Megatron and Impactor made a habit of getting into small, tight places.


Title: Miners & Holes

Warning: Sex. Handjobs, blowjobs, masturbation, size kink, non-gore vore, fluids, aft port.

Rating: NC-17

Continuity: IDW

Characters: Impactor/Megatron

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors.

Motivation (Prompt): Prewar miners + postwar vore Impactor/Megatron commission for Baiku, in a legitimate purchase of a miner's aft.


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Pt. 2

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Impactor slammed into Slot #113 how tired miners usually ended their shifts: he fell against the open door jamb to stop forward progress down the hallway, then rolled off into the cramped quarters with a grunt. Minimal effort for maximum amount of distance.

"We're going up to the surface," he announced as he lurched over to lean on the bunks.

"Why am I going up to the surface? I don't have surface time scheduled." Megatron didn't look up at him. Too absorbed in writing. He couldn't have been off-shift any longer than Impactor, but he already had his tablet out. He used every spare moment to scribble more words. Words words words. The mech had an obsession.

He could afford flowery words only so long before action had to be taken. That was the part Impactor couldn't seem to get through the other miner's head, but then again, Megatron hadn't been down in the dark long enough to really see how things worked. He knew, sort of. He just hadn't been held back at the end of the shift by a supervisor yet. The experience would bring home the lack of power words had down here.

In Impactor's case, today's reminder made him need the surface, where at least words could be heard if they were said. Today hadn't been a good day for that. He'd given action a try since words weren't worth it, and that hadn't gone over so well either. He could take most mechs in a fair fight, but not when his opponent brought a pistol to a fist fight. Not much to do at that point but shut up and take the beating.

He realized he'd zoned out when Megatron actually looked up from precious poetry writing. The gasp woke him out of his thoughts.

"What the frag happened to you? Impactor!" Light splattered over the bunks, on the walls, moving in frantic flashes as the tablet clattered to the bunk. Megatron was already up, hands painted in the dull, barely perceptible glow given off by processed energon.

Impactor blinked in tired wonder at the light. After a second of staring, he looked down at himself. Oh. That was his energon getting everywhere.

He ran a quick diagnostic on self-repair and relaxed. Nothing but painful cosmetic damage. The boss had wanted to teach a lesson, not kill him. He told his friend, "Supervisor didn't like my face," which was true enough.

Supervisor hadn't liked having his ore weights questioned. Supervisor had decided a miner who complained too loudly about uneven scales was volunteering to be a lesson to the rest of the shift about keeping their complaints to themselves. Words versus pistol-whipping resulted in about what anyone would expect.

"Your supervisor did this? What in the dark did you do to get under his plating? This is absurd. He's not allowed to do this. Physical discipline of workers is prohibited by the regs. You can get him fired." Impactor almost laughed at the idea, but Megatron had him by the chin, fingers carefully probing the dents. He was so blasted earnest about workers' rights. Impactor settled for huffing amusement.

Megatron took the opportunity to slide two fingers into his mouth, prodding at the gashes. "Ouch," he hissed as he touched the bleeding cuts. The sympathy should have grated and instead just felt companionable. Naive as Megatron was about how the world under the surface worked, he was no stranger to authority figures shutting him up the hard way. He had thick repair scars on the inside of his cheek and bottom lip, too.

"Don't swallow," he advised as if Impactor hadn't been getting into fights longer than he'd been online. "Try to keep your tongue pressed to this one." Fingertips used to tapping tiny keys on the tablet screen delicately nudged the edges of the biggest gash together.

Impactor's optics crossed as he watched the hand trying to fit into his mouth. Waving off Megatron's concern never worked, and he didn't try too hard this time. Being fussed over felt kind of nice. Having someone turning his head into the tablet's light by the chin, optics focused as the dripping trails of energon were tracked back to the burst tubes...it made him feel like somebody cared. Also, it got something into his mouth, and frag if the suggestion didn't suddenly put him in the mood for that.

Megatron paused. "Why are you snickering?" He eyed his friend. Suspicion collected in his optics, and they narrowed. He abruptly yanked his hand out of Impactor's mouth, and energon plopped to the floor.

