Fic: All Fired Up
Title: All Fired Up
Author: tainry
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters and concepts copyright HasTak
Warnings: threesome, voyeurism, plug-n-play, explicit robot interface
Prompt: TFA - Sentinel/Jazz/Optimus. Song Wanted: All Fired Up - Pat Benatar. Pre-Earth, Academy or Elite guard days, Elita-1 egging them on maybe?
2314 words.
The last twelve solar cycles of Elite Guard officer training were meant to be the worst they would ever experience, so that anything they had to face afterward would seem easy by comparison. Broadside Prime had sent Elita and her team to this barren, remote planet seeded with Archipelligan battle drones and left them to carve their own path through both natural and artificial hazards from their insertion site to a rendezvous point twenty straight-line kilometrics away. Two solar cycles later, a shuttle would lift them off and take them back to Cybertron.
In that two solar cycles, they had cleared all of the drones. All of them, going off-course to hunt down bands of stragglers who might ambush them later if left functional. And they were still early for the pick-up.
They sprawled on the hillside at the rendezvous, cycling the thin air and coolants, armor smoking and pinging with residual heat from laser-fire and disruptor cannons. Dented, scraped, charred in places, a few rents sparking, none of them were gravely injured but it had been a near thing. Sentinel started laughing first -- that ridiculous giggle coming from such a burly mech. This set the others off; Jazz clutching his bent chest strut, Elita cradling her right arm, Optimus cackling so hard he rolled down the hill, which just made all of them howl the louder. Optimus' damaged hip gimbal was now dislocated, but he could barely feel it, and anyway the shuttle would be picking them up in a handful of mega-cycles. Their laughter-storm eased occasionally, but then Sentinel would giggle again and off they went, helpless.
Finally they quieted, exhaustion setting in, and they concentrated for a while on not slipping into stasis-lock. Sentinel rolled over and put a hand on Jazz's shoulder. "You all right?" One big Archipelligan drone had landed a lucky shot on the Circuit-su 'Bot before Optimus had gotten to them and cut the drone in three.
Jazz grinned. “I’m solid.”
"Elita?" Sentinel peered up at her. She had crawled to the crest of the hill and propped herself up against a boulder, keeping scanners tuned for the shuttle.
She waved with her good arm. "Pff. I'm fine. You guys have seen better solar cycles, though. Optimus? You still online down there?"
"Yeah." He opened a private comm channel to Sentinel. When you feel up to it, would you come down here and put my leg back in? Nether of the others were strong enough to do it, so there was no sense in worrying them about it.
Sentinel groaned as he forced himself to sit up. No problem, buddy. He staggered down the hill, almost falling, and stopped at the bottom next to Optimus, leaning over with his hands on his knees. Optimus' left leg was still attached by structural cabling, but the gimbals were completely out of alignment.
"Slag, Optimus, how'd you do that?"
"I... don't know, actually. That last melee was kind of a blur."
"Bet it hurts like the Pit."
"Don't remind me. Right now I can't feel that leg at all. I think if you rotate it at this angle--" he demonstrated with a hand "--and push really hard it should go back in."
"Thank you, Cadet Medi-bot. I've got it covered, just try not to scream like a protoform." Sentinel knelt and wrapped his arms around Optimus' thigh. As it moved he could feel the joint grating and grinding and they both winced. Optimus braced himself as best he could as Sentinel tightened his grip and gave one sharp downward thrust. The joint reseated with a rather unpleasantly oily ssTHUNGK.
“What are you two doing down there?” Jazz inquired, amused.
Sentinel helped Optimus to his feet and held him close for the few nano-clicks it took for Optimus' optics to stop flickering. They trudged back up to Jazz. By the time they reached him it was hard to tell who was supporting whom. Sentinel eased Optimus down beside Jazz, then collapsed on the small ‘Bot's other side.
From her vantage, Elita smiled down at them with undisguised pride. Her team. They'd been through the Autobot Academy together since the beginning, then Officer training, and now she was sure they’d broken several records on this last exercise run. She hoped they would be assigned together once they were full members of the Elite Guard, but rumor had it that General Stryka had her optics on Jazz for Special Ops. Jazz liked to call them the Fabled Four, but it was he who would probably break up their quartet.
