Indulgence

Cosmos, for the most part, was not entirely clear on what had landed him in this current position. It was mostly a matter of simply being there at the wrong time – his presence, his intrusion had been a mistake, certainly, but Cosmos figured that he could be forgiven for the folly. He had, after all, rarely come to visit the Ark and therefore had seemingly lost sight of the nuances that were indicative of a need for privacy. He had little mind for who was in what room at any given time, although it should have occurred to him – although it didn’t – that a closed door in an otherwise very open ship probably meant that those on the other side preferred some measure of privacy, even if the door wasn’t actually locked.

Of course, none of these thoughts had occurred to Cosmos at the time. He was, as he always was, quite excitable at the idea of visiting the Ark itself. Given the rarity of direct interaction with the other Autobots, he had been almost bubbling with excitement when Optimus had extended the invitation. Cosmos was amiable by nature, but lacked close friends or even acquaintances among the troops, with the exception of maybe Blaster. In the end, Cosmos’s place was out in the stars, although he wasn’t embittered by his post – but now and then, it got a little lonely and he wished just a little bit that he had a different alt mode.

Optimus had wanted to talk to him about a mission. Of course, that would be the only reason for the invitation. That didn’t bother Cosmos, because that was Optimus’ job and it wasn’t up to his leader to provide any sort of socialization for the lonely ‘bot. Cosmos was simply pleased that he had been entrusted with this new task, instead of Omega Supreme or Silverbolt. He would even have help on the actual mission rather than just the transportation – although he had not yet worked out the details, so he had no idea who would be accompanying him. Whatever the case, he wasn’t going to be leaving until the following day, and it would be a waste of energy to leave Earth now, only to come back and have to retrieve whoever was to go with him. So, Cosmos opted to stay put for the duration of the night and leave the following evening when Optimus felt comfortable with their strategy. Barring any major interferences from Megatron or any other Decepticons, they could leave relatively soon.

Cosmos was almost bouncing with excitement. He had always gotten along with most of the troops. Most of them seemed quite polite to him, if nothing else. Sideswipe was always there for a good laugh, Blaster and Jazz were always there for a good tune, and even Mirage could recount incredibly interesting stories about the higher class – a world that Cosmos had little understanding of and therefore found irrevocably fascinating.

He could think of few Autobots he would rather not spend time with. Cliffjumper, of course, was always a bit trying to talk to because he had such a penchant for anger, but Cosmos rarely did anything that would validate a personal attack by the minibot. Gears was always a bit too complaintive and a bit too abrupt for his taste, but once again, Cosmos rarely invited insult from him. The only other Autobot that Cosmos found even a slight bit intimidating was Sunstreaker.

Of course, there was no particular reason for this reaction – what had Sunstreaker ever done to him? Sunstreaker hadn’t been snappish, he hadn’t been particularly bitter or aggressive, although he had a bit of a reputation for being a very vicious fighter. It was something that Cosmos could never quite define. Surely, there were rumors that Sunstreaker might be more Decepticon than Autobot, but there were similar rumors following Mirage, and Cosmos never, ever had a problem with the racer himself. And Mirage was just as stuck up as Sunstreaker was, to put bluntly, so that couldn’t be the reason either.

In the course of his alliance with Optimus’ troops, Cosmos had exchanged hardly more than two or three words with the Lamborghini. He never particularly minded that Sunstreaker was so vain – because Cosmos was used to that, and he wasn’t particularly bitter over the fact that he himself wasn’t traditionally attractive. He didn’t even mind Sunstreaker’s penchant for violence, because in the end he was just one of many Autobots who took great pleasure in picking fights with Decepticons. Sunstreaker was usually out of his way, socializing with the other Autobots and his twin. Their paths didn’t cross often enough for Cosmos to fret over how to treat the Lamborghini.

In all honesty, Cosmos hadn’t really tried to determine why he distanced himself from the Lamborghini – not until now, at least, but everything was very different now.

When Cosmos opened a door of the Autobot base, he was surprised to find Sunstreaker behind it, because he was quite honestly the farthest thing from Cosmos’s mind. That was the least of Cosmos’s surprise, of course, because it was Sunstreaker’s companion – and their current interaction – that was the source of most stress for the minibot.

