#the cages in the chapter 4 area are used by grant as punishment for those who speak out or for people who havent yet come around to

[reel-fear]

👁️👁️

You must tell 👀

*rubs my little hands together* sorry for taking a bit on answering this! My brain has not been braining lately but your ask couldn't have come at a better time bc Grant has been on the mind as of late and I am hyped at the excuse to infodump abt him- [this is gonna be long I am so sorry-]

now for quick disclaimers for anyone reading this that isnt the asker or me- we're not discussing canon Grant Cohen, we're talking my Grant, this black haired dude, that guy. Another fun disclaimer, I was HEAVILY, inspired by Grant's role/character in abomination for my Grant. Taking time to awknowledge every part of his character or story that was inspired by it would make this 10x longer so if similarities are spotted know its very likely I did that on purpose bc I just really love abomination KJHFSDGKJDHGSD-

Alright with that outta the way I'ma talk a lot abt what happens to Grant in the canon of Showtime to explain what I meant and also maybe a bit of me rambling about aus that explore Grants relationship with Sammy n Joey under a more romantic lens. Should be obvious but spoilers for It's Showtime down below~

So Grant in Showtime after he dies ends up joining the ink demon cult, becoming a lost one and earning the title of The Priest.

When the cult was all together him and Sammy worked together to run it. Sammy used his connection to the ink demon to recieve messages and learn more on how to survive in this new situation and Grant made sure the lost ones acted accordingly. [A role not so far off from the one he was forced to take when the studio started facing troubles before his death] Grant also took the job of dealing with sacrificing souls and sending them back to the dark puddles, which sometimes was members of the following chosen at random and sometimes whatever poor soul found themselves captured by them.

However when Malice rose from the puddles and made a deal with the Projectionist to seize a considerable amount of the studio as theirs, the cult was split up, Sammy and Jack forced to flee to the music department and Grant with the rest of the following being down in the area of Chapter 4. This put Grant in a very bad spot, the lost ones were very shaken by this event and since then Grant worries their faith in him has wavered.

An important thing with the ink demon cult was that it is meant to be a more realistic take on how a cult works. The Ink Demon runs the cult, he is the most powerful figure in it and yet the hardest to contact, so Grant and Sammy are little more than middlemen tasked with keeping things running or else they face the ink demon's wrath. Sammy is sadly very aware that the ink demon is not as benevolent as he or the lost ones would like the believe. Grant likes to think being the Priest will at the very least protect him if things go wrong, but he is sadly mistaken.

Grant is in a very dangerous spot, he knows the lost ones beneath him are getting angsty and worried about just how truthfully safe the cult is or if they should believe in the power of the ink demon. But he also knows if things fall apart the lost ones will come to tear him apart long before they go for the ink demon. Despite him merely being a puppet for their lord. A role Grant is not ready to acknowledge, not because he isn't smart enough to see he is just a pawn, but because he chooses not to think about it, less his paranoia eat him alive yet again... A very important thing to keep in mind with Grants character.

Grant did in fact play this role in life as well however, when things started going wrong in the studio, Joey was very quick to turn away from what was going on and continue asserting everything would be fine. Which while a lie he himself believed was a lie nonetheless. However Grant quickly became his right hand man as people like Thomas and Wally started noticing cracks forming all through out the studio. Staff going missing, the ink changing in the way it behaved and an eerie feeling the machine created in both of them.

Grant despite deep down being smart enough to know things were going poorly, parroted Joey's words, hanging off of them himself and doing whatever he could to shut down any attempts to bring to light the things going wrong. Of course, him and Joey both ended up paying the price for their lies, but so did everyone else around them. But unlike Sammy, Grant barely even seemed shaken to see that, like a conspiracy theorist seeing evidence their theory isn't true only makes them double down harder, Grant only seemed to double down on the idea that if he followed every order he was given. Surely things would turn out better this time.

So that's canon to the story of Showtime, but I do want to take a second to get some AU non canon ideas out of my brain centering around Grant and his relationship to both Joey n Sammy. In canon Grant's only romantic interest is Thomas, his literal husband and there is a lot of interesting conflict there, but I fucking love shipping so of course I have a million aus merely indulging in ships I think would also be interesting to explore in their own contexts. In this case, I'm gonna ramble a bit about Sammy x Grant and Grant x Joey and the interesting things I think there are to explore in their relationships in Showtime.

So you might've noticed that while not literally [as saying the ink demon is Joey in Showtime, while somewhat true, is not the entire truth of the situation and simplifies it quite a bit] Grant did end up following Joey to the grave... And then kept following him beyond it. Something that is objectively~ very queer of him.

