Once again, the May/December relationships strike. Have vidphonesecks.
Things were getting a little out of hand. Ultra Magnus, Supreme Commander of the Elite Guard, was getting restless. Of course, he knew what the cause was, and that he couldn't do anything about it, but that didn't make it any bit easier to bear—quite the contrary. He was angry—not at the poor little scout, of course, but at himself. He was a victim as much as any of them. He was angry because he couldn't get his body under control. He'd definitely gotten older, for sure.
Of course, it could have been easy to remedy the problem, but...Sentinel was out of question, and Jazz...Magnus suspected those glances the saboteur shared with the slender Prowl meant certain things. And since he always had been a team player, so to speak, there was only one option left.
By the time the darkness descended on Earth and the others sank into recharge, Magnus was really on the edge. His processors were screaming at him, so he quickly snuck up on deck, closed the doors, and breathed life into the communications.
It was luckily one of the cadets' days off back home on Cybertron; of course, his call of choice would have been available anyway, but because of the day off, Magnus was treated to a special first: Hot Rod just coming out of recharge. He'd taken the opportunity to catch up on some lost sleep, and as he answered the videophone in his quarters, his optics were still half-off and flickering lazily, and he was smiling a bit tiredly when he saw Ultra Magnus. "Ahhm, hey, sir..." The cadet's vocals were still laced with morning static, despite it being late afternoon. "Why the sudden call?"
Something—fortunately very deep inside—was telling the Commander to make all sorts of stupid noises at the sheer cuteness of the sight. However, he restrained himself. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb your much-deserved rest, Hot Rod," he said, "But..." Well...he didn't want to scare the kid... "I'm...in need of your assistance for a while. We've got a situation here. We'll overcome it, but still, I would...appreciate...some help."
Hot Rod blinked a few times, both from just waking up and because he was curious. "Umm...sure, but I don't think there's a lot I can do this far away."
"Never underestimate your charms." Was he really saying that...? "Alright, Hot Rod. Listen to me. And promise you'll stay calm; you're an Elite Ensign. The Bots currently staying on Earth are facing a...rather unique epidemic. All of us were infected by it."
He grew a little more alert. He knew what an epidemic was. "E—Even you? Is everyone alright?"
"Even I, but we'll live. The medic here is working on the cure; we'll be alright." Magnus assured the youngling. "However...it's a very special type of space barnacles. They stay very small and attach to the insides of a mech, draining its energy. Plus, they can somehow manipulate their host to feed them, so to speak: they demand more and more energy. Should the host deny it...they can get very persistent."
Hot Rod shuddered and sank against the desk. "Ugh, space barnacles! Disgusting little things...!" He bit his lip. "S-So...ah...how exactly do they get the energy...?"
Magnus sighed. "In most—in each and every case we have here, they prompt the host to engage into sexual activity, which eventually leads to an overload. During the surge, a tremendous amount of energy gets released, which suits the barnacles' needs just fine. I...I have to admit, I fell victim to one of the Bots here. He was not aware of his condition, merely tried to keep his body working, and...I failed in resisting him."
The Ensign wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was an odd condition, to be sure...
"But...don't worry about it. You'll all be fine, right? After the medic comes up with a treatment, you'll be fine." That's about all he had to say, though; after that, Hot Rod stared at the camera, heat steaming in his cheekplates. He was a bit embarrassed to continue. "Th-Though...so this means...what? That I-I'm supposed to help you that way? We're light-years apart, sir..."
"I can still see you," Magnus drawled, one finger tracing the screen. "You don't have to, but, you're the only one I can seek out with a clean conscience. Please; I know it's embarrassing, and even a little strange, but help me, my youngster. I know I haven't told you much about this, but with my guidance, it'll be just fine. You might even genuinely like it."
Hot Rod frowned a little, mulling the thought over in his processors. He even pouted a bit, glancing nervously about.
"...A-Alright...I mean, it is a little strange, but I don't want you to suffer. How is this going to work, though...?"
"Easy." Magnus's grin was just a touch too smug. "Sit back in your chair, like I do." He shifted a bit, to be more comfortable. "Relax. This will not hurt you. Clean your vents, my youngling. Have I ever told you how becoming your paintjob is...?"
He sat back, obedient but still puzzled. "I don't think so..." Hot Rod replied, a curious look on his face. He wanted to see where his Commander was going with this.
"Now you know. If you feel comfortable, offline your optics; can you still picture my face? And can you recall that night of your graduation? When I kissed you?"
The ensign didn't offline his optics just yet, but he did pause to get a distant expression as he thought back on that day. A small, somewhat proud smile crossed his lips. "Mm-hmm...I liked that. The idea surprised me at the time, though."
"I couldn't hear you complaining." Magnus smirked, and touched his own lips with a finger. "I can still recall how your energy fields tasted...so fresh, so eager." The finger idly traced the smooth metal. "You were a bit shocked, yes, but you didn't pull away...you answered to my kiss, slipping your glossa into my mouth, trying to copy my motions. And then, you asked for more."
As he always was, Hot Rod once again proved to be a quick learner. He smiled a bit, mimicking his Commander with a pair of fingers on his lips as a warm wave tensed his systems a bit. "I liked where I was, warm and comfortable...it's a nice feeling, being with you. I had every right to ask for more."
"I'm certainly flattered," Magnus chuckled and his optics flickered back online. He wanted to see the expression on the youngster's faceplates. "Now, you know what? When I get back, and you'll have a day off, you'll come to my quarters. I'll kiss you again, many times, and when your lips will be hotter than I can bear...I'll move lower, to your neck, to nibble on the cables and struts."