Not yet, though. She watched Jazz reach out to rub Optimus' side. The bigger 'Bot's autonomic repair systems had kicked in, which meant he could feel the damage in his hip now, and he was curled on his side, optics shuttered, lip components pressed in a thin line, his whole body trembling. But Optimus could shake off anything if someone else needed help. Sentinel appeared to be a little less banged up than the others, but he'd been using both lance and shield at full power all this time, and it cost him. He was dangerously low on energon. She opened a private channel. Sentinel needs an infusion, Optimus. I know it's risky without a field tech, but...
Optimus raised his head to look over Jazz at Sentinel. Sentinel's optics were off, and he was very still, almost grey. You’re right. His energy signature is too faint. Optimus opened a ventral panel and disconnected one of his main trunk power lines. Leaning over Jazz, he extended it toward Sentinel. Understanding, Jazz opened Sentinel's ventral panel and connected the power line, though he flinched as the movement jarred his chest strut.
There was no draw on the line at first, so Optimus pushed energon through, until Sentinel stirred and pulled, unevenly at first, then steady as the infusion revived him.
Sentinel took more than he needed, more than he meant to. The feel of Optimus’ fuel in his lines was so sweet he couldn’t help it.
Between them, Jazz hummed to the thrumming of the line draped across his chest. The field generated by flowing energon, even dampened by the line’s insulation, was doing intriguing things to the outer casing of his spark chamber. He fingered the line, moving it around on his chest experimentally. Until he found one little spot where the fields did something really weird and Jazz’s vocalizer hitched and he tried not to move but he was at the bright edge of the slide down into inevitability and-
At Jazz’s gasp, Sentinel shook himself and realized he was pulling too much - and Optimus wasn’t stopping him. “Enough!” Sentinel groaned and shut off the flow, yanking the line free and slamming his ventral plate. Jazz squawked a protest and Optimus bared his teeth, vents hissing, his face visibly heated. Optimus reeled in and reconnected his power line, closing his own ventral compartment with a hand that shook.
Propping himself up on one elbow, Sentinel grinned at them. Jazz was a high-tuned ‘Bot always ready for a little cable-tossing, but somehow it was more fun to get Optimus overclocked. Oh, they were all usually fired up after a strenuous exercise - and this had been more strenuous than usual, even for them - but Optimus was so responsive right now... Lip components parted, optics vivid, engine revving. It was hard to keep one’s servos off him when he looked like that.
Grabbing Optimus by the audials, he pulled him across Jazz for a kiss. Optimus caught himself on his left-side limbs to keep from jarring Jazz, and cried out into Sentinel’s mouth. Such a small taste of Optimus was never enough, but they were too battered for the usual games. Sentinel cupped Optimus’ chin in one hand, helping him balance to take the weight off that bad leg, even as their kiss turned rough around the edges.
Jazz watched their mouths shoving at each other above him. Getting between Sentinel and Optimus was hazardous. But sometimes also worth the risk. Reaching out with both hands, he groped for sensitive junctions. The lateral edge of Sentinel’s chest plate, the medial border of Optimus’ hip gimbal on the undamaged side. Sentinel alternately twitched from and pressed against Jazz’s inquisitive servo, never losing his grip on Optimus. Moaning softly, Optimus held little back, reacting with dizzying candor and desire.
The vibrations from Optimus’ vocalizer washed through Sentinel’s face and neck, out to the shoulders. Between that and what Jazz was doing beneath them, he felt his control slipping, and Optimus’ balance slipping, and Jazz’s hands slipping, and it would be better if he landed on Optimus and both of them not on Jazz. He pushed Optimus back, following him over to crash beside Jazz, again muffling Optimus’ shout with a kiss.
Elita swayed on her perch. Her equilibrial circuits must be fried. Why had she never thought of watching them before, instead of jumping on top of the mech-pile like she usually did? Her lip components ached with wanting to kiss them, and her core temperature was red-lining.
“Frag, you two. Give Jazz a little attention, too,” she called. After a somewhat busy pause, three overheated ‘Bots stared up at her.
“Why don’t you come down here and join us?” Sentinel offered, waggling his optic ridges at her.