Gears popped as Impactor worked his jaw, clicking everything back into place. "Ow," he said in a mild tone. He caught Megatron by the arm before the mech could sit back down and clam up for the night in an offended sulk. "Ready to go?" he asked. Thanking another miner for help would be acknowledging help was offered in the first place. It didn't occur to him to put words to the faint sense of gratitude, but he had every intention of buying the first round of drinks up top.

"You shouldn't go up to the surface," Megatron snapped, pulling his arm free. "Get your aft to Mediclav if you want your nose straightened, and shut down for the rest of the shift."

"Mediclav won't blow me," Impactor said almost idly. "Not for free, anyway."

Megatron hesitated, tablet in hand but optics on Impactor. "What?"

"Free blowjobs."

"I..."

"On the surface. I know where to get free blowjobs."

The lure of poetry was strong, but Impactor knew how to use his words. He had the nerd. Poetry writing couldn't compare to the lure of someone prepared to suck like a shop vac. Horribly conflicted optics stared up at him. He smirked back, dribbling dully glowing pink energon from the corner of his mouth.

It soon became the only light in the slot besides their optics as Megatron shut down the tablet. "Can't get free health care on this planet, but you can get a free blowjob," grumbled up at Impactor. A storage unit clinked, locking shut.

"Yeah, but notice how nobody ever says we don't have the right to assembly when it's an orgy," Impactor pointed out, grinning wider. He'd had a supervisor who used to bend him over the load carts and laugh when Impactor bitched about his lack of stamina. He only got the slag beat out of him when the complaints were about the mine. "So, you ready to go now?"

Peeved red optics glared at him before turning to exit the slot. "Might as well hit the surface. I've been stuck all day on that poem."

"Why? What's the problem? Can't cram any more syllables into it?"

Megatron stopped ahead of him for half a second. "Couldn't come up with a title."

"Are you kidding me?"

"It's important!"

"For bootin' up cold..." Impactor shook his head and pushed at the nerd's back. "We need to get you laid, mech."

"How bad's your memory fatigue? Got laid last night. Who was it? Who could it have been?" Megatron tsked to himself. "Some old miner. He can't remember it the next day, so he can't be that great in the bunk."

Impactor smacked the glitch upside the helm, and they bickered and scoffed at each other the whole way to the surface lift. They relied on hands on the walls most of the walk, Impactor's headlights dim illumination until their feet found the familiar tracks of the main loadcart rail. From there on, energy conservation and habit guided them through the pitch black. Their conversation was barely interrupted by the rattling thrum of carts running. The vibration hit a certain level, they stepped off the rails, the carts rolled past, and they stepped back on as soon as it passed.

They emerged blinking into the tally areas, nodding to the miners waiting for their ore loads to be weighed in and sneering behind the supervisors' backs. The closer they got to the surface lift, the more lights were online. The sections were more active. They had to duck more carts and wait for intersections to clear before crossing.

The ride to the surface was long. It wasn't boring, but the usual crowd of miners going up had already left. Impactor's 'disciplinary meeting' had lasted through the rush for surface time. Neither of them knew the group of miners in the lift with them, but Megatron's natural friendliness was countered by Impactor attempting to set his own nose now that they could stand still and had some decent light to see by.

By the time they reached the surface, Megatron's hands were soaked in dull pink again, and Impactor looked like he had a mask on. A pink, dripping mask.

"You're a mess."

"Trust me," Impactor pushed his friend's shoulder, steering him to the right on the street outside, "where we're going, nobody's gonna care what my face looks like."

Megatron gave him a dubious look but obediently started walking. "I don't have the spare shanix for renting company."

"Yeah, yeah, saving up." The lights up here on the surface shouldn't impress him, not as old as he was, but Impactor still spent more time looking up than he did watching where he walked. He stared up at the stars out up beyond the neon signs lining the street. "Got enough for a drink or three?"

"Maybe one."