There's just something so compelling about the idea of Grant yearning for Joey so much, being so close yet so far as his right hand man but not being brave enough to become his lover eventually drove Grant's love for Joey to become an outright obsession. The idea that Grant's feelings for Joey became so intense from how hard he pushed them down it blinded him from seeing the truth of the situation outside of the way Joey painted it. Then dying and his obsession turning into an outright worship of him.

The idea of Grant settling for just being Joey's favorite lackey, his most loyal pet and knowing that's his role but not caring bc at least it makes him stay by Joey's side. Ohh it's an interesting one to say the least. I even did a few sketches of them u can see-

They are doomed by the narrative to me and have been on my mind a lot lately can ya tell? KJDHSFGKJHDFSGKJHDFGSD

However when it comes to Sammy and Grant, I think there is a lot of interesting potential between them too. After all they share being the Ink Demon's henchmen in all of this and to see them both come to terms with that and try to find comfort in each other is such a fun idea to me.

An au where they both decide to ditch the cult and the ink demon and on their own try to figure out what happened to Joey and how to fix things is very compelling to me. I could see their relationship starting out as doing all these things for each other under the excuse they just need comfort until it starts to turn to actual feelings for each other. Both of them coming to terms with the fact Joey was not in fact a perfect person and maybe didn't even know how bad things were getting deep down himself but also finally letting themselves hold him accountable for the lies he told... It's a very fun healing narrative and very in line with a lot of the themes It's Showtime deals with.

Either way, I just really love what I've done with Grant's character in It's Showtime, he's for sure one of the most fascinating to me and the themes his story explores are ones that are important to the story as a whole and by extension me. Umm this turned out very long but I hope u enjoyed the read! Tysm for the excuse to infodump abt him, I was itching for one as u can see KDJHGKJDHFGKJDHFGSD.

[the-odd-job]

Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 4: …Trapped in Your Cage

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron, Soundwave Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 5290

( Previous )

After the little incident with Megatron, some smartass decided that it wasn’t safe to assign the twins to the longer patrols. Or the mid range patrols, even. Or any that went outside of highly populated areas. The only good thing about that was that they were stuck on asphalt roads and not abusing their undercarriage on someone’s orders.

Those restrictions alone would have been annoying enough, but on top of them they got a command all the way from the Prime himself that they weren’t to leave the Ark’s vicinity even during their free time.

Because it wasn’t safe. Primus forbid something happen to the twins. Their own concerns over the situation were rapidly drowned out by everyone’s intent to fragging coddle them, as if running into Megatron without backup was the worst thing that could ever happen.

Granted, it would likely end very badly for them one way or another, but slagging pits shouldn’t they have been the ones to make the choice on whether or not to take that risk? Did the command really care for their wellbeing that much, or was it about their value to their faction? They may have lacked rank, but not skill. They were an asset on the battlefield, and held no illusions to the contrary. Losing them would be a notable hit for the Autobots.

Whatever the underlying reasons that they ultimately cared little about, the brothers didn’t last long before their frustration mounted to uncomfortable levels. They sparred and sparred some more, got even more promiscuous than they usually were, but their efforts to expel their energy only pushed back the inevitable. There was a whole planet right there, and they were forbidden from making the most of it? For god’s sake, it wasn’t as if they were traveling in fragging space and stuck on a ship because of that! It would’ve been a good reason to just put up with the whole slagging thing, even if it would have started to get tiresome.

This? This didn’t have a good reason, no matter what some others seemed to think. They endangered their life every time they stepped on the battlefield, but they wanted to effectively lock them up until risking the battlefield was the only risk they were allowed to take? They hadn’t signed up for this.

Things came to a head, but not violently—for once. Instead they approached Cliffjumper when the minibot with Brawn were scheduled for one of the longer patrol routes. There was no love between them, and they predicted right that Cliffjumper didn’t give two frags about their safety in relation to Megatron. He was happy to change shifts with them after Sideswipe bribed him well enough, not one word said about the what if.

What if something did happen?

Who the frag even cared at this point. They sure didn’t.

It was a nighttime patrol, half intentionally on their part—late hour and most of the mecha were following the planet’s day-night cycle and opting to recharge. Less sparks to catch them sneaking out, to the effect that they did indeed get out of the Ark without anyone stopping them.

They were far enough from the downed spaceship to relax when none other than Prowl pinged their comms. They could guess what that was about, and when they opened the connection, sure enough…

::Twins. Turn around and return to the Ark and your assigned duties.:: Prowl’s tone was clipped in the way it had a habit of being when he was pissed.

