to tack on a couple more notes:

any requests that directly violate the guidelines are immediately disqualified. they will not be considered at all; the prompter is free, however, to re-send in a prompt as people can prompt multiple times with no upper cap limit.

requests will only be considered if they're left on this specific chapter. any prompts left on proceeding chapters will be redirected back to chapter 1. this is, again, to ensure that they don't get lost as I only come to this chapter to consider which prompt to write next.

to extrapolate further on the dubious consent clause (as well as a few of the darker tags in the Will Do section): complications in a relationship dynamic interest me and are reflective to a variety of grey situations in navigating romance/sexual attraction.

if a prompt feels as though it is heading too far into one of my Will Not Do boundaries, I will simply adjust it slightly until it reaches the point where I feel personally comfortable and safe exploring the idea. please respect this, so that we can all have fun together, thank you.

Chapter Text

Skulking back and forth, Waspinator buzzed in pure loathing as the subject of his ire panted from where he was bound. He glared at the yellow hybrid, no sympathy at all for the state of him as a strange condensation began to build up on the writhing frame. Not that he would give it if he did know why, but the state of Bumblebot perplexed Waspinator.

Circuits must have gotten twisted in Bumblebot's computer after Waspinator knocked him into stasis. No other explanation made sense as for why a distinctly sour—yet enticing…?—smell began emanating from beneath his plates after returning online. Waspinator could smell it clear as day. He avoided ogling the modesty panel, even as the smell got stronger with each passing klik.

Stupid Bumblebot, even more evil spider lady. Nothing had ever gone right for Waspinator, not even this latest attempt to get his revenge. Did the universe hate him? Was it out to get him too?

Whirling around, he slammed a fist against the cave walls. Rain pelted the outside world, a constant stream of white noise that did absolutely nothing to distract Waspinator from the scent wafting in the air. Or the noises–!

"Hahh, hahh."

His claws scraped against the rock, and then he continued to pace with hackles rising. Waspinator reviewed the events that preceded his current predicament wondering where everything went off course. After traveling for what felt like forever to return to the organic settlement where he first found Bumblebot, he ambushed the pest in the night—frying his processor into a forced shut down. The original plan was to take him away from the city, away from the other pesky Autobots, but not so far as the island where spider-bot had changed him. The outskirts of the settlement would have to do.

And once alone, Waspinator would have alllll the time in the world to tear Bumblebot apart piece by piece.

But that didn't happen. Instead, Bumblebot awoke in the middle of his flight to the forest surrounding the city and Waspinator had to wrangle the fighting Autobot, his arms a restrictive hold on the bot. At some point, Waspinator had pressed Bumblebot's head right against his secondary head. And it might have nipped him, once… twice… perhaps even more than that directly into his neck cables.

Eventually, Bumblebot stopped resisting and went limp in his arms. Waspinator thought it was because he realized how weak and pathetic he was against Waspinator's superior strength.

Now though…

Waspinator stalked closer to Bumblebot. The yellow mech moaned as he spread his legs, thigh guards soaked in excess lubricant that leaked from panel seams. Knocking his helm against the ground, Bumblebot's optics spiraled back and forth as the internal cameras failed to focus on hmm, anything it seemed. Mouth open, oral fluid dribbling out of it, Waspinator watched as he failed to articulate anything beyond moans.

"W-wasp, hng," Bumblebot looked up at the techno-organic. "Please…"

Kneeling down, Wasp loomed over him and glared. Begging for forgiveness. As if he deserved any amount of it after ruining Wasp's life.

It just wasn't fair. Nothing was going to plan! Why did Bumblebot have to ruin his revenge once again? Why was he acting this way? Why did he squirm like a cheap buymech, begging for tactile stimulation?

And why did he smell so damn good?!

When Waspinator was still puny, little Wasp, his olfactory sensors were never so advanced to pick up on nuance. Their function was simple—analyze chemical odors for potential dangers, charges ready to detonate, rust, the list went on. They couldn't connect to taste receptors, what a pointless function if they could…

His mandibles flexed. Waspinator could practically taste the sour, electric lubricant leaking from Bumblebot on his tongue from scent alone. He swallowed building saliva and lowered his body closer, knee pressing in-between thick, sticky thighs. Bumblebot eagerly shuffled down, burning modesty panels pressing against Waspinator. He ground against it, increasing in speed and desperation the more that Waspinator stayed still.

"Bumblebot is acting more stupid than normal," he growled, eyes squinting. Stubbornly, he ignored how all the fleshy muscles on his body tensed with inaction. A desire to pin the other hybrid down and– "Why?"

"I– I don't know," the yellow mech panted. He looked up at Waspinator, not stopping his grinding for a moment. "Do… duh- hahh… did you do something? T-to me?"

"As if!" Huffing, Waspinator shuffled into a more comfortable position. This resulted in his knee pressing down on Bumblebot's modesty panel. His optics brightened, throwing his helm back with a throaty moan. "Just like Bumblebot to blame Waspinator for things that aren't his fault."

"Then can you pleaseeee," he whined, thighs tightening over Waspinator's knee for a squeezing pleasure. "Do something?"

Hissing, Waspinator wrenched Bumblebot's hips up his claws digging into the metal. He brought the yellow mech's pelvic right up to his mandibles, clicking tentatively. Up close to the source of the arousing scent, Waspinator felt his head go cloudy. He leaned close and snuffled the panel.

"Oh." He pressed his face against it, ignoring the stinging burn from the hot metal. He took in a deep breath. Sour, so so sour. "Ohhhh."

Intoxicating, absolutely intoxicating. Without thinking Waspinator bit into the panel and reeled his head back, tearing the flimsy protection clean off. Bumblebot yelped, pedes hooking onto Waspinator's larger form for stability. Were it not for the servos tied together with spools of thick cables that he stole from the manufacturing plant the Autobots claimed as their base, Waspinator was positive that Bumblebot would be scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. Gripping against the scratchy, prickly hair that stuck up from them, a sensation so different from a normal Cybertronian.

"Yes, yes yes yesss," Bumblebot gave out a wanton moan. His vents roared to life, matching the pace of his heaving chest. "More, I need more."

Now that the dreadful modesty panel wasn't in the way, Waspinator took a moment to admire the yellow valve glistening before him. The aroma originating from the excess lubricant spilling from between the fat, puffy valve lips smelled even more repugnant unobstructed. Lines of biolights flashed in a pulsing motion, leading up to the nestled exterior node just above the soft mesh of the interface array.

Mouth eagerly opening, his segmented tongue unfurling to swipe a long strip up Bumblebot's valve. His tongue tingled as the charged lubricant settled in his mouth, a string connecting the two thinning out as he drew his head back.

Waspinator swallowed. And then immediately dove back in with an even greater fervor sucking on Bumblebot's blinking external node. The hybrid reeled back with a whine, frame jerking up and bucking into the sensation. Waspinator rolled his tongue across the node, slurping up the juices that flowed freely from the willing valve. His lower face was practically drenched in the fluids as he swallowed. Sucking on the node as if it were a spike, Waspinator took great pleasure in how Bumblebot howled and writhed and begged.

"Wasp! Please! Please, please, please, please–!"

Giving small little bits against the valve lips, Waspinator sunk his fangs into them and smelled how the arousal increased tenfold. He also felt a contracting squeeze somewhere in the back of his mouth, a release of a venom unknown to him injecting into Bumblebot's form. Hmm…

No time to ponder the consequences of that realization. Waspinator put his energy into snuffling Bumblebot's sour, tantalizing valve. He shoved his face directly against it, breathing in deeply.

"Wasp, please…" The lips flexed against Waspinator, thighs trembling against him. "I– I need your spike."

"Bumblebot needs Waspinator?" He chuckled, an evil tint to his words. How funny… perhaps there were other ways to torture Bumblebot than tearing him to shreds. "Needs his spike?"

"YES!"

"Hmm, too bad!" He released his grip on his hips and dropped the mech. Bumblebot wailed, not hurting but hurting for stimulation. "Bumblebot does not deserve Waspinator's touch!"

Crying, Bumblebot squirmed. "Come on! You can't hng–! You can't do this to me!" His valve ground against the cave floor and his optics dimmed. "Ohhh…" Without any prompting, Bumblebot repeated the action. And then did it again. Before Waspinator knew it, the mech was grinding his most sensitive and delicate parts against the dirty, organic floor—seeking pleasure wherever he could.

"Look at you," Waspinator tilted his head, licking his mandibles to savor the sticky lubricant still staining them. "Bumblebot is filthy." He crawled closer, spike unfurling from his pelvis. It throbbed, angry and more than willing to stuff Bumblebot's valve to its breaking point. "Very, very filthy."

"Can… hahh… can you blame me?" Bumblebot screwed his optics closed, vocal box stuttering and spitting out static. He whimpered. "I… haha… I'm melting."

Waspinator hummed, not really caring. "Waspinator can helpppp," he sung, mercilessly teasing the bot as he looked around the cave. Sitting, laying, reclining—he couldn't exactly comfortably do any of that with his techno-organic body. But he could reposition Bumblebot against himself so that he was straddling his thighs, spike rubbing in-between the mesh lips. "Does Bumblebot want Waspinator to help?"

"More than anything!"

He rocked back and forth, the tip of his warped spike nudging his external node with each movement. His pace was teasing, almost bruising as he bullied the bot before him—his spike sliding back and forthhh but never entering. Bumblebot's valve leaked and leaked, a squelching sound overpowering the rain in the background.

"Look at you," he rumbled, shifting his hips so that the tip of his spike would wedge slightly between the lips before slamming against Bumblebot's node again. "So wet and filthy, all for an organic. What would Sarge-bot say? What would the Magnus say if he knew… They'd send you to the stockades."

Dizzy at the smells and sounds, Waspinator couldn't take it anymore. He lined up his spike, ribbed and sharp, and started to enter. Calipers cycled and stretched, jaws gripping onto it. He ripped out of Bumblebot's valve and plunged the mech down, tip of his spike knocking against the sealed gestational chamber of the hybrid. All of the delightful calipers extended to make room for the massive girth plunging into him, spike hidden from view as their arrays rubbed against one another.

He groaned as he thrust into the tight hole. Suspended in air, Bumblebot had no other choice but to submit to Waspinator's ministrations—pleasure and relief rolled into one at his purview. The spines on his spike scratched at the inner mesh walls, pulling at the malleable material as he exited. Humping into Bumblebot as if he were a toy to spill his seed into and then promptly discard.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Bumblebot babbled. "They would! They— hahhh!" Optics glowing brightly, lost in the moment. "Optimus, he– He caught me one time with mmn, hng, with an illicit holomag featuring…" He suddenly squirted, lubricant spilling out from the sides of Waspinator's cock. The overload wracked through his frame, valve tightening as he spasmed. The air grew heavy with the smell of sex as Waspinator increased his pace.

He needed to know what Bumblebot was going to say next. He huffed, panting out, "What? What did he find?" Waspinator removed his spike entirely, soaked in lubricants and transfluid, spilling down onto the ground.

"Organics!" Bumblebot exclaimed, jerking in his hold. "F-from Cybertronian space! When we were on the repair ship," he sobbed, spreading his legs as far as they feasibly could go. One overload and already he wanted more, so greedy… Waspinator hadn't even overloaded once.

But his spike throbbed with need. "Bumblebot a filthy, dirty organic humper?" He let his cock drool against the cave floor because he was so thirsty. Lifting Bumblebot up, he sucked his plush, puffy lips into his mouth—injecting more venom as he did—and nosed against the array. Sour, disgusting, rancid… "Perhaps the Bumbler was made to be Waspinator's mesh light all along."

Excited, and pumped so full of Waspinator's venom, Bumblebot nodded furiously. "Yes! YES!" He bounced in place, humping against the techno-organic. "Fill me with your transfluid! Pump me full of it!"