“Are you kidding? No way. I have the best seat in the house.”
“You surely do,” Jazz said, leering.
Elita laughed. If she’d had the energy, she’d have gotten up and shaken the part in question at them.
“Come on, Elita,” Sentinel coaxed. “I got a download for ya.”
“Mmhmm. I’ll take you up on that after a good long recharge.”
She laughed again as he yelped and squirmed in mid-smirk. His lapse of attention had given Optimus and Jazz the opportunity to take advantage, and they knew just which seams and joints to go for to make Sentinel’s vocalizer seize up.
Ignoring the pain, Jazz turned on his side. This way he could cradle Optimus’ head with his left hand, thumb caressing that long, hard-edged jaw; leaving his right free to roam wherever his whim dictated - in this case up under Sentinel’s pauldron. He laughed a little, watching Sentinel writhe. Optimus turned his head to nuzzle Jazz’s fingers, optics bright and hot, and Jazz shivered with the clear intention he saw there. Sentinel tended to monopolize Optimus’ private frequency, but with a little finesse, Jazz could always get through. Mech-piles are fun, mmhmm, but one a’ these days, Optimus, I’m gonna get you alone, and we’ll see what kinda fun we have, just you and me. He sang each word through his emotional processors, charging the transmission with fire and starlight, sub-harmonics purring with a deep desire that wouldn’t be easily or swiftly allayed.
Optimus stared at Jazz, moaning helplessly as Sentinel went for his neck cables. J-Jazz…I… “AaaahNNNN!” His shout echoed on the hills as aquamarine static chased across his armor, overload lifting himself and Sentinel off the ground.
“Slag, he goes off easy,” Elita muttered, biting her fingers. She had her panels open, squeezing and rubbing certain power conduits. There was something fiercely exciting about seeing Optimus sprawled inert and senseless, lip components curved in a sated smile.
Sentinel dragged his hands and mouth down Optimus’ body, biting and scratching planes and edges, drawing sparks, his engine growling loud now that Optimus’ had gone to a barely-there, quiescent hum. Planetary night was coming. Optics glowed in the twilight, Sentinel crawling off Optimus, moving slowly, core vents cycling hard and, oh yes, Jazz was going to get it now, and wasn’t that just fine, bent chest strut or no, and Jazz’s teeth flashed pale, challenging him. Jazz’s legs drew up, feet brushing Sentinel’s sides in lazy curves.
CLANG! A sharp kick sent Sentinel flying, up and over, landing on his back with Jazz following his trajectory precisely, pouncing on top, able to pin Sentinel’s hands above his head because neither of them had the reserves left to struggle much. Slithering against him nice and easy, chest strut blazing, Jazz made himself comfortable, settling in for a leisurely kiss, tasting Optimus’ fields in Sentinel’s mouth. Sentinel’s kisses had teeth in them.
Jazz laughed and drew his hands down Sentinel’s arms slowly, sweeping over his shoulders and chest, closing in to grip the back of his helm. You’re next, big guy.
Think so, do you?
Smiling against his lip components, Jazz danced his fingertips over Sentinel’s antennae, feeling the charge build already. Yeah. Elita’s up there, wants to see you overload. Wants to hear you shout his name while you can still shout. Faster, up and down the little silver columns tipped with gold. To free Sentinel’s mouth Jazz turned his face, nibbling along his jaw. Better hurry, she’s about to tip over herself, got her hands all up in her own chassis. And Sentinel strained against him, arching his neck to look up at her, seeing exactly what Jazz described - and falling into the abyss.
Jazz held on, grinning as the big ‘Bot cried out the promised name, and the static from Sentinel’s overload tickled him right over, too, laughing into bright white oblivion.
“Jazz,” Elita gasped, “you slagger…” She’d been so close since Optimus had charged out, but she’d held off, not wanting to miss anything. Now she let herself go, wondering where she got the fuel to shake so hard in what was surely the most CPU-rattling overload she’d ever had.
A mega-cycle later, Elita’s optics reactivated. She gazed up through the sky, watching the stars. A meteor flashed across her field of view just before her internal alerts told her the shuttle came through the space bridge. From here it looked like a sign proclaiming the brightness of their future. The future they would forge for themselves. She was sure of it.
