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Megatron ex-vented, letting the pillow beneath his helm support it completely. ::Colour?:: Rodimus asked, and Megatron consciously released the tension which had gathered in his shoulders.
::Green.:: he replied, ignoring the twinge of anxiety in his internals. He trusted Rodimus like he had trusted precious few others in his functioning, any hesitation at this point was baseless. Not even Soundwave had been allowed to render him so vulnerable as he was right now. Stripped of his sight and hearing, his sensor crest swaddled in muffling fabric and EM receptors offline by the same custom software patch which had deactivated every sensor in his frame but those tuned to detect pain. A patch he’d allowed Rodimus to slip into his processor, as he lay bound hand and pede to their berth, with an array of weapons at Rodimus’s disposal. It would be so very easy for Rodimus to kill him, it would be so easy to call it an accident, and yet... he had never felt so safe.
::Run through the scene again for me.:: Rodimus ordered, and Megatron resisted the urge to roll his optics.
::You will select a blade. You will score my armour with designs and glyphs I can later choose to keep or to remove. You will take your pleasure from my frame, until we are spent or I tell you to stop.:: he recited dutifully. They had gone back and forth on the specifics for ages before Megatron had simply asked Rodimus to surprise him. If something went too far, that was what their safewords were for.
::Good mech.:: Rodimus’s lips brushed over his, hot enough to burn, and with his senses reduced as they were Megatron couldn’t even tell if he made a sound in reaction. There was a long, agonizing moment of nothingness before he felt the first touch of the blade, a shallow cut across his cheek, then another, a curved one joining them followed by two sharp prods with the knife’s point. Rodimus’s thumb rubbed over the wound, hot enough to prickle but not to cauterise, smearing Megatron’s energon across his cheek, sparking pain from the sensors bared by his cuts. The glyph for Beloved, Megatron realized as the knife trailed down over his lips, tapped little specks of pain like a constellation of energon across the underside of his chin.
::So many options.:: Rodimus mused, resting his hand against Megatron’s throat, hot enough to make his active sensors throb. If he’d been able to sense heat, Megatron thought he might be screaming. He wondered if he was making noise now, if Rodimus was enjoying it. His conjunx did so love it when he was vocal in his pleasure. ::I think, this time, I’ll stick with writing.:: Rodimus told him, and without warning the blade flicked from the underside of Megatron’s chin to bury itself in his shoulder. He spasmed, arching in an instinctual attempt to escape, and Rodimus dragged the blade in a careful curling line.
::Primus, you’re so perfect for this.:: Rodimus cooed as he lifted the blade, cutting another pair of curved lines on either side of the first one, a glyph Megatron didn’t recognize etched deep in the plating of his shoulder. Deep, but not quite piercing his armour. ::My Megatron, so pretty and perfect.:: Rodimus pressed the knife into Megatron’s other shoulder slowly, the hand on Megatron’s throat trailing down to splay over his Autobot badge, hot enough to hurt, to make Megatron wonder if he would need the badge replaced later. Not that he was able to focus on that for long, with Rodimus carving another strange glyph into his other shoulder, slow and methodical and exquisite.
::Mine.:: Rodimus tagged his message with satisfaction as he lifted the knife, and Megatron wondered if that was the glyph now etched into his shoulder armour. Wondered what language Rodimus was writing in, if anyone would recognize it. The possibility excited him more than he’d expected. ::Colour?::
::Green.::
::Good.:: Rodimus pressed his thumb to the familiar glyph on Megatron’s cheek, and Megatron was certain that he must have moaned. ::Gonna carve you up so pretty, Megs. Mark you up like you deserve.::
Megatron trembled, frame tensing with anticipation as Rodimus chose where to sink the knife in next. The blade which sliced through his chestplate without warning was different from the one which had gouged his shoulders, hooked at the end and thick enough it left furrows in his armour instead of deep gashes. Rodimus was quick with it, carving a line of glyphs across Megatron’s chestplate just above the looping lines of his decal, the same few symbols over and over. A declaration of love? A mark of ownership? He couldn’t tell. He hoped the rest of the ship could.
::So pretty.:: Rodimus cooed, and Megatron realized his conjunx’s modesty panel must be open because something just hot enough to prickle discomfort across his plating was dripping onto his abdomen. Rodimus sunk a third blade into the raised ridge in the center of his chest, this one needle-fine, a bare scratch compared to the previous two. He outlined Megatron’s Autobot badge first, and then scratched a set of symbols across the bottom of the plating which bore that symbol. A different set than he’d carved into the flat of Megatron’s chest, a set which he repeated down the segmented length of his torso’s central ridge, the scratching a pleasant buzz against Megatron’s sensors.