Were they anyone lesser they may have even listened… But they weren’t. ::Nah, don’t think I will,:: was all Sideswipe said as they continued onward, following the patrol route like good little mechs.

::That. Is. An. Order,:: Prowl not quite hissed, not quite growled, but still managed to make it clear he was getting angrier with every word. Disobedience just didn’t set so well with him.

::We’ll be back after we’re done with the patrol, don’t worry,:: Sideswipe assured him, as if Prowl wanted assurances right then.

::Should the end of Cliffjumper and Brawn’s patrol be your time of return, I promise you, you will regret it.::

Honestly, they probably would, knowing Prowl. Did they care?

After being cooped up because of someone else’s will, not really.

::We’ll return after the patrol,:: Sunstreaker growled. ::Do what you will then.:: With that, they cut the connection, blocked out their comms, and drove faster—just in case Prowl got the bright idea to send someone to fetch them back, unlikely as that was.

But they got what they wanted in the moment: they were on a patrol that should take them most of the night. If it wasn’t a chance to let loose and unwind, Sunstreaker didn’t know what was. So they drove… And drove… And drove, along roads near abandoned by the humans, enjoying the starlit sky and the crescent moon, the lights of a city in the far distance. The cool night air washed through their vents, taking the heat from their roaring engines.

Two and a half hours and absolutely nothing happened. They weren’t lulled into a false sense of security during that time, but still holding onto their caution or not, that helped them none when the sound of a jet approached them at a concerning speed.

It wasn’t an Earthen jet. No Earthen jet sounded like that.

They went for their comms immediately, but those were already thoroughly blocked. A bit of a déjà vu?

They could never outrun a fragging jet, so the twins stopped instead, in the middle of absolute nowhere with nothing in the form of cover nearby.

In other words, they were screwed.

But that didn’t mean they’d go down without a fight. Transforming out of their alt-modes, the brothers turned to face the flier that could be no one but Megatron, a fact confirmed not with the help of a signature—there was none to be found—but with their optics once the jet got close enough. They could recognize it well enough. Cybertronian in design, making not the slightest effort to blend in on the organic planet, and colored in simple silver. Soundwave was likely aboard, judging by the effectiveness with which their communications were obstructed.

Megatron flew all the way to them, only slowing down to transform some paces from them. Soundwave did indeed appear on the same move, landing next to his leader. The Decepticons wasted no time, approaching as soon as they were on their pedes.

The twins held their ground, Sunstreaker’s deep growl sounding his rising anger in time with his field lashing out with the same emotion. Slagging Megatron was the fault they even had gotten written off patrols like these, and now that they had managed to get on one anyway? Look who’s here.

They drew their weapons, all four of them, a rather clear indication that this wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting. Sunstreaker squared his shoulders and took two steps closer to the Decepticons, ready to meet them with the violence that was really the only appropriate response in situations like these, no?

But… “You haven’t changed,” Megatron said unexpectedly—almost fondly.

That was enough to halt Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe by extension, the both of them frowning in confusion.

Changed from what? “The pit’s that supposed to mean?” Sunstreaker demanded, his engine revving in warning when Megatron was mere inches away from the range of his sword. No surprise, Megatron didn’t take heed, and unlike last time, took the first attack.

Sideswipe would have attacked the warlord with him, had Soundwave not moved to intercept him, forcing his brother off to the side where he wouldn’t be able to intervene without going through the Third first. It was to be just Megatron and Sunstreaker, again. This time Sunstreaker was expecting it and quickly took notice that it didn’t look like Megatron’s goal had changed—injure, cripple, but don’t kill.

Well, Sunstreaker was out to kill. The bastard had managed to become a personal problem on top of being the embodiment of the entire enemy faction. He had no reason to hold back, and every reason to give it his all. He made Megatron work to cut down the amount of damage the tyrant was receiving, but, unfortunately and as before… It was quickly Sunstreaker that began to gain the greater number of injuries despite his best efforts, even if he managed to stay out of the way of the worst of it—block this or dodge that with only half of the damage intended actually landing on him.

Half the damage too much. Megatron wasn’t faster than he was, he wasn’t as agile, but he was several times stronger, not to mention more durable. He could take more punishment than Sunstreaker could ever dream of, and there was strength behind his attacks that Sunstreaker simply couldn’t match, and couldn’t take in full force. One strike of Megatron’s sword across his chest cut him too deep for comfort, even if it was clearly not intended to stab him in a way that would have endangered his spark. Another sank into his thigh, barely missing components that if damaged, would have given him one mighty limp. His shoulder got the same treatment.