Slamming Bumblebot down, Waspinator treated him exactly the way the mech wanted. Lifting him up and down, bucking into his valve as he climbed ever closer to his own overload. His head swam in the electric odor wafting with each thrust, and his plans for revenge withered and died as a new idea took its place.

The tip of his spike hit Bumblebot's gestational seal once more and he stilled all movement. He let his cock fill up his valve, the heat of clinging calipers and mesh walls warming it up. The hybrid whined and clenched, milking it as if he could coax the burgeoning overload from willpower alone. But Waspinator wouldn't let him.

There was more important business to address.

"Does Bumblebot want Waspinator's transfluid?"

"Please!"

"Will Bumblebot do anything for it?"

"Yes! Anything!"

"Even swear loyalty to Waspinator?" He started to slowly pump Bumblebot up and down, edging the bot further. "Become Waspinator's drone?"

A drone that Waspinator could lift and pin against the wall as he drilled his cock into his needy, gaping valve whenever the desire arose. A drone that would stay wet and willing at all times.

A disgusting drone that belonged to Waspinator and nobody else. Not the Autobots, not spider-bot or Sarge-bot, only. Waspinator.

As expected, Dronebot agreed instantly, "YES!"

Purring, Waspinator rewarded his drone by thrusting into him. He didn't stop for a single moment until he felt his overload crest and expend his transfluid directly into Dronebot's valve. His drone squealed, overloading because his master overloaded. Good, goood drone.

Waspinator would teach Dronebot everything that he would need to know going forward, reprogramming his drone with venom and training. Lot's and lot's of training.

Chapter Text

"There." Gently, B-127 used his deft digits to correct the placement of Steve's head. Straddled in his lap, B worked diligently at making sure his best friend was working a-ok! His panel scraped against the crest of where two pipes met to form his legs, a shiver going down his spinal strut for just a moment. Weird. B-127 ignored it as he focused back on more important things—like making sure Steve was back in working order!

Shifting back slightly, he gave his friend some venting room although his servos stayed put from their cupping of Steve's head. The weak welding on his neck concerned him on the best of days, but Steve always put up a brave face even when mid-disconnect. It brought a small smile onto his face plates, even if it disappeared after a moment.

Honestly, if his friend was a little less prideful and didn't put up such a vocal fight every time he went at him with his welding gun, B-127 could've had the problem fixed in no time at all! But at the blat of static and stuttered words, he always pulled back with fear that he could accidentally—who knows, ruin his voice box? The voice box that allowed Steve to speak with him? However glitched and incomplete as his responses were…

With a sigh, B shuffled awkwardly in place—grunting as he felt that same tingle again. It… He felt… He leaned back in Steve's lap and crossed his arms, digits caressing even as he pulled away. In truth, sometimes he wondered… if it was worth it to investigate where Steve's voice came from. Not that it was strange for him to have the ability to speak at all, because duh! Of course he could! Why wouldn't he? EP-508 and A-A-Tron could speak too! Just… not as clearly as Steve.

Which was funny since the clearest Steve ever got was yelling out, 'Ambush!' which never failed to crack B-127 up. Like what!? Steve was such a jokester! Sublevel-50 was so small and B had turned over every single corner of it in his desperation to… um… to better know his surroundings! Obviously! His job as the shift lead meant he should know SL-50 like the back of his servo. And he did, you know, because he'd gotten a lot of scrapes and dents handling some of the larger chunks sent down the trash chute.

And there were certainly no corners or vents for an infiltrator to hide in. Well, besides the chute. But if they hid in there for too long, B-127 would have noticed the obstructed garbage eventually. Because he was great at his job.

All of that to say! It didn't hurt to wonder… except that it could. Because what if Steve ceased making all sounds forever? Do you know how easy it was to damage a mechs vocoder permanently? B-127 had read about it in cracked med-pads that he fixed up and sent back to the Waste Management supervisors. Those were important, like wayyyy more important than the usual scrap he sifted through. And all of them emphasized that at a certain threshold, voice damage could not be repaired so it was best to avoid neck injuries.

Plus, B-127 just… didn't know how he would cope if one of the only sources of sound dissipated from his life. No shade to EP-508 or A-A-Tron but… Steve was so much realer than them. There was a reason why B had a preference for him and considered the mech his bestest friend. The other two couldn't talk back. But Steve could, in his own special way. If that anchor disappeared and B was left in the silence of the incinerator and the scrap falling and his own babbling trying to fill the silence he—!

B shuffled closer to Steve, knocking his helm against him. In doing so, his lower panels scraped against Steve's legs again and this time the sensation was a welcome distraction. Looking down, he frowned in confusion. Everything looked in order, no parts sticking out strangely or coming loose. Steve looked fine and there was this… feeling? In B that started to burn in his lower plates.

Experimenting, he touched the panel. Nothing beyond a small shock. He ground the panel slowly against Steve, jolting at the sharp burst of sensation that nearly overtook him. Servos clapping over his mouth, his optics spiraled wide. What… He tried it again, and was forced to brace himself against Steve's stiff arms as his computer started to cloud over.

It felt… so good. And B-127 felt so warm. Not the kind of warmth that standing next to the furnace evoked in him—a melty sort of danger that had him scrambling closer to the chute for the illusion of cooling off. This felt…

B ground down against Steve again, with a small pant. It felt so, so good. Better than B's felt in, well, forever! It spread from his lower panels to his laser core and before he knew it, he started to chase after that high. Grinding down against Steve's leg, humping the recycled scrap parts with a desperation that B-127 didn't know he had in him. He lifted his hips up and down, moving with a fervor he hasn't experienced since first getting re-assigned to SL-50. Before loneliness set in and before his friends joined his crew.

Steve babbled, incomprehensible and B-127 cried out, little beads of optical fluid building up against his optics. He wiped them away, huffing as he paused his movements to scrub at the dividing lines. His legs twitched at the sudden stop of stimulation, pelvis jerking in Steve's lap. Almost as though his frame was begging him to continue, to keep humping towards some great climax. B-127 obeyed the urge, hiding his face plates in the structure that served as Steve's neck strut.

"Ca-ll—C-C–!"

"Steve!" B called out, gripping tightly against his friend. His optics were blown wide as he panted, mashing his panels down over and over again. In the dim lighting of the little bulbs that B had saved from the gaping maw that was the inferno that dictated his life down in the deepest depths of Cybertron, he could see a slight sheen grow the more he rubbed down on the leg. His sensor recognized the wet slick sticking to his thighs, originating from where? B didn't know. He didn't think to check, lost in the throes of catching the hard edge where Steve lacked a proper hinge joint between his thigh and lower leg. B-127 shivered and gasped at the feeling of something hard scraping against his codpiece that he nearly slid off of Steve's lap entirely.

Shame didn't penetrate his higher processors because the ambitions of a lower power were overtaking his rationality. B justified the behavior with how good it made him feel and how enthusiastic Steve sounded—"Pr–tect!-tect!-tect!"—throughout it all.

The feeling beneath his panels built and built as he ground down and up, fluid smearing between the two friends, until it culminated in a burst of charge spreading throughout his systems. B-127 squealed, lurching back from Steve as his thighs quaked from the strength of the released stimulation. Fluid practically sprayed from his side seams, coating Steve in it and squelching between their two bodies as connected so intimately.

As he vented loudly, systems returning to a cool down, B-127 looked down at his lower panels absolutely mystified.

"What in the name of Primus…" he muttered, with a shocked clarity. Nervously and with great hesitation, he brought a servo down to the simmering panel. Like an exposed wire, he jerked back at the electrifying pulse the action brought to his frame.

Leaning back against the table—and ignoring that he had made EP-508 and A-A-Tron unwilling voyeurs in this sudden coupling, not that he thought they would mind because if B didn't mind why should they? They weren't real any how…—B pushed forward. He reached down and fumbled at the bottom of the panel for a latch of some sort, finding it and promptly releasing the clasp. The panel pulled back with a quick snap, treating B-127 to a sight that he dimly recognized.

An unmodded valve stared back at him, the lips flexing with the aftershocks of what he now realized was an overload. It clenched, wanting and searching for something to… fill it? B-127 had only seen medical diagrams of one, all written from the perspective of cogged bots. It led him to believe that a cogless simply didn't have an array of any kind, and it wasn't exactly as though any managers he had previously did much to sway him away from that assumption. Interfacing would just get in the way of productivity and who had time to link up with another mech when they had a shift to get to?

Except, B had all of the time in the world. The incinerator could run on its own semi-smoothly. Watching for valuables amongst the scrap never yielded big results on an average shift, and he hadn't found any taboo material in ages.

Curious about his own frame, and already addicted to the pleasure that wracked his body moments ago, B-127 reached down for his valve. It came in a standard black, an unlit exterior node sitting hidden from view until he pulled back the soft, plump lips. The mesh was strikingly dry until his digits dipped further down and started to dip into the twitching hole.

"Ohhh," he moaned, feeling the viscous fluid coat his digits, lubricant gushing from his valve. Returning back to his node, he coated the nub with the fluid—rubbing circles across it and feeling that same feeling of arousal grow once more. He pinched the node between his knuckles, jerking into his servo for more. Pulling on it, whining at how his circuits burst to life in just a short time since his last charge build-up, B returned back to his valve lips. Sliding a digit down, he penetrated the gaping hole and felt how his calipers cycled down on it. The jaws were unrelenting as they bit down on the invading presence.

More, he wanted so much more. His valve clenched and clenched, desperate to be filled, but B didn't know what he could fill it with. His digit wouldn't do, they were blunt and unfeeling after having the sensors on the tips worn away from burn after burn. B-127 also needed connection, his frame cried out for the touch of another.

Looking around the break room, he scanned for a phallic-shaped object amongst all of the scrap he hoarded… Spikes, from the medical diagrams, were often long and tapered but B might have to settle for one or the other. What were the chances of a false-spike reaching him all the way down here? Unlikely and improbable, that's what.

Eventually, he settled on some curled tubing that he had toyed around with as a replacement limb for A-A-Tron who lacked the kind of improvised flexibility that B designed the other bots with. Ultimately the idea fell through as he worried over changing his crew mate too heavily and he was glad for it now. It would make the perfect false-spike, in a pinch.

When he designed the gang, he hadn't known about his own active interface protocols. So they didn't have an array either. But now that B-127 did have a valve, it was only fair that he granted his friends the same joy that his leaking lips were granting him. He'd be mindful going forward to look out for better spikes for EP-508 and A-A-Tron but… Call it favoritism, it only felt right that B gave Steve a spike first. The other two would just have to wait.

"Im-me–me—diate!-diate!"

"Don't worry," B promised as he lifted himself off of Steve's lap with shaky lips. Lubricant spilled down his thighs and dripped against the floor. Oops. He'd clean that up later. Not that they ever had guests but, it was probably rude to not clean up after a 'facing session, right? Was that what other mechs called it? A 'facing session? A good fragging? Getting screwed? "You're going to love this, Steve! It's great, I–" he stumbled. "I want you to feel good too."

He wrenched the tubing up with one servo and grabbed his toolbox with the other. His adjustments to Steve's frame were quick and only slightly unsteady. He had to briefly stop when his bare valve rubbed against Steve's leg again, and B felt compelled to grind down against his parts. Whimpering when the edges that had felt so good against his panels felt even better when digging into his fat, needy valve—pressing the lips apart slightly and jamming into his node. More lubricant continued to spill from him, mixing with the transfluid from both overloads he's now had.

With a milky pink splattering of fluid messily covering both their lower halves, B-127 swiftly finished and found himself bearing his full valve to Steve. His back struts pressed against the table, playing cards spread around him. B spread his legs wide, face plates heating up as he bashfully ducked his head away from Steve's fixated stare.

Putting on a show for his friend, B-127 sensually brought his digits down to his valve spreading apart the lips. Fluid connected the two soft mesh pieces, thinning out and dribbling down onto the table and underneath his aft. He was so wet and willing and craving the loving touch of another bot that he foolishly asked, "Do… Do you like it?"