The hooked blade sinking into the plating just under his chestplate caught him by surprise, and when he bucked in an instinctive attempt to get away his spike speared up into a searing heat which could only be Rodimus’s valve. ::Color?: Rodimus asked as he thrashed, and Megatron sent back a garbled ping of too much more more more pain. The knife sunk in just above his abdominal vents pulled out as abruptly as it had gone in, and Rodimus removed himself from his spike. ::Megs. Megatron.:: Rodimus grabbed his helm, thumb pressing hot against the glyph Beloved. Megatron swore he could feel fresh energon well up from the cut as it was disturbed.
::Megs, you good?::
::I will be.:: he managed, falling limply to the berth as Rodimus’s lubricant dripped on his carved-up chestplate, searing and stinging in his cuts. ::A little warning would’ve been nice.::
::Sorry.:: Rodimus rubbed over the glyph on Megatron’s cheek again. ::You want any senses back before we keep going? If you want to keep going.::
::I want to.:: Megatron assured him, trying to lift his hand to cup his conjunx’s face and being reminded with the sting of his shoulder carvings and a twinge of stressed cables that he was, in fact, handcuffed to the berth. ::No senses, but could you move my hands behind my back? I’m getting stiff in the shoulders.::
::Yeah, sure, no problem.:: Rodimus bent to press a prickling kiss to his lips, and Megatron was only faintly aware of his limbs being repositioned. Proprioception, when one could only feel that their frame existed where it was in pain, was a funny thing. Rodimus moved his hands down to lie at his hips, the bindings which had held him to the berth now clipped to each other under the small of his back, keeping him from being able to reach up without forcing him to lie atop his own hands. Clever.
He told Rodimus as much, and received a ping of fond amusement in return as his conjunx guided him down the berth slightly, bending his knees to relieve a growing tension he’d not even noticed until it eased. ::Feeling better?:: Rodimus asked, and Megatron nodded.
::I’m green.:: he assured his conjunx, and felt Rodimus kiss first his lips, then the glyph on his cheek. Megatron had half a processor to keep that one, even without knowing quite what it looked like. Rodimus liked it, clearly, and he would hardly mind bearing his conjunx’s adoration on his face.
::Love you.:: Rodimus layered the glyphs thick with earnest affection, and Megatron let himself go lax as his conjunx selected a knife again, setting its blade in the puncture above his abdominal vents. Megatron did his best not to tense as Rodimus cut across the small armour panel, carving only three glyphs, one of which Megatron almost recognized. It was similar to the one Rodimus had worn painted over his spark at their bonding ceremony, or perhaps the same and he just couldn’t tell without seeing it.
::Nyonian.::
::What?:: Rodimus’s hand paused mid-glyph, but only for a moment before continuing in hs smooth, careful cut.
::The glyphs. They’re Nyonian. Like your bonding paints.::
::You only just noticed?:: Rodimus teased, giving the knife an artful twist as he finished his line which punched the air right out of Megatron’s vents. ::You wanna know what I’m writing?::
::Please.:: Megatron trembled, then jerked as Rodimus’s valve rubbed up against his spike, hot enough to light up his pain receptors so bright Megatron could only buck up into the blissful sensation.
::This, says you’re mine.:: Rodimus traced the deep cuts across the front of Megatron’s shoulders. ::This here, lays my claim to your spark.:: he splayed his hand over the writing underneath Megatron’s badge, sinking himself slowly down onto Megatron’s spike. ::This here, promises pain to anyone who tries to touch you.:: he stroked the glyphs carved over Megatron’s vents.
::And my shoulders?:: Megatron asked, fighting not to thrust up into the burning, intoxicating pain of Rodimus’s valve.
::Hot. Rod.:: Rodimus touched first Megatron’s left shoulder, than his right. Megatron would’ve facepalmed if he could. ::Hey, it was the first thing that came to mind!::
::You couldn’t even use your current designation?:: he huffed. ::I’d much rather have Rodimus Prime written on my frame. I was never sparkbonded to you when you were Hot Rod.::
::No.:: he couldn’t see it, but Megatron was certain Rodimus was shaking his helm. ::My name now looks way to close to Optimus’s, and like frag am I letting anyone think it’s someone else’s name etched in your armour.::
::Fair enough.:: Megatron conceded. ::I think I’m nearing my limit.::
::Alright, I’ll do one more set and then make sure we both overload.:: Rodimus patted his cheek, the glyph there twinging slightly, and Megatron did his best to relax as Rodimus leaned over to grab a different knife. ::Next time, I think I’ll work my way up.:: Rodimus mused, sinking the first blade into Megatron’s forearm without warning. ::Tie you standing so I can get your aft, mark up your thighs so every pulse of lubricant has you moaning louder from the sting.::
Megatron jerked as Rodimus finished carving a glyph he recognized, his spike twitching and throbbing in his conjunx’s valve as Rodimus rocked idly on it. ::You’re being really loud, y’kno. Or, I guess you didn’t. You can’t hear yourself, or feel the vibrations of your vocaliser.:: he slashed deep, nearly splitting Megatron’s armour in two across his forearm. ::But yeah, you’ve been nice and loud. I like it. Everyone in this hallway definitely knows you’re gettin’ it. Knows I’m making you moan prettier than any pleasure bot.:: Rodimus’s valve pulsed hotter around his valve, and his conjunx’s laughter and smile were practically tangible in his next comm.
