Title: Candy From Strangers, Pt. 17
Warnings: Completely inappropriate questions, bartered favors, porn, BDSM talk, and roleplay.
Rating: R?
Continuity: IDW & G1, Beast Wars
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Prompts from Tumblr.
Note: the Nautilator/D.J.D. ficlet once in this chapter has been moved to 'Gone Fishing.'
You are Ramjet, Rattrap, Starscream, Shockwave, Chromedome, and Onslaught.
[* * * * *]
Optimus Prime - "When did you lose your virginity?"
[* * * * *]
"I can't believe you submitted that!" Thrust hoots, toasting you. You reach across the table and tap cubes with him, grinning like a loon.
"I can't believe the Autodorks have an open Ask box!" you crow back, one hand still on the keyboard as you browse the official Autobot homepage. The humans are only just getting with the idea of a worldwide information network, and of course the squishy-loving Autobots are right there helping set the thing up. Their profiles page is the most toned-down useless thing you've ever read, but their 'Causes of the Great War' essay had the common room in stitches when you read it out loud. Discovering an Ask box at the bottom hadn't calmed the hilarity down. "It's just asking to be taken advantage of! C'mon, the whole ecosystem on this dirtball's based on sex - I couldn't have sent in the first question!"
It really does boggle your mind. There's no guidelines, no banned question list. The Autobots just have a blank box inviting 'Everyone On Earth' to ask any question. Not even any relevant question, or restricting the species of the asker. Like, what the slag? You're on Earth. Thrust is on Earth. Whoever set this up either didn't think about the obvious loophole, or they're prepared for a barrage of rude questions from bored Decepticons.
You can see Thrust get the idea the same moment you do. "We gotta tell Megatron," you both say at the same time, matching evil grins spreading across your faces.
Sure, it's a potential information leak if someone can use it to hack into Teletraan-1, but you doubt it'll be useful for that. More importantly, you've just got to see what Megatron asks. He may scare the wings off you as a commander, but anyone capable of taking Starscream's ego down in five words or less will love this little ask box.
The portable keyboard on the table pings at you, and you grin. "Whoa, look! They answered! They actually fragging well answered!"
Six chairs overturn in the rush to cluster around you. "This is going to be good."
"Think their Security Director's set up automatic 'frag off' messages yet?"
"What's the Prime's diplomatic version of 'you should be ashamed of yourself for asking'? This I've got to see."
You click open the message, and it's fortunate you're not acutely claustrophobic with the way everyone swoops down around you to eagerly read.
Dead silence fills the common room.
After a while, you realize your jaw is in your lap. "Uh…I wasn't…I…at least he's honest?" Honesty was an Autobot trait, supposedly. You just didn't know it applied to stuff like this.
A distinct humming noise comes from directly behind you. Thundercracker doesn't even notice when you twist to stare at him. He's still reading, optics glazing as lust slowly heated him. Three more sets of fans hum on. Your neck hurts from turning back and forth to gape.
Fair enough, it's a good story. Definitely not one you expected the Prime to admit to.
There's only one thing you can do in this situation. "Somebody go get Soundwave. I want an image capture of him when I hand this over."
[* * * * *]
Blast Off - "Do you have any unusual kinks/fetishes?"
[* * * * *]
You twitch. "Wh-what?" Is this guy serious? You're applying to a warehouse position, not one in a brothel!
The shuttle interviewing you won't meet your incredulous look. "Do you have any - "
"I heard you the first time!" For love of money and ammunition, he's serious. "Why is that relevant?!" Oops, maybe you should have denied having any before asking why it's need-to-know information. But you're really kind of rattled at the moment, because who the frag asks that during a job interview? For a non-brothel job, anyway.
You knew you should have sent your resume in to the road maintenance crew instead.
A sigh. "I realize this is a slightly…discomfiting question to ask you at this point in our relationship - "
"What relationship?" you ask in a shrill voice. When did reality turn on end? "I applied for hauling stock and loading transport vessels, not covering you in flavored oils and taking you down to the Red Light district for dinner and show! What is this?!" Fumbling in your haste, you paw at your side storage unit until you find the flimsy with the job information. It makes a disproportionately loud noise as you slap it down on the desk between you. "Am I in the right office?! Is this Orbital Transport Inc., or did I take a wrong turn downstairs?!"
His vents click open and closed audibly, and now you know what a flustered shuttle looks like. It's not a bad look on this guy, but you're a bit too out of your comfort zone to appreciate it right this second.