"Quin–sson! Sson! Sson!"

Elated that his first go at flirtatious foreplay was so successful—which, of course it was, B was perfect at everything he put his computer into—B-127 abandoned it immediately. He didn't want to wait anymore, he wanted to link up with Steve now.

Scooting forward, B crawled into Steve's lap and sat on his tubed spike without waiting another moment. The warm metal with all of its ridges felt divine. And Steve hadn't even entered him yet! Imagine that.

Reaching out, B grasped Steve's spike and rubbed in back and forth. His movements were clumsy, his servo coated in a copious amount of fluid from his gushing valve. He imagined the spike pressurizing from his movements, leaking just as much as B was at the slit. Manipulating the limp spike further, he lined it up with his valve, venting deeply as he braced himself.

Since the tube wasn't exactly erect and honestly a little bendy, B-127 had to carefully insert it into his valve inch by inch. He felt his calipers spread in accommodation, a comfortable stretch that provided just the right amount of pressure. B writhed slightly, full-on crying at the sensation of being filled. All the internal sensors went so long without acknowledgment or stimulation that they exploded with the feeling of the tube scraping at his inner lining. It was so much, too much, not enough, it was everything that he had been missing from the monotonous hell that was living in SL-50.

Eventually, he met a wall of resistance about half-way down Steve's spike. Perplexed, B-127 struggled to recall what could possibly be preventing him from shoving the spike into the back of his valve where his most sensitive node cluster hid. Frustrated and more than determined, he pulled back the tube and shoved it back in—hard. The bruising pain was momentary, but constant as he repeated the action over and over. Steve's spike thrust into his valve, pounding away at the thin sheet of metal in his valve until finally his seal snapped.

B cried at the pain, releasing the spike so that he could bite onto his servo to muffle his sobs. Without his dictating grasp, the tube began to slip out of his valve slowly—directing B's attention away from the pain with the return of pleasure. The signals crossed in his computer, forming links and connections that would help him with all future experiments with modified spikes, but in the now it gave him the incentive to continue. Unobstructed, he could now slide Steve's spike all the way to the back of his valve.

Shivering, thighs clenching down on the tube as lubricant spilled out of him, B-127 savored the experience. A charge built up in his tanks, a warmth spread throughout his frame that nurtured his spark, and he eagerly helped Steve pull out his spike so that he could slam it back in. The thin point of the tube hit all of his internal clusters head on and drove B absolutely wild. The amount of lubricant spilling from his flexing valve created more than enough slip for the spike to slide in and out without struggle, wet sounds filling the oppressive sublevel.

B-127 also cried out with each thrust, throwing his head back to moan, whimper, squeal, and otherwise wantonly beg for more. And Steve obliged each time without fail, because B was his best friend and he wouldn't let him, "Fal-Fall–en!"

Eventually, yet another overload crested over Bumblebee and his valve clenched down tightly against the tubed spike that he felt his caliper jaws crush the metal inside. His legs shook and he squirted out lubricants against Steve's face as the mech had fallen forward onto B at the moment of climax. The two of them were wet, and Steve's spike was more than a little twisted inside of B's valve, but the surge of tingly, good chemicals flooding his system with the release of charge more than made up for how messy things had gotten.

And well, whatever it was that B-127 was diving helm first into, he felt so much love in his spark that he was able to share his first time with Steve. This moment would remain special in his memories, and he would play it out over and over as he watched the garbage go down the conveyor belt.

The best part? If he wanted to go another round, Steve and the others would be there for him. Like they always were. Slowly, he dragged the tube out of his valve, and pulled it off of Steve to toss it aside. In fact, he might just go for just one more now… As soon as he found a replacement spike for Steve.

Chapter Text

Staring at nothing, Bumblebee's digits dug deep groves in the soft plating of his thighs. The shock that ran through his system caused a full out stall as he sat and sat and sat. Really, he didn't know why he was so surprised that Starscream—SIC of the Decepticons, opportunist and duplicitous traitor all wrapped in one—would drop Bee the second that he proved himself as dead weight. He, above anyone else, should have expected it, but the young hopeful in him thought that perhaps all of the chaste moments of passion and secreted away intimacy would endear him to Starscream. Enough for the flier to take responsibility for sparking him up, in any case.

That didn't happen. Instead, Starscream stared at him absolutely horrified and then took off without offering an explanation or even a word of disgust. Bumblebee could have handled that—accusations of trying to trap him with a sparkling to force him to leave the war, taking out a valuable Decepticon component and ensuring Autobot victory. He could handle it, because he knew it wasn't true in the slightest.

He didn't go into the relationship expecting to tie Starscream down to him in such a permanent way—if ordered to, maybe. But Prime would never command something like that out of any Autobot, so it wasn't even in the equation. Their tryst came about naturally, a frenetic coupling built upon stolen moments. Bumblebee had never been loved in such a way, and he supposed, he still hadn't. It had felt like it though, for a time.

Starscream left, and now Bumblebee faced losing the sparkling.

Softening his grip, his servo moved across his frame until it settled gently on his abdomen. Right above where his gestational tank nestled amongst the rest of his vital parts. Vents stuttered, his shoulders hitched as he worried over what the hell he was going to do now that Starscream effectively wiped his servos clean of Bee.

Minibot grounders tended to produce minibot grounders—even his own spark chain linked back generations to the same frame type he had now. That's just how it was and how Bumblebee thought this forging period would go too. He intended to fly under the radar for as long as possible, not informing Ratchet or Hoist or Primus forbid Optimus about his carrying until the sparkling finished production and popped out. He'd probably get dishonorably discharged instantly for it—they couldn't exactly trust him to fulfill anymore espionage missions knowing that he had a link to the Decepticon High Command—and maybe they would even lock him up in the brig for what constituted treason of the highest order. But they wouldn't do anything to the sparkling, the Autobots would even raise it under the code. His sparkling would grow up with a strong sense of justice and an understanding of what was right and what was wrong.

Bumblebee could live with all of that. Until his systems started to raise the alarm that something was going terribly wrong in manufacturing the newspark.

Mini-Autobots didn't tend to interface with other builds. It just wasn't done. The dangers, the impossibility of two different size classes even attempting to frag—the nature of the concept was as taboo as it was frowned upon. Bumblebee found it arousing, he liked getting manhandled around as though he were a toy—the lack of control and the surrendering of it to a Decepticon got his wires hot in a way that nothing else ever did. Perhaps, in his blinded lust, Bumblebee failed to consider that the warnings he chose not to heed were for his own safety and not to uphold archaic ideologies.

The sparkling was growing at an alarming rate. By the halfway point of the gestational period, Bumblebee would be so incredibly gravid that he could neither transform into his alt mode or even walk whilst in root. That meant that the sparkling was not designed with a mini frame in mind, not even that of a minicon.

Not only that but his systems were constantly pinging with an alert of [:DATA MISSING!] which informed him that the sparkling would not become a grounder. Rather, it would develop into a flier, just like its sire.

Bumblebee could cry from the unfairness of it all. In fact, he did exactly that after Spike unknowingly brought up the complications to him with a curious, "Hey, Bee? What does this blinking symbol next to the check engine light mean?"

Panicked, Bee told his friend to leave his alt mode immediately so that he could transformer and run a system diagnostic. He had sorely avoided doing so for the first couple of orbits but his gestational tank light furiously catching the attention of Spike demanded his attention. And once he did, all of the little problems that started to build up on one another made it clear that Bumblebee was screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.

He needed flier coding to fill in the gaps of the developing sparkling but his one source for it flew out on him. Bee had been staying with Spike and Sparkplug since the realization—everything spilled out from his intake, ashamed and mortified to have to tell his best friend and his father that the espionage bot had gotten knocked up by thee Starscream—avoiding the Arc and the other Autobots as his stomach plating gradually rounded.

If he really truly had to, Bumblebee could go to Powerglide and beg him to supply the missing data—which would require returning to the Arc and revealing his little problem far too early. He didn't know if he could endure the scrutiny and disappointment of his superiors whilst carrying.

"What am I going to do…?" Bee whispered to himself.

Suddenly, a steadily growing build-up of electricity threw his systems out of their wallowing into full alert. Before he could pull out his gun and ready himself, an annoyingly familiar grating laugh sounded out behind him as Bumblebee was lifted off of his rock perch.

"Well aren't I lucky?" Skywarp grinned down at his struggling form as he fought against him. The sting of teleporting still arced off of his frame in brief little spurts. "A lonely little Autobot to deliver to Lord Megatron."

"Let me go!" Bumblebee demanded, slamming his fist repeatedly against the restraining arms wrapped around his chassis. The much larger mech adjusted his hold on the Autobot, gracing above his swollen plates causing Bee to panic, "Stop!"

"What? You actually think asking me to stop is gonna make me?" Skywarp laughed, lifting him higher. "As if–!"

His optics widened, finally registering the swell to Bumblebee's stomach plating. His grip lacked enough for Bee to pull himself away and stumble to the desert ground. Before he could regain his bearings, Skywarp got over his surprise and snatched him up by his wrist.

"You're sparked?" Incredulous, the flier poked his abdomen as though the bump would pop by doing so.

"Stop that!"

"By who?" Skywarp transferred his grip over to his other servo, Bee's legs swinging to try and nail him in his cockpit. "One of you ground-pounders?"

"Let me go!"

He scrutinized Bee's face plates. "Hmm, no that can't be it. If it was, they would never let you out of that pile of scrap you call a base. Plus the size of you…" His optics brightened considerably as a devious smirk grew across his intake. "You know, I thought it was strange that I saw Screamer jetting away from this sector as if his engine had gone out mid-flight but now that I look at you…"

Horror flooded through Bumblebee's lines, all movement stilling at the rare display of cunning from the usually ill-tempered and ignorant seeker. No, there was no way that Skywarp out of all mechs was able to figure out his sordid affair…

Leaning close to Bumblebee's helm, Skywarp wickedly went, "So that's it, isn't it? You let the second-in-command of the Decepticons knock you up, didn't you?"

Wiper fluid built up in his optics as Bee desperately shuttered them open and closed. He didn't need Skywarp pointing out his idiocy to him when he had been putting himself through the proverbial chop shop over his own mistakes. He threw his helm away from Skywarp, electing to not allow the Decepticon to see his tears.

"And if I had to guess from how far along you are," a servo possessively caressed his bump. Skywarp's voice grew husky, "You need a flier data dump, don't you?"

"What would you know?" Bee snapped. "I didn't realize that Decepticons were so knowledgeable about carrying!"

"We aren't." Skywarp's claws scratched lightly at the straining metal. "But let's just say that I have a certain… appreciation for a carrying frame." His vents hitched, as he huffed, "It's been too long since I've gotten my hands on one."

A fetish, then. Wisely, Bumblebee kept his comments to himself. The homicidal flier seemed oddly subdued after the realization that he was not only manufacturing a sparkling in his forge, but one that would form as a seeker to boot.

"Say," he continued to rub Bee's bump, pulling the Autobot closer to his thrumming frame. "I have a proposal for you. You need the data for a flier—and I have that data. Why don't we help one another out and interface just this once?"

"Do you think I'm that easy?" the mini sputtered.

"Considering you hooked up with Screamer? Yes."

"That's–!" He shook his helm. "That's besides the point. I'm not so desperate for data that I would willingly frag you."

"Oh?" Skywarp tilted his head before letting go of Bee. He dropped to the ground with a grunt, the seeker stepping back and giving him enough room to struggle to his pedes. Failing that, he settled on his poleyn. "Prove it."

Looking up at him, he asked in confusion. "What?"

"If you're not as 'desperate' as I think," Skywarp mocked, pitching his vocalizer up in a poor imitation of Bee's voice. "Then prove it. Return back to your friends, get the data from that red showoff. I'll wait."