Hot Rod visibly tensed, his frame warming slightly. Just listening to the Commander speaking with his deep voice as he described these acts was enough to make his vents increase their cycles. He smiled, running an idle finger over one of the thicker cables in his neck. "I wouldn't want you to stop," he replied, "I'd hold you close and you wouldn't be going anywhere. Both hands would be on your sides...well, one might be on your chestplates."
"The sides will be fine," Magnus smirked. "The seams are sensitive, just like the insignia on my chest." He traced the Autobot crest and his vents hummed up, "As are my antennae. Let me see...your flame deco might be one of your hot spots...perhaps the indentations on your shoulders. Would you mind finding out?"
The ensign blinked his optics a few times, but froze only briefly before he shook his head, sitting up as his attention was caught. "N—No, not at all...!"
"Well then..." the Commander's voice was a purr, "Please, go ahead. Run your hand over your chest, slowly and lightly. I will do that to you too, once I get close enough." He leaned closer and, secretly, he began to caress his own sides, tracing the seams to get himself more in the mood.
Hot Rod hesitated for a moment—if only because he'd never done this sort of thing before—and glanced down quickly, curiously running his hand over the flame paint on his chassis.
Almost instantly, his vents pulled air into his systems and he traced the pattern meticulously, optics flashing bright. It felt...strange, but not terrible. It was warm and it tingled a little. "Th...That feels really nice..."
"That is good. If it's warm and slightly buzzing, that's how it should be. Eventually, it'll get much hotter; your system will even warn you about it, but pay no attention—it's normal. Now, your shoulders; dip your fingers into that hollow piece; trace the plating. Oh, if I get back, I'll fondle the spoiler on your back...I wonder how you will look like once I do that." Magnus sighed. Aah, it was barely enough. He wanted to reach out and hold his youngster close...he was such a beautiful piece of chassis.
He took Magnus' instructions to spark and pressed his fingers into the indent of one shoulder. Hot Rod practically melted against the seat he was in, letting out a soft moan at how nice it felt. His systems were warming up nicely and he shuddered as his engine rumbled. The look on his face was entirely peaceful, completely absorbed in everything Ultra Magnus was saying. He smiled a bit, chuckling. "I'd probably look like this...I always liked the spoiler being messed with. Kept me calm when I got—nnh—nervous..."
"Beautiful..." the Commander murmured, "I'll kiss every inch of your plating, my lovely...down to your waist, your thighs...I'll make you moan and have your intakes gasp for air. I'll watch you shudder from overload, right in my arms." Now he was getting heated up nicely, as well. His free hand began to trace an antenna, from base to tip, slowly.
"Aah...Hot Rod..." He wanted more. He wanted to see the cadet writhe in that chair and tense up, whining from pleasure.
There was little to be disappointed about; Hot Rod started to squirm after a few moments, his vents cycling so loud they could be heard through the transmission. He ran his fingers over his chassis and in the pockets of his shoulder armor, and a few times he nudged his spoiler against the chair behind him to stimulate a little friction along the length of it. Eventually, Hot Rod was half-curled in the seat with his optics offline, shuddering and heating up until the warnings began to appear. He forcefully pushed them out of sight and mind, moaning quietly, hands roaming over every part of him that Magnus said he would kiss and touch. "C...Commander...aah...!"
The broken voice calling him by his rank instead of his name served as a further impulse for Magnus—the power had an intoxicating taste, and although he was always an honorable and just leader, he wasn't completely immune to it. "Yesss..." he hissed, rubbing his antenna with more force." You sound wonderful, my lovely youngling...you'll be mine soon, very soon, I promise. You'll lie on my berth, pinned down by my weight, trembling and yelling from pleasure. Look at me, my soldier." He leaned back and with his dignity thrown into the corner, the proud leader of the Autobots moaned loudly, faceplates tensing, fingers working frantically over his own frame.
Hot Rod arched and made the most delightful noises as Ultra Magnus' powerful voice moaned through the connection; he flicked his optics online, and the sight that greeted him—his Commander, lax against his seat, moaning in the throes of passion—was enough for him to rush towards the peak and soar high. Hot Rod snapped tense and the arch sharpened in his back as he gave a low but audible cry, lightning sparking over his frame as he overloaded, warmth spider-crawling through his systems and frying every circuit and nerve-end with a delicious sizzle that left him quivering in his chair.
Primus, the youngling was a piece of art. The wild abandon in the pleasant voice, the radiance of the very first overload on those finely crafted faceplates, coupled with a few more strokes against his own hot spots pushed Magnus over the edge, too. He tensed and with a low moan and let the surge wash over him as well, blazing optics fixed on the screen, taking in the exceptional sight. His spark sang, and as the wonderful shock tapered off, he kept on watching Hot Rod, with a fond smile.
"Are you alright, my youngling?" he asked finally.
The only working response the Commander could receive was a shiver and a slow nod. Hot Rod's venting systems sighed and he curled up heavily into the chair, humming his satisfaction. "I could stay like this for the rest of the orn," he purred, smiling wide.
Magnus smiled widely. "I take it this means you'd be willing to repeat the experience. You looked lovely, by the way. And, thank you for your assistance. I feel a lot better now."
Hot Rod laughed a bit, smile turning sheepish. "You...ah...you looked good, too..." he chuckled, "We should do this again. But next time it'll be a lot closer, right?"
"Hopefully," the Commander agreed. "I wanted to touch you so badly. I'll be missing your kisses until we can go back. Will you behave?"
The ensign gave another nod. "Insistently so," he promised.
"Good." Magnus purred with a content, smug grin. "Well then, I know that young systems need rest after their very first overload...and it's late here, too. Get a small cube for yourself, my youngling, and rest. May the stars watch over you."