"I, ah, oh." He tries to cover it, but mask and visor don't stop his heat shielding from clamping tight to his body in visible alarm. You see the faint orange lines of a heads-up display as he apparently pulls up his schedule, and suddenly he's standing and covering the world's most embarrassed stammer as he reaches across the desk to pull the flimsy toward him. "I-I - My apologies. The office secretary switched my schedule around so that I now work the first shift instead of the second, which is when I assumed the job interviews are - well, they're normally scheduled then, and this time was scheduled for a more personal interview that I - I, uh. A different sort of - of - I really must apologize!"
"No no, it's okay!" you blurt without thinking, partly because you get secondhand embarrassment far too easily in these situations but mostly because your chance of getting this job out of sheer mortification on the interviewer's part just shot up. Hopefully you won't have to work with this guy directly. "Maybe we can start over?"
His visor, pale from fear of the sexual harassment legal case he's probably picturing being brought down on him, goes blank in relief. "Yes. That - that would be good. If you don't, um, feel too awkward being interviewed by me..?" One hand reaches toward the desk intercom as if to call in someone else to conduct the interview.
Slag no, you're not going to give up your advantage. "No, this's fine." You want a glowing review of you and nothing less, or you're going to this shuttle's boss. A sexual harassment complaint will look really bad on his employee record, you're certain he's highly aware of.
He swallows and settles back in his seat. "Very well. I'm glad you, ah. You still want to work with us," he says somewhat lamely. You do feel a little bad for him. He's just got that attitude of a high-class mech about him, and now he's trying to regain that. It doesn't work so well.
"As I said earlier," cue the awkward hitch in his voice, "my name is Blast Off, and I'll be interviewing you today." There's a brief hesitation. "For the position in the warehouse."
It's kind of cute how he tries to cover just how nervous you make him by sitting across the desk like nothing happened. Yup, this is you being all professional. Perfect potential employee, here.
The interview stumbles along, although it smoothes out ten minutes in as Blast Off recovers. You're qualified for the position, and you think you conduct yourself well considering the circumstances. If you don't get the position, you're not above blackmail. He probably knows that, too.
It's nice that you understand each other. You like working relationships like that.
He does surprise you when you leave, 45 minutes later. You expect him to stand up and walk you to the door, because that's polite. You don't expect the hand on your shoulder, not after the distinctly personal beginning to the interview. Tensing a bit, you look up at him warily.
"I look forward to working with you in the future, Brawl," he says formally, and you relax. "Perhaps we'll find we share some interests."
You twitch.
[* * * * *]
Rattrap - "Most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to you during sex?"
[* * * * *]
Whichever the spiders sent the virus, you've got to admit it's entertaining. It doesn't do anything beyond print the occasional embarrassing question across the main screen, but its timing can sometimes be grand, depending on who's sitting in front of the screen at the time.
You lean against the wall and laugh, because you really just have to. "Ehh, Spot's embarrassin' thing is that his hand got tired!"
Cheetor yowls protest - it's the only word that fits - while Optimus whips around to give you an appalled look. "Rattrap! That's uncalled for." He's on the verge of demanding you apologize, you can tell, but sometimes the ape's got your number. "Fine, if that's how you want to play this, then you can answer."
Yeah, okay, that's why you follow this guy, not just because he can toss you around with one hand. You grin and shake your head. "You sure y' want me fillin' little fuzzy ears wit' dis?" You quirk your optic ridge at Cheetor, who's now watching you in eager anticipation. "Hnn. Why not? Fairly recent one. See, I get screamin' somebot's name during, if y' know what I mean, but when y' scream da name of a dead human poet during? Holy Cheese, I ain't gonna just let that slide! So I - "
Optimus Primal's voice is completely level. "Shut up, Rattrap."
You just have to laugh.
[* * * * *]
Rumble & Frenzy - "Is there anybody right now you'd like to have sex with?"
[* * * * *]
He stands by your station for a few minutes before you decide his patience really is infinite. He isn't going to just bugger off and leave you alone. So much for wishful thinking. "What."
"Cassetticons have completed infiltration."
"Imagine my joy," you mutter. In actuality, that's rather good news and you're deeply interested in what the debriefing will uncover. It's in your best interests to wring every scrap of information from the scraplets, because it's going to be your aft on the line when the attack happens. That doesn't mean you have to be gracious about the personal update. It's weird, standing there until you stop what you're doing for his announcement. You're a busy mech, and he interrupted you.
Plus, he's still not leaving you alone. "You couldn't have just sent a notice?" you ask when the Communication Officer fails to go away.