Pain or not, Sunstreaker didn’t allow himself be distracted. That would only result in… Well, not death by the looks of things, at least not instantaneously, but definitely in Megatron succeeding at whatever the fuck he was trying to achieve with all of this.

However, he paid a bit too much mind to the warlord’s sword, and with Sideswipe occupied by Soundwave, his brother couldn’t alert him to Megatron’s intent before it was already too late—a servo armed with wicked claws struck forward, catching into the gape on Sunstreaker’s chest Megatron’s damned blade had left behind, and thrusting up.

And this time his spark was definitely threatened. Sunstreaker could feel the claw tips pressing against his spark chamber, and didn’t fool himself into thinking Megatron wouldn’t have had the strength to pierce through all of the shielding and snuff his spark within seconds.

An ugly snarl twisted Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he slowly and with very clearly broadcasted motions placed his sword back into his subspace. Dropping the thermal blade to the ground would’ve only started a wildfire, a fact he trusted Megatron was aware of, and the tyrant did indeed allow him to subspace his weapon fully.

He was staring potential death on the fragging optic by meeting Megatron’s gaze. He couldn’t read it, though. He couldn’t read his damn field for that matter, the current thoughts and emotions of the nemesis of their race veiled from him. Expecting the worst all the same, Sunstreaker tensed from helm to pede when Megatron retracted his own sword and reached for him–

But instead of ripping his helm off his shoulders or whatever, his servo came to his chin and the tyrant’s thumb–

Brushed across his lower lip.

If Sunstreaker wasn’t still before, he sure as fuck became still as a mech already grey at that move. The surprise that hit them like a freight train had Sideswipe stumbling with a gasp, and Soundwave ruthlessly took the chance to send him crashing down and pin him there. His brother cursed, but quickly confirmed he wasn’t going to escape the hold with his life intact, and… That was it for them, was it not? They’d lost good and proper.

But they weren’t dead. That was one small victory, but time would show whether it would remain that way.

It would just be lovely to know what the slag Megatron was doing.

“Do you not remember me?” Megatron asked, his thumb running over his lip again, this time with just a touch more force. Sunstreaker scowled and tried to jerk his helm away, but Megatron both caught his chin and pressed the servo in his chassis deeper, clear in not allowing something like that.

Sunstreaker scowled harder. “What kind of question is that?” he growled back, quite effectively submerged in a pit of confusion. Somehow he got the feeling Megatron wasn’t just meaning his formless status as the enemy leader, or the times they’d seen each other in the battles here on Earth.

Megatron didn’t look pleased or displeased by his answer. He merely… Glanced to the side, at Soundwave and Sideswipe, and nodded.

At once Soundwave had forced one of Sideswipe’s ports open. “Hey–!” was all his twin managed before the telepath plugged into him, both him and Sunstreaker flinching at the potent intrusion into Sideswipe’s systems and psyche. Sunstreaker jerked to go help instinctively, a snarl rising from his engine–

But Megatron stabbed his digits upward just so and Sunstreaker’s vents seized when the tyrant’s claws truly did pierce into his spark chamber’s shielding. Not deep, not deep enough to take his life, but the warning was beyond clear. Sunstreaker had to still himself, his optics flicking between Megatron and Soundwave, uncertain which of them he was supposed to glare at when Soundwave went about rooting in Sideswipe’s systems.

There was a method to what he was doing in his brother’s head. He cleanly cut through all of Sideswipe’s internal defenses and went deeper and deeper into his programming, Sideswipe shivering beneath him from the sensation. The look in his optics was distant, and Sunstreaker had a front row seat to the way the red twin could do nothing but watch as Soundwave descended into the deepest reaches of his… Memory files?

He aimed into the distant past, yet ignored everything he came across until he arrived to the long span of blank they had never had an explanation for. Where they had simply assumed something had wiped those memories from existence entirely, Soundwave now focused on the empty space and… Uploaded a patch into Sideswipe’s systems? He went on to install it on that empty space, which had to mean there was something there after all–

And after a few more commands forced upon Sideswipe’s inner workings, it all came back. Every memory of that time was restored to its full glory and Sideswipe could do nothing but gasp as it all reintegrated with him.

Their optics widened at the same time, the memories of Sideswipe’s frame bleeding through to Sunstreaker as knowledge.

Knowledge of where they had been at that point of their life, what they had done…

With who they had been.

True recognition flooded in. Emotion, old emotion bled into Sunstreaker’s field before he could stop it, and as it swelled past his control, Megatron purred. “There you are.”