Nervous, Bumblebee looked down at the dirt gathering between his digits from his position knelt on the ground. Showing any sign of hesitation in front of any Decepticon was a mistake that he didn't make often, but the whiplash of the day had him pausing.

"Go on," Skywarp waved him away, sitting on the same rock formation that Bumblebee had previously been on before his unwelcome appearance. He crossed one leg over the other and let a smug grin settle on his face. "Unless you can't."

As fast as he could compute, he weighed his options. It could not have been clearer that Starscream was not going to return to help finish what he started, and while Powerglide was always there as a back-up… He couldn't return back to the Arc before the sparkling was born. More than ever, that was non-negotiable as he didn't put it past Skywarp to report this revelation to Megatron himself who wouldn't be able to hold back from taunting Prime with the knowledge that one of his agents carried the bastard of his SIC. Who next would spread their legs for Decepticon spike, he'd ask Optimus, and the mere idea of letting Megatron use him as a gloating piece was simply unforgivable.

Bumblebee allowed resolve to settle across his systems as he straightened his back.

"Fine. You got me." He sighed. "I can't go back to the Arc—not until the sparkling is delivered." Bee glared at Skywarp, who perked up at his admittance, "But that doesn't mean I'm just going to pop my valve cover for you. Not without discussing things first."

"Ugh," Skywarp snarled, crossing his arms. "You Autobrats and your talking. Get on with it, I suppose."

"I just want to know what you want out of this," Bumblebee laid out plainly. When Skywarp went to answer, he interrupted him, "Not what you get out of it—you've made that pretty clear by now—but what you want out of this arrangement."

"If you're asking if I want to be in the bastard's life, forget about it," he scoffed. "The sparkling can be raised as an Autobot and I don't think any of us would bat an eye, not even with Screamer and me knowing the truth. And since he doesn't want anything to do with the kid, what makes you think that I would?"

"That's fair," and made things far less complicated on Bee's end. "So… that's it, then? My body in exchange for your data?"

"Don't forget the opportunity to lord over Starscream that it was my coding that finalized the design of the sparkling," Skywarp's optics sparkled.

"Sure…" Still slightly apprehensive, the worry for the sparkling's future pushed him to continue onward. "Alright. I'm all yours."

Skywarp launched himself off of the rock with no fanfare at all, pushed Bumblebee's frame against the ground so that he could crowd into his personal space. He only had the chance to yelp before the seeker's loud fans roared to life, his warm frame turning blazing now that he had gotten permission to do as he pleased.

Skywarp's much larger frame eclipsed the sun from Bee's view, firm legs boxing him in as his denta got too close to his neck cables to feel safe. Just when he thought that he would actually open his maw and bite down on the cables, his servo knocked against the glass of his chassis and he demanded, "Open up."

"Huh?" Bee blinked.

Claws scraped against the glass, a desperate keen building in the back of Skywarp's throat as his codpiece rubbed against lower leg. "Open up your damn energon sacks before I tear off your roof and pull them out my damn self."

More than a little bit frightened, he quickly disengaged the locking mechanisms on his chest plates. He honestly forgot that he had energon sacks at all, as during this stage of carrying they only just started to grow and swell with processed and refined energon. Given a month or two, they would start to uncomfortably press against his inner plating, begging for release but for now they just spilled out casually.

The sight of them had Skywarp shuffling down, helm at Bee's chest. His servos braced themselves against Bee's upper arms, holding on tight. All the seeker could focus on were the sacks in front of him, and for good reason.

As a species, they didn't ride root. End of. If a Cybertronian's alt mode could even carry another Cybertronian, then it was designed with loading bays or a docket for another mechanism to slide into. Internal seats were practically unheard of for most frame types prior to their crash landing on Earth.

That distinction between their frames now and what they were like on their own planet made a world of difference when it came to the pert, full fuel sacks heaving up and down in front of Skywarp.

They were a soft, warm leather—a material gained undoubtedly from the Earth reformatting Bumblebee went through. No prior experience with a pair of full, energon-laden tits could compare to these as he nuzzled his face plates against them. Little did Bee know, but Skywarp had chipped his denta many a time on the metallic mesh previous partners supported, but here his fangs dug into the fabric and cut, drawing out hisses and moans as he lapped at the budding energon.

The sensation of a glossa licking across the hide sent shivers down Bumblebee's circuits. Skywarp began rooting not too soon after, face turning and intake opening to mouth at the sacks until they finally landed on the firm nozzles. He began to suck enthusiastically, grip relaxing on Bee as he shuffled impossibly closer to the small frame—practically crawling into his undersized lap. The rhythmic motion sent waves of drowsiness straight to his processor, unsure servos rising to rest just under Skywarp's wings.

It took a bit, but eventually Skywarp's efforts were rewarded when the suction pulled up what little refined energon was stored in his sacks to the teat he latched onto. He moaned appreciatively, and guzzled down the purified fuel as if his life depended on it. One servo released Bee so that it could massage the other sack, kneading the malleable material until energon began to spurt between his digits from the nozzle. Throwing his head back against the ground, Bumblebee cried out at the rough handling of the sensitive carrying mechanisms but that only seemed to encourage Skywarp to suck harder and longer with each pull of his mouth.

When he finally popped off one nozzle, energon dripping down his chin, Skywarp only took one moment to go through a vent cycle before diving back down and latching on to the neglected sack. He licked up the spilled energon voraciously, letting not a single drop go to waste as he cleaned off his digits.

"S-skywarp," he stuttered out, chest heaving as the seeker continued to suckle. "The data–!"

Growling as he reluctantly pulled off, Skywarp carelessly popped off his modesty panel and let his spike pressurize fully. It sprung out angrily, almost as annoyed by the interruption to his desperate feeding as the owner of it. Bumblebee slid his panels back too, valve slightly damp but no more than usual. He kept his spike tucked out of the way, the sparkling bump making it difficult for the part to fully release and it was easier to enjoy pleasure when not constantly struggling to grip the damn thing properly.

Skywarp spat on his servo and gave a few furious rubs down his spike, gritting his denta and snarling muttered insults at Bumblebee the entire time. Once done coating his spike improperly, he leaned down so that he could spit directly into the Autobot's valve. As he squeaked in outrage, the cold fluid a shock to his sensitive nub, Skywarp ignored him by taking his two digits and pumping them into his valve.

Digging them into the soft mesh would have been a more apt way of putting it, as the flier hurried his pace with an impatient haste. He stretched bit by bit the plump valve walls and aligned the calipers in such a way that when he pulled back and replaced his digits with his spike, the sting as the girthy, tapered member spearing its way into Bumblebee didn't agonize the mech. It still hurt, tearing against the lining absolutely occurring as neither the spike nor his valve were properly wet for entry, but the uncaring treatment sent missignals straight to his computer.

Before Bumblebee knew it, his valve started to properly lubricate. His arousal increased exponentially once Skywarp panted, "Happy now?" The seeker didn't care to wait for a response before leaning back down and latching onto his interrupted meal, humming happily around the mouthful of energon and leather.

Squished down by Skywarp's heavier body, his sparkling bump pressed against the larger mech. Each sloppy, messy thrust of the flier's spike rutted against his exterior node—all of the inner ones neglected for the time being as spiked ridges caught and pinched with each pull back—threw Bumblebee for a loop.

Objectively, this was some of the worst interfacing he had ever had in his life cycle, but the way that Skywarp could hardly stay away from his energon sacks and the stray touches to his bump that the seeker snuck away in between groping his tits sent his systems into a tizzy. He shouldn't find this treatment hot or endearing but… Bumblebee hadn't felt great about his frame in a while since getting sparked up.

Watching as Skywarp could hardly pull away from his chest before returning to at least mouth and covering the leather in his oral fluids, sucking and sucking away, did interesting things to his higher processors.

Cradling Skywarp's helm, he felt a momentary burst of courage to speak and tell him, "That's it, be good for Carrier, ok?"

Skywarp's fans stuttered to a stop before returning with a vengeance, roaring so loudly that he could hardly hear the wet pop as he came off of his nozzles to twist Bumblebee's frame to the side, his spike slipping out for just a moment before plowing right back into his valve—now hitting at the cluster of nodes hidden deep within him. He humped into Bee, bruising his calipers as they stretched to accommodate the new, attentive pace.

"S-so good," Skywarp panted, optics blazing bright and fully dilated lights. "So good! I can be so good!"

Charge spreading across his lower plates, his sparkling bump jostling with each thrust, it didn't take long before his calipers clenched down and Bee cried out with the ecstasy of an overload. Skywarp followed soon after him, his spike plugging into his gestational tank just in time to data dump his transfluid into the receiver canal. Bumblebee's HUD burst to life with the data, protocols taking control to start processing the deposit and configuring how to create wings for the sparkling within him. All of the warning messages disappeared one by one as the afterglow crested between them, with the eventual relief of knowing that the pregnancy was still viable causing all the energy to drain out of Bumblebee.

Eventually, he'd have to clean himself up and make his way back to Spike's house. He couldn't wait to tell his friend the good news—as the young boy had been equally as worried by Bumblebee's plight as the mech himself—but just when he thought they were done, and that Skywarp would teleport away, the seeker started to grope his energon sacks once more.

A manic and erratic energy to his movements, his digits dug into the leather and squeezed. Released. And then squeezed again. They played around with the mounds of material, using them like stress balls. His spike was still sheathed within his valve, leading Bumblebee to squirm slightly. Ultimately, he didn't resist the groping touches figuring that Skywarp was savoring the sensation while he still could.

"Skywarp?"

"You'll need someone to help you for the rest of the carrying process, right?" Breathless, the seeker didn't wipe away the mess of drool and energon from his chin. "You're a minibot manufacturing a flier… I bet you aren't even a couple months into the forging and yet you look like it's been over half a year. You won't be able to walk eventually. And if you won't go to the Autobots… You'll need someone to get you fuel and pleasure you, fucking your cunt whenever you get in the mood…"

Alarmed, Bee sat up slightly, "Skywarp?"

"That can be me," the shift in commitment from earlier stunned Bumblebee into inaction. "I can be so good for you, Carrier."

"You said that you didn't want anything to do with the sparkling," he pointed out, still and quiet. He didn't want to set the seeker off.

"I don't." His spike twitched inside of Bee as he fantasized his next words, "I just want to be there while you're still big. And when the kid pops out, I can drop him off on the porch of the Autobots and return back to you to knock you up again. Your womb will always be occupied, your energon sacks permanently swollen with refined milk… Unlike Starscream, I wouldn't abandon you because you're carrying…"

Looming over Bee and coming close, Skywarp told him, "That's the best part."

Chapter Text

Quietly observing Optimus' crew disembarking from the landing gangway, Ultra Magnus let both his optics and mind linger. The small crew talked idly amongst themselves, Optimus leading the charge as they made their way across the hangar. Even the unregistered newcomer listened to his commands, participating in unloading the cargo for their eventual restock. They worked as a well-oiled machine, exactly as any Autobot squadron should.

It was heartening to see that Optimus was flourishing under his unfortunate post, the best that the Magnus could afford him, but truly his attention was split between the former academy hopeful and the smallest among his crew.

Yellow armor gleamed under the intense docking bay lights, a bored and unsatisfied look on his face as he tugged a trolley behind him. He tapped his pede with irritation as he waited for the large green mech to check over the contents before disengaging the crate to return to the ship for the next batch. Every movement caused his hip joints to pop, exaggerating his stride and bringing focus to the sculpted plates protecting the bare protoform of his aft.

Perhaps feeling the pervasive gaze upon him, the yellow mech paused and looked around. His helm craned up high to the catwalk that Ultra Magnus stood upon. Recognizing him, the mini threw up a quick, if sloppy, salute before continuing with his task posthaste. Optimus barked an order to his retreating figure, but failed to investigate what could have caused the lapse in workflow.

Coincidence did not guide Ultra Magnus to this particular hangar on this particular cycle. In fact, he had meticulously planned his appearance so that he could explicitly spy on that mech—Bumblebee.

