Kick in the Head - Stress Relief
Title: Kick in the Head - Stress Relief
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Autobots/Autobots
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Optimus was stressing himself out. His teammates knew how to take care of that.
Warnings: 5 mech orgy.
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made) I consider the entire Kick in the Head series to be in the same 'verse as Glances into a Spark.
Table of Contents
o o o
Optimus Prime was stressing himself out.
It was a bad habit he was unable to shake - a normal post-repair review of a battle could easily turn itself into a destructive, pointless loop of what-ifs and could-have-beens and maybe-if-I-hads. His current situation was no exception - the battle along side the tiny, fragile humans, combined with the startling knowledge they had about the Cube and Megatron, had shaken Optimus to his core. Equal parts exhilaration and sorrow coursed his circuits; plans for rebuilding Cybertron warring with ways he could have saved the humans from destruction.
When he realized he was wishing he had a version of Skywarp's teleportation abilities, just to be able to get to the human ship before Starscream blew it up, he abruptly left his seat. He'd been in these moods often enough to know that what he needed was a distraction, something else to occupy his thoughts long enough to break the chain of thoughts he'd become mired in. Anything - one of his companions, a diagnostic on the ship, the stars passing outside of the windows, anything to interrupt the loop would be welcome.
As he walked out the door of his quarters, his only warning was a light stataco of running feet before he was being climbed, a small, silver-bright form scrambling up his front. Caught off guard, he stumbled back, only to be stopped by strong hands on his hips.
"You've been thinking in circles again," Jazz accused, his hands clinging to the Prime's shoulder struts. He glared down at Optimus, his feet balanced precariously against abdominal armor. "Don't even try to deny it."
Well. There were distractions and distractions, and then there was this. Optimus rested one hand against Jazz's back, steadying the spy. "At least, this time, I didn't wait for you to stage an intervention," he pointed out.
"We were about two breems away from one," Ironhide retorted from behind him. The Weapon Specialist tugged at him, back towards his quarters, and Optimus went willingly enough, trusting. Long vorns of familiarity meant that some days, his friends knew what he needed better than he himself did. And judging by the way Jazz's hands were moving along his shoulders, what they thought he needed would be far from unpleasant.
They ended up on the recharge berth. Optimus was sitting halfway up, leaning against Ironhide's chassis, and Jazz was straddling his abdomen. The spy was humming, a rich, fluid melody, and his fingers marked the beat of the song in light taps and pulses of magnetic flux beneath the edges of his armor.
Optimus reached for the spy, seeking to return the pleasure he was given, but Ironhide caught his hands. "Oh, no you don't," Ironhide muttered against the side of the Prime's helm. "Not this time. You're just going to lie there and enjoy this." Jazz punctuated the statement with a particularly strong magnetic pulse, grinning wickedly when Optimus arched.
That certainly wasn't fair, and Optimus was about to say so, when his thoughts were interrupted by two new weights settling in around him; one between his legs, one behind Jazz. He lifted his head from Ironhide's chest to look, and Bumblebee twisted around to give him a perfectly innocent smile over his shoulder, sitting back to back with Jazz. Beyond the scout was Ratchet, sitting on the berth with one blue-armored leg draped over his lap, talented medic's hands drifting across the far-too-sensitive energon lines on the inside of Optimus's thighs.
"For the first time since we left Cybertron," Ratchet said casually, plucking at some of the thinner tubing. "We have an actual course to follow, and a specific goal in sight. We thought it was worth celebrating." Optimus feared he was gaping. One on one, between any of them, was rather common, three at once slightly less so. Four at a time was rare, and he was fairly certain that they had never all interfaced together at the same time. Primus, the berth barely even held all five of them. But then Ratchet's hands were inside his thighs, and Bumblebee's fingers were digging into the seam between leg and body, and Jazz's fingertips were wiggling down to brush his spark casing, and Ironhide had somehow worked his thumbs up underneath the plate on the back of his hands, and his surprise disappeared as he overloaded with a harsh cry.
Where his friends had been affecting casualness before, there was now a steady thread of want, a slight tension in their frames from the static he'd discharged. They were shifting; Bumblebee and Jazz moving to be side by side, Ratchet mirroring Ironhide's posture at the other end of the berth, and Optimus gave up any pretense of struggle, leaving his hands on the berth where Ironhide placed them, trusting his friends to do as they pleased. Jazz smiled at him, not in cocky victory but genuine, rarely seen warmth, and he and Bumblebee started working their hands beneath his armor in tandem.
Optimus shuddered, a full body ripple, as the two minibots caressed the nest of wiring and energon lines that fed his spark chamber. Ratchet had picked up where Bumblebee had left off, working at his hip joints with fingers that buzzed with the heady rush of regenerative lasers. Ironhide's hands were on his shoulders, meandering lower, and when the Bodyguard pushed at his chest plates, Optimus complied, his chest splitting to reveal his spark.
Almost immediately, Jazz was fingering the open edge of his spark casing, just barely grazing the nearly liquid radiance of his spark itself before drawing back. Bumblebee's touch was a different sensation, more playful. Ironhide at the upper edge of his casing was different still, and Ratchet leaning forward from below, and almost too late Optimus realized what was happening. As it was, he had only a scant second to brace himself before four different hands dipped into his spark, so close together that they had to be coordinating over private comm lines.