In the simplest of words, they were bonding – except that wasn’t quite right. Sunstreaker and Tracks hadn’t spotted Cosmos, and it allowed him a few moments of silent shock to stand frozen at the door. After a few dull moments of inaction, Cosmos’s processors eventually retrieved the word interface. Even thinking the word itself felt unfamiliar and he felt ultimately uncomprehending of the meaning behind it. It was the action of bringing pleasure without initiating a spark bond, therefore not committing oneself to a permanent attachment. The concept was uncomfortable, grimy and slippery in some intangible way that made him feel somewhat overheated from the stress of it.

Tracks had been facing away from him, at an angle that allowed Cosmos to see Sunstreaker nuzzling against the lower paneling of Track’s torso. A few more uncomprehending moments passed before Cosmos made the wary connection between organic interface and the actions that Sunstreaker and Tracks were now indulging it. Except humans didn’t call it interface. They called it sex, or… more bluntly, fucking, except that wasn’t right either, because that implied some sort of penetration and Cosmos didn’t readily understand what Tracks could possibly penetrate with, as Cybertronians did not have phalluses. They instead had a network of wiring in the groin that connected to their legs, feeding power and sensation to the lower extremities.

Cosmos wasn’t really sure what might be so erotic about that, but Tracks seemed heavily enthusiastic about what Sunstreaker was doing – and the strangled, wanton noises he was making was likely the only reason the two companions hadn’t realized the intrusion at all.

Cosmos had stood awkwardly at the doorway, watching Sunstreaker manipulate the paneling and circuitry with his glossa. Sunstreaker deftly teased over what appeared to be very sensitive junctures in the wiring, his fingers tugging coyly at any loose cables he could get a hold of. Tracks, finding this agreeable, thrust his hips upwards and arched his back, moaning loudly enough to make Cosmos’s spark tighten with sheer embarrassment. He wasn’t aroused – that idea was just as foreign to him as everything else he was witnessing – but he was extremely mortified. That, of course, did not exactly explain why, upon attempting to leave, Cosmos had immediately turned around and peered around the edge of the doorframe, feeling incredibly guilty but insatiably curious – what did those two find so appealing about touching exposed circuitry? Exposed circuitry meant injury and vulnerability, and Cosmos had always failed to grasp why seeing such a thing might be enticing when it so often meant pain. Tracks even looked like he was in pain, tense and whimpering, intakes sputtering helplessly and internals humming with overexertion – yet he kept asking for more, harder.

Sunstreaker obliged the pleas, but did so with the kind of haughty reluctance that always seemed to overcome Sunstreaker when someone asked for something. It was struck Cosmos that this kind of behavior might be teasing for the sake of eroticism, and that’s when he was certain his logic centers were either short-circuiting or he was starting to get the hang of it. Except, not really – Cosmos was still entirely befuddled over the experience. Of course, it was now the least of his own worries.

Afterwards – but not long afterwards, because it wouldn’t be long until Cosmos would be off on his mission and back in space – Sunstreaker found Cosmos.

Deception was not something that Cosmos particularly excelled in – the need for it had always been lacking, really. After all, what would he have to lie about, especially to his comrades? If there was anything that set Autobots apart from Decepticons, it was their inherent unwillingness to tell a lie, or hold back any misgivings or difficult problems. Even if they weren’t always that close, Cosmos always had comrades to turn to when he found himself troubled.

This was different. For the first time that he could remember, it was necessary for him to keep silent even when his processors were humming with fearful confusion. Why he should be so intimidated wasn’t clear to him, but he felt that if Sunstreaker knew what he had seen, he might feel inclined to alienate Cosmos. And that wouldn’t be particularly hard, considering Cosmos’s utter naivety concerning such delicate matters.

Sunstreaker, clearly, had no qualms in candidness. Upon seeing Cosmos, Sunstreaker had said possibly the most alarming words ever to be directed at the minibot.

‘You saw Tracks and I.’