It would have been disingenuous for him to state that he hadn't known of the minibot's existence prior to his assignment under Optimus Prime's command. After all, Ultra Magnus had selectively chosen each mechanism to serve Optimus with care. He could not help the former Academy hopeful in terms of vocation for his compulsory service period, so the least he could do for the potential he once saw in Optimus was to assign him bots that wouldn't impede his growth.

Ratchet, a well respected war veteran and the current caretaker of their remaining sentinel—Omega Supreme. He would guide Optimus, where Ultra Magnus could not.

Bulkhead, Cybertron's foremost expert on Space Bridge mechanics and engineering. His experience with the delicate machinery would not only aid Optimus but also serve to fulfill his fieldwork requirements before they could relocate him back to Iacon.

Ultra Magnus would inquire that Longarm Prime look into the background of the unregistered newcomer. The fact that he did not personally recognize the mech beyond his clear cyber-ninja outfitting concerned him. To let him roam free, without confirming his identity, was a safety risk that the Magnus frowned upon.

Which left Bumblebee. A subcompact hybrid-engine model with no talent or acclaim to his designation. The only note left on his file worth any form of merit was his assistance with catching a spy embedded in their ranks, but his misconduct toward his fellow platoon mates and the harm caused to his acting staff sergeant instructor by himself—an admittance that he willingly provided—resulted in his expulsion from bootcamp.

Left with very few options, the minibot opted into the Aptitude Testing Program. An invasive, but optional, examination that scoured through the coding and spark of a Cybertronian to determine their function. Some might consider the test biased or flawed, or perhaps even discriminatory, but Ultra Magnus disagreed. All mechanisms who signed up for the ATP acknowledged they would abide by the results, and further, understood that after they completed their first tour they were eligible for a retest.

Often the second round of examination provided upward mobility for the mech—the experience their first assignment imparted upon them either toughed them up or proved they were not fit for their field and allowed them a chance to honorably bow out for a lower, safer placement. A safety net, one might refer to it as, and one that appealed to many an Autobot.

As of this orn, Bumblebee was officially up for retesting. In Ultra Magnus' optics, he found that the minibot was not fit for his field in the slightest. Progress report after progress report from the thousands of stellar cycles repairing sector after sector, one thing stayed consistent:

Bumblebee disobeyed. He failed at even the most basic of repair tasks, even ones specifically catered toward his stinger modifications. He mouthed off, particularly at Optimus—his leader. Bumblebee only seemed to get along with Bulkhead, who couldn't afford to have Bumblebee distract him from the intricacies of repairing malfunctioning space bridges.

Yes, Ultra Magnus found it quite clear that Bumblebee did not have the programming for even the most minuscule of repair work. And with his misguided aspirations to one day become an Elite Guardsman, he knew that Bumblebee would go in for a re-examination as soon as they finished unloading Omega Supreme.

Fortunately for him, Ultra Magnus knew that there was a role far more suited to the small mech available. And even luckier, Ultra Magnus was in need of a bot with his particular… eccentricities.

For you see, out of the many minibots who shared that same protoform mold, only Bumblebee wore it best. His armor accentuated the natural curves of his frame, leaving very little to the imagination. The helm that he wore left his unblemished face plates visible, wide optics on display and unshadowed by conflict or age. Just from afar, Ultra Magnus knew that the mech wore his emotions engraved onto his stinger capsules, a proverbial unlocked datapad whether he hated you or liked you. The lack of control he had over his expressions was, plainly put, cute.

And exactly what Ultra Magnus wanted in a spouse.

Getting on in his years, and with Sentinel slowly rising amongst the Elite Guard ranks, Ultra Magnus knew that his time as commander was coming to an end. Perhaps it would not happen within this millennium or the next, but when he finally did step down he desired to have a mech by his side to care for him and attend him.

After all, he had attended to all Autobots throughout the Commonwealth diligently and without fail through war after war. Did he not deserve to reap some form of reward for his efforts? Did Ultra Magnus not deserve to have a partner by whom he could spend the rest of his run cycle with?

He desired to have Bumblebee as that spouse.

It was not a decision that he mulled over lightly, carefully considering all those around him. Were Optimus not disgraced in the optics of the council, perhaps he would have taken him under his kibble as an attendant, but that simply was no longer possible. Most of those who Ultra Magnus surrounded himself with were young upstarts, ambitious mechs who would not settle down any time soon unless commanded against their will.

But the Magnus would do no such thing. A blatant overstep of his authority, the sort that could not hide under the guise of concern. A loyal Autobot would follow his orders, but turn coldly from him. And Ultra Magnus did not wish to retire to a freezing berth. No, he vied for the warmth of a willing frame. The touch of a bot who upheld him as their spouse and not their commander.

He turned away from the mechs closest to him. Ultra Magnus brought his attention toward Optimus Prime's crew. And there he found the solution to his conundrum. A bot with very little applicable skills to serve the great Autobot Machine who appealed to his tastes in body-construct.

And most importantly, a bot who every soon would receive a new assignment to serve out for the rest of his tenure as an Autobot.

Making his way down the catwalk, Ultra Magnus headed over to the repair crew. The unknown mech leaned against Omega Supreme's hull and noticed first his approach. He did not speak up to warn Optimus, or the others, merely watching with vague interest.

Peculiarly, Ultra Magnus recalled a young bot who looked like him during the war—an uppity draft dodger who eventually turned toward Yoketron's teaching for guidance. Filing away that detail, the Magnus' pedesteps eventually caught the attention of his Autobots.

"Ultra Magnus!" Optimus exclaimed in shock. He threw up a proper salute, prompting the rest of his subordinates to fall in line, barring the cyber-ninja. "I wasn't expecting you, sir. Is something the matter?"

"At ease," he commanded, staring down at the little crew. His gaze lingering on the littlest of them all. "And think nothing of the sort, Optimus Prime. I come here on unofficial business, I assure you."

"Right," hesitantly Optimus nodded and lowered his servo. He glanced toward Ratchet before smiling up at the Magnus. "Well, it is a pleasure to see you again, sir. We've just finished our tour in the Theta Quadrant and we promised Prowl here," he gestured toward the disobedient mech, "A ride back to Cybertron after we uh…"

"After we totaled his ship!" Bumblebee completed once Optimus' trailing off proved deliberate, an embarrassed flush raking across his face plates at the addition. The easy smile on Bumblebee's face pleased Ultra Magnus, especially since he directed it toward him.

"I see." Ultra Magnus directed his gaze, almost unwillingly towards Prowl. "While I wish I could welcome you back to Cybertron properly, I must insist that you go through customs for clearance. A matter of precaution as it were. We have had Decepticon infiltrators attempt to breach our borders and cannot afford to lax our security."

Displeased, Prowl scowled slightly before removing all hints of emotion from his face plate. Ornery this one was, the Magnus could already tell.

He said, "I'll make sure to do that," in a way that informed Ultra Magnus that he would not in fact make any attempt to do so. Internally, he sent out a command to the nearest Intelligence Officer to intercept the repair crew before they could make it out of the hangar.

Not alluding to his meddling, Ultra Magnus apologized to Optimus, "I apologize that I cannot stay to chat for much longer, but there is something that I must address first," turning to Bumblebee who blinked in shock that his commander would address him so personally, he went, "Bumblebee, if you would accompany me, you are scheduled for retesting today."

All at once excitement lit up on Bumblebee's face, his smile widening as he pounded a fist up in the air, "Really?! I didn't even realize that I was up for reassessment!"

The spouse of a Magnus could never truly know all of the secrets they held. They needed to remain oblivious for the pursuit of bliss. In retirement, he neither wished to discuss the difficult and almost morally destabilizing decisions he'd had to make—therefore, Ultra Magnus needed a bot who wouldn't ask questions, who would probe no deeper than a surface level answer that satisfied both their curiosity and frame.

That Bumblebee did not question why Ultra Magnus would know about the date that he was eligible for retesting—that he even knew at all which cogs applied to the ATP—boded well for their future together. Especially since he did not appear perturbed at somebody else making the appointment for him, even if he didn't know that it was his commander who had gone ahead and scheduled it.

"Reassessment?" Optimus questioned, staring at Bumblebee in confusion. Other than Prowl, whose whereabouts for the last handful of vorns was in question, the rest of the repair bots understood what they two meant by it.

"Yeah! You know, for the Aptitude Testing Program!" Bumblebee bounded away from Bulkhead and practically skipped closer to Optimus and Ultra Magnus. Having the bot so close, within grabbing distance, soothed the anxious part of his computer that demanded they hurry along. Soon, with patience, things would fall in line. "And can I for one just exclaim about how much of a relief it is that I can finally take a retest. I totally bombed the first one because I wasn't prepared but now I'm ready to ace it!"

"Wait, I'm sorry I still don't think I'm understanding what you're talking about," Optimus said. "You're in this… program that—what? Determines for you your function?"

"Yup! It assigned me as a second class repair bot the first time, which was totally off base and not at all a reflection of my real skills," Bumblebee mulishly complained. "But the great thing about the program is that if you're dissatisfied with your first assignment you can be up for a retest after your service period concludes. I hadn't even realized that mine was done already, or I would have been at the testing center by now."

"Aw, so does that mean you won't be a part of our team anymore," Bulkhead whined. "I'm gonna miss you if so, little buddy! Well, I won't miss you glitching all the time about bootcamp. Or your boasting about how you're gonna become an Elite Guard one day. Or your whining about clean-up. Or–"

"Alright, alright I got it!" Bumblebee interrupted him. Petulantly he crossed his arms, "You know, with an attitude like that you'll be lucky if I ever send you a comm request once I've made it big!"

"Aptitude Testing Program…" Prowl muttered, a servo up to his visor. "It appears that Cybertron has undergone more changes than I anticipated in my wanderings."

"You're telling me," Ratchet gruffed out, tone reeking of disgust. Ultra Magnus suspected that he was one of the few dissenters for the program. A pity, that.

Quietly, Optimus stared at Bumblebee before he planted a resigned smile across his faceplates. "I suppose there's nothing to be done about it. Best of luck to you, Bumblebee. I can't say I'll miss your attitude, but the ship will certainly be quieter with you gone."

Sticking his glossa out at the Prime, Bumblebee teased him one last time. Ultra Magnus stared at the appendage, the slight sheen coating it before it slipped back behind his pert lips. Indulging in the thought, he imagined that same glossa giving small licks to the tip of his spike—the size between it and his helm apparent now that he was granted a closer, more intimate look. Bumblebee would likely require training to be able to take his entire spike at once, but that could wait.

For now, he coaxed Bumblebee to his side and away from the remaining repair bots. "Come. The testing center is not too far from here, we'll walk."

Waving goodbye at Bulkhead, and giving a light, "Peace out!" to the rest, Bumblebee slotted beside Ultra Magnus almost naturally so. Without another word, Ultra Magnus started to guide the minibot out of the hangar, a servo briefly slotting against this pauldron to physically direct him in the correct direction. Static aftershocks twinged through his digits as he pulled away, an electric and addicting sensation that the Magnus couldn't wait to properly indulge in.

As they headed to the testing center, Bumblebee stayed quiet for the most part. As a talker, he occasionally perked up and let loose meaningless chatter that required very little input from Ultra Magnus to satisfy his need to converse. The minibot—for all his disorderly conduct under Optimus Prime—obediently followed the Magnus. He did not attempt to match his stride, keeping one or two feet behind him. To walk beside him as an equal would have been a disrespect that not even the most bawdy Autobot would attempt.

This dynamic would remain even once they coupled together. It was good, then, that Bumblebee already understood his place when beside Ultra Magnus.

Having privately bought out the agency for the day, when they arrived at the facility there were no other prospective entrants around. Noticing the sparseness of the waiting room, Bumblebee nervously looked around.

"Are… Are we early?" he asked Ultra Magnus.

"On the contrary, we are right on time," he informed him.

