Sideswipe looked at his brother and sighed, thinking, We're going to die. We are going to die, and you are going to get us killed.
He knew that look on Sunstreaker's face. He knew that focused attention. And he saw who it was focused ON.
It was something about the corona of panels around the helm. Or perhaps about all that physical strength bared and displayed so openly.
Nah, it was probably about the helm. Sunstreaker had always had a thing for interesting helm designs.
And it was going to get them KILLED.
Nonetheless, one half of a binary star system that he was, Sideswipe followed as Sunstreaker strode for the dais.
They passed Starscream without a backward glance as he stepped off the bottom step. ...Which was a damn shame, in Sideswipe's opinion. He had IDEAS for his glossa and those wings that he made a note of for later. Supposedly this shindig was to take three days, so who knew...maybe if they didn't all kill each other he'd get a chance to try them out.
Murmurs followed them as the twins mounted the steps. There was probably some kind of order, some tradition or taboo they were breaking, but whatever, like they cared. No one tried to stop them, and Sideswipe picked out more than one murmur of anticipation among the crowd, so it obviously wasn't too important.
Prime looked like a youngling's dream of interfacing, laid bare for all to see and touch. So much plating gone, it was like looking at a different mech, and Sideswipe could only guess at how sensitive Prime was like that. He couldn't resist trailing a hand over hot protoform. Literally hot, too. Sideswipe could feel the Prime's powerful engine ticking away beneath. It made Sideswipe falter and pause with the desire to feel that hum against his lips and glossa as he LICKED it.
Sunstreaker, optics on his prize as always, nudged him on his way past, a flicker of interest toward the Prime not enough to distract him.
Sideswipe's stride faltered, his own optics still following the curve of Prime's protoform, and armor or no, Prime's chuckle was still that all-over, strut-melting rumble. "Welcome."
It was half a word and half a field modulation and half something else that Sideswipe didn't have the sensors to dissect. All he knew was that it felt GOOD, and that when he leaned in to kiss the plating over Prime's spark, when he licked at the thin protoform and groaned at the taste of heated metal and charge, that this was permitted...welcomed. That Prime's arms pulling him close and the glossa twining with his own were eager and uncomplicated.
That Sideswipe wanted to press the Prime down, back, onto the dais, that he wanted to lose himself in the naked protoform before him, wanted to climb into the wet, eager valve open against his side, wanted to make Prime make the sounds that Megatron had wrung from him. That he wanted all that and that such things were POSSIBLE. Probable. Available right then for the asking.
That having such desires was ok. Sideswipe rested his forehelm against Prime's chest, Prime's thumbs tracing soothingly up and down his helmvents, and let himself think, for the first time in a long time, that this, things, EVERYTHING might be ok.
The thought was world-altering. Terrifying. Sideswipe shook with it for a long moment before his spark was wrapped in warmth and reassurance larger than him, larger than Prime. Only then did Sideswipe realize what he was dealing with, and he shook harder-in mortification, in alarm, and in fear.
Prime's arms wrapped around him, holding tight, his engine taking on a soothing croon that set up a shiver in Sideswipe's frame. The low, sweet harmonics wrapped around Sideswipe's rapidly-cycling spark and eased it.
"I didn't think you existed," Sideswipe whispered, face mashed against Prime's chest as if he could hide. As if that or the mere darkness around them could hide him from Primus himself.
It's all right, echoed through his spark. Sideswipe, my creation, everything will be all right.
Sideswipe, awash and flailing in peace he wasn't sure was real, suddenly rediscovered something he'd long forgotten: that he could hope. And that hope was PAINFUL. His voice was a whisper as naked as Prime's plateless frame. "Promise? Do you PROMISE? I can't...it's not...I can't just HOPE anymore-"
Look.
"I..."
Look.
Sideswipe looked, and shapes took form, images pricking themselves to life over his optical sensors. A room, a suite of rooms, clean and comfortable, though details were lost to an odd haze. Himself, moving among them, gathering this and that, passing Sunstreaker with a wave as he painted by a sunny window. Himself, taking to the air, darting to avoid several seekers he didn't recognize. Himself, negotiating something with...was that SHOCKWAVE?...and leaving pleased with himself. Then, again, to the quarters with Sunstreaker and...others. A bright, stylishly orange mech who regaled them with some tale over energon and a green, blocky femme who occasionally looked up from her datapad to shake her head and interject wryly. He watched himself lay a hand on her shoulder, say something with a smile, drop a kiss on her helm...
"What...I don't..."
Look.
More images, just as peaceful. Sunstreaker on a sparring ground, taking down a red-blue-white femme seeker and then showing, patiently, just how he did it. A Cybertronian skyline, ragged but speckled with tiny weld-flares in the darkness as it was rebuilt. Prime and Megatron on top of another dais, armored this time, answering a question together and apparently, relatively peacefully, disagreeing.
Streetscapes, filled with mecha wearing Decepticon and Autobot sigils and some wearing neither...or both. Many of them Sideswipe couldn't identify.
A club, filled with flashing lights and dancing mecha cheering on a black-and-white performer on the stage.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, sitting together on top of a tall building, watching a familiar yellow sun rise.
Sideswipe blinked and found himself still staring at Prime's chest in front of his nose. He looked up, uncertain, a question half-formed in his field and his vocalizer. Was that real? Will it happen?
The glyphs that pressed themselves into Sideswipe's field were thick with reassurance. Not a promise, not in the sense he knew it, but both simpler and more complex, rich with acknowledgments of cause and effect and free will. Sideswipe glimpsed, for one terrifying nanoklik, the web of time, the possible events flowing from this ritual, this day, this MOMENT, and understood.
Not a promise, he realized as his optics were drawn up, over, to where his twin had closed to within arm's reach of Megatron. Both of their expressions were predatory, hungry, and the relief that the Sideswipe/Sunstreaker collective might NOT be offlined with extreme prejudice was slowly being drowned in the steady sparkbeat of charge.
Not a promise. An opening. A chance to get behind the combiner and push.
The Prime's field was bright and encouraging next to his own. He leaned forward, kissing Sideswipe's forehelm . It should have made Sideswipe feel like a youngling, and it did...in some ways...but the fact that he couldn't tear his optics from the sight of Sunstreaker's hands reaching in to stroke over scarred protoform went a long way to negate that.
"Later," Sideswipe said, looking back at Prime long enough for a final, greedy kiss before untangling himself.
Prime laughed, the sound rich and warm as his fingers trailed a caress over Sideswipe's retreating plates. "Later," he promised.
Sunstreaker and Megatron were all but circling each other, even as Sunstreaker trailed fingers boldly over one particular scar. "I gave you this one," Sunstreaker said, grinning. Sideswipe could hear the pride in his voice. It wasn't every battle, after all, that they'd managed to work their way close and score a solid hit on the Decepticon leader. Sunstreaker had paid for that strike with a backhand that had cracked his helm and sent him flying off a building, but that was never what he dwelt on when he told the story.
Megatron's helm cocked, as if he had to think about it. "Yes. Polyhex." He reached out, tracing a finger along Sunstreaker's side. "And I gave you this...and this...and-"
"Yeah, yeah," Sunstreaker grumbled but didn't pull away, his hands sliding up, up to Megatron's helmcrests. Typical Sunstreaker tactic: push in where others would back down.
Megatron looked surprised, but Sideswipe, intimately familiar with the odds of the battlefield, could see that it wasn't the type of surprised likely to get a fusion cannon to the face, even if there had been a fusion cannon in attendance.
"It's your own fault", Sideswipe said, moving closer, "teasing Ratchet's hands like that. What're these for, anyway? Would think a Lord Protector wouldn't want sensor suites on top of his helm where anyone could take a shot at 'em." He moved in, exactly opposite Sunstreaker, to bracket Megatron between them. The Decepticon leader turned slightly with the movement, letting Sunstreaker slide around his side to press against his back. Sideswipe grinned at his twin over Megatron's shoulder, running a finger along one shining frond and getting a shiver and a growl in return.
"Secondary communications array," Megatron hissed, hand coming up and back to latch onto the side of Sideswipe's own helm and...do not much but hold him there, Sideswipe couldn't help but notice.
Sideswipe grinned evilly. "I seeee...so if I modified my magclamps like SO and stroked like THIS..."
"So" and "this" (a trick learned long ago from a certain adventurous communications officer) earned him a strangled cry as EM sensors were stroked with frequencies almost but not quite what they were designed to receive.
"Too much?" Sideswipe asked, innocently, doing it again. "Should I stop?"
Megatron GLARED at him, optics flickering as Sunstreaker abandoned the weld he'd been investigating with his glossa in favor of stretching up to lick at a sensor panel. "I don't think he wants us to stop," Sunstreaker said. "I think he's been too busy bein' the Slagmaker for too long, hasn't had time for a good fragging." The frontliner grinned at Sideswipe over Megatron's head before sucking the panel he'd been licking into his mouth.
"You might be right," Sideswipe said, other hand coming up to rub against another panel. "Good thing we showed up, huh? Otherwise he'd just've gone through this whole thing with everyone bein' afraid to give him a proper workout."
"Do NOT discuss me as if I am not here," Megatron growled. His hands came up to circle Sideswipe's waist, and they both froze for a microklik, until it became clear that neither of them was going to do anything rash.
Sideswipe's grin was unrepentant. "Excuse me, Lord Protector, SIR. Afraid to give YOU a proper workout. And really, if you're that cranky after Prime AND Ratchet, that just proves our point." He caught his twin's optics, wordless communication passing between them in expression and spark and shared experience.
Sideswipe moved closer, hands settling on Megatron's shoulders. The two of them bore him down to his knees, as Megatron made it clear that they were only doing so because he allowed it. Sideswipe didn't care, though, his weight settling on the larger mech's thighs. The Decepticon leader's field was aggressive, as usual, but the tone of that aggression had changed. Wary, but not violent. Powerful, but not...something. Not as dark.
Sideswipe basked in that field for a long moment before running a hand down bared and gleaming protoform. Sunstreaker's hands followed, their fingers delving between wires and sliding over primed sensors. That brought them a snap of attention like an electric shock, but it didn't bring ANGER. Or hate or outrage or any of the other emotions Sideswipe would have expected a month ago. He was an expert at dissecting such things and they were...absent.
Instead, the Decepticon leader resonated with something else. Something like what had brushed Sideswipe's spark when he'd touched Prime. Something that felt, against all reason-because this was MEGATRON-GOOD.
It was utterly, stupidly, fraggingly RIDICULOUS, but hey...Sideswipe wasn't about to let Prime and Ratchet have all the fun. After all, how many mechs got to say they'd fragged an utterly naked and helpless Megatron?
Megatron's ventilations hissed as Sunstreaker's hand utterly bypassed his spike to slide further down, back, to roughly caress Megatron's still-covered valve. That brought a hitch of Megatron's hips, his voice a low, growling challenge. "Is that what you want?"
"Want to frag you," Sunstreaker growled back, leaning in against Megatron's back, leaning up to take one of those crest panels between his TEETH. "Want..."
"I know what you want," Megatron said, those white optics fixing on Sideswipe's own, the corner of his mouth quirking even as he reached back, catching Sunstreaker and holding him there. "You want a place to belong. A place like your brother here, has." Megatron cupped his free hand over Sideswipe's cheek. "Blessed already, Sideswipe? I didn't even see an overload."
"What can I say, I'm just that good," Sideswipe said, turning his head to take blunt, scarred fingers into his mouth.
"Mmm, I certainly hope so," Megatron said, his hand sliding down to Sideswipe's waist to pull him closer, tighter in against his straining spike. A frisson of charge ran right up Sideswipe's backstrut at the feel of it. His desire whiplashed from wanting to spike Prime to wanting to ride Megatron's spike until he forgot his own designation.
It was utter, greedy instinct for his valve cover to snap back, for his hands to grip Megatron's shoulders to balance him as he pushed himself up, then sank down. Strong hands guided him, a hungry growl in his audials and another over his comm. Sideswipe met Sunstreaker's optics over Megatron's shoulder, and that look was SEARING. Sides opened up his side of the bond, fed Sunstreaker his sensory data, and Sunstreaker SHUDDERED.
Megatron chuckled, cupping his hands under Sideswipe's aft, lifting, then dropping Sideswipe into his next thrust. Both Autobots cried out at the sharp pleasure of sensory nodes firing as valve microplates flared and spread, as external nodes were jolted hard against pelvic plating. Megatron growled again, pleased and hungry. "It's been a long time since I had sparktwins."
Sunstreaker snarled back, moving to kneel behind Sideswipe. "These sparktwins're having YOU. Lie back."
There were more directions, perhaps a bit of negotiation, but Sideswipe missed it because Megatron NEVER STOPPED. His spike pistoned in and out in a steady rhythm, his pelvis arching up and twisting at the end to press against Sideswipe's external sensors, and between the sensations and Sideswipe's own lust AND Sunstreaker's...it was good. More than good. It was PHENOMENAL, and Sideswipe lost himself in it. He barely noticed when his gyros alerted him that they were shifting. He flailed a bit, not wanting to fall and not wanting to lose the thick spike steadily pounding him into overload, but Megatron's hands were there, around his waist, holding their interfaces tight together, and Sideswipe just found his shoulders and held on, optics blown wide because Megatron ended up on his BACK, legs spread, and Sideswipe whined in indecision and greed because he wanted THAT, too. He wanted the thick spike inside him and the valve that he couldn't see but through the filter of Sunstreaker's lust.
Megatron chuckled and Sunstreaker was silent and intent as he knelt between those powerful thighs, his hands spreading them wider. Sideswipe watched, avidly, carefully, optics taking in every nanoklik of the Slagmaker's expression as Sunstreaker pressed into his valve. That expression was smug, satisfied, and they hadn't even started yet.
Sunstreaker hissed, teeth sinking into Sideswipe's shoulder. "Tight..."
Sideswipe would have complained about the bite, but the pain was a jolt of sensation that his sensors chose to interpret tentatively as pleasure. His valve clenched down on the spike inside him. "See?" he moaned, "don't get fragged enough."
Megatron's hand cupped the side of his helm, holding him where he wanted him for a biting, possessive kiss. "Hardly anyone asks for it."
Sideswipe's spark was spinning crazily fast, his wariness and doubt and fear gone in the white rush of exultant pleasure. His fingers dug into struts and wiring, seeking and rubbing and finally just holding on. "Now...ok, now I want to know who DOES..." The mental images made Sideswipe's hips circle, his valve clench, and Megatron growled, thrusting up.
"Knock it off," Sunstreaker growled, and a slap of metal to metal made Megatron glare and Sideswipe giggle drunkenly at the realization that his twin had just smacked Megatron's aft. "We know how to do this. You moving's just going to throw us off."
Sideswipe rocked from side to side, just to feel the nodes in his valve fire at the pressure. "Nnnnghyeah, just...hah!" He leaned down, licking over a choice bit of protoform. "Just let us..."
Later, Sideswipe would look back on that moment, on the barely-glimpsed expression on Megatron's face, and almost recognize it for the step forward it was. Mostly he'd recognize it as the moment that Megatron stopped fighting and let them frag him. The moment he started GIVING in a not-just-physical way that Sideswipe would forever associate with Prime.
They HAD done this before, so though the position could easily turn into a mess of counter-active thrusting, with Megatron lying still, the twins could guide the pace. Sunstreaker's hands bracketed Megatron's hips, his spike thrusting in as Sideswipe rose up, retreating as Sideswipe slid down, counterpoints, pistons in a great machine that took motion and turned it into pleasure. Sideswipe peaked first, his lines bursting into effervescent pleasure that left him shaking and crying out into Megatron's shoulder with each shiver of movement.
Sunstreaker, hot and still thrusting behind him, set his teeth into Sideswipe's shoulder, a love-bite that made him moan and collapse forward across the broad, scarred chest. ::Off,:: Sunstreaker sent to him, the command accented with a bolt of purpose and desire that made Sideswipe moan and slide obligingly off Megatron with another moan. He felt drunk with pleasure and couldn't resist the urge to touch and kiss, to press that pleasure into plating and vent it into Megatron's field. He felt it when Sunstreaker started to thrust in earnest, the force translating through Megatron's heavy frame, and even the thought of that motion was too much. Sideswipe curled up at Megatron's side, one hand on his abdominal plating so he could feel the straining effort and great, slapping impacts secondhand.
Part of him was still wary, still caught in the unreality of the entire situation. That part, though, was slowly filling with a slow, soaking light that made him want to comm Primus and make sure that he'd not got the wrong mech, because surely he had better things to do than reassure a smart-mouthed frontliner. Surely if anyone needed it, it would be the OTHER smart-mouthed frontliner who hung like a tossing bonfire on the end of their bond.
Sideswipe shivered, optics offlining, as he let himself fall down the bond like jumping from a dropship, slotting in next to the sensation of-oh FRAG-of his spike encased in hot, tight utterly WET mesh. Sunstreaker's pace was demanding, uncompromising, and Megatron responded to that with equal ferocity. They fought with thrust and counterthrust, hands grasping and slipping, holds gained and lost on lubricant-slick plating. Finally, Sunstreaker caught Megatron's wrists, slamming them down to the dais with a triumphant growl and a hard thrust IN.
Megatron's answering growl was pleased. "You are mine."
Sunstreaker sneered. "I'm no Decepticon."
"No." Megatron arched, one leg hooking around Sunstreaker's hip. "You are a warrior." The glyph he used was old, pre-dating the war. Warrior, bright with all the old connotations of strength and honor and defense of Cybertron. He stretched up, licking along the edge of Sunstreaker's chestplate. "I can feel it in your spark. The fire. The will to fight. To conquer. To match yourself against your enemy. You're one of mine." Mine, heavy with the markers of the Lord High Protector, leader of the Cybertronian military that had long, long ago disintegrated into Autobots and Decepticons alike.
Sunstreaker faltered, rhythm lost, and Sideswipe could see, could FEEL his confusion, the very beginnings of the fear that Sunstreaker never showed and the anger he always did. "I don't belong to anybody. Not Prime. Not YOU."
"You could," Megatron said, either oblivious to or unconcerned by Sunstreaker's agitation. He reached up, and Sunstreaker looked startled as the Slagmaker's hand settled along the side of his helm, as Prime's hand had settled against Sideswipe's.
Sunstreaker and Megatron stared at each other for a long, long moment of absolutely nothing visible happening. They were like a piece of erotic statuary, caught in the middle of a wild frag.
Sideswipe offlined his optics and reached.
He could only feel it vaguely at first, but the longer he listened at the door that was his bond with Sunstreaker, the more the door opened and the more he could hear. It wasn't the sweet peace that Prime had been sporting, wasn't the voice of light and reassurance from the visions. No, this was a voice of thunder, of uncompromising strength with the smallest dash of mercy. It fell upon Sunstreaker like a storm, and for a moment Sideswipe was afraid. Afraid of what be left, and how it would react. Because Sideswipe was intimately familiar with how Sunstreaker dealt with authority.
And he had NO IDEA how Sunstreaker would deal with THIS authority.
Sideswipe crawled to his knees, hands reaching and finding Sunstreaker, his arms winding around golden protoform and half-armor, his spark drawn to Sunstreaker's like the second note to the first.
The storm crashed, and Sideswipe felt Sunstreaker try to fight it, but it was a STORM, as insubstantial as wind and rain. So instead Sunstreaker raged at it in that half-place between spark and processor, pain and anger pouring forth like energon from a wound until there was nothing left but the small, shaking kernel of fear he always carried deep within. Fear of losing Sideswipe. Fear of death. Fear of abandonment. Fear of being what he always was: too angry, too aggressive, too arrogant, too violent.
Too much. Too little. Unwanted.
The storm abated. The thunder-voice spoke, and Sideswipe couldn't understand it. It wasn't meant for him. But Sunstreaker heard it, and he trembled for a long, long moment in the abyss between one decision and another.
Then, with his usual bearings-to-the-wall attitude, he decided...and smirked down at Megatron. His optics were brilliant white as he said, "Doesn't change anything." He hooked Megatron's leg up higher. "Still gonna frag you into the ground."
Megatron smirked, and Sunstreaker thrust, and Sideswipe laughed and laughed. Delighted and satisfied and feeling LIGHT, he rolled to the side, utterly unsurprised that he rolled right into Prime. Sideswipe's arms circled Optimus' waist, his momentum carrying them both over again until he could wiggle between Prime's legs and press his swiftly-repressurizing spike against Prime's still-slick valve.
"So," Sideswipe said, circling his hips. "S'later."
"Mmm, so it is," Optimus said, one knee falling to the side.
There was a louder clang from behind him, as, perhaps, might be made by a frontliner and a Lord Protector...doing whatever it was they were doing. Sideswipe laughed, utterly unconcerned as he leaned down to kiss the Prime's smiling mouth, circled his hips once more, and thrust IN.
Optimus' valve cradled Sideswipe with a pulse of acceptance that washed over and into and through and right out the back of the frontliner's spark. It was warm and welcoming and very different from whatever clanging, growling, and apparently very satisfying thing was happening between Sunstreaker and Megatron.
And that was all right, Sideswipe thought. His spark settled down a tiny, comfortable distance from Sunstreaker's, and that was just fine.