Of everything you expect from Soundwave, a low whisper doesn't make the list. "Appropriate reward for dangerous mission has been approved by Lord Megatron."
You turn and give him a sharp look for the odd tone, and then another one for the actual words. Megatron's policy of assigning reward levels to particularly dangerous missions has always rubbed you the wrong way, because avoiding damage to yourself and your unit should be a given, not a rewards-driven goal. It's just one more point of contention between you and your beloved leader, however, and you're not in the mood to start in on Soundwave over a system he administers. The other officer annoys you, but he didn't set up the system. You'll reserve your ire for Megatron.
For today, anyway.
Urgh. "What level?" you sigh, leaning in. You're aware he's lowered his voice to manipulate you into this, but he pulls off the feeling of a conspiracy so well.
"No damage incurred, all detection by Autobots avoided," he says quietly. "Information on troop deployment and artillery resources retrieved and found to be up to date. Retrieval done without disturbing files. No indication given that Autobots aware of compromised status."
You're immediately distracted by that. "Forward the data to me as you process it," you order, turning back to your console to call up the wingleaders. Plans need to be drawn up sooner than later, to give you the most time to integrate them into Megatron's tactics.
It takes you another couple of minutes to realize he still hasn't gone away. "What?!"
He resets his vocalizer pointedly. "Highest reward level achieved. Cassettes have chosen time slots."
You blink. Time - ? Ah, yes. Three hours with someone of the mech's choice, to do anything within that time frame. Within limits, of course, because one Decepticon's reward can mean another one's torture. "Fine. Who and what?" You are going to move the time slot if it's one of your wingleaders. The fragging Cassetticons can have their fun after the attack.
Did you see that correctly? Did Soundwave just fidget?
Not only was that a fidget, but this time he leans toward you. "Frenzy and Rumble: requested interfacing session." Well, lah dee dah. Good for them. "Request made for same individual. Combined time slot granted." Ugh, that's more than you need to know about the Cassetticons' sex lives. Yeah, you're playing the 'necessary personnel' card and getting your mech out of that one. Six hours of fragging can wait until post-battle celebration. Might be a nice reward from your hand, if you present it wisely. "Requested individual: Starscream."
Your wings flare out, stiff with shock. "I…do not have to comply." Megatron has gone along with the requests on his time, but you're not so stupid. Your rank makes you a target, and you're not above pulling rank to get out of this.
"Compliance optional," Soundwave acknowledges in that same low voice. "Cassetticons: adamant. Soundwave has been sent to negotiate on behalf of Rumble and Frenzy."
You open your mouth and can't think of a single thing to say.
But Soundwave is patient. He'll stand there waiting all day.
[* * * * *]
Shockwave - "Do you watch porn?"
[* * * * *]
You are the Guardian of Cybertron. You are the temporary commander of the Decepticons. Most of whom, out of necessity, you placed into statis in order that they might survive starvation conditions here on the planet. Then you barricaded yourself and your command in a Tower to search for a solution to the energy crisis and wait for Lord Megatron's return.
Those who remain conscious on Cybertron are either Autobots or subordinates.
What kind of question is this? Of course you watch porn.
It's the only logical solution to four million years by yourself.
[* * * * *]
Rewind - "Do you like to be dominant or submissive?"
[* * * * *]
This is the first relationship in a long while where you definitely need him more than he needs you. He has a life. You tried to take your life. He's a mech with a mission and a level of determination to carry it out that you admire more every day. He's tiny, cute, and has a core of titanium. You're desperate to seem calm, cool, and sophisticated instead of a suicidal wreck.
Therefore, you have no idea how to respond to his answer.
All right, you doubt you'll scare him off this easily, not with how you two met. Communication is better than false assumptions.
"What do you mean by that?" you ask cautiously. It hits you that he might be offended, so you rush to reassure him, "There's nothing wrong with being submissive! I just…don't get why you think submissives have the power in a relationship?" It comes out a question, because you're honestly confused. You haven't seen a submissive yet who isn't a beaten, cringing thing standing in the shadow of a dominant. It's why you've been dancing around his hints that he'd like to try different power dynamics in the berth.
He gives you a Look. One of those really speaking ones that make your spark lurch in your chest. You're reaching out for his hand before you even realize you've moved, and if Brainstorm were there, you already know he'd be commenting on the stupid goofy look you're wearing. You can't help it! This little flashdrive makes you feel like a pile of goo just by ducking his head and looking up at you! When he reaches his hand to meet yours, you're already bending down like you'll shelter him against the world.