"Oh! Ok…" Worrying his lip over, the conflict over whether to pester his commander with asinine questions warred within him. Eventually he said, "It's just that the last time I took the test, the room was bursting with other applicants."

Servo returning to his pauldron, Ultra Magnus moved him further into the room. Bumblebee didn't resist. "That is typically the case for the initial examination. However, once assigned a fitting vocation, the secondary test often finds bots trickling in and out. Not many reapply, and those who do all have different contract end dates. For you, yours ended a deca-cycle ago." And three other similar repair bots were informed that their retest was postponed on orders from the Magnus.

It would be just him and Bumblebee for the foreseeable future, best to get the mech used to that fact.

Especially as he could see that Bumblebee was uncomfortable with the knowledge that he was alone. Uneasy, he accepted the Magnus' words. "Gotcha."

To comfort him, Ultra Magnus rubbed his servo against the smooth, curved metal of his pauldron. "If it would help to settle your nerves, I will remain in wait."

Perplexed, Bumblebee gawked at him. His optics darted aimlessly back and forth as his computer processed the offer and found itself even more confused on why the Magnus focused on him— A mere subcompact. But the honor of such an offer was undeniable, so Bumblebee thanked him appropriately.

Down the hall, one of the examiners opened the door and gestured for Bumblebee to approach. Ultra Magnus let him go and fixated his gaze on his retreating backside. Every few nanokliks or so, Bumblebee checked over his kibble to see if the Magnus was still watching—although he preferred to interpret it as him making sure that he still remained in wait—and when they made optic contact he sharply looked away.

Once the door closed and his Bumblebee from sight, Ultra Magnus settled himself down in the waiting room. He had cleared his entire schedule for this evening, with the full intent of being there for when the examination concluded. His advisors and the council approved of his moves to secure himself a spouse and made sure that nobody would bother the Magnus throughout the rest of the proceedings.

The ATP examination, while thorough, was also refined over the cycles since the program began. Copying over the code was a grueling process the first time, but on the second try it went much faster. They searched for the difference between the first scan and the current one, determining if any significant change occurred that would influence the results whether good or bad. Reading the spark would take the same amount of time between both examinations. A delicate, accurate read required a full megacycle to sync with the spark and type up the script.

Normally, a retest would have just those two but Ultra Magnus requested they examine Bumblebee's frame as well. Since that particular inspection was not one initially outlined in his contract with the program, the minibot was free to opt out. If he did, once he received his new vocation the Magnus would bring him to his private clinic and go ahead with the screening there. He wanted his spouse in the best of health—a field medic, while talented, would never equate to the skill of a proper practitioner in this particular field.

Yet, if everything that Ultra Magnus had learned about Bumblebee was accurate then the minibot would not refuse the physical examination. His goal—dream, fantasy—to join the Elite Guard as a warrior would necessitate that he prove he was in fit condition. If his frame had any malfunctions then that would jeopardize his chances and Bumblebee would not allow for that. Best to get his physicality noted right away, in case it boosted his score.

Bumblebee would probably balk when they set him up on the medical berth for the valve inspection, not quite understanding why but going through with it nonetheless. The examiners would test his pelvic floor, swap the inner mesh of the valve and screen for infection, and measure the cavity and strength of his caliper jaws. Nothing more than that, a necessary process.

Ultra Magnus knew that his final examination concluded when eventually the door to the screening room reopened and a slightly stunned Bumblebee walked out. He walked down the hall with a wince, his legs spread a little wide to avoid putting pressure on his valve. Valve examinations were always a difficult thing on smaller frame sizes—the speculum designed for their larger contemporaries. The cool metal if not warmed by lubricant would bite against the sensitive mesh and the stretch would push the calipers to the limit. Practitioners had yet to design a tool that would benefit the shorter size class, a pity and a shame all wrapped into one, but not something that he as Magnus had firm control over.

At seeing that the Magnus had indeed stayed behind to wait for him, Bumblebee stopped down the hall. With the final examination hanging over his head, perhaps the minibot felt embarrassed to know that an examiner had a brush scraping through his valve whilst his stoic leader stood just beyond the boundaries of the enclosed space. He needn't be, if that were so—Ultra Magnus cared for his health and found no shame in necessary medical testing.

After all, Bumblebee would soon learn how to attend to his own needs. For that was what spouses did, they cared for the ailing, aching bodies of their jointed-link. Bumblebee would require far less of that, young and spry as he was, but the Magnus would see to him nonetheless. Never let it be said that Ultra Magnus was unkind.

Once he evidently rationalized that his commander wouldn't have any clue about the exams he went through—an incorrect assumption, not that Bumblebee could possibly know that—the minibot rejoined him.

With a shaky bow of his helm, Bumblebee said, "Thanks for waiting, sir. You didn't have to," and then quietly he muttered, "like… really didn't have to…" he cleared his intake, "But I appreciate it."

"I presume that the testing has concluded?"

"Uh, yeah. I should have the results in a tera-cycle tops," Bumblebee scratched lightly at his cheek plates, avoiding looking up at Ultra Magnus. "Depending on my new function, I might have to go back in for more programming and filing out datawork—so uh, if you could help point me out to where the landing bay is again, I'll wait to hear back from them on the ship with Prime and Bulkhead."

"While I can certainly take you back to the hangar, I'm afraid you won't find who you're looking for." Adjusting his grip on his hammer, Ultra Magnus used it to prop himself up. Standing at full height again, and staring down at Bumblebee, he continued, "After all, it was only you who forfeited your role as a maintenance bot. Optimus Prime and his crew have likely been assigned the next quadrant requiring their expertise."

"What? But…" Bumblebee opened and closed his mouth, speechless. "Well, what if I just stay with them for the next couple of megacycles or so! They can't have left yet, it takes a long time to prep the ship."

"Yes, but whatever for? Have you not already given them your parting words?"

"I… I did already say goodbye," Bumblebee conceded, optics pinching at the corners. Pained to reveal such a thing, he mumbled, "I just… don't really have anywhere to stay before I get my results back…"

"Oh?" Faking inquiry, Ultra Magnus tilted his helm back. The information was known to him already, before he had even decided that the two would conjoin their sparks in matrimony. All Autobots from Bumblebee's generation were batch manufactured, sent for schooling, shuffled along to the reserves for training before either picking up a civilian vocation or moving onto the next stage of the Autobot militia—bootcamp. All of which provided room and board, but no stipend. "Perhaps then you are better off staying at one of the empty bunks available in the Elite Guard Headquarters."

Quiet for all of a moment, Bumblebee took in his generous offer and rebutted it with a hesitant, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission granted."

"Why are you doing this? I mean—I'm nobody to you," the minibot said, not knowing just how erroneous his assumption was. "I could understand it if, like, Optimus called in a favor but he clearly didn't know about the program until today. So what do you get out of helping me? That's what I'm having trouble figuring out…"

Choosing honesty, Ultra Magnus told him, "I see a great potential in you, Bumblebee. I would hate to see it squandered by circumstance."

At that, Bumblebee perked up—momentarily distracted from the ache between his legs. His optics were bright and he straightened his posture under the misattributed praise. Taking the Magnus' words as confirmation that he could become an Elite Guardsman, not yet aware of the plans he had in store for Bumblebee. Proper praise would come later, once he proved himself a generous lover.

"In that case, who am I to snub our glorious commander by rejecting free housing," gleefully, the smile returned to Bumblebee's case. It wavered as he thought back to his former team, asking, "And… you're sure that I can't visit Bossbot and the others first?"

"I believe that it would only make things more difficult," he ruminated, wondering if the Intelligence Agents had intercepted Prowl yet or not. Ultra Magnus would look into the matter once he had settled Bumblebee within the confines of Fortress Maximus, his home for the foreseeable future.

And settled down he had, showing Bumblebee to the solitary room that he would bunk in until the tera-cycle ebbed and his curated results came in. The room was nothing grand—a temporary unit assigned to him before they linked their sparks permanently and he could move Bumblebee into his own personal quarters. He could tell that the dull and empty space bothered Bumblebee more than he would care to vocalize, keeping hush on his displeasure.

More than once, Ultra Magnus' agents informed him that the minibot attempted to leave the fortress but got lost instead. By the time he located the exit on his lonesome, he returned back quickly with saddened optics and a closed-off attitude. Having returned to the hangar bay and found the ship gone, it must have sunk in that what was done was done, and he would never see Team Prime again. That loneliness carried into the following cycles as the days crept closer to one-hundred.

Noticing the lethargy creeping into his frame, Ultra Magnus ensured that he visited the minibot often. He asked him how his day had gone—corroborating what the minibot said to his daily reports—and questioned him on his thoughts about the Commonwealth. While enthusiastic at first, Bumblebee slowly turned frigid and distant to him. Whether he suspected any ulterior motives or perhaps he simply didn't trust the interest the Magnus showed him, Bumblebee could not voice those thoughts as to do so would amount to treason. Instead, he answered in noncommittal asides and pushed for Ultra Magnus to leave him be before he had his fill

It pained Ultra Magnus to see this change, a sort of sympathy entering his computer as he reasoned that everything would be as it should once the tera-cycle concluded. Bumblebee merely existed in a waiting lull, the suspense of his future hanging in the balance of a few examiners. Any mechanism would revolt from such pressure over time. Once he received his results, made amends with them, only then their relationship could progress to its natural end. If not, well, there were always alternative means…

And certainly, the day that the manufactured results arrived Ultra Magnus made his way over to Bumblebee's habitation suite. The wait was excruciating for the both of them, as Ultra Magnus needed the examiners to deliberate as they would for any other mech. One day, this awkward growth period would become a talking point to bond over many orns from now.

For now, it served as the catalyst for the overwhelming devastation hidden behind the locked door to the loaned quarters Bumblebee hid in. Using her servo to bypass the lock and enter, the sight of Bumblebee covering his face plates with his servos Ultra Magnus. Broken and discarded on the ground were the results of his second ATP examination.

Either lost to his misery and unable to hear him enter or intentionally ignoring his commander, Bumblebee did not look up as his frame shook. Inviting himself further in, Ultra Magnus approached the datapad and picked it up. The screen flickered, little shards of glass falling as he jostled them out of place, but even through the glitched and distorted screen he could read the most important part:

[VOCATION: HABMAKER]

Commending the examiners for their professionalism, softening the blow of the results through a title as grand as that, Ultra Magnus nodded his helm in approval. To label the minibot as a simple spouse would give off the wrong impression—that the Magnus only wanted arm candy to parade around when what he desired was a partner in every sense of the term. Habmaker suited Bumblebee far better, informing him in advance that his role would not just start and end with pleasuring his future spouse in the berth. His duties toward their hab suite, their life, and their partnership all rolled into one singular vocation.

"What am I going to do…?" Bumblebee muttered into the palm of his servos.

"I fear there is not much you can do other than fulfill your side of the contract," Ultra Magnus answered him.

Bumblebee's shoulders stopped shaking for a moment, before he slowly dragged his helm up and out of his servos. Deep lines embedded underneath his optics, which glinted in the low light of the room from the sheen of wiper fluid covering the glass. Balling his fists up and resting them against his thigh guards, the minibot grit his denta.

"Habmaker—what does that even mean?" He spat. "They– How can a couple of bots look at another mech and just decide that they're destined for being another bots interface pet?! What a load of scrap!"

"You have misconstrued the role assigned to you," Ultra Magnus explained. "More work goes into being a habmaker than you are making it out to be. To keep an orderly abode, to manage the social schedule of their joint-link, and even care intimately for the spark of another. None of these tasks are easy nor should they be disregarded callously."

