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fatrobotz · 5 days ago

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Chubformers drabble #236!

Characters: Skyfire & Starscream (G1)

Word count: 1.3k

Things were finally looking up for Starscream, which was saying a lot for a mech who had spent a long, long time considering nothing would ever be capable of improving. To his surprise (and his relief), however, the future was, in fact, a hell of a lot brighter than his past had ever been.

Things were calm for them now. The war was over, he was back to exploring the stars and charting the life amongst other planets, and he got to do so with the most important mech to ever stand at his side—Skyfire. Big, soft, beautiful Skyfire, a beast of a bot and a marshmallow of a mech. Harmless and happy, and oh so devoted to his beloved Star… it was perfect. Life was perfect. Things were finally looking up, and Starscream had hope for what the future might hold.

That was exactly what he wanted to imagine, and for a time, it had been exactly what he believed. But now, as the rapid shift from backbreaking responsibilities and the requirement to live on the edge of danger with his life held in the balance day in and day out turned to something a lot more soft, stable, and secure, Starscream was struggling to adjust. He was struggling to adapt, more specifically, and despite all of the satisfaction that came from having everything he had once had returned to him, things just couldn’t be perfect.

Maybe he wasn’t capable of having perfect. Maybe he was just a little too stuck up for his own good, just like his trine use to tell him. It didn’t matter to Starscream, none of it did. What mattered to him was that he had gotten everything back to being right in the world again, and now, as he finally began to decompress and heal from the terrors of old, his frame was betraying him.

It was one thing to stand and stare from the doorway of their massive shared habsuite and watch as Skyfire, soft and curvy in all the right places with all the weight in all the right spaces, lounged so comfortably atop their massive berth. He had grown rather large after his defection, and Starscream was grateful for it. The shuttle build he bore finally looked like and shuttle and acted like a shuttle, which meant Skyfire was even happier than he had been before during the war. Starscream, on the other hand…

Well. He had gained, too, and he had gained a hell of a lot of weight in comparison. Not as much as Skyfire, per se, but a lot. Too much, really.

He hated it. He hated the way it held him down, and he hated the way it felt to transform around his pudgy middle and fatty thighs. He hated the jiggle of his belly and the soft mesh building around his shoulders, and he hated his weight gain just as much as he loved Skyfire’s. It was ridiculous, he knew, but still… he hated it.

Starscream crossed his arms and kicked the floor with a pede in hopes that by sheer force of will Skyfire might be drawn from his focus on the datapad in hand to the chubby, grumpy flier standing in the doorway. His thoughts had already begun drifting back to the sour comparisons of frames built for weight and the frames built for speed. His mind was still poisoned time to time by the thoughts of war-time demands and functionalist beliefs no matter how thorough Skyfire was in his reminders of how much he adored Starscream’s new look (and similarly, his own), but he tried to stop it. That, of course, included going straight to the source of his reassurances when the little voices in his helm grew to be too much to bear.

From the berth, Skyfire stopped his reading for a brief, lazy stretch—that was when he caught sight of his lover standing in the doorway, and his attention was immediately shifted.

“Star!” he said, optics bright and face beaming. “I didn’t know you were there! Come here, come join me. I’ve just begun reading this new passage about…”

The excitable account of solar system research and new space discoveries was nothing more than a mumbled drone in Starscream’s audials. He lowered his gaze to the floor and attempted to fight against the internal monster holding him in place, but he simply couldn’t force himself to move from his spot in the doorway. It was like his pedes were fused to the floor, and his mind was elsewhere.

He was lucky, then, to have his return to the present be rewarded with the sight of a big, soft belly staring back at him and Skyfire’s similarly soft and concerned face staring down at him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice dropping to that low cadence he spoke in whenever he knew Starscream was lost in his own head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Starscream managed to mumble even as he was drawn into a frame-crushing hug and smothered by the soft, pudgy belly. “Mmmph…”

“It’s never nothing with you,” Skyfire said. “What is it? Thinking again? Someone said something? Talk to me, Star.”

It was hard to keep his composure with his face buried in his partner’s belly, and at this point, Starscream hardly bothered trying. He wanted the reassurance just as much as he needed it, but he just didn’t want to ask for it. It was where Skyfire met him halfway every time, and Starscream was secretly and silently grateful for it.