You are so smitten. Brainstorm is going to mock you for eternity.
"Oh, Domey," Rewind sighs, entwining your fingers. Primus, your hand is huge compared to him. How can you bear to abuse him? How can he like it that way? "Sometimes it's so easy to tell you've only ever been exposed to the bad side of certain things."
You've been a cop and a mnemosurgeon. The only people you've ever worked on in this particular context have been criminals and Decepticons. "There's a good side?" you ask.
He reaches out to cup a hand on the side of your mask, drawing you down for a nuzzle that leaves a tiny tingle of charge. It melts you. Total goo. "Yes. There's a good side."
Holding him close like this as he climbs into your lap and nestles in, you'll believe anything he tells you. "Okay," you say dreamily.
He laughs and wraps his arms around your neck while zapping you with another nuzzle. "I'll teach you, don't worry."
"Looking forward to it." Calm, cool, and sophisticated? Meh. For him, you'll be the happiest, sappiest dominant ever.
[* * * * *]
Chromedome - "Have you ever had a threesome? If not, would you?"
[* * * * *]
A tickling sensation wells up in your throat, which is interesting because you don't even breathe through that particular tube. You cough anyway. Some circumstances apparently require an uncomfortable cough, and the quota must be met somehow, since neither Prowl nor Rewind are jumping in to do their part.
In fact, neither of them looks upset by this question at all. They slowly turned to glare past you at each other, instead.
Coughing was a bad idea. The mutual glare turns on you.
"Chromedome," one or the other of them starts in a deceptively nice voice, and the other finishes, "what was that you just said?"
That's when you know you're doomed. Adaptus save you, it's your private erotic dream come true, and it's been a nightmare in disguise all along. There is no way on Cybertron you can escape this unscathed.
"…maybe..?"
[* * * * *]
Onslaught - "Favourite sex position?" & "Something that will never fail to get you horny?"
[* * * * *]
"Bet I can," Vortex says, stretching his arms above his head lazily.
You don't bother looking away from your work. You may be the commander of a gestalt, but Soundwave's subtle indication of your actual rank was to assign you a blank stretch of corridor as your office. It's either the common room or the closet masquerading as the shared Combaticon quarters for workspace, and the common room is currently quieter. Blast Off and Brawl are on a mission to get revenge on the Coneheads for their rash of petty pranks, and you're not about to try working around those two interfacing as loud as they can. Between a tank and a shuttle, their engines can rattle loose bolts in the walls, and that's not counting the speaker system Swindle loaned them. Somebody named Yoko Ono's been playing on repeat, and the feedback is guaranteed to give passersby in the hallway processor aches. The neighbors? Ha!
It's the small things in life that you savor. The three Coneheads trying to recharge next door will regret pranking your team.
That does put you in the common room, however, and that's where Vortex entered your afternoon. Because he's writing a report, and you're combing through technical manuals, and neither one of you has an office to work in. Therefore: common room. Sharing the table, even. And this is how you end up fending off Vortex's insistence that he can manipulate you.
It's not worth dignifying him with a response. You know him better than ever because of the gestalt bond, and giving him a response is the worst thing you can do.
His visor gleams at the challenge. "You forget, Onslaught," he says lightly as he stands up. "I'm in your head, too."
That bothers you a bit. It's true, but you're not sure if it's applicable to this situation or if he's just trying to mess with your concentration. He walks away, taking his report over to one of the couches, and you glance up long enough to give his back a narrow look. The rotor blades give you no answers. He slumps down and gets back to work. Hmmph.
After about five minutes, Swindle comes sailing in, which is odd. He shmoozes with other Decepticons, but off-duty time is spent in dealings that don't generally happen in front of witnesses. You give him an inquiring look, but he only waves before he goes over to the couch, too. That's suspicious. Swindle doesn't spend his off-duty time around any of the team.
It's even more suspicious when he looks over the back of the couch and grins, slow and malicious. "Sure, Vortex. I'll get that for you," he states, voice clear and cheerful. A few of the nearest Decepticons glance his way. He stands up again and, oddly, picks an empty tray someone abandoned on the sidetable. He balances it on the fingers of one hand and the edge of his shoulder, while his other hand goes to his hip like the classy serving mechs the upscale bars in Kaon used to hire instead of buying serving 'bots. When he turns, that hip sticks out in a sassy sashay you've never seen him pull before. "I'll be right back," he sing-songs.