"But I'm good at NONE of that," Bumblebee resisted, frame shaking in a current of anger as opposed to deeply set sadness. "Just ask Optimus—I've never cleaned my room on the ship, barely put the tools back in the right compartments, and forget about me keeping the order or peace or whatever other slag! This…" He slammed his fist against his thigh, "This is ridiculous! I…" Fluid streamed down his perfect face plates, curving until they collected at his chin guard. "I don't want to sparkbond with somebody, I don't want…"

With a touch of necessary cruelty, Ultra Magnus reminded him of the reality he opted into, "Not many mechanisms want to do what they must, Bumblebee. But the terms of the program are quite clear and you have accepted them in the past when you went into the maintenance field. What makes now all that different?"

Petulant to the end, he went, "Everything!"

Approaching the berth, Ultra Magnus carefully lowered himself down onto his worn poleyn. "Would it calm your spark to know that I will personally ensure that nothing goes awry? That you are bonded to a mech that will treat you well?" He reached out to tilt up Bumblebee's helm by his chin guard, "It would be no hardship to do so."

"You…" Bumblebee offlined his optics, lip quivering. "It still wouldn't… help. I was supposed to be an Elite Guard warrior… not…"

How foolish to hold onto a dream finally dashed upon the rocks. Pitying his poor minibot, Ultra Magnus supposed there was no sense in delaying a soothing balm for such wretchedness.

"And what if I told you that there was a way to forget your discomfort now in favor of pleasure," Ultra Magnus rubbed at the fluid staining his metallic cheeks. Bumblebee stared at him, lips pouty and quite cute. They would look even cuter struggling to fit the tip of his spike around them.

"… what are you talking about?" Bumblebee asked, confused and wary.

Pulling away so that he could produce a small data chip, the Magnus held up the small thing in front of the minibot. "Encoded on this chip is a virus that will permanently rewrite your programming to fit that of your new vocation. You will know nothing of this current anguish, nor will you remember that you wanted for anything else."

Reaching out to grab one of Bumblebee's fists, he uncurled the digits so that he could place the chip gently onto his palm. "The way I see it, you can either refuse to accept your role—doomed to live out the rest of your days laced with regret and stewing in loathing or…"

Ultra Magnus smiled, the epitome of congeniality, "You can upload this chip and be happy with your station. Blissfully ignorant, as it were."

Rising with great effort, the Magnus began to excuse himself. Should he remain in the room, his presence would affect the minibots decision. He need not exert his authority, for he had already gotten everything he wanted. It was all up to Bumblebee now for how the start of the bonding would go.

"Ultimately, the choice is yours," he told him.

Just as he reached the threshold of the doorway, he heard Bumblebee spring up from the berth and race to cross the room. His small servos grasped onto Ultra Magnus' free one, stopping him from moving any further. Glancing down at the bot, he rose a brow bridge in inquiry.

Utterly hopeless, Bumblebee's voice wavered as he asked, "You… You said that you would make sure that I'm paired with someone who won't treat me badly?"

Perish the thought, Ultra Magnus would never treat his partner with cruelty. While they could never stand as equals, he'd take care of his precious spouse. "I did."

"Then…" Bumblebee let go. A look of understanding made itself at home in his optics, bowing his head. Wiper fluid began to well up and drip down to the floor. "Please treat me well."

He knew. Ultra Magnus' frame shivered subtly with excitement to know that. Just as he had determined Bumblebee as his, Bumblebee instinctively concluded who he belonged to.

"I will." The door closed, locking itself. Ultra Magnus brightened at the turn of events, keen optics noting the resignation in Bumblebee's frame and the budding of future pleasure blossoming before him.

He already knew what choice the minibot would make, a part of him curious on how their relationship could have developed were Bumblebee not so stubborn and more accepting of his results. His personality, whilst obstinate, brought about a sense of nostalgia for Ultra Magnus. It had been a while since a recruit for the Autobots so sincerely wanted to prove himself in spite of their circumstances. A bit of fire in a partnership added a certain spark to it. Hopefully, the chip would allow Bumblebee to keep some of that persona.

But he would not mourn for this if not, as the re-coding would private an extra level of insurance to their bonding… And had the bonus of rendering Bumblebee into a giggling mess who would have very little going on in his processor other than attending his Magnus. He very much looked forward to meeting Bumblebee properly once all the cards were laid out.

Thankfully, Ultra Magnus didn't have to wait all that long before he could fully reap the rewards of his patience. No more than a megacycle had passed before his agents assured him that they could move forward with the ceremony, a small affair between the Magnus, the Council, and the highest ranking primes.

His small little spouse had been so giddy the entire time, chassis practically springing up to reveal his spark to Ultra Magnus. Merging the two polar opposite sparks brought a level of ecstasy to the pair that could have been considered obscene if not for his superior rank. Anyone who wished to not witness and listen to the grunting of their Magnus as his spark practically engulfed that of the minibots could turn away. But this was his moment, his relief and reward all wrapped into one subcompact gift.

Bringing his newest prize back to his personal quarters, Ultra Magnus watched in amusement as Bumblebee latched onto his arm nuzzling the armor with his face plates. The mech walked as though he were overcharged on oil, a drunkard stride that required he lean his full weight on his commander. They received congratulations from passersby with the minibot exclaiming to anyone who would listen about how his spark was just so full of love for the Magnus.

Was it little wonder then, when he had such an enticing figure beside him, that Ultra Magnus brought Bumblebee straight to his berth? He could show the mech around his new quarters, informing him of what in all he was permitted to touch, to clean, to indulge in his curiosity later. Instructing the empty-helmed mech paled in comparison to leaning back against his elevated berth and pressing his servos directly against the plush curves of his aft.

As was his new normal, Bumblebee laughed. His optics had remained half-lidded since downloading the virus, the cameras unable to focus on much of anything no matter how hard they whirred. Guiding the minibot to sit on his thigh, he naturally began to bounce up and down while occasionally rutting his codpiece hard against Ultra Magnus.

"Pleaseeee," he whined, smiling wide as he ground his modesty plate hard, panting from the exertion. It was fascinating to see the results of a computer so utterly broken and ravaged by a virus Perceptor designed just for him. "We did, like, the whole wedding and stuff already, can I see your spike now? Please?"

Digits digging into the proto-metal of his aft, Ultra Magnus hummed. "If you ask nicely, perhaps. I myself am enjoying the view," and what a view it was—Bumblebee so overcome with lust and desire for a mech that he had drifted away from and, perhaps, even hated not even a few cycles prior. How things could change in a tera-cycle.

"Pretty please?" Bumblebee braced both servos against that same thigh he was using as a rutting toy. He barely filled Ultra Magnus' thigh, so tiny was his frame. Sat in his lap like this, it was all the more apparent that they could not go as far tonight as he could have with another, grander mech. Pouting, Bumblebee jutted his chest forward and dipped down his helm, "With zinc shavings on top?"

"Let me think on it, pet."

"Nooo," his knees braced against the berth to give him better leverage as he bounced, his panting growing in volume as electricity arced across his lower plates. "I reeeally wanna see it now."

"Well, if that is what you desire," he let his spike unfurl from its housing, the limp organ laying flaccid. "Hopefully you aren't too disappointed."

Staring at the object of his desires, Bumblebee paused humping against the Magnus' leg to ogle it. Mouthing in preparation, the minibot did not hesitate as he slid down so that he could inspect the spike up close. Even limp as it was, his equipment practically dwarfed Bumblebee's much smaller frame. His servos wrapped around the base of it, unable to fully grasp the entirety of it.

"Wowww," a line of oral fluid dribbled past plush lips, Bumblebee drooling as he rubbed Ultra Magnus' spike. With a giggle, he announced, "It's so big! So, so, sooo big. Like, so much bigger than I am!"

"That's not that hard of a bar to cross," he spread his legs far apart so that Bumblebee could sit properly. "Do you want my spike, pet?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I want it so bad!"

"Then you must work for it," as the Magnus was a far older mech, his spike took a greater effort to become erect. Charge built in his systems slowly, but never crested to the point of pressurizing the organ fully. Were he younger, his spike would have bounced out of its housing and towered over the minibots face.

"Okayyy," Bumblebee laughed, not understanding the necessity of why he had to but rather focusing on achieving his own pleasure.

His servos continued to rub up and down the length of his spike, as he lowered his helm to the tip. Pre-transfluid bubbled at the tip, and that glossa that he had imagined serving him gave enthusiastic licks. The minibot hummed as though enjoying an energon delicacy, his licks transforming into kisses before devolving into full on mouthing. He sucked in the warped, older metal into his mouth, tonguing across the pronounced energon lines.

Bumblebee took in the tip of his spike, the metal forcing his jaw to open wide. His tongue slid underneath, helm bobbing as he tried to take him even deeper. He pulled back to cough, lines of fluid connecting him back to Ultra Magnus' spike before diving right back in with even greater desire. Digits desperately service the base of his spike, thumbing across the ridges of metal as Bumblebee did his absolute best to assist in granting his commander an erection.

It took quite a bit of time, the Magnus grunting and placing a servo around the back of Bumblebee's helm to push him further down his spike. The pronounced bulge in his throat cables had his spike twitching to life, especially when he saw it start to expand with the energon rushing to his member. Spike hardening, Ultra Magnus wrenched Bumblebee away from it. His lips were swollen and covered in oral fluid from the effort, a flush spread across his cheeks as he mindlessly cooed at the spike.

"Look at it go!" He cheered. "Yayyy! Can I have it now? Pleaseee, my valve feels so empty without spike!"

"Does it?" he panted, gripping Bumblebee's helm tighter. "Show me, pet."

Shuffling back so that his servos could prop him up as he leaned, Bumblebee spread his legs as far as they could go, one crossing over each side of the Magnus. His valve cover snapped open so fast that the sound reverberated across the room, the strong smell of arousal flooding it. Bumblebee's valve lips were puffy from desire and they glistened with lubricant. Reaching out to spread him open, Ultra Magnus made small sounds of approval at seeing how drenched the minibot was before any penetration occurred.

Strings of lubricant thinned and broke apart in his wet, gushing valve canal. His hole flexed and winked at the Magnus as Bumblebee clenched down over and over on nothing. The minibot jerked forward when Ultra Magnus allowed a digit to hover over the valve entrance, digging ever so slightly inside.

Throwing his helm back, Bumblebee let out a wanton, whorish moan. "I neeed to be full, can you help me please, sir?"

"What is it that you need, pet?" His digit pushed in further, spreading the valve lips wide as the soft mesh swallowed him greedily. Adjusting his hold over his cute little spouse, he pinched Bumblebee's blinking, burning node. "Go on and tell your commander."

"Spike!" Bumblebee squealed as one singular digit pushed his calipers to the side. "Big, fat spike! Your spike! Please, sir, please can I have it? Like, I need spike so, so badly," he babbled, practically sobbing as Ultra Magnus began to pump the digit slowly in and out. Fingering him open so that his weeping spike could take its place not a moment too late. "Like, I'm just so horny and I want it, ya know? And I want yours it's so warped and old, and I love it so much. Do you know how much I love it?"

"I do, pet," because he had programmed him to have Ultra Magnus' spike at the forefront of his priority tree day in and out. Beyond cranking up his arousal subroutines and spreading a warmth to his lower plates that would never cease until a dump of transfluid filled his valve beyond its maximum capacity. Over time, he would patch the minibot so that he could focus on his duty of care to the Magnus, but this was their linking night. He wished to enjoy every minute of it.

Removing his digit, he brought it up to his mouth so that he could savor the taste of Bumblebee's lubricants. Wiping the remaining fluid onto the minibots thighs, he coaxed the bot into laying flat on his back whilst Ultra Magnus loomed over him. Face to face like this, Ultra Magnus brought his spike to his valve, obsessed with the expression of dumb, ditzy desire on his spouse. Hiking Bumblebee's legs up and encouraging him to cross them over his back plates, he began to press in.

Those valve lips spread so incredibly wide around the tip, caliper jaws expanding to desperately make room. Bumblebee's thighs quivered as his plating transformed and expanding, his servos scrabbling for purchase on Ultra Magnus' front. Ultimately, he was only able to fit his spike a fourth of the way in before he bumped straight into the iris of Bumblebee's gestation chamber.