Sideswipe was wheezing and didn’t even try to get up when Soundwave released him. The telepath came over to Sunstreaker instead, and he wasn’t sure he would have fought the opening of one of his ports even if Megatron’s servo hadn’t remained as a warning in his chassis. Now knowing where to look, Soundwave took little time to locate the same blank in Sunstreaker’s memories. The same patch was uploaded and installed into his systems, and the memories, every last one of them, restored to their rightful places. It wasn’t just Sideswipe’s memories anymore, vaguely passed by their spark. Now they were all ones belonging to Sunstreaker’s own frame.

And Primus, there were so many. Vorns worth of them, and it would take a while to reintegrate all of them, but when he made a query—Megatron, Megatronus—the amount of returns was… Something else. The sheer size of the role Megatronus had in those memories spoke volumes of everything he had forgotten, and quite well explained Megatron’s seemingly abrupt interest in them.

It wasn’t abrupt. Just opportunistic. Old.

But as he shifted through the memories as fast as he was physically capable, a trend quickly made itself known. Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed up at Megatron who was staring at him with something expectant–

And Sunstreaker said: “You’re a real jackass, did you know that?”

Megatron raised just one optical ridge at him. “Really? That’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” There was still an undercurrent of a purr to his voice, his field pulsing with something entirely suggestive, and when the warlord’s thumb pressed against his lower lip again, Sunstreaker could make an educated guess of where his thoughts were supposed to go, according to Megatron.

But he wasn’t going to just play along. “Was it not supposed to be?” he asked instead, cocking an optical ridge of his own. “The last I remember you were trying to prevent me from going to a goddamn party.”

“You put up quite a fuss over that—and then you disappeared,” Megatron said, and now there was… A hint of a growl. Anger. Sunstreaker didn’t feel like it was directed at them, this time, but rather at whatever—whoever—had so stolen them from Megatron’s clutches.

If nothing else, the servo in his fragging chassis was carefully pulled away. Sunstreaker shuddered at the stabbing pain it caused, but couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved to not have the tyrant’s claws threatening his lifeforce anymore. Memories or not, he couldn’t bring himself to trust the mech any further than he could’ve thrown him. He carefully rubbed at the gaping wound once he was free to do so, not that that achieved anything more than more grating discomfort.

And he glared.

“You look different,” Megatron commented in the silence that followed, and oh dear but he didn’t sound happy about that.

“Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed I’m not a Pit fighter anymore,” Sunstreaker grumbled, because this was one topic where he didn’t find himself in disagreement with Megatron’s obvious displeasure. He’d liked his looks, but of course, he very well couldn’t look quite so Kaonite among the Autobots.

So here he was instead, not looking as he had.

“Did the Autobots do this to you?” the warlord asked, now outright growling and gripping Sunstreaker’s jaw tighter until the smaller mech was grimacing. Oddly, Megatron’s hold immediately loosened.

“They didn’t do anything I didn’t agree to,” Sunstreaker argued back, but he knew his discontent was too visible. There was no way Megatron would buy that, even if it was the truth. Mostly.

“Did you have the option to refuse?” Megatron asked, confirming that no, he didn’t buy it.

But the golden twin just barked a laugh. “Some slag, coming from you.”

“I would have never stripped you of your edges like this.”

“What about all other shit you would do and have done?”

“Such as?”

“Primus, you really need to ask?” Sunstreaker growled and tried to jerk his helm away, not that Megatron was having any of it. “I can think of a goddamn laundry list off the top of my head, but we’d be here the whole night if I started repeating all of it. How about that party incident though, or how many times you straight up forced me into an interface?”

“And how many times did I give you pleasure? How many nights did we spend together?”

“Is that supposed to–“

Before he could say more, Megatron had leaned down and pressed their lips together, softly, gently—but when Sunstreaker tried to turn his helm away with a low snarl, Megatron only grabbed one of his helm fins and kept him right where he wanted him. Still Sunstreaker refused to return the kiss despite Megatron’s glossa requesting entry; the twin stubbornly kept his mouth closed. Megatron didn’t seem to care too much about that, and while he kept his control of Sunstreaker’s helm with one servo, the other began to… Travel. It started from his neck, blood soaked, dangerous claws brushing against the cabling there and then wandered down—carefully playing in the open cuts left on him by Megatron himself until Sunstreaker shivered from the shy increase of pain.

Then it moved on, slipping to his waist, dragging along seams… Lower still.

There was no question of what Megatron was after.

“Why?” Sunstreaker snarled, then gasped when the servo flashed between his legs, scraping the edges of his valve cover.

“Do you not miss this? Miss me?” Megatron murmured against his mouth, but didn’t give him a chance