Yeah, I just wanted to write some Primus/Unicron. That's it. Btw, this is Lady Mythos from AO3 crossposting my work. So, yeah. Enjoy
Somewhere, nestled between one universe and the next, lies a strange pocket dimension. It hides no secrets, bears no great truths, nor holds any answers. It is just a place outside of a time. The most that it can boast is the reflection of other universes upon its border, no galaxies or black holes to claim as its own. And yet an off-white Cybertronian freighter often spends long swathes of something here. Every hour or aeon, the freighter sits, watching the sprawl of infinities of lives lived and lost in minutes and millenia. He waits for something. It disappeared into the stars a long time ago. Were they epochs or seconds?
No matter.
His duties are to one little electron of a planet covered in creatures made in his own image. Beautiful, terrible creatures capable of goodness and greatness. He cannot help but love them. Yet here, in this little space between the universes and the quarks, he is more than just the slumbering God of Cybertron. He is merely himself, patient and watchful. He knows what he longs for. That which wanders betwixt the nebulae and quasars. Ever hungry, ever hunting.
Oh, how he longed.
A long shadow cuts a swath through the stars. Out of it walks a void-black mech clad in decaying armor. The freighter smiles without turning and beckons the warrior over. His wait, be it minutes, aeons, hours, or millenia, has ended.
"So you have heard. The War is finished." The warrior sits next to the freighter. He takes his time, choosing his words like so many stars to be consumed. The freighter allows the courtesy. His patience and kindness do not run dry.
"Indeed." The warrior pauses again. A cluster of stars burst into oblivion, scattering dust along its path. Swirls of green and blue and red coalesce into a stunning graveyard-cradle. The two watch in silence. "It would appear our Champions have fallen into each other's arms."
"It would appear so." For the first time, the freighter turns to face the warrior. For the first time, a smile tinged with the predatory Hunger of eternity spreads across his dermas. The God of Cybertron is kind and just, loving and patient, warm and bright. The God of Cybertron is not merciful. "They remind me of what we used to be, when I would take you amidst the stars."
The warrior, the Devourer, clenches his jaw and continues his vigil into the galaxies. A black hole guzzles down star after star, consigning solar systems to oblivion. A quasar spins, singing a siren song to those with the ears to listen. And the universes keep turning.
The God adjusts his seat to face the Devourer, kind, merciless smile upon his dermas. "I have missed you, oh Chaotic One. I miss your stardust tears and red giant spark. I miss the burn of binary stars in your optics."
The Devourer quivers at the weight of trillions of neutron stars threaded through the voice of the God. How can Hunger resist the sweet beckoning of the Feast? Death withstand the seduction of Life? How he longed to fill his tanks, to surrender to the only thing that would sate him. Damn his stubborn pride.
"How can Creation miss Destruction?" A laugh like the passing comets shower over the Devourer. The God shakes his helm with mirth.
"My sweet, silly Devourer." The God bends forwards, pressing his face to that of the Devourer. "Entropy is my canvas."
The God strokes over the frame of the Devourer. Shy sighs and whimpers brighten the gleam in his merciless optics. "Could I create without absence? Craft without need? For every planet you consume, I mold three. What dancer can dance upon a crowded floor?"
The Devourer remains silent, though the dying starglow to his cheeks say much. The God continues. "I have let you wander for a very long time and watched you consume and connive. But all things must return from whence they came."
Sharp teeth bite into the Devourer's shoulder and he moans, thighs spread. The God instantly kneels between them. He fondles every untouched electron and neglected proton. What was once lost has now returned. It is time to Feast.
"My wayward mate is now found. I claim him now and forever to be mine and mine alone. For I sought him, possessed him, released him, and received him again. Behold my mate, Unicron."
Galaxies are born and dead in a moment's silence. Unicron speaks.
"I have returned to my patient mate. I claim him now and forever to be mine and mine alone. For I found him, possessed him, lost him, and returned to him again. Behold my mate, Primus."
Primus kisses Unicron and he offlines his optics, leaning into the nearly forgotten sensation. Curling Hunger that eternally twists his tanks falls silent. He missed this. The purest essence of Life distilled into a warm glossa consuming his intake. Unicron melts.
He keens softly with want. With an old, familiar care that had not been seen in aeons, Primus divests Unicron of his crumbling, shadowed armor. Each brush of gentle digits pulls sweet whimpers and sobs from a quickly overwhelmed Unicron until he lay entirely exposed. Shadows mist from his limbs, coiling playfully around the beams of light emanating from Primus. Supernovae and nebulae glitter along each line of Unicron's void-black frame. His God spoke truth; Entropy is the canvas of Primus.