"Two. I'm buying the first round." He elbowed Megatron and pushed him toward a dark doorway wedged between two dazzling, over-decorated street-level shops. One was the private cinema, porn flicks on demand in booths that could fit three people if they were real friendly. That was kind of the point, so everyone tried to fit a fourth in while they were at it. The other door was actually plain by itself, but he'd never seen it without two or three pieces of shareware draped on the bouncer like mobile advertisements.

They saw the two miners coming and turned on their blinkers, biolights brightening from standby to full come-hither sparkle. Sleeks lines were accented by long, unprotected tubes that changed colors in attractive patterns. Reds were popular. It was the least useful color of light down in the mines, making it an indulgence. Everything about the pretty mechs screamed indulgence, in fact. He'd had his share of what they sold, and even the solidly-built cargo-loader glittering from beside the bouncer had to be handled with care. Impactor's headlights had heavy metal cages protecting them, but these mechs had nothing but seduction and money protecting their glass. Those lights were pure decoration.

Light was expensive down under. Up here, a miner could buy as much of it as he wanted. The rooms for rent past that decorated doorway had lights in every corner and mirrors on every wall, blindingly white. Even with the lights off, the shareware reflected every color of the spectrum until either the money ran out or the customer was finally satisfied.

Megatron saved his shanix. He didn't have the knack of ignoring purring, light-blinking mechs, and the cluster of shareware saw his growing wonder at their display. Impactor shook his head as they sighed and posed, one of them making the softest tick-tack-tick-tack-tick-tack as blinkers flashed today's specials. And some offers public decency laws kept them from shouting out loud. Noise regulations didn't cover photolingual.

Or chirolingual. "Don't let them get ahold of you," he muttered. "You won't know if they're talking hand or giving you a handjob until they ask for a tip."

Optics rounded, and Megatron spluttered a laugh as Impactor forged ahead, heading for the dark door. The shareware turned their attention to the next mark when it became clear he was headed upstairs. Megatron gave them a last look before following.

He seemed disappointed when the stairs ended in a bar. A dark, grimy bar, at that, full of grime-coated miners hiding in the dark, swilling drinks too dark to be good quality from glasses still grimy from the last drink poured into them. The tables were bolted to the floor. Every seat was a booth or a sturdy stump, less barstool than parts of the floor. The engex bottles behind the bar were locked into a cupboard shielded by thick bars. The bartender passed drinks out from behind similar bars.

Impactor immediately felt at home. He fit in, here. Most of the mechs here were built to his model specs or heftier, and the distinctive feel of a fight brewing filled the air. Yeah. Yeah, somebody was getting his face smashed in tonight, and Impactor needed to be here when that person showed up. If that person turned out to be him, well, his supervisor had already gotten a headstart on the festivities.

Megatron looked around uneasily. "Why are we here?" he asked in a hushed voice as soon as Impactor paid and the drinks were pushed out onto the bar for them to take. He liked bars as much as the next miner, but Megatron was, at spark, a pacifist. "What is this place?" He followed his friend to the nearest open booth but didn't stop looking nervous.

Impactor clinked their glasses together. "Facefight."

"What?"

Impactor slammed back his drink and felt his filters protest. The slag this place served tasted as bad as it looked, but the unspoken rule of coming here was it cost at least one drink. Once he coughed his intake clear, he said, "It's called Facefight."

Megatron stared at him.

That was kind of disappointing. "I thought you liked wordplay."

"Wordplay? What word...play..." Impactor could almost see the connection being made. The nerd slowly sat up straight, looking around again. "You...how does..."

Impactor made a feint for Megatron's glass and grinned as the other miner hunched over it protectively. "See the doors past the bar?"

Megatron made a point of taking a drink before looking. Two doors hid in the gloom around the corner of the bar itself. As he watched, one door opened and a mech swaggered out. He was one of those miners broader than he was tall, and he had to turn sideways to get through the door. The smug expression he wore was almost as wide as he was.

"That's...where the 'facing is?" Megatron asked after staring for a moment.

"Ehhhh, more face than 'face, if you know what I mean." Megatron gave him a deadpan stare before looking back to the doors. Impactor grinned. "Blowjobs only. You go in the one with a hole if you want one or want to give one."