Author: tainry
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Characters and concepts copyright HasTak
Warnings: threesome, voyeurism, plug-n-play, explicit robot interface
Prompt: TFA - Sentinel/Jazz/Optimus. Song Wanted: All Fired Up - Pat Benatar. Pre-Earth, Academy or Elite guard days, Elita-1 egging them on maybe?
2314 words.
The last twelve solar cycles of Elite Guard officer training were meant to be the worst they would ever experience, so that anything they had to face afterward would seem easy by comparison. Broadside Prime had sent Elita and her team to this barren, remote planet seeded with Archipelligan battle drones and left them to carve their own path through both natural and artificial hazards from their insertion site to a rendezvous point twenty straight-line kilometrics away. Two solar cycles later, a shuttle would lift them off and take them back to Cybertron.
In that two solar cycles, they had cleared all of the drones. All of them, going off-course to hunt down bands of stragglers who might ambush them later if left functional. And they were still early for the pick-up.
They sprawled on the hillside at the rendezvous, cycling the thin air and coolants, armor smoking and pinging with residual heat from laser-fire and disruptor cannons. Dented, scraped, charred in places, a few rents sparking, none of them were gravely injured but it had been a near thing. Sentinel started laughing first -- that ridiculous giggle coming from such a burly mech. This set the others off; Jazz clutching his bent chest strut, Elita cradling her right arm, Optimus cackling so hard he rolled down the hill, which just made all of them howl the louder. Optimus' damaged hip gimbal was now dislocated, but he could barely feel it, and anyway the shuttle would be picking them up in a handful of mega-cycles. Their laughter-storm eased occasionally, but then Sentinel would giggle again and off they went, helpless.
Finally they quieted, exhaustion setting in, and they concentrated for a while on not slipping into stasis-lock. Sentinel rolled over and put a hand on Jazz's shoulder. "You all right?" One big Archipelligan drone had landed a lucky shot on the Circuit-su 'Bot before Optimus had gotten to them and cut the drone in three.
Jazz grinned. “I’m solid.”
"Elita?" Sentinel peered up at her. She had crawled to the crest of the hill and propped herself up against a boulder, keeping scanners tuned for the shuttle.
She waved with her good arm. "Pff. I'm fine. You guys have seen better solar cycles, though. Optimus? You still online down there?"
"Yeah." He opened a private comm channel to Sentinel. When you feel up to it, would you come down here and put my leg back in? Nether of the others were strong enough to do it, so there was no sense in worrying them about it.
Sentinel groaned as he forced himself to sit up. No problem, buddy. He staggered down the hill, almost falling, and stopped at the bottom next to Optimus, leaning over with his hands on his knees. Optimus' left leg was still attached by structural cabling, but the gimbals were completely out of alignment.
"Slag, Optimus, how'd you do that?"
"I... don't know, actually. That last melee was kind of a blur."
"Bet it hurts like the Pit."
"Don't remind me. Right now I can't feel that leg at all. I think if you rotate it at this angle--" he demonstrated with a hand "--and push really hard it should go back in."
"Thank you, Cadet Medi-bot. I've got it covered, just try not to scream like a protoform." Sentinel knelt and wrapped his arms around Optimus' thigh. As it moved he could feel the joint grating and grinding and they both winced. Optimus braced himself as best he could as Sentinel tightened his grip and gave one sharp downward thrust. The joint reseated with a rather unpleasantly oily ssTHUNGK.
“What are you two doing down there?” Jazz inquired, amused.
Sentinel helped Optimus to his feet and held him close for the few nano-clicks it took for Optimus' optics to stop flickering. They trudged back up to Jazz. By the time they reached him it was hard to tell who was supporting whom. Sentinel eased Optimus down beside Jazz, then collapsed on the small ‘Bot's other side.
From her vantage, Elita smiled down at them with undisguised pride. Her team. They'd been through the Autobot Academy together since the beginning, then Officer training, and now she was sure they’d broken several records on this last exercise run. She hoped they would be assigned together once they were full members of the Elite Guard, but rumor had it that General Stryka had her optics on Jazz for Special Ops. Jazz liked to call them the Fabled Four, but it was he who would probably break up their quartet.