Pulling back, he felt the mesh of Bumblebee's valve drag against his ridges. Interior nodes brushed and scrubbed against the metal of his spike, causing the minibot to gasp and writhe until he overloaded the moment Ultra Magnus' spike popped out of his valve. The spray of his transfluid soaked the berth, fluid wetting his aft as his pelvis fell back down. His chassis rose and fell in quick bursts as he vented, fans running at their highest setting to try and cool down the overheating minibot.

Not wanting for his pet to compose himself, Ultra Magnus dove right back in. He thrust as far as his spike could fit, pumping back and forth into the minibot. Bumblebee dragged against the over-sized berth with each movement, pedes digging their heels against the Magnus' structural supports. He cried from overstimulation, optical cameras rolling up as his mouth hung open.

Ultra Magnus need not command his spouse to open up his gestation chamber for him, as the moment his spike tip bumped against it for the final time, it spiraled open promptly and allowed him to spill his data directly into the forge. Transfluid pumped and pumped, a marginal amount for a mech of Ultra Magnus' size but insurmountable for a minibot. Bumblebee's abdomen expanded and rounded as his tanks overfilled and overflowed, pink transfluid spurting from the sides of his valve and around the Magnus' spike.

Seeing Bumblebee so filled up with his seed, spurned a distant concern in Ultra Magnus' mind. While he had secured a spouse to care for him in retirement, he knew that time was limited before the transfluid in his interfacing systems grew sterile. If there were ever a moment for him to kindle a spark of new life, then it would be now.

But, his energy had waned considerable as he panted out hot vents directly over Bumblebee's face. Lost in a haze of pleasure, Bumblebee giggled quietly and hardly reacted to Ultra Magnus sliding his still hard spike out of his valve. Transfluid dribbled out from between the puffy, sore lips curving around his plates to join the fluids coating his aft.

"Bumblebee," he spoke to his spouse, rousing the mech up from his scatterbrained post-climax daydream. "I have a mission of great importance for you to undertake."

"Umm, ok," lost and undoubtedly confusing the simple-minded mech, Bumblebee kicked his pedes slightly.

"I am in need of an heir," he told him, cupping a servo around his backside and changing their position once more. With a grunt, Ultra Magnus rested against his berth, the strain to his frame alleviating now that he was no longer planked above the smaller form. Bumblebee stood on wobbly struts, the tip of Ultra Magnus spike positioned under his leaking valve.

"Heir? What's that?"

"A sparkling," he pressed a servo against the minibots swollen abdomen. Already he could see the minibot waddling across their quarters, a sparkling developing in his forge. Breeding the mech would be nothing short but his pleasure as his spouse.

"Ohhhhh!" Bumblebee teasingly lowered himself against Ultra Magnus' spike, sliding back and forth as the tip spread his fat valve lips apart. "A baby! I can give you one, in fact, I can give you lots and lots," his spike twitched at the mere thought, charge once again rising within him. "Do you want that, sir?"

Groping the minibot's aft, Ultra Magnus nodded a smirk proudly defined on his facial plates. "Yes, pet. Now as for your mission—bring the both of us to a shared climax and fill your chambers once more with my transfluid. We will continue doing so each night until a tertiary spark has appeared in your core."

Gleefully, Bumblebee braced himself against Ultra Magnus' shoulders, adjusting his stance so that he could properly squat over the firm spike. He lowered himself and moaned, bouncing up and down his shaft as he grunted, "Yes sir!"

Sliding his servos against his hips, Ultra Magnus assisted him. Soon, Bumblebee would grow heavy with his spawn and all would go as planned. He'd step into his roles as both attendant and carrier, caring dutifully to the needs of his commander and spreading himself wide over his spike each night. Perpetually stuffed full, he truly would carry heir after heir for the Magnus. And when the time came for all of their sparklings to enlist, Ultra Magnus could retire without concern knowing that he had done his duty well.

"Sirrr, your spike is so good and fills me so well! Please breed me, stuff me full over and over!"

Yes, while the wait may have been grueling, the results were more than satisfactory.

-

Nervously, Bulkhead fiddled with his claws. "I wasn't being serious, you know. With the teasing," he told the group as he looked between them. "I thought Bee could tell but… I honestly didn't think he'd go through with not comm'ing us this whole time!"

With a sigh, Optimus reached out to lay a reassuring servo on his shoulder. "I don't think you had anything to do with it, Bulkhead," he said. "But I'm just as concerned as you are to find out the real reason why Bumblebee treated us to radio silence this entire tour."

"I'm telling you, Magnus had something to do with it," Ratchet grumbled, assisting Prowl with the descent protocols as they landed once more back on Cybertron. Stiff, Prowl glanced at the hangar bay and scanned every inch that he could see from the command deck. "His interest in the kid was unnatural."

"Fraternizing with a repair bot, it's a wonder how Cybertron hasn't devolved into debauchery," Prowl muttered mutinously.

During their last return, an Intelligent Agent had practically ambushed them and nearly took Prowl away from them by force. The cyber-ninja only just managed to give them a slip, stowing away in the lower cargo bay of their ship, but the experienced had given all of them a fright. Even now Optimus felt as though he needed to stay vigilant, lest another member of his crew was taken away from you.

Their crew had divided itself on the reason for why Bumblebee never hailed them during their second tour. Ratchet and Prowl were convinced that Ultra Magnus had some nefarious plot involving him, whereas Bulkhead and Optimus assumed that something must have gone wrong with that Aptitude Testing Program. Even though he held firm on his own stance, Optimus couldn't stop the threads of doubt from looping in his processor.

He had always looked up to Ultra Magnus, ever since he was an Academy Bot. When their commander promoted him, which was more than he deserved, Optimus found his allegiance solidifying further than he thought it could go. So the idea—the very notion that Ultra Magnus was some kind of lecher… It settled heavy in his tanks and he refused to believe it.

"I'm sure there's a rational explanation that isn't boarding on sedition," he glared at Prowl who matched it. The accusation of hypocrisy sat at the tip of all of their glossas, knowing that Optimus had assisted in smuggling Prowl out of Cybertron and would continue to do so for however long the mech wished to follow his lead.

Privately, he knew that he would do the same for Bumblebee if the minibot had gotten himself into a mess that he couldn't escape from. There were a multitude of jobs on Cybertron that… treated bots as small as Bee as cannon fodder. If he were assigned to one of those positions and wanted to leave but couldn't because of his ATP contract, well, Optimus would get him out in a sparkbeat.

"Scrap," Prowl jolted out of his seat as his attention returned to the hangar. Without another word he raced out of the command deck into the bowels of the ship. They had previously discussed what sort of procedure would occur should Prowl cross paths with any mech from the Intelligence Agency or even the Magnus himself. For Prowl to hurry away, probably already cloaked somewhere else in the ship meant…

Looking out the observational window himself, Optimus' spark dropped to his engine at the sight of Ultra Magnus waiting for them to disembark flanked by two members of the Elite Guard. A flash of yellow hiding behind the commander had Optimus sitting up straight in his seat. From the corner of his optics, he saw both Bulkhead and Ratchet perk up at the glimpse of their wayward friend.

Without wasting a single klik, they finished docking the ship into the loading bay and before they knew it, Optimus was leading them down the gangway.

"Ultra Magnus!" He exclaimed, maintaining his cool even as he felt his computer pressure him to break his salute in favor of leaning over to the side to see if that truly was Bumblebee accompanying their commander. When the minibot didn't jump out from behind the Magnus to greet them, he felt his spark sink. "I'm beginning to think that you're falling into a routine of welcoming us back."

"If only that were so, Optimus Prime." Ultra Magnus roamed over the three of them, optics narrowing, "Were you aware that when you departed last orn that Prowl escaped the custody of our Intelligence Agents?"

Steeling himself, Optimus answered. "I was not. Has he gone missing then?"

Right to not trust him, but frustrating nonetheless, Ultra Magnus went, "Unaccounted for, yes. We have had our best and brightest scouring the planet for him. Since he is a fugitive to Cybertron, resisting being taken into custody as he has, I have mandated that all ships entering port be inspected after landing and prior to taking leave." With a challenging tilt of his head, he continued, "I am certain you will find no objection with this, Optimus?"

"Of course not." He smiled tightly, gesturing to the gangway. "You're more than welcome to look, but we haven't seen Prowl since dropping him off cycles ago."

"Hmm." Ultra Magnus nodded with his helm to the two Elite Guardsman who immediately headed past Bulkhead and Ratchet to begin the inspection. "We shall see if that holds true."

Finally, the Magnus moved to join them, his hammer gripped tightly in his servos. Optimus was glad to see him move, if only because it finally revealed the figure behind him–

Leading to a sharp gasp from himself and the others.

The yellow mech they had glimpsed was indeed Bumblebee, but he looked so much different from the last time any of them had seen the minibot. Heavily gravid, the swell of his abdomen made it impossible to hide the fact that he was sparked up. Frankly, and disturbingly, the sheer size of the bump made the minibot look practically fit to burst any moment and Optimus felt Ratchet get closer, his scanner instinctively sliding into place.

Moving past his carrying state, Optimus had to quickly avert his eyes once he realized that the windows to his chassis had been removed for the sake of allowing swollen energon sacks to sit comfortably underneath his hood. The soft metal still found a tight fit and pushed obscenely up through the gap.

Most concerning of all was the distant look in Bumblebee's lidded optics, the flush on his cheeks, and the way it took him a couple of moments to even register and recognize who he was looking at. Once he did, delight spread across his face as he rushed—shuffled, waddled, toddled, what word could Optimus use to describe the unbalanced gait of an extremely heavy carrying mech?—over.

"Bulky!" He cried, latching onto Bulkhead's middle as best he could with his swollen belly. Nuzzling into Bulkhead's own wide abdomen, Bumblebee went with a giggle, "I missed youuu."

That voice… that sounded absolutely nothing like the Bumblebee who had worked alongside him. Where he once sounded nasally, a confounding mix of arrogance and self-doubt all rolled into one he now sounded airy and absolutely mindless.

"I…" A hint of building horror reflected itself in his wavering voice, but Bulkhead pushed past it to hug the minibot back. "I missed you too."

Snuggling up against the big bot, Bumblebee seemed fully content to just latch onto Bulkhead and not say anything to the rest of them. Thankfully, Ratchet immediately approached and gently pulled them apart, "Kid, what in the blazes happened to you?!"

Stating the obvious, Bumblebee cradled his bump and announced, "I'm gonna have a sparkling!"

"Yes but how?" voice straining, Ratchet looked ready to abscond with the minibot but with their ship currently occupied.

Bursting out into giggles, Bumblebee covered his mouth with his servo. "I think you knowww, but if you want details–"

"No!" Ratchet raced to say, servos grabbing onto Bumblebee's shoulder pauldrons. "No need for that!"

Looking away from Bumblebee to stare pointedly at Optimus, a rage erupted across Ratchet's face. The accusation sat above their helms, unspoken for now.

Dread curdling in the innermost core of his spark, Optimus tentatively asked him, "And whose sparkling is it, Bumblebee?"

Biting the tip of his digit, as he tried and failed to contain a love struck smile, Bee answered, "Ultra Magnus'."

Optimus staggered back and covered his mouth. Ratchet hissed, releasing Bumblebee before he accidentally directed his anger towards him. Bulkhead, alternatively, held on even tighter.

"But what about your new job?" he asked, unable to comprehend the circumstances that led Bumblebee to the fate before him, but Ratchet, Prowl, and even now Optimus saw it all so clearly. "They're alright with you taking off to care for a sparkling?"

Locking his digits to clasp his servos together, Bumblebee swung back and forth and said, "Of course not!"

The flush increasing on his face, they could hardly believe that this was Bumblebee. The same Bumblebee who wanted nothing more than to become a warrior despite his size, was now the mech before them proudly going:

"It's my job as Ultra Magnus' spouse to give him lots of babies!"