AN: This is a reupload of an old fic.
Galvatron was a dangerous, demanding mech, there was no doubt about that. Behind closed doors, however, Cyclonus wielded a subtle form of control over his volatile leader, and found Galvatron surprisingly receptive, and responsive, to his preferred methods of service. For instance, who would have guessed that the Emperor of Destruction could be brought to the point of leaking and overheating simply by sucking his lieutenant's spike? Cyclonus wondered if it was an ego thing. Galvatron did not allow any other mech to "take care of" his second in this way. Cyclonus was honoured.
He stood by Galvatron's wide, hard berth, and Galvatron lay sprawled across it, chest down. His head was tilted up, and he opened his mouth wide. Galvatron was always hungry for whatever games they played. Demanding conquest, burning for the acute pleasure Cyclonus could give him, for the hot, raw worship of his touch.
Cyclonus guided Galvatron's chin with one hand, and stroked his cheek with the fingertips of the other. He met Galvatron's intensely burning gaze. Cyclonus yearned too – for the mad fire in his master's optics, the nova-brilliant vitality and unmatched passion of his mind, embodied in his smoothly crafted frame. His fingertips reached Galvatron's mouth, and he stroked the full, soft curve of his lower lip. Galvatron whined and bit. Cyclonus didn't pull away, instead relishing the bloom of pain and the sensual sight of freshly welling energon smeared across his master's lips. Galvatron pulled Cyclonus's fingers into his mouth and replaced his bite with a lewd suckling. Cyclonus's engines revved and his temperature spiked. He wondered if Galvatron had any idea how attractive he could be. How attractive he always was. He parted his fingers, forcing Galvatron's mouth open. The warlord's silvery glossa writhed within, coloured by Cyclonus's energon.
Cyclonus popped his cover and extended his spike. Daringly, he let its head nudge, and then rub, against Galvatron's cheek. Galvatron owned him, body and spark – Cyclonus had been created for him, with one purpose, to serve him. But Galvatron belonged to Cyclonus, as well. He rubbed his spike-tip against Galvatron's parted lips. The smaller mech squirmed on the berth. His covers were already open, and Cyclonus imagined his spike, hard and leaking, rubbing between his frame and the berth's soft covers. He swallowed hard. He could smell his master's lubricants, his excitement. He indulged for a moment, watching the restless sway of the warlord's aft.
He was brought back by a low, needy growl. He looked down. Galvatron's mouth was open, his optics clouded and his cheeks flushed. He extended his glossa and tried to swipe it over Cyclonus's spike. Cyclonus groaned. Who was he to deny his leader?
He withdrew his fingers from Galvatron's mouth and held his spike steady as he guided it between the warlord's eagerly parted lips. Galvatron swallowed him greedily, his energy field swelling with pride and possessive lust. He pushed himself forward, back arching and thighs tensing, in a bid to get as much of Cyclonus inside him as he could. Cyclonus held Galvatron's crown and controlled the movement, afraid his master might choke. His spike was thick and long, and Galvatron was still inexperienced at this.
Galvatron moaned around his spike and pushed himself up on his hands. Cyclonus's spike slid deep into his master's throat, and as Cyclonus's intakes sputtered and his frame went rigid with exquisite, prickling charge, it was all he could do to hold on to his leader's helm. He sighed and tipped his head back. He let Galvatron take over for a while, humming and sweetly moaning at Galvatron's almost frenzied attentions, the messy, clumsy sucking and licking, the warlord's wanton moans and the wet slurping sounds of his hungry mouth. Cyclonus shivered and pulled himself back from overload.
Looking down once more, he gripped Galvatron's helm more firmly, one hand on his crown, the other holding his jaw. He held his lord's head still and started to thrust. Galvatron writhed and his hands gripped the berth hard enough to deform the molded padding. He rose up onto all fours, then quickly wrapped an arm around Cyclonus's hips. Cyclonus let him hold onto him. The spike was too big for him to take, really – Galvatron frequently gagged, and Cyclonus didn't dare bury himself fully in his throat for fear of harming him. Galvatron was not one to admit any kind of failing, including this. He remained just as greedy, just as eager, even as coolant streamed from his optics and oral lubricant trickled in messy ropes from his stuffed mouth. It was beautiful. Cyclonus growled and went a little faster. A few more thrusts was all it took and then he was coming, an overload that shook his system and pulled Galvatron with him with the feedback alone. Transfluid swelled Cyclonus's spike, and Cyclonus only had an instant to fear the consequences of this indignity before his come began to pour into Galvatron's mouth and down his throat. He arched and cried out, lost to bliss. Galvatron continued to suckle on him, as though his transfluid were some delicious treat he had long hungered for. Cyclonus was shivering and over-sensitised by the time Galvatron was done coaxing every drop of fluid out of him. He had to pull back. His spike exited Galvatron's mouth with a soft, wet sound. Galvatron panted roughly. His face was a mess. Heat rolled off him in a visible shimmer, and his plating was wet with condensation.
Cyclonus pushed him back into the centre of the berth and made room for himself to crawl next to him. Galvatron sprawled on his side and stretched his body out. There was a shining pool of transfluid where he had been lying, already soaking into the blankets. His hips undulated slowly, restlessly, and his spike was still hard. Cyclonus crawled down and easily took his length into his mouth. Galvatron's engines purred, and he gave a delicious sigh as Cyclonus easily slipped three fingers into his valve and moved them at counterpoint to the bobbing of his head. Galvatron came quickly, clutching and tearing the sheets. Cyclonus swallowed some of it and held the rest in his mouth. He crawled back up the berth and fed it to his leader in a messy, slow kiss. Galvatron whined and clawed at him, but the movements were slow and lazy. Transfluid ran from between their lips, adding new, silvery trails to the mess already smudged on Galvatron's face. Cyclonus purred deeply and covered Galvatron's frame with his own as their glossas slid together. The kiss was languorous and indulgent, and Cyclonus ran his hands in heavy, possessive passes over his master's frame. His spike nudged against Galvatron's thigh, already beginning to re-pressurise. He bit gently at Galvatron's lip, and wondered if his leader was still hungry.