Megatron squinted at the doors. "They both have a hole."

"Exactly."

"But - oh."

Impactor leaned back and chuckled. "Give or take, nobody's gonna know. You go in, grab a stall, close the door, and punch the right button. Anybody goes in the other side, all they see's the light go on. Blue for 'Ready to suck' and purple for 'Suck this.'" He frowned. "Yellow's, uhhhh. Huh. 'I'm easy,' I guess. Means you're up for either."

Megatron was still watching the door. "But nobody's coming out of the other door."

The curiosity about who the miner's partner had been made Impactor snigger. "There's an exit at the end of the stalls on the other end. Unless your supervisor's here keepin' track, nobody pays attention to who's in and out. Stay as long as you gotta to get what you're after, then leave or go." He winked when Megatron gave him a startled blink. "Almost poetic, right?"

Surprise flattened to a thoroughly unimpressed glare. "Hardly."

He laughed and pushed out of the booth. "Says you. I'm staying 'til things kick off here tonight, but you don't gotta come back out afterward."

Megatron didn't need to ask what would kick off. The blocky miner was exchanging a preliminary round of insults with someone half his weight and twice his attitude. There would be a fight in full swing as soon as everybody downed a couple more drinks to lubricate their fists. Nobody looked to be in a hurry. There was a certain sense of inevitability in this bar.

Impactor went into the door closest to the bar with his shoulders back and chest out, knowing there were optics on him. Everybody came to this bar for one thing or the other, and those not preparing for the fight were looking for a frag. What the swing of his hips and energon-stained lips advertised wasn't on the level of the shareware glittering outside, but it was advertisement all the same.

Besides: free. Free had appeal extra-bright lights couldn't beat.

Two of the stalls had closed doors, and three lights lit the dark, narrow hallway, telling him three mechs were ready on the other side. At the end, the exit sign blared. Impactor swung into the next empty stall and closed the door.

He didn't have to ponder his choice. His knees thunked to the floor, and he fumbled at the wall to find the right button. There weren't any lights in here. As erotic as light could be in its scarcity underground, this place was about anonymity. Up on the surface, darkness became a tease.

A tiny blue bulb lit, and Impactor sat back on his heels to wait.

He didn't have to wait long. A door creaked on the other side, and loud footsteps clomped through. They passed the stall, fading slightly as the mech went down the hall, choosing his pleasure as it were. The door creaked again, and another pair of footsteps entered at a slower pace. Even without the lack of confidence, Impactor would have recognized who this was. Megatron probably didn't walk that much different than anyone else, but Impactor was used to hearing those feet in the dark.

The hasty rush to scramble into the nearest stall the moment he realized the other miner was still in the hallway gave the nerd away, too. Impactor didn't know any other miner who'd get flustered. If he saw anyone else in the hallways here, he just grunted and squeezed by while making aggressive optic contact daring the mech to say something. He'd expect the exact same in return. It was the macho miner code. Megatron just hadn't gotten the hang of how things were done, yet.

Impactor shut off his vocalizer, grinning away in the dark. This wasn't how it normally went, but frag, he wasn't opposed to it. Wouldn't be the first time.

Although a gloryhole wasn't like a rough blowjob while tumbling in the bunks. The wall put certain limitations into play, and one side of this little exchange had no idea whose mouth waited on the other side of it. Impactor could almost see the situation sinking into Megatron's head. Feet scraped on the floor, and a thoughtful hum floated through the hole at optic-level with him. The words had to be buzzing in the nerd's head, assigning meaning and layers and metaphors to a straightforward interface. Seemed straightforward to Impactor, anyway. Stick spike in hole and profit, but it was never that simple in Megatron's mind.

Whatever else he did, however, no miner survived safety training a prude. Something thunked on the wall - a hand or a shoulder or maybe even Megatron's forehelm - and a familiar click preceded exactly what Impactor had been craving since a certain too-nice miner stuck fingers in his mouth trying to help him out.