Cosmos felt something short-circuit in sheer alarm, but he wasn’t certain what it was, and it obviously wasn’t enough to offline him for repair. That was almost a shame, as it would have been a wonderful way to escape the claustrophobic sensation that overtook his body, although the embarrassment upon awakening would only be tenfold. He had to play this casually – as casually as he could muster – because it would be disarming if he let Sunstreaker realize just how off put he was by the whole situation.

‘You mean,’ started Cosmos, his voice wavering. ‘I saw you when you were – I mean, obviously – you were… repairing… Tracks?’

It was a flimsy excuse, and even Cosmos realized that the moment it left his vocal processors. This was only solidified by Sunstreaker giving the minibot a sideways look that seemed caught between surprise and amusement.

Sunstreaker shifted his hips, his hands moving to rest on them, his mouth curving into a smirk. It struck Cosmos very strongly that Sunstreaker was really quite as beautiful as all the Autobots said, not because of his physical appearance – which was striking, of course – but rather because of the way he moved. Cosmos was awkward by nature and he didn’t mind it particularly, but Sunstreaker seemed entirely in sync with every circuit in his body. Everything in his movement seemed to deliberate and so very attractive, and Cosmos suddenly felt horribly inadequate by comparison.

Awkwardly, Cosmos shifted his feet. ‘I didn’t mean to – I mean, I should have realized. I don’t go around the Ark often, you see, and I think I went the wrong way. I should have knocked or um – it wasn’t my intention to–’

‘You’ve never interfaced before, have you?’

It wasn’t so much a question as it was some sort of statement – and an insulting one, too, although Cosmos took care not to get upset. Sunstreaker was still smirking, and he was as arrogant and condescending on the matter as he was on anything else. In the simplest of terms, Sunstreaker probably thought Cosmos was boorish and virginal and terribly ignorant – which wasn’t untrue, but still a bit hurtful. Sunstreaker probably looked down on him, and truthfully Cosmos couldn’t help but feel put off by it, but he was patient and humble so he gave a nervous nod.

‘I don’t have a mate,’ said Cosmos. ‘So no – I wouldn’t – I mean, I haven’t ever–’

Cosmos was surprised how challenging finishing simple sentences was becoming.

‘A mate?’ said Sunstreaker, uncomprehending for a few long moments. Eventually he laughed, soft and deep, making Cosmos tense up. ‘You don’t need a mate to interface – if you think Tracks is my mate, you are indubitably mistaken. I don’t think I can stand him for more than two nano-kliks when we aren’t interfacing.’

Cosmos resisted the urge to point out the similarities between the two Autobots, knowing Sunstreaker would more likely admit to having some fanciful attraction to Starscream than he would admit to being similar to Tracks.

Awkwardly, Cosmos nodded. ‘I know you don’t have to have a bond mate to interface,’ he said, pleased at having finished the thought unbroken. ‘I just haven’t ever… had the opportunity.’

It was highly embarrassing and certainty true, and Cosmos quickly averted his gaze. He’d never been really humiliated about his abstinence until this moment.

Sunstreaker regarded him for a long and silent moment, and Cosmos didn’t feel confident enough to speak. He did chance a quick glance over at Sunstreaker, expecting to see the Lamborghini smirking at his expense. Instead, he found the Lamborghini deep in thought, his brow furrowed over his optics, his mouth tightly closed.

After a few moments, Sunstreaker spoke. ‘You aren’t my usual type,’ he mused. ‘Of course, if you were, I might lose a great deal of respect among the crew.’

Cosmos didn’t understand why Sunstreaker was going down this line of thought, but he felt righteously upset at the words nevertheless, and he was on the verge of telling Sunstreaker – politely yet firmly, and without stammering – that he did not appreciate the insult. However, before he could form some sort of coherency, he found himself distracted by the feel of Sunstreaker’s fingertip tracing the Autobot sigil on his chest. It was nothing more than the softest caress, but Cosmos’s spark leapt powerfully in response nevertheless.

As Cosmos was generally a stranger to the concept of arousal, it was awkward and almost dizzying when his spark began to take a pulse much faster than he was accustomed to. He shifted a bit, his hands clenching uselessly at his sides – he felt like he should grab onto Sunstreaker, but at the same time, he felt like that might breech some sort of barrier he was too nervous to possibly traverse. Instead, he merely stood there, staring up at Sunstreaker dumbly.