“This isn’t about that pretty little belly of yours, is it?” he said, one massive servo gently pinching at Starscream’s sides while the other stayed wrapped around Starscream’s frame. “Or is it the love handles you’re starting to grow out? You know how much I love those love handles on you—“

“Don’t even start,” Starscream growled into Skyfire’s belly. He was melting already. “You know they don’t suit me.”

“Oh, but they do,” Skyfire cooed, “as does the belly, and the thighs, and the plating you’re starting to grow out of again. It suits you nicely.”

Soft and sweet, just like he liked it—and just like he needed it. Starscream pulled away slightly, his sour expression only held together by sheer force of will. He had already started to crack. The cushy words and gentle doting always did the trick.

“But I’m not meant to carry so much weight—that’s the thing,” he said with a pout. “You’re a shuttle. I’m a seeker.”

Skyfire cocked his helm the side. “The war is over, Star. The only seeker I like is the perfectly healthy, happy, and chubby seeker standing right in front of me. Besides…”

He tugged Starscream even closer yet, his servo cupping him around his waist, and squeezed at the pudgy rolls accumulated there.

“…if I didn’t like you looking like this, why on earth would I have planned for our day off together to involve lazing around until you’re ready to go for the reservations I’ve booked at that tiny little eatery you enjoy so much?”

Starscream pulled back once again. “No. You didn’t.”

“Oh yes,” Skyfire chuckled, “I did. Still wanna sit out here and sulk, or would you like to come join me for a bit of lazing around in the berth?”

“Psh,” Starscream scoffed, “how could I refuse?”

He couldn’t. Not when it was Skyfire dragging him to the berth and arranging the sheets just right, cuddling him from behind and squeezing him so tight. It worked like a charm every time, and now, instead of the insecurities he had mulled over all morning, all Starscream could think about was trying not to snooze while Skyfire held the datapad out in front of them and scrolled through endless new documents and data about the most recent astro research being performed.

Lucky him… things were finally beginning to look up again.

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fatrobotz · 12 days ago

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Giving a little bit of love back to texbrawl, one of my favorite ships. ~2k words under the cut and two bots forced to share a too-small motel bed… totally not on purpose, either.

Read it here or on ao3!

Between the strange looks he and Vortex received from the poor bot behind the front counter and squeezing himself through tinier-than-his-size hallways to find their dingy room on the dingy floor of a dingy motel, Brawl wasn’t sure which one was worse. Hell, he wasn’t sure anything could even be worse. It was what got him chuckling out loud and nervously pawing at the back of his helm when he finally fit through the doorway of their room going sideways, only to discover a room fit for bots smaller than Vortex and a single-size, single bed sat in the middle of the bleak layout.

He hadn’t been expecting much, but this? This was pretty bad, and he knew without looking any farther that it was going to a long, uncomfortable night. He couldn’t fit in here. He couldn’t make it work. There just wasn’t any way. It just wasn’t possible.

“Er,” Brawl said, still scratching at the back of his helm in the nervous way he does when he isn’t quite sure what to make of a situation. “Tex? You, uh… you sure this is…?”

“This is it!” Vortex said, gesturing proudly to the inside of the room like he was showing off a brand new set of artillery equipment. Instead, it was just a cheap, stinky motel room with old furniture dotted around its perimeter. Nothing worth celebrating, and nothing worth staying in. “Come on in, make yourself at home. We ain’t gonna be staying for very long this time around, so we gotta rest up while we can.”

Vortex spared no time in heading straight for the mattress and diving right in. The copter weighed hardly anything, and yet the springs in the old frame still creaked and squealed under the pressure of a mech crawling over top of it. Brawl shifted where he stood, his own weight balancing from one pede to the other as he remained hovering in the doorway.

If the bed was that weak under Vortex’s frame, he could hardly imagine how bad it might be under his. He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to find out, either.

The motel wasn’t his choice, nor was the room. Vortex had assured him plenty of times all the way down there from HQ that everything was fine, everything was in order, and everything was taken care of. It was just another routine mission they had to take care of, and any other time, Brawl would have been more than happy for a chance at another little getaway with his favorite gestalt member. Any other time would have also had a nice, cozy room for them to retire to, however, and any other time would have also had two large, sturdy berths for them to mussy up to their sparks’ content before retiring to their own separate blanket cocoons. Tonight, he had neither.