::Just like that, Megsy. Don’t hold back, let our whole command staff know how much you love what I’m doing to you.:: he cut the first line of another glyph, and Megatron bucked up into his conjunx’s burning valve. ::You know what this says, right?:: Rodimus finished the glyph with a flourish, and Megatron writhed as a finger pressed into the cut to trace it.
::Hands off.::
::Hands off.:: Rodimus confirmed. ::Cuz you’re mine, Megatron, and anyone who touches you wrong is gonna get a nice permanent reminder.:: the knife sunk into Megatron’s other arm, starting to carve the same glyphs a second time, and Megatron’s whole frame went taut, every sublime ache and blissful agony combining into a white-hot ecstasy. Rodimus clenched tight around his spike, the knife in his arm digging deep enough to bury itself in his strut as his conjunx slumped forward, both their frames twitching and trembling in the aftermath of two unexpected overloads.
::Oops.:: he managed, and Rodimus collapsed on top of him, his cable scraping over Megatron’s port as he tried to plug in with shaking hands. His hearing returned first, and above the ticking of their frames and the dull roar of their combined cooling fans, the first thing Megatron heard was his sparkmate’s laughter.
“Oops.” Rodimus giggled, disengaging himself from Megatron’s array as he slowly turned down Megatron’s pain sensors and turned up the rest, temperature and pressure and pleasure. His EM receptors popped back online to Rodimus’s field wrapping him in affection amusement safety, and finally his optics powered back on, treating him to the sight of his sparkmate’s smiling face. “Have fun?” he asked rhetorically, and Megatron sat up just enough to capture Rodimus’s lips in a non-burning kiss. He could feel that his own lips were tender, raw from the touch of his conjunx’s carefully heated derma during their session, but at the moment he didn’t particularly care.
“Should we do this again-”
“When.” Rodimus interrupted him, coaxing Megatron’s modesty panel closed with a gentle touch and seating himself astride Megatron’s hips. “When we do this again.”
“Alright.” Megatron smiled, letting Rodimus unlatch the cuff which locked around one of his wrists and lift his arm to massage the chafed wires with fingers no longer heated to burning, but just to a comfortable warmth. “Next time, I think I might like you to record it.”
“Really?” Rodimus sat up straighter, field flaring with delight.
“Really.” Megatron nodded, lifting his other wrist as Rodimus dropped a kiss to his freed and soothed one. “I think I would like to know how I sound, when I cannot hear to moderate myself.”
“Loud.” Rodimus chuckled. “You sound loud. I wasn’t kidding when I said the whole hallway definitely knows you got laid.” he removed the thick metal band from around Megatron’s wrist, and pressed his fingers to the sore wires without hesitation, working out the irritation with the ease of long practice. Megatron idly wondered how many other partners Rodimus had cuffed to a berth, how much experience it had taken to get as good at this as he was. “But, if you want, I can definitely find us a nice little camera to record me taking you apart.”
“And here I thought this session was for my sake.” he smiled, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Rodimus’s forehelm crest.
“I thought it would be too.” he conjunx shrugged. “But I really liked it, actually. I think mostly because you were getting off on it so hard.”
“Happy to be of service.” Megatron grinned, and Rodimus swatted him.
“C’mon, you dork. We gotta get you cleaned up before anything gets infected. I got you pretty good in a couple places.” Rodimus slid out of his lap, undoing the ropes which had lashed his pedes to the corners of the berth, and Megatron carefully swung his legs off the edge of their berth.
“If you do go for my legs next time, you’ll have to be ready to clean me where I hang and prop me up on our way to the berth.” he warned, pushing himself upright. His legs shook slightly under him, but no more than he’d expected after a session that intense.
“Noted.” Rodimus nodded, slipping in against his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Now let’s get you in the washrack.”
Megatron hummed his agreement, and let his optics flutter shut as his conjunx steered him across their room. Ratchet wouldn’t allow the deeper cuts on his arms and chassis to go untreated, but Megatron was certain he could convince the CMO to let him keep the one on his cheek.