Primus traces a cloud of orange-blue dust on Unicron's hip, a tender look on his face.
"How I have missed you, my dear."
"And I you." Unicron whispers. With a thought, Primus' own armor bursts into dazzling rainbows, leaving his own blinding frame bare. Unicron's shadows dash away with an affectionate hiss. But Unicron himself revels in the heat that scalds him. Devouring planet after planet staved off the deep chill of Hunger but it never failed to return, all the colder for his efforts. The everlasting warmth of Primus salves the cold at its roots, leaving Unicron pliant and wanting. Searing servos slide up his thighs. Unicron squirms as nebulae burst into stars along his frame. Scalding digits dip into his chassis, encircling the core holding a spinning red-black spark.
Unicron screams.
Primus smiles.
"You can stand it, dearest. Let me remind you what it means to be mine again." Thrice-blessed servos split Unicron's core like a geode and expose the swirl of his spark. With a kiss, Primus plunges his digits into the corona of Unicron's spark.
The cry shakes the foundations of the dimension to its core.
Unicron burns.
And he wants more.
Unicron begs in their first tongue as his spark brightens from red to orange to yellow to white to blue from the demanding heat touching his spark. He writhes as stars explode, nebulas swirl into being, planets become, Life erupts along his entire frame. He feels every living thing that swims, walks, crawls, flies. For one fleeting moment, Unicron sees as Primus did.
And then he overloads.
His valve pulses as thick fluid oozes from red-black lips. Unicron craves consummation. Where Life and Death, Creation and Destruction become as one. He spreads his trembling thighs in supplication.
"Please, I can't be alone much longer."
Primus hums kindly and removes his digits (that Unicron refuses to admit he misses). He extends his gargantuan spike, blue-hot with traces of white. Just like Unicron remembers. Oral lubricant drips from his intake at the memory of that too-hot spike battering the end of his throat. The essence of Life that spattered into his tanks and made new life bloom along his frame. One day he would be allowed to service that lovely spike.
Primus hooks Unicron's legs around his own hips and purrs, "You will be as tight as the day I first took you."
Those burning digits stab into Unicron and pause while he shrieks again. Without mercy, Primus plunges his two digits in and out of Unicron's spasming valve. His thumb rubs at the swollen node in a mockery of comfort. Unicron cannot stop screaming. Everything burns in the most perfect way. The warmth gathers in the pit of his gestation tank. He cannot last for much longer. Primus catches his node with the hint of a claw and Unicron overloads all over again.
Primus doesn't stop.
He adds another two digits and ups his pace. Unicron snarls and spits at the sensation. His node is too sensitive, his valve hasn't even finished spasming through the last overload. But he wants more. This time, Primus bows his helm low and bites at Unicron's node. Unicron suddenly understands the concept of an out-of-frame experience. He can hear himself scream and beg for mercy but everything feels so far away.
A faint "Oh dear, we can't have that, can we?" sounds before another sharp bite forces Unicron howling into his own frame and another overload. Primus scissors his fingers without slowing down, inching his thumb into Unicron's valve.
"Mercy," Unicron sobs even as something in his rim gives. There is none to be had in Primus' benevolent smile. His entire servo penetrates wrist deep into Unicron. And he doesn't slow down.
Lubricant flies everywhere, squelching as Primus fists Unicron's valve and mouths at his node. Unicron's fans wheeze under the stress of cooling his overheated frame. Pressure pools in his gestational tank. Unicron feels oddly full and awkward, hips juddering at the brutal onslaught of his oversensitive valve. It is too soon. Far too soon. And yet he teeters on the edge of a fourth overload. He wants more and more.
What would push Unicron over the edge this time?
Fingers tease at his inner valve, working it open from its tight state. It is not enough. Primus tongues his node in new, maddening glyphs. It is not enough. The knuckle of Primus' thumb rubs an inner sensor raw. It is not enough. The other servo creeps to Unicron's spark and squeezes at the split core. That would be enough.
But to his utter dismay, Primus rips his servo out of Unicron with a squelch of lubricant. The emptiness of the void comes rushing back. Unicron hungers.
"More, please. I haven't been sated for aeons." Primus chuckles and presses the head of his spike to Unicron's hole.
"I've never been sated of you." He buries his spike valve deep into Unicron, purring at the weak cries evoked.
Primus rolls his hips, optics fixed on Unicron. His mate is a vision of beauty. The stars come alive in the void of his frame. Comets race through star systems of every conceivable kind, giants and dwarfs, novae and supernovae. Planets live and die just like the suns they spin around. His spark still glows meteor blue in its cracked core. Ripe for consummation. And all the while, Unicron begs for his God. Begs for a mercy they both know he doesn't have.