A spark conducted emotion and physical sensation, and Optimus felt his friends shiver around him as their hands picked up the faintest ghost of the pleasure he felt. It only added to the deliriously good feelings spiraling out from his spark chamber, and he overloaded a second time in a series of snapping arcs of static grounding themselves in the berth.
It went on like that for a long time. An overload, a shift of the frames surrounding him, a different technique, repeat. Bumblebee at his ankles, the intricate gears now a target for the multiple tools the scout used in his work. Ironhide laying the twin cannons along his chassis and bringing them to full power in a heated, thrumming massage. Jazz sinking both hands into his spark, flaring magnetic pulses directly into the glowing energy. Ratchet tapping his memory banks and setting the memory of a specific few interfaces on a fast, vicious loop of pleasure. A sudden rush of fresh energon had him reeling, while a drop in hydraulic fluid left him helpless and unable to react to an onslaught of light, almost ticklish touches. A song was played, with his body as the instrument for three performers and the fourth sang along in ringing harmony.
And finally, finally, full spark connections with each of them, one by one, letting him feel the fierce joy and hope that filled each of them at the thought of the AllSpark being so close.
Optimus never would have believed that all of them could recharge comfortably on his berth, but they managed. Ratchet had ended up where Ironhide started, beneath and behind Optimus with his arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Ironhide was between Optimus and the wall, a heavy arm draped over the Prime's chest. Jazz was sprawled across the opposite hip, his head pillowed on Ironhide's arm. Bumblebee was twined in Optimus's legs.
Optimus laid there, listening to the low rhythms of the recharging mechs around him, metal components pinging as they cooled and parts of his circuitry feeling distinctly fried. He thought about what Ratchet had said - a course to follow, a goal in sight, and the hope and determination in his companions. They believed the end of the long war was in sight. Optimus couldn't help but believe a little as well.
A huff against his shoulder, a scared optic flickering on to glare up at him. "Are you still thinking?" Ironhide half-growled, the words partially muffled against scarlet armor.
Optimus let out a low chuckle, shifting the arm around Ironhide's shoulders to pull the Weapon Specialist just a little closer. "Yes, but about the future, instead of the past," he admitted.
A rude, half-understood noise. "Get some rest, Prime," Ironhide grumbled, shuttering his optics again. "The future'll be here soon enough."
Both true and not true, that, but there was wisdom in those words anyway. Optimus smiled and slipped into recharge.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Autobots/Autobots
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Optimus was stressing himself out. His teammates knew how to take care of that.
Warnings: 5 mech orgy.
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made) I consider the entire Kick in the Head series to be in the same 'verse as Glances into a Spark.
Table of Contents
o o o
Optimus Prime was stressing himself out.
It was a bad habit he was unable to shake - a normal post-repair review of a battle could easily turn itself into a destructive, pointless loop of what-ifs and could-have-beens and maybe-if-I-hads. His current situation was no exception - the battle along side the tiny, fragile humans, combined with the startling knowledge they had about the Cube and Megatron, had shaken Optimus to his core. Equal parts exhilaration and sorrow coursed his circuits; plans for rebuilding Cybertron warring with ways he could have saved the humans from destruction.
When he realized he was wishing he had a version of Skywarp's teleportation abilities, just to be able to get to the human ship before Starscream blew it up, he abruptly left his seat. He'd been in these moods often enough to know that what he needed was a distraction, something else to occupy his thoughts long enough to break the chain of thoughts he'd become mired in. Anything - one of his companions, a diagnostic on the ship, the stars passing outside of the windows, anything to interrupt the loop would be welcome.
As he walked out the door of his quarters, his only warning was a light stataco of running feet before he was being climbed, a small, silver-bright form scrambling up his front. Caught off guard, he stumbled back, only to be stopped by strong hands on his hips.
"You've been thinking in circles again," Jazz accused, his hands clinging to the Prime's shoulder struts. He glared down at Optimus, his feet balanced precariously against abdominal armor. "Don't even try to deny it."
Well. There were distractions and distractions, and then there was this. Optimus rested one hand against Jazz's back, steadying the spy. "At least, this time, I didn't wait for you to stage an intervention," he pointed out.
"We were about two breems away from one," Ironhide retorted from behind him. The Weapon Specialist tugged at him, back towards his quarters, and Optimus went willingly enough, trusting. Long vorns of familiarity meant that some days, his friends knew what he needed better than he himself did. And judging by the way Jazz's hands were moving along his shoulders, what they thought he needed would be far from unpleasant.
They ended up on the recharge berth. Optimus was sitting halfway up, leaning against Ironhide's chassis, and Jazz was straddling his abdomen. The spy was humming, a rich, fluid melody, and his fingers marked the beat of the song in light taps and pulses of magnetic flux beneath the edges of his armor.