Suddenly, too suddenly, Sunstreaker leaned close and – clearly realizing that Cosmos had no mouth to kiss – nuzzled against the minibot’s face plating. It wasn’t affectionate nuzzling by any means, but something more possessive and controlling and intimidating. Cosmos hadn’t realized that such simple actions could have so many nuances, but he nevertheless felt that none of this was going to have anything to do with genuine affection, or even amiability. It was probably more about pity, and Cosmos was certain he didn’t like that thought, but he was also at a total loss of what to say now.

Cautiously, Cosmos nuzzled back, and Sunstreaker seemed pleased with this. His engine rumbled, emitting a low vibration from the center of his chest that – when pressed against Cosmos – even pervaded the minibot’s reputedly thick armor to tease over his spark. Cosmos couldn’t help but groan, embarrassed by the keening, pleading tone of the noise; Tracks had sounded much better while in pleasure.

Encouraged by this response, Sunstreaker began to trace the seams of Cosmos’s armor, seemingly unperturbed by the thick, heavy plating. Cosmos’s build didn’t allow for easy access to any vulnerable area of his body, so Sunstreaker took to exploiting the minibot’s sensitivity to the rumbling engine. Sunstreaker revved loudly, and Cosmos squirmed helplessly in response.

‘Sunstreaker,’ said Cosmos, his hands flailing a bit uselessly before he found a good grip on the Lamborghini’s hips. ‘You don’t have to–’

Sunstreaker chuckled a bit, but didn’t respond to Cosmos’s protests. He instead grabbed the minibot’s arms and, with as much grace as one would expect from the Lamborghini, lowered Cosmos down to the floor and kneeled down between the minibot’s thighs. Cosmos squirmed, unused to being laid flat on any hard surface, but he didn’t foolishly attempt to get up – he probably couldn’t coordinate himself well enough to do so at this point, not with Sunstreaker’s engine revving intermittently against his chest and the coy fingers still following the seams in his plating, looking for any kind of weakness. Cosmos was tempted to loosen up and allow Sunstreaker access to the circuitry, but the very thought of it seemed dreadfully complicated and horribly wanton, and Cosmos was still have difficulty just knowing that Sunstreaker was touching him at all.

Sunstreaker did not seem particularly frustrated with Cosmos’s unwillingness to yield, and he instead began to apply his glossa against the seams, tracing them cautiously – no, coyly – as his hands began to travel downwards. Cosmos shuddered hard. The application of the slender digit was more difficult to perceive through the armor than Sunstreaker’s hand had been, yet it seemed more enticing, more pleasurable. Cosmos squirmed and whimpered, feeling terribly wanton for doing so, but he could not stop himself from struggling to release the locks on his heavy plating. Not missing a beat, Sunstreaker’s hand slipped into a narrow opening and began to soothe over bare circuitry.

Cosmos felt his body tense, reacting to the onslaught pleasure before he could even begin to consciously perceive it. After a few light caresses, the sensation hit him, and his spark thrummed heavily in response. It almost hurt, but in a good way that was difficult to define, and Cosmos was easily reduced to a squirming, whimpering simpleton.

Sunstreaker, seemingly pleased by this impassioned response, kissed Cosmos’s dermal plating.

Cosmos faltered, and despite his better reasoning, turned his face away from the kiss. It felt too… intimate, and while Cosmos didn’t have a mouth to kiss back with, he still did appreciate the romanticism of the gesture – and not the lust.

If Sunstreaker noticed the change in behavior, he did not acknowledge it. He instead slide his mouth against Cosmos’s chest, resuming the teasing caresses with his glossa. That was simpler, and Cosmos felt less wretched giving into that kind of carnal pleasure than he did the shows of empty affection. Sunstreaker didn’t care about him – didn’t care about anyone in particular, except maybe his twin. And that was okay with Cosmos. He did appreciate this, even if he wasn’t sure why Sunstreaker felt so compelled. He was certain the Lamborghini didn’t mean to humiliate him. In his own way, Sunstreaker seemed to genuinely want to help.