Vortex was already tangled up in the sheets and spread across the entire bed by the time Brawl managed to muster up enough courage to step foot inside the room. Once he was certain the floor wouldn’t fall out from underneath him (and that was a very real fear, mind you—they were roomed on the second floor!), he waddled his way over to the bedside with slow, tentative movements and pudgy servos fiddling in front of him the whole time.

“Are you sure?” Brawl asked. “I mean, don’t you think it’s kinda—“

He dared to lean against the similarly sized nightstand sitting right next to the bedside, only for it to crack and crumble beneath his weight. Brawl was quick to stand upright, and beneath his mask, his face burned bright with embarrassment.

“…oops.”

Vortex lifted his helm for only a moment before letting it fall back against the bed. A long, cruel cackle followed, and if Brawl weren’t already feeling so self-conscious, he would’ve jumped right onto the opportunity to throw the copter around for rubbing salt into the wound.

“Sure, it’s a shithole, but it’s a safe shithole,” he said once the snickers die down, his servo flicking back and forth dismissively. “We’re not here for luxury, and since this one’s coming outta my pocket, I sure as hell ain’t gonna shell out any more pretty shanix on unnecessary niceties.”

Brawl shrugged, still unconvinced. “I mean, sure,” he said, his servo going back to scratching at his helm, “better to keep ‘em on ya for when we hit up that bar back down the road, but…”

But a nice set of reliable beds wouldn’t hurt, especially not when Brawl was in tow. The big tank wasn’t exactly known for playing nice with furniture that wasn’t sturdy enough to hold his weight, and Vortex knew that. Everyone knew it.

He hadn’t been there for the motel booking, and he certainly hadn’t butted into the conversation during check-in when the bot at the front desk double and triple checking their reservation while Vortex struggled to assure them all was as it should be. He had simply taken it all in stride—it was Vortex he was dealing with, after all, and up until this point, Vortex had been a trustworthy individual for booking proper utilities between the back-and-forth of their missions.

Shy wasn’t a good look on a mech with Brawl’s reputation, but right then, he just couldn’t help it. He ignored the tattered nightstand as best he could and watched Vortex nervously, his gaze drifting between the thin talons for claws picking at the copter’s fangs and the leg bent at the knee joint swaying back and forth. He was silent and nervous for a little while longer, and he couldn’t help it. He was waiting for answers, for prompting, or for anything, really, but Vortex was being stubborn.

Vortex was visibly smug when he dropped his servo back down to his side, only to curl his claws in a slow, suggestive gesture as he looked Brawl up and down.

“Well?” he said, all casual and languid as he watched Brawl fidget. “Whatcha waiting’ for, an invitation?”

Brawl was silent for a moment. He went right back to twiddling his thumbs and tangling his digits together, but his expression remained soft and confused. He still didn’t understand, not one bit.

“Uh…” he began, unsure of what else to say, let alone do. When Vortex’s expression grew irritated, he quickly added, “I could, uh… I could start making something up on the floor?”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, let alone assume. If anything, it certainly wasn’t what Vortex was alluding to.

“Oh, you stupid mech,” Vortex sighed. “Why the hell d’ya think I booked us a room with one bed in it? For fun?”

Brawl shrugged. “I dunno… something to do, I guess?”

Vortex sat upright in a flurry, his arms thrown in the air for exasperated emphasis. “Obviously I wanted to share with you! Geez, Brawl, are you really that blind?”

“Wh—share?” Brawl’s optics went wide behind the visor. “You mean, you wanna share a bed? This bed? In this room?”

“Yeah?” Vortex said. “We’ve done it before. Why not do it again?”

Cuddling, Brawl wanted to say. They had done cuddling before, and fragging, and pushing the limits for how well a dynamic between a scrawny stick of a mech and a tank fatter than any living mech walking Cybertron’s surface could work out. They had not, however, done squashing before, kinky or not, and they hadn’t done anything close to having Vortex lie flat on a small bed with Brawl’s big, fat aft lying over top of him. Quite frankly, Brawl was a little worried to try.