Not yet, though. She watched Jazz reach out to rub Optimus' side. The bigger 'Bot's autonomic repair systems had kicked in, which meant he could feel the damage in his hip now, and he was curled on his side, optics shuttered, lip components pressed in a thin line, his whole body trembling. But Optimus could shake off anything if someone else needed help. Sentinel appeared to be a little less banged up than the others, but he'd been using both lance and shield at full power all this time, and it cost him. He was dangerously low on energon. She opened a private channel. Sentinel needs an infusion, Optimus. I know it's risky without a field tech, but...
Optimus raised his head to look over Jazz at Sentinel. Sentinel's optics were off, and he was very still, almost grey. You’re right. His energy signature is too faint. Optimus opened a ventral panel and disconnected one of his main trunk power lines. Leaning over Jazz, he extended it toward Sentinel. Understanding, Jazz opened Sentinel's ventral panel and connected the power line, though he flinched as the movement jarred his chest strut.
There was no draw on the line at first, so Optimus pushed energon through, until Sentinel stirred and pulled, unevenly at first, then steady as the infusion revived him.
Sentinel took more than he needed, more than he meant to. The feel of Optimus’ fuel in his lines was so sweet he couldn’t help it.
Between them, Jazz hummed to the thrumming of the line draped across his chest. The field generated by flowing energon, even dampened by the line’s insulation, was doing intriguing things to the outer casing of his spark chamber. He fingered the line, moving it around on his chest experimentally. Until he found one little spot where the fields did something really weird and Jazz’s vocalizer hitched and he tried not to move but he was at the bright edge of the slide down into inevitability and-
At Jazz’s gasp, Sentinel shook himself and realized he was pulling too much - and Optimus wasn’t stopping him. “Enough!” Sentinel groaned and shut off the flow, yanking the line free and slamming his ventral plate. Jazz squawked a protest and Optimus bared his teeth, vents hissing, his face visibly heated. Optimus reeled in and reconnected his power line, closing his own ventral compartment with a hand that shook.
Propping himself up on one elbow, Sentinel grinned at them. Jazz was a high-tuned ‘Bot always ready for a little cable-tossing, but somehow it was more fun to get Optimus overclocked. Oh, they were all usually fired up after a strenuous exercise - and this had been more strenuous than usual, even for them - but Optimus was so responsive right now... Lip components parted, optics vivid, engine revving. It was hard to keep one’s servos off him when he looked like that.
Grabbing Optimus by the audials, he pulled him across Jazz for a kiss. Optimus caught himself on his left-side limbs to keep from jarring Jazz, and cried out into Sentinel’s mouth. Such a small taste of Optimus was never enough, but they were too battered for the usual games. Sentinel cupped Optimus’ chin in one hand, helping him balance to take the weight off that bad leg, even as their kiss turned rough around the edges.
Jazz watched their mouths shoving at each other above him. Getting between Sentinel and Optimus was hazardous. But sometimes also worth the risk. Reaching out with both hands, he groped for sensitive junctions. The lateral edge of Sentinel’s chest plate, the medial border of Optimus’ hip gimbal on the undamaged side. Sentinel alternately twitched from and pressed against Jazz’s inquisitive servo, never losing his grip on Optimus. Moaning softly, Optimus held little back, reacting with dizzying candor and desire.
The vibrations from Optimus’ vocalizer washed through Sentinel’s face and neck, out to the shoulders. Between that and what Jazz was doing beneath them, he felt his control slipping, and Optimus’ balance slipping, and Jazz’s hands slipping, and it would be better if he landed on Optimus and both of them not on Jazz. He pushed Optimus back, following him over to crash beside Jazz, again muffling Optimus’ shout with a kiss.
Elita swayed on her perch. Her equilibrial circuits must be fried. Why had she never thought of watching them before, instead of jumping on top of the mech-pile like she usually did? Her lip components ached with wanting to kiss them, and her core temperature was red-lining.
“Frag, you two. Give Jazz a little attention, too,” she called. After a somewhat busy pause, three overheated ‘Bots stared up at her.
“Why don’t you come down here and join us?” Sentinel offered, waggling his optic ridges at her.
“Are you kidding? No way. I have the best seat in the house.”