Almost as if prompted by Cosmos’s internal thoughts, Sunstreaker spoke. ‘I don’t believe in abstinence,’ said Sunstreaker, his hand creeping over the same panel near Cosmos’s groin, the same one that he had exploited with Tracks. ‘After all, if we might die in the war, what’s the point in denying ourselves what pleasure we can have?’

It was sound reasoning, certainly, but Cosmos had trouble processing it as Sunstreaker began to toy with the paneling between his thighs. It was more accessible than most of his body, as it was a vital energy relay from his spark to his legs – if damaged, it could seriously hinder his ability to walk or even transform. Therefore, it had to be easily accessible, in order for a medic to mend it quickly if damaged. Never before had Cosmos opened the panel in his own company, because it was quite sensitive. He had related that sensitivity with pain, with vulnerability, and not with pleasure.

There was no denying that whatever Sunstreaker was doing, though, it felt good.

‘Even Optimus understands that,’ said Sunstreaker, sounding perfectly composed, utterly casual even as he spoke of such… personal matters. ‘He and Jazz – well, let’s say there’s probably nothing those two haven’t done, even if Optimus might deny it entirely if he was ever asked.’

A streak of overwhelming pleasure wormed it’s way through Cosmos’s spark, startling him in it’s intensity. It wasn’t anything Sunstreaker physically did, but rather what he said that manifested itself as pleasure. Cosmos didn’t understand it in the least, but the idea of Optimus and Jazz doing this, the same way, sounded kind of… well, good to say the least. He shuddered, and knew he wouldn’t be able to look them straight in the optic for at least a few megacycles, but that didn’t stop him from trying to form the image in his mind. Optimus clutching at Jazz, stroking him and needing him, and Jazz – Jazz would be composed and erotic and seductive just like Sunny – Sunstreaker – was.

Suddenly, the panel was pulled off entirely, and Cosmos found himself startled by the feel of air against the delicate circuitry. Being that he was usually in space, and that his armor was airtight, it was surprising to feel even the oxygen and the carbon monoxide against him. He squirmed a bit, trying to push himself up to nervously watch what Sunstreaker was doing, but he was quickly – firmly – pushed down.

‘Stay still,’ said Sunstreaker, his fingertip tracing the very edge of the open panel.

Cosmos relented, but still craned his head to watch as well as he could, which admittedly did not account for much. Delicately, Sunstreaker’s finger traced over the circuit, as if testing Cosmos’s sensitivity to direct touch.

The small action did not disappoint. Cosmos arched and gave a garbled, strangled yelp of pleasure that sounded too much like pain for his own liking. Sunstreaker did not seem startled by the response, but his touch remained just as light as he repeated the caress. Cosmos reacted in much the same way as before, writhing, hands clenching helplessly and spark leaping in ecstasy. The pleasure seemed to spike from his groin to his spark, sending a wave of electricity through the entirety of his body, a strange, alien tingling that cocooned his processors, making it impossible to think coherently.

Sunstreaker did not let up. Encouraged by Cosmos’s growing incoherency, Sunstreaker began to delve his fingers inwards, freeing the cables that connected his spark energy to his lower legs. Upon being disconnected, Cosmos was rendered utterly helpless, although he wasn’t as disturbed by that fact as much as he probably should have been. The energy siphoning through the cable was already powerful enough in light of his arousal, his spark pulsing the electricity far more vigorously than was advisable. Without a connection, the cables quickly became overheated, over sensitized. Sunstreaker did not waste time in using this to his own advantage, squeezing down on the cables harshly and releasing them, manipulating the electrical current skillfully.

Cosmos groaned, trying to squirm or arch or plead, but he could not little more than lay there, utterly helpless in light of such unbidden ecstasy.

‘Harder?’ asked Sunstreaker, soothingly massaging the cables.

There was a beat of hesitation, of indecision, but Cosmos relented. ‘…Please,’ he managed, arching his hips as well as he could, still straining to watch.