He wouldn’t deny how appealing it sounded to curl up in a bed smaller than him with a mech smaller than him snuggled up under his weight and cozying up to his soft, rumbly belly, but that was an inner-Brawl-fantasy. The outer-Brawl-fantasies were holding Vortex down, pounding him senseless, straining the cushions of furniture—but not breaking it—and smothering the copter ever so slightly beneath his frame.

Vortex was as adventurous as he was freaky, and Brawl? Brawl was just there for a good time. This sounded like a good time, and he wanted it just as badly as Vortex apparently did. He’d booked the room and ensured the single bed situation, for Primus’ sake, so of course he wanted it!

He was used to being the big scary beast of a mech who fucked rough and cuddled hard. He was not, however, used to being the soft, cushy ball of a bot who squished Vortex and snuggled together in small beds built for one.

“C’mon, big guy,” Vortex pressed, patting the small spots of empty space on the bed while scooting back to the very center of the mattress. “Get in here! I got plenty of room left.”

Well… he supposed it was better than sleeping on the floor—much better. Brawl was gentle at first, and he moved slowly. He shuffled to the end of the bed before crawling his way over the footboard and landing atop the mattress. The dip was great, and the groove he left had plenty of springs and wooden panels crying out for mercy, but he didn’t dare stop. Vortex looked far too appealing all sprawled out and waiting for him, and the more he thought about it, the more he really, really wanted to join him.

There were noisy groans and snapping springs with every movement he took, but eventually Brawl made it to where he was straddling Vortex’s lap and bracing himself up with both servos on either side of Vortex’s helm. The copter’s expression was gluttonous and greedy as he stared up at every pudgy roll on Brawl’s fat frame, and he didn’t dare stop cooing and sighing his contentment while Brawl lowered himself down on top of him.

“There we go,” he said, his arms slung out on either side in preparation for the massive weight coming down to squash him. “That’s it… little more now, little more, keep going, and—mmmph!”

Brawl’s arms had begun shaking from the effort of keeping himself upright. He didn’t want to hurt Vortex, but slag, he was tired, too. The last few inches of space between them were closed in a rush, and with a final noisy and defeated sound that echoed throughout the room, the bed frame gave out beneath his weight.

Vortex, still gleefully kicking his pedes as much as he could and rubbing his servos all over Brawl’s back and sides, couldn’t care less for the extra fees that were sure to be added to their tab, and in that moment, Brawl found the satisfaction of finally cuddling up with his favorite copter smushed beneath him far too satisfying to bother caring about it, either.

“Oof,” Vortex mumbled from somewhere beneath him, “you’re heavy.”

Brawl blushed at the comment. He couldn’t help the sheepish smile that crept up his face, even if Vortex was too busy being smothered under his belly and bust to notice.

“Yeah,” he managed to say. Then, out of sheer habit (and terrible worry), he asked, “You, uh… you good under there?”

Vortex’s servos fell back against the bed before coming up hard and fast to cling to Brawl’s frame. It was like charging up for a big, warm bear hug, but from beneath the bear crushing him.

“Hell yeah, I’m good under here,” Vortex mumbled back. He gave the pudgy fat on Brawl’s frame a gentle squeeze before lowering his servos back down to his sides where they sat comfortably cupping Brawl’s belly. “How ‘bout you? You comfy?”

Brawl had to think about it for a moment before he answered. He was still reeling from the realization, and his thoughts had yet to catch up with him. It did feel nice though, all cozied up in the bed with Vortex. It felt good, just as he knew it would.

He was glad for the copter’s vote of confidence. If it had been up to him, he would’ve never attempted to try this.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I’m good. I’m comfy.”

It was a hell of a lot more cozy than he’d realized it would be, that was for sure. Vortex seemed to be of the same mind, as he was out and asleep not even a few minutes after squirming around beneath Brawl’s weight. It was for that reason that the two decided to explain their tardiness the next morning, as when the planet’s surface grew light once more and their deadline rolled around, neither bot had yet come back out of the deep, cozy recharge they’d fallen into.

It was the effects of a big, hefty frame squishing you into the mattress, that was all. Likewise, it was the effects of having a small, warm frame buried beneath that big, hefty frame that kept them both there in the too-small bed. There were no regrets, even after they woke up to realize the mission was a failure.

Worth it, Vortex would say. So totally worth it, Brawl would silently agree.

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