“You surely do,” Jazz said, leering.
Elita laughed. If she’d had the energy, she’d have gotten up and shaken the part in question at them.
“Come on, Elita,” Sentinel coaxed. “I got a download for ya.”
“Mmhmm. I’ll take you up on that after a good long recharge.”
She laughed again as he yelped and squirmed in mid-smirk. His lapse of attention had given Optimus and Jazz the opportunity to take advantage, and they knew just which seams and joints to go for to make Sentinel’s vocalizer seize up.
Ignoring the pain, Jazz turned on his side. This way he could cradle Optimus’ head with his left hand, thumb caressing that long, hard-edged jaw; leaving his right free to roam wherever his whim dictated - in this case up under Sentinel’s pauldron. He laughed a little, watching Sentinel writhe. Optimus turned his head to nuzzle Jazz’s fingers, optics bright and hot, and Jazz shivered with the clear intention he saw there. Sentinel tended to monopolize Optimus’ private frequency, but with a little finesse, Jazz could always get through. Mech-piles are fun, mmhmm, but one a’ these days, Optimus, I’m gonna get you alone, and we’ll see what kinda fun we have, just you and me. He sang each word through his emotional processors, charging the transmission with fire and starlight, sub-harmonics purring with a deep desire that wouldn’t be easily or swiftly allayed.
Optimus stared at Jazz, moaning helplessly as Sentinel went for his neck cables. J-Jazz…I… “AaaahNNNN!” His shout echoed on the hills as aquamarine static chased across his armor, overload lifting himself and Sentinel off the ground.
“Slag, he goes off easy,” Elita muttered, biting her fingers. She had her panels open, squeezing and rubbing certain power conduits. There was something fiercely exciting about seeing Optimus sprawled inert and senseless, lip components curved in a sated smile.
Sentinel dragged his hands and mouth down Optimus’ body, biting and scratching planes and edges, drawing sparks, his engine growling loud now that Optimus’ had gone to a barely-there, quiescent hum. Planetary night was coming. Optics glowed in the twilight, Sentinel crawling off Optimus, moving slowly, core vents cycling hard and, oh yes, Jazz was going to get it now, and wasn’t that just fine, bent chest strut or no, and Jazz’s teeth flashed pale, challenging him. Jazz’s legs drew up, feet brushing Sentinel’s sides in lazy curves.
CLANG! A sharp kick sent Sentinel flying, up and over, landing on his back with Jazz following his trajectory precisely, pouncing on top, able to pin Sentinel’s hands above his head because neither of them had the reserves left to struggle much. Slithering against him nice and easy, chest strut blazing, Jazz made himself comfortable, settling in for a leisurely kiss, tasting Optimus’ fields in Sentinel’s mouth. Sentinel’s kisses had teeth in them.
Jazz laughed and drew his hands down Sentinel’s arms slowly, sweeping over his shoulders and chest, closing in to grip the back of his helm. You’re next, big guy.
Think so, do you?
Smiling against his lip components, Jazz danced his fingertips over Sentinel’s antennae, feeling the charge build already. Yeah. Elita’s up there, wants to see you overload. Wants to hear you shout his name while you can still shout. Faster, up and down the little silver columns tipped with gold. To free Sentinel’s mouth Jazz turned his face, nibbling along his jaw. Better hurry, she’s about to tip over herself, got her hands all up in her own chassis. And Sentinel strained against him, arching his neck to look up at her, seeing exactly what Jazz described - and falling into the abyss.
Jazz held on, grinning as the big ‘Bot cried out the promised name, and the static from Sentinel’s overload tickled him right over, too, laughing into bright white oblivion.
“Jazz,” Elita gasped, “you slagger…” She’d been so close since Optimus had charged out, but she’d held off, not wanting to miss anything. Now she let herself go, wondering where she got the fuel to shake so hard in what was surely the most CPU-rattling overload she’d ever had.
A mega-cycle later, Elita’s optics reactivated. She gazed up through the sky, watching the stars. A meteor flashed across her field of view just before her internal alerts told her the shuttle came through the space bridge. From here it looked like a sign proclaiming the brightness of their future. The future they would forge for themselves. She was sure of it.