Optimus reached for the spy, seeking to return the pleasure he was given, but Ironhide caught his hands. "Oh, no you don't," Ironhide muttered against the side of the Prime's helm. "Not this time. You're just going to lie there and enjoy this." Jazz punctuated the statement with a particularly strong magnetic pulse, grinning wickedly when Optimus arched.
That certainly wasn't fair, and Optimus was about to say so, when his thoughts were interrupted by two new weights settling in around him; one between his legs, one behind Jazz. He lifted his head from Ironhide's chest to look, and Bumblebee twisted around to give him a perfectly innocent smile over his shoulder, sitting back to back with Jazz. Beyond the scout was Ratchet, sitting on the berth with one blue-armored leg draped over his lap, talented medic's hands drifting across the far-too-sensitive energon lines on the inside of Optimus's thighs.
"For the first time since we left Cybertron," Ratchet said casually, plucking at some of the thinner tubing. "We have an actual course to follow, and a specific goal in sight. We thought it was worth celebrating." Optimus feared he was gaping. One on one, between any of them, was rather common, three at once slightly less so. Four at a time was rare, and he was fairly certain that they had never all interfaced together at the same time. Primus, the berth barely even held all five of them. But then Ratchet's hands were inside his thighs, and Bumblebee's fingers were digging into the seam between leg and body, and Jazz's fingertips were wiggling down to brush his spark casing, and Ironhide had somehow worked his thumbs up underneath the plate on the back of his hands, and his surprise disappeared as he overloaded with a harsh cry.
Where his friends had been affecting casualness before, there was now a steady thread of want, a slight tension in their frames from the static he'd discharged. They were shifting; Bumblebee and Jazz moving to be side by side, Ratchet mirroring Ironhide's posture at the other end of the berth, and Optimus gave up any pretense of struggle, leaving his hands on the berth where Ironhide placed them, trusting his friends to do as they pleased. Jazz smiled at him, not in cocky victory but genuine, rarely seen warmth, and he and Bumblebee started working their hands beneath his armor in tandem.
Optimus shuddered, a full body ripple, as the two minibots caressed the nest of wiring and energon lines that fed his spark chamber. Ratchet had picked up where Bumblebee had left off, working at his hip joints with fingers that buzzed with the heady rush of regenerative lasers. Ironhide's hands were on his shoulders, meandering lower, and when the Bodyguard pushed at his chest plates, Optimus complied, his chest splitting to reveal his spark.
Almost immediately, Jazz was fingering the open edge of his spark casing, just barely grazing the nearly liquid radiance of his spark itself before drawing back. Bumblebee's touch was a different sensation, more playful. Ironhide at the upper edge of his casing was different still, and Ratchet leaning forward from below, and almost too late Optimus realized what was happening. As it was, he had only a scant second to brace himself before four different hands dipped into his spark, so close together that they had to be coordinating over private comm lines.
A spark conducted emotion and physical sensation, and Optimus felt his friends shiver around him as their hands picked up the faintest ghost of the pleasure he felt. It only added to the deliriously good feelings spiraling out from his spark chamber, and he overloaded a second time in a series of snapping arcs of static grounding themselves in the berth.
It went on like that for a long time. An overload, a shift of the frames surrounding him, a different technique, repeat. Bumblebee at his ankles, the intricate gears now a target for the multiple tools the scout used in his work. Ironhide laying the twin cannons along his chassis and bringing them to full power in a heated, thrumming massage. Jazz sinking both hands into his spark, flaring magnetic pulses directly into the glowing energy. Ratchet tapping his memory banks and setting the memory of a specific few interfaces on a fast, vicious loop of pleasure. A sudden rush of fresh energon had him reeling, while a drop in hydraulic fluid left him helpless and unable to react to an onslaught of light, almost ticklish touches. A song was played, with his body as the instrument for three performers and the fourth sang along in ringing harmony.
And finally, finally, full spark connections with each of them, one by one, letting him feel the fierce joy and hope that filled each of them at the thought of the AllSpark being so close.
Optimus never would have believed that all of them could recharge comfortably on his berth, but they managed. Ratchet had ended up where Ironhide started, beneath and behind Optimus with his arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Ironhide was between Optimus and the wall, a heavy arm draped over the Prime's chest. Jazz was sprawled across the opposite hip, his head pillowed on Ironhide's arm. Bumblebee was twined in Optimus's legs.
Optimus laid there, listening to the low rhythms of the recharging mechs around him, metal components pinging as they cooled and parts of his circuitry feeling distinctly fried. He thought about what Ratchet had said - a course to follow, a goal in sight, and the hope and determination in his companions. They believed the end of the long war was in sight. Optimus couldn't help but believe a little as well.
A huff against his shoulder, a scared optic flickering on to glare up at him. "Are you still thinking?" Ironhide half-growled, the words partially muffled against scarlet armor.
Optimus let out a low chuckle, shifting the arm around Ironhide's shoulders to pull the Weapon Specialist just a little closer. "Yes, but about the future, instead of the past," he admitted.
A rude, half-understood noise. "Get some rest, Prime," Ironhide grumbled, shuttering his optics again. "The future'll be here soon enough."
Both true and not true, that, but there was wisdom in those words anyway. Optimus smiled and slipped into recharge.