Being anonymous let him do things different. Impactor locked his vocalizer down, making sure even a grunt couldn't give him away. He suddenly didn't want to betray himself to his friend. Miners didn't do this for each other, not like this. Miners grabbed what they wanted. Grabbed and took, no waiting or patience.

He pursed his lips on the tip of the spike in front of him, feeling it out by touch. Megatron in-vented, quick and sharp. Impactor pushed forward, bobbing his head in a slow rhythm that stopped between each push. Push down, lips parting, and draw back in a strong suck, and stop with his lips sealed around the head. His tongue played with it, drawing wet circles along the smooth area around the pinprick hole. Then he pushed again, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue along the underside, tonguetip catching on the pressure sensors, tripping down the length.

The quick in-vent became a stuttered breath. Megatron's vents closed as Impactor swallowed him down in one long, luxurious push, and hot air panted out in short blasts as warm, wet suction backed off. The flicking tongue playing on his tip caused his hips to shiver, rattling the plating against the wall. Impactor backed off further when those hips jerked desperately, thrusting into the wall as if more could be forced through the hole and into his mouth.

But the wall blocked the thrust. Impactor released the spike head with a loud pop, and a groan came clearly through the wall between them. He laughed silently. Wrapping his hand around the length, he gave it a good squeeze and set about abusing the tip poking out past his thumb. Slurping licks loudly announced to anyone in nearby stalls what got this miner's heavyduty engine revving, because louder than the broad, slick rill of his tongue on spike was the sobbing cough of an engine straining for air.

Fingers scraped on the wall, elbows clanking against it up over Impactor's head. He glanced up into the darkness like he could see Megatron scrabbling for a handhold. Nice.

The spike in his hand tried to slip his grip, the tip popping back through his fingers as Megatron frantically pumped into the hole, fragging his fist, and Impactor punished him by tightening his hold. Maybe it was a reward. Megatron sure didn't hesitate to buck into the sudden squeeze, wet spike squipping back out into cool air.

Cool air replace by the hot suction of Impactor's mouth as he gave in and let Megatron have what he was moaning for. At his own pace, of course. Sucking a fellow miner off under the surface was more about being a hole for use. Impactor wanted to take his time, here where he had the control.

When his jaw ached, he backed off despite Megatron's protesting moan. He curled his tongue under the head and swirled it, stretching stiff cables while making Megatron curse him softly, barely audible over the whirr of fans and harsh scrape of hips and hands against metal. Impactor smiled against the tip, teeth a hard tease on it. Big, blunt fingertips pet the hot length of it, finding the biolights flushed to a dull glow by pressure built up in the tubing inside.

Translucent pink, the color of healthy energon, the brightness of an expensive drink. The color of a spike ready to spill out, teased past a fast overload where circuits tripped and a mech got a squirt of fluid from reserves. Impactor admired it, gloating to himself at the hitch of Megatron's vents.

Megatron had his tablet, his words to drive back the darkness. Impactor didn't have much use for that kind of thing. This was different. This was a light in the dark he had every kind of use for, and he'd gotten it by action.

He shrugged off the thoughts. Too poetic for his own good. Why make something more out of a fat, stiff spike than a decent mouthful?

Impactor went back down on Megatron's spike, helmcrest and lips pressed to the wall, broken nose leaking a steady stream as he nuzzled into the hard metal, and his throat intake convulsed around hot, pulsing spike. He swallowed once, twice. Three times, and Megatron overloaded in a searing jet down his throat, engine roaring as he clawed at the wall and desperately pumped in and out of Impactor's intake through climax, spike throbbing in long spurts.

There was nothing poetic about that. It was just raw, filthy rutting in the dark.

On the other hand, Impactor could have written at least a dirty limerick from the dazed, contented look of sated exhaustion on the nerd's face when he staggered back into the bar ten minutes later. He gave Megatron his best slag-eating grin. "Have fun?"

"Wipe your mouth," Megatron muttered back at him.

Impactor's smile spread in challenge. The evidence stood out in bits of light limning his teeth. "Make me."

Megatron, of course, ended up writing a poem about the bar fight they started. The fragging nerd.


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