Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, I just write about them doing inappropriate things.
Warning(s): Implied slash, sexual references, netspeak.
Author's Note: Originally written for the Transformers Anonymous Kink Meme on LiveJournal, and my first-ever fanfic. This little slice 'o crack isn't remotely indicative of my later work, but it seemed as good a place to start as any.

The Decepticons were at it again. The Autobots had just received word that a nearby oil refinery was under attack, and Prime had ordered every available mech to roll out. Ironhide was on his way to join them when he halted midstride as he passed Command, having spotted Blaster (or rather his aft) out of the corner of his optic. The larger red mech was presently hip-deep in an open console of the Autobots' main computer, with various bits and pieces scattered on the floor around him. As Prime's bodyguard watched, Blaster tossed yet another clump of wires and circuitry over his shoulder and continued to rummage around. After a momentary struggle, Ironhide finally found his voice.

"Blaster, what the frag are you doing? The 'Cons are up to their old tricks, we've gotta roll out!"

The boom box started, banging his head, then extricated himself and turned to face Ironhide, replying cheerfully, "O hai. I upgraded your Teletraan."

Ironhide stared at the communications officer blankly. "What?"

Blaster shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Had to be done. I accidenty the whole file."

Ironhide stared uncomprehendingly for another half a klik, then commed Ratchet and Prime, rapidly informing them that Teletraan I was down, communications were slagged, and Blaster had apparently fried his logic circuits. After a stunned pause, Prime replied that repairs would have to wait until the 'Cons were dealt with, and that Blaster should remain behind. Ironhide glanced at the communications officer, who had once more disappeared under the console, shrugged bemusedly, and headed out.

Blaster, oblivious, resumed his work on the computer, completing his repairs in short order. Task accomplished, he turned his attention back to the web, and quickly became absorbed in his new obsession, muttering and chuckling as he amused himself with websites like Fark and 4chan. The humans' internet was amazing. So many varied forms of communication, and yet everyone seemed to understand one another!

He was so caught up he didn't notice the hack until it was almost too late. What he'd initially taken to be yet another bored lurker bore the unmistakable energy signature of the Decepticon, Soundwave. His arch nemesis. Blaster immediately opened a comlink.

"What are you doing here, Decepti-creep?" he demanded.

"Im in ur base, killin ur doodz," replied the familiar melodious monotone.

Alarmed, Blaster ran a quick scan of the Ark's perimeter. The security monitors reported no activity. Blaster frowned in confusion. The 'Cons were supposed to be attacking an oil refinery right now, not the Ark! Why would Soundwave claim –

Jolted by a sudden realization, the boom box choked back a laugh. Could it be..? Computing quickly, he sent a brief query: "O RLY?"

And got a response. "YA RLY!"

There was a pregnant pause. Then Blaster laughed. "We're gonna need a bigger Ark!"

"All UR base R belong 2 us."

"Whatever roxxx your soxxx."

"I did it 4 teh lulz."



The comlink abruptly cut off. Blaster was both stunned and delighted. Most of the 'Bots had reacted to his newly adopted vocabulary with irritation or confusion, just like Ironhide had. More than a few had suggested he pay a visit to Ratchet. But it seemed that Soundwave, of all mechs, actually got it.

Over the next few Earth weeks, several similar virtual exchanges occurred between the two communications officers. Each one was relatively brief and – had anyone else been listening in – largely incomprehensible to the average observer. Blaster was beginning to enjoy himself, even to look forward to the online jousting matches of netspeak jibes and insults. He suspected Soundwave was enjoying it as well. However, he soon discovered that he'd clearly underestimated the level and nature of the Decepticon's enjoyment when he received the next message, which turned out to be a flurry of highly inappropriate holo-images, prefaced with a simple "NSFW" tag.

Startled, but quick to recover, Blaster responded with, "OMG, pr0n!" and sent some personal favorites from his own private collection by way of a reply.

Soundwave's next message was even more blunt. "SEXX0RS?"

Blaster's answer was equally succinct. "w00t!"

The exchange that followed was the instant-messaging equivalent of phone sex, with each mech in turn transmitting a holo-image, audio file or explicit description of an action he envisioned performing on the other, and receiving a similarly erotic response in return.

Blaster's internal temperature was increasing with every passing astrosecond, steam beginning to rise from his overheating frame. He was getting dangerously close to overloading, and if the messages Soundwave was beaming him were any indication, the 'Con was in a similar state. Where on Cybertron had Soundwave gotten all the audio and image files he was transmitting? Some of them contained acts Blaster hadn't even thought were anatomically possible..!

He was very careful to save each and every one to his core memory.

An inquiring blip from Soundwave came across the comlink. It was Blaster's turn, and clearly the Decepticon tape deck was impatiently awaiting his response, most likely with his circuits sparking and his vents cycling hard. The next sound or image transmitted might be enough push him over the edge...

Blaster deliberated carefully, then grinned the wickedest grin ever seen on an Autobot faceplate. "R U ready 4 this? It's hot like burning," he commed suggestively.

Soundwave sent another, more urgent blip in affirmation, accompanied by a downright filthy soundbyte of a mech shrieking in overload – Starscream from the sound of it, given the Seeker's highly distinctive vocalizer. Blaster trailed a slow finger along the buttons lining his chestplate with a low groan.

"Here it comes..." the Autobot promised, and transmitted the link. An astrosecond later, the familiar strains floated over the channel as Soundwave eagerly accessed the file.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down! Never gonna run arouuuuund and desert youuuuuuu...!"

Soundwave's responding string of curses was creative, colorful, and extremely extensive.

Blaster roared with laughter, transmitting a final, triumphant message before shutting down the comlink: "Overload FAIL. Pwned, n00b!"