Yet they both know Unicron could stop this if he ever so chose. It happened once before. It will never happen again. So vows the Devourer.
Unicron thrusts his hips into each of Primus'. He cannot escape the ecstasy of his valve. Every thrust forces more Life into his frame, dispelling the chilled Hunger in his struts. A few digits pinch and roll his swollen, abused exterior node. Some strange knob on Primus' spike scrapes his sensor, turning them blue-hot with pleasure. His gestational valve is being battered again and again. The last bastion before Unicron is consumed whole. It is all Unicron can do to keep his optics fixed upon his mate.
For his own part, Primus is beginning to darken and differentiate. Unicron begins to see the outline of individual galaxies along Primus' chassis as stars die upon his frame. Every pleasure bestowed upon Unicron produces another light-year of Void. Colors bloom from their once ubiquitous white glow. The overabundance of Life is gently quelled to allow for newer lives to be born. All while Primus systematically ruins the once-tight clench of Unicron's valve.
Primus lifts a lovely thigh and something bends inside of Unicron. His inner valve gives. Primus finally penetrates hilt deep, the head of his spike piercing into Unicron's gestational tank. Unicron is undone. He violently overloads. Slick spurts out of his valve, staining the too-crowded galaxies on Primus' chassis with deep red.
Primus leans down and purrs in Unicron's audial. "I have sated you four times. Now I take my pleasure."
Unicron had thought Primus merciless before. Nay, this kind, gentle, patient monster truly knows no mercy. He thrusts into Unicron with the force to shatter universes. His clever digits still pull on Unicron's node, a mockery of reciprocity. It is all Unicron can do to remain sane in the face of such might. His cries are unheard, lost in the cruel benevolence of Primus. He is a cherished toy to be used and loved beyond limit. The line between overload and not is wiped clean. All Unicron knows is pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. He is no longer Devourer, Chaotic One, or even Unicron. He is simply Primus' Unicron. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Do seconds or millenia pass? Hours or aeons? Primus' Unicron simply knows possession. His frame is no longer his own, a sacrifice to sate the insatiable, a title he once held. His own Hunger had been sated many times ago. Glutted until he is now the Feast. And he is still being Devoured. Life blooms in his gestation tank, the excess spilling from his unused spike to make room for more. He wants it. He wants to lick it up, make room in his feeding tanks. Primus' Unicron may be sated but that does not stop his need to hold all of the Life given to him. It is a gift that must not be wasted.
Primus noticed Primus' Unicron licking his dermas and chuckles. "You still want me? Don't worry. You are about to have me."
Primus splits his core with a thought and a brilliant blue spark orbited by innumerable multicolored stars is bared. Its beauty hypnotized Unicron. This was the God of Life exposing himself to be consumed. Hunger reared its ugly helm. Primus shook his own helm.
"I can read you, dearest. You are not going to Devour me; I am going to Devour you." He bends their chassis together, allowing for their coronas to touch and nothing else. Primus whispers, "Happy Wedding Day, my Beloved Consort."
He slams their sparks together.
The Universes sing and PrimusUnicron know nothing but Satiation.
.
.
.
.
.
Unicron wakes.
Everything is the same and yet different. He is still the Devourer and hunger still curls in his tanks. But this is no longer Hunger. He feels no need to consume planets and stars indiscriminately and endlessly. His frame is still as black as the space between the worlds. Yet now nebulae, the graveyard-cradle of the stars burst in colorful swathes along his frame. His spark remains a cool red-black. Now merciless kindness impresses its smiling love upon it.
"You're awake, Consort." Unicron frowns into a broad chassis. His inner and outer valves are still swollen tight around Primus' spike. He can feel amusement teasing at his spark.
"You knew I would eventually return." And Unicron had thought his absence would change Primus. He laughs and rolls his hips, forcing a whimper and a sore squeeze from Unicron's valves.
"Of course I knew, dearest. We both know I am the only one to sate your Hunger and you are the only one to awaken mine."
Unicron's frown becomes a pout. He wants to be mad but he can't help but feel relief. Primus remains unchanged. A fact he will never forget.
He presses a kiss over Primus' core and begins to rise. Despite his new title, he still had his duties to perform. Big servos slam his hips back onto Primus' spike. Unicron shrieks as his oversensitized valve spasms at the assault. Primus moans through his snickers.
"You've awoken my Hunger, Un~i~cron," Primus coos. "As my Consort, it is your duty to sate me for all the time you left me alone."
