He dreamed of you. You should know, you sent him this dream. This subtle, elusive masterpiece of a virus that filled his hibernating mind with silhouettes and glitter of your polished armor, promising whispers and endless corridors of the base that he had to run through pursuing a hint of you.
You watched him live this dream and noted his subtle reactions as if he was one of the lab subjects. Except he was not. You never wanted any of your lab subjects the way you desired him, desired this powerful chassis, these wings and thrusters and this intelligent, reflective mind... when you were inside his mind, you desired him so much that you had to remind yourself of caution and patience every time. This... seduction should be slow. You would not rush it. You needed him to come to you, not the other way around.
It would be so easy to just _order_ him to, insert a directive into his unguarded mind, but the consequences... You sighed and withdrew from Thundercracker's processor. It was enough for one day. Let the seeker recharge.
A seeker... you had never been with a seeker and you could tell yourself curiosity was what fueled this desire. That would be easier, but you never lie to yourself . You were being played by the only one in the faction (save Megatron), who could rival you in power games. This here would be your retaliation.
Anticipation tingled in your nets, the core temperature climbed another fraction degree up. Oh, but you enjoyed the power play as much as your adversary did, and the blue jet would be a nice bonus to this thrill. You just need to be careful not to tip the current power balance you and his trine leader had established long ago. Unlike your rival, you never forgot your priorities. First goes the Cause, then goes Megatron and your position at the decepticons, then go your Cassettes (in truth it was the other way around, but you wouldn't admit it even in the safety of your own processor), and lastly, comes the entertainment.
You had always known you were not the only one interfacing with Megatron (or rather being interfaced by Megatron). This knowledge never affected you: you had no claim over your master and no place to question or discuss his choices. You knew he used interface to both tie the volatile air commander and strengthen his loyalties. You knew it didn't work too well.
At first you were not sure what made Starscream start flaunting that relationship before you. What made him start meeting you on smallest occasions right after his rendezvous with your leader so he happened to have no time to cleanse the evidence of their not-so-secret meetings off his chassis?
What made him jolt up his wings like that and reek of overheated oil and coolant with the slightest hint of Megatron? What made him absent-mindedly rub that fresh scratch on his slender silver thigh... a scratch left by claws all too familiar for you to ignore? If he thought you would be jealous, he should have thought better. You were careful not to react, but he didn't stop.
It took you a while to realise the first lieutenant was teasing you. But when you did... Starscream being what he was, it was not just an invitation to interface (a challenge?), this had undoubtedly been a trap, just another trick in your constant under-the-carpet struggle... yet you had never been with a seeker before, so you responded. Just not the way the treacherous commander wanted you to respond.
Thundercracker. That should be close enough. You would pick Skywarp, but that one was both too easy to get and could bolt any moment. No, the quiet, secluded one was worth the wait. Besides, he had a nice voice and was blue. You always fancied blue.
**** POV change***
You came online trembling with peripheral excitement and a dawning anger. You dreamed of him again. Armor plates rising slightly, your middleware tried to enhance ventilation to drive unwanted heat off your chassis. A servo brushed your side, smoothing the sensitive scales under it and rendering any attempt to cool futile. You startled, onlining your optics in a rush. You half expected the dream to turn reality, but a quick scan showed only one, bright and familiar signature.
He's leaning over you, studying your faceplate, and he undoubtedly can feel the heat emanating from your systems. It only makes his signature smirk turn into a full grin.
- Dreaming again. - it isn't a question, so you don't answer, focused on his hand that still traces the edges of your smaller plates. The contrast between how fierce and rude your commander is outside your quarters and how delicate he can be on the platform never ceases to amaze. You let yourself be lulled by the caress, but apparently, it had been a question because he suddenly snaps the edge of your face plate and makes you meet his gaze.
- Well? - he demands.
The anger you felt breems before grows tenfold and you growl with your acoustic cannon. Wrong move. The vibration resonating through your chassis only seems to amuse him. Moreover, it betrays your excitement. He arches a brow ridge and his servo slides lower, tweaking the sensitive sensors that are normally hidden by armor and you realise with belated horror that your plates are cracked open. No point denying.
- Yes.
As if rewarding you for this one syllable word, his fingers press harder. Your cannon vibrates again and you surrender, dropping your helm back and staring past his antennae at the ceiling, letting him pet you as he pleases.
- Hmmm..., - he purrs, sliding a probing finger into your transfueling port, carefully feeling out the protecting membranes and multiple sensors. By the end of this slow examination your wiggling and venting and trying to impale yourself deeper onto his fingers. He pulls his hand away and you moan before you can stop yourself.
- You are progressing, - he drops casually, - I must admit, he does a good job.
You whimper. The whole situation makes you extremely angry, not really at Soundwave, whose stalking style is unique but eventually harmless, but at your trinemate that makes you go with it and at yourself for letting him to command you like this.
Weren't you so preoccupied with getting Starscream to 'face you silly here and now, you would put up a fight, but open like this, with drops of overheated coolant making your ports glisten and tingle and wiggling in best traditions of interbots from holoporn, all you can do is plead:
- Tell me again why I have to do this. I don't want him. I want you.
He leans back from you, robbing you of the tantalizing touch and his dazzling fields and you move to follow only to be pushed back down with his servo on your cockpit.
- You wanna know why you're gonna march out there and let him fragg you as he pleases?
He left the platform and is standing beside it now, pinning you flat with one servo, while the other resumes teasing your interfacing array. Oh, you'd love to push him aside and switch places with him, bend him down and make him yours like he nearly never allows you, and you are strong enough to pull it through - one his hand is not enough to contain you, but he doesn't need physical strength to do it, he holds you tight with his authority and your devotion and he knows damn well you will obey. And the thought adds more fuel to your excitement. e loves this game and so do you, and you know the rules too well, that's why your servo remain flat on the platform, willed to stay still and not touch your gorgeous commander.
- You wanna know why you will open your ports before him and let him put his long creepy fingers into you... - a rough push of his fingers into your ports - both at the same time makes you arch - a hard task with wings on your back, - and spread your legs, bringing the knees up...
... why you will let him pour his fuel into you, - the fingers pinch the sensor at the fueling port, making you shudder and leak a little energon from it...
... why you will let him plug into every single one of your sockets, - the seeker's hands are dripping electric discharges onto barred metal of your numerous power and info lines...
... I could give you dozen of reasons. But you will do this... - the red and silver jet leans in, optic to optic and his glossa slides along your intake. You open up obediently and let him probe and knead your upper fueling line, causing more vibrations to emanate from your cockpit. You are visibly shaking with contained energy and another strong surge through his hand makes you gasp and cry out and his kiss swallows the sound.
He leans closer still, bringing his intake closer to your audiosensors and his hand moves from your cockpit to your neck cabling and it is dangerous as well as exciting as razor sharp claws grip your energon lines. His other hand is wrist deep in your facing array, never stopping it's movements, and you offline the optics your hips buck up to urge him. Overload is close, so close...
...it's because I ORDERED YOU TO - and as the words reverberate in your audials with the same shameless purr that usually haunts your wet dreams (original ones, not those sent to you by the telepath), he drops another discharge into your heated systems, knocking you offline in a blissful overload.