The deft fingers began to pull at the cables in a stable rhythm, twisting them intermittently to send a streak of hot pain – or pleasure, maybe – through Cosmos’s groin. He whimpered pitiably, optics offlining, back arching as the heat overwhelmed him. Cosmos had heard of overload, of course, but he didn’t readily understand the concept. He wasn’t sure what it was, or even if he was experiencing it now. But as the pleasure began to build to unimaginable strength, he knew he must be experiencing just that, because it was unbearable now, enough to make him want to pull away, to evade the harsh caresses.

Yet, he couldn’t, and he only found himself asking for more, even though he knew he shouldn’t, even though he wasn’t sure he could take it.

Sunstreaker watched him with a kind of detached interest, although there was still an intensity in his gaze that indicated some measure of arousal. Cosmos didn’t have time to readily analyze this, because he realized – quite suddenly, and embarrassingly – that the circuitry that Sunstreaker was manipulating was beginning to grow damp with coolant in some vague attempt to stave off overheating. Loudly, he whimpered, and that sound was almost worse than the slick liquid steadily dribbling over Sunstreaker’s fingertips.

The Lamborghini seemed entirely unperturbed, and wasted no time leaning down and sliding his glossa over the length of an exposed cable, licking over the slick fluid eagerly. Cosmos thrashed, in a halfhearted, startled way that quickly dissipated as the pleasure thrummed to a level that seemed impossibly good, unbearably good, and impossible to resist. Sunstreaker, clearly intent on continuing until Cosmos was absolutely overwhelmed, took several of the cables into his mouth and gave a firm, harsh suck.

The effect was immediate – a thrum a pleasure pulsed through Cosmos’s spark, spreading out across every component, every circuit, every wire of his body. There was no questioning that this, this was what overload was and this was why Tracks and Sunstreaker had pursued intimacy without having any real emotional attachment between them.

Cosmos, however, felt that for those few moments he loved Sunstreaker. Not for any definable reason, not because of some infatuation, but because of a great sense of gratitude that the seemingly cold Autobot would share something so frivolously wonderful with him.

Offlining was quick, and quite involuntary. The energy surge was nothing that Cosmos’s body had been prepared for, and the stasis lock was the timid, flighty response of his uninitiated spark. Onlining again, on the other hand, was difficult and the result of steadfast determination.

Sunstreaker was still there when Cosmos awoke, his dexterous fingertips continuing to trace over the seams of Cosmos’s armor. His position was different now – he was on his side, closer to Cosmos, his leg thrown over Cosmos’s hip. Everything in his stance seemed terribly languorous, and it occurred to Cosmos that Sunstreaker’s interest in bonding was in causing pleasure, not necessarily receiving it. Indeed, Cosmos retrospectively realized how one-sided it had been even when Sunstreaker had been pleasuring Tracks.

Vaguely, Cosmos wondered if Optimus and Jazz were one-sided or mutual. The thought was terribly inappropriate, of course, but he couldn’t stop wondering. It was as if a whole new perspective in life had been revealed. Cosmos wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable he was with it, but he didn’t regret it.

Cautiously, Cosmos slid an arm under Sunstreaker and pulled him closer. The Lamborghini didn’t resist, and Cosmos felt almost giddy for a moment.

‘Uh,’ said Cosmos stupidly. ‘That was– I mean, that felt–’

Sunstreaker smirked, twisting himself so he was on top of Cosmos’s chest. ‘I know, Cosmos,’ he said, his tone rich and inviting in a way that Cosmos had never heard from the usually self-centered Lamborghini.

Flustered, Cosmos petted Sunstreaker’s back, and fell into an awkward silence. Sunstreaker didn’t seem to mind, shifting until he was comfortable against Cosmos’ frame, his face tucked lightly against the side of Cosmos’s shoulder. Sunstreaker hadn’t recharged at all that night, and seemed to be weary despite not having experienced overload as Cosmos had.

‘Thank you,’ said Cosmos quietly.

Sunstreaker didn’t hear Cosmos’s words – Sunstreaker was already deep in recharge. However, Cosmos wasn’t irritated at all by this fact. Instead, he merely relaxed his tense frame and continued to pet Sunstreaker’s back. It would give him some time to decide how to repay the Lamborghini, as well as the time to garner up the courage to do so.