"You're insatiable!" Unicron snaps, trying not to show the hunger filling his tanks. Primus laughs and thrusts his hips anew, merciless smile upon his face.
"That's never stopped either of us."
Optimus Prime jolted online, cooling fans screaming with exertion. His naked spark threw blue tinged light across the room while his exposed spike felt like it was one faint draft away from exploding. The natural paradigm had shifted, but to what Optimus didn't know.
The Matrix hummed in his core. Optimus froze. That's not how the Matrix should sound. It hummed like a complex hymn with basso notes never before heard in the millenia he had borne it. It felt deeper, darker, with an unfamiliar edge of hunger. And yet nothing about it felt evil. If anything, the Matrix felt secure in a way Optimus had never felt.
The faintest impression of smug satisfaction and embarrassed satiation threaded throughout the entire artifact. Optimus paused. Only Primus was the one who lingered in the deepest foundations of the Matrix; that was the satisfaction he felt. But where the frag was the embarrassment coming from?
"Orion?" The berth shifted next to him and he sees Megatron turn on his tired optics. A vicious sense of pride, echoed uncomfortably by Primus, rose in Optimus' spark at the scratches, dents, paint transfers, and bites littered all over Megatron's frame. Megatron looked lovely claimed as the Prime's Consort-Champion. A wry grin spread over his grey features. "I didn't think you'd be raring to go so quickly after what you did to me this night cycle."
Right. His spark and spike were still out for the bedroom to see. Optimus retracted his spike but still kept his core open. It needed to be open for some strange reason. "I didn't think so either."
The two paused, remembering the debauchery that was their wedding night. Megatron squirted like a geyser three different times while Optimus had overloaded until his transfluid had run dry. So why had Optimus woken up so revved?
"I don't know what happened but for some reason, the Matrix feels off. Not warped or evil, but off." Megatron scoffed as Optimus knew he would.
"That old ghost box has had several screws loose since its inception! I wouldn't be surprised if it fell apart in your spark in the next few klicks."
"I'm being serious, Megatron. Something has changed in the natural order. There's a new something in the Matrix that wasn't before and I don't know what it is." Optimus sighed, feeling old paranoia drape itself around his shoulders. He didn't think the change was bad but he also didn't want it to go unchecked. Considering the time was several joors until sunrise, he felt loathe to wake Ratchet or a priest. Which left... "Megatron, could you check it for me?"
Megatron rolled his optics but acquiesced. Optimus lay back onto the pillows while Megatron eyed the glowing blue artifact nestled in Optimus's brilliant white spark. He could feel the concern through their bond. Though he teased, Megatron could respect Optimus' devotion. What was one favor for his mate?
Optimus felt the new something change from embarrassment to keen curiosity. Primus, on the other hand, suddenly felt wary. Megatron's digits crept towards his core. "Hey, Megatron? Maybe we should—"
The instant Megatron's digits touched the Matrix's shell, it dropped to deep red and began to tremble. They both watched with horror as a spiky black orb with a glowing carmine center emerged from the Matrix and tumbled to the berth. The Matrix instantly turned blue again and Optimus' core snapped shut by itself. Darkness spread across the room again Primus turned sulky and the something felt extremely pompous.
"What the frag?" Optimus spluttered. The orb melted onto the berth and raced for Megatron. He reared back but it was too late. The liquid climbed up his frame and seeped into his core. Everything went dark.
Megatron onlined his optics and saw a black warrior streaked with nebulae standing in front of a sprawl of galaxies. Shadows curled from his crumbling armor. A red-black spark pulses from behind a cracked core. He strode forward, knowing smile on his face.
"Welcome, Champion. Your spark has been weighed and found worthy."
Dread trickled down Megatron's spine. Something about this was familiar. As if told to him in a story.
"Where there is Leadership, there must be Resistance. A check to keep chosen Leaders from becoming Tyrants and abominations."
Something that Orion had said, perhaps?
"To oppose a Leader, there must be a Resistor. To oppose a Matrix, there must be an Array."
Oh, no.
Oh, no.
"Blessed are you, Megatron of Kaon, formerly Megatronus, the First to bear the Array of Resistance. I, Unicron, the Devourer and Consort of Primus, bestow upon you this right and honor." The knowing smile turned to a devilish smirk. "May you frustrate and confound your Leader as I do my Mate."
Everything went dark again.
Megatron onlined his optics, for the third fragging time, to Optimus shaking him. A smug feeling that did not belong Megatron or Optimus curled up in his spark while a fourth petulant feeling sulked nearby. With the worried words of his mate and the awareness of two reconciled Gods bickering in his chassis, Megatron just had one question.
What the frag just happened?
So, yeah. Let me know what you think.