"You promise?" Vortex asks, and your visor narrows when his hand shoots out to pinch the conmech's aft. "I might come looking if you're gone too long."
You only realize your vents are coming hot and heavy when the infuriating 'copter puts one elbow on the back of the couch and looks at you. A look that smug deserves to be punched, but you can't stop staring at Swindle doing his little servitor act. He takes his time crossing the room, and its getting far more attention than just your own. There is hip swishing, and he bends unnecessarily low to put a cube in the dispenser. His knees bend one at a time, provocatively waving that aft from side to side, hip joints turning and skidplate popping. And then he stands there fussing at the buttons, and Primus frag you sideways, how did Vortex know -
Mechs are staring. Swindle 'accidentally' splashes energon down his front and turns to face the rest of the room wearing the cutest little moue of distress. You heave air, having stopped breathing temporarily when that aft had been up.
"Oops! Silly me!" That…should not be legal. He doesn't look legal. Especially when he runs his finger up through the fuel and sucks it clean, purple optics sparkling mischief. "How will I get clean now?" he giggles.
"Fetch me a drink, baby!" Skywarp catcalls. It's just like the bars in Kaon, right down to Swindle winking and biting his forefinger at the Seeker. You suffer sudden vivid memories of the servitors getting flirty right before closing, seducing that last drink order out of the last patrons, and you stayed late every time you went because oh sweet Primus he just licked the tip of his finger.
"Only if you tip," Swindle teases, and suddenly there are credits being waved by the Reflector trio and, scrap, is that Bonecrusher beckoning?
Fan overrides fail, and you gulp air as your ventilation system hums onto its highest system.
Vortex stands up and saunters after Swindle as the conmech plays the room. Drink orders and credits in hand, aft scuffed from a pinch here and a sly grope there, the little Jeep sways past him and heads for the dispenser again, still wagging that aft. Vortex follows like he's on a leash, but he spins the smaller mech around and leans in to put a hand over his shoulder, braced against the wall. "You took too long. I want a refund," he says in a voice that doesn't belong anywhere outside a berth.
And Swindle sets his aft right on the dispenser shelf, one leg hiking up to wrap around Vortex's hip and pull him closer. "We~ell, the customer's always right, but a refund goes against policy, you know. I'll just have to ensure customer satisfaction some…other way."
What the frag. What the frag. Did Vortex somehow mainline into your fetish scenario hindbrain when the Combaticons combined?! This is not fair!
The 'copter puts both hands on Swindle's legs and runs them up until he gets a double handful of the house specialty. Your fans spin erratically as you wheeze a bit, losing control entirely over your body. Neither of them look in your direction, but you can feel the gestalt bond ping you just to make sure you're paying attention as Swindle reaches back and flicks the dispenser on, dousing aft and hands alike.
"Hey, we have to get rations out of that!" someone yells.
"Shut up!" the rest of the room shouts back.
You look at Vortex pressing Swindle into the wall, Vortex's fingers in Swindle's mouth and a mess of fuel spilling over the Jeep's thighs. They're legs and arms and purring engines as they banter back and forth, and Vortex was absolutely right. He can manipulate you.
You whimper quietly.
[* * * * *]
First Aid - "Would you prefer sex in the bath or sex in the shower?"
[* * * * *]
"Both are highly dangerous, and I urge you to be more cautious in your sexual encounters! Fantasies are all well and good, but in reality? No, no, combining sex and copious amounts of slippery fluids is a horrible idea!" Worried, he gives you the widest visor you've ever seen. "Please don't."
What can you say besides, "Uh…yeah. Okay?"
This is the worst reaction to a pick-up line you've ever gotten. It's hard to picture yourself interfacing with a mech who cites statistics from dangerous locations people choose for a quick frag. Ten minutes of that will kill anyone's charge.
You sigh and settle in for another night of platonic company.
[* * * * *]
Prowl - "Weirdest place you've had sex?"
[* * * * *]
"They are rather brazen," Optimus says, and he sounds almost like he admires the Decepticons.
You read the latest crude question and shake your head. "Indeed. Let me handle this." You type for a second and submit the answer, and Red Alert and Ironhide both burst out laughing.
"Nice, my mech," Blaster chokes out around his own case of giggles. "Nice. I can feel Soundwave having a paranoia attack from here."
You smile. "I rather hope Megatron jumps right out of his command chair."
Optimus laughs. "Would it be overkill to send a gift-wrapped bottle of bleach?"
"Hm. He might appreciate the help sterilizing everything in his office. I didn't, you notice, specify what surface I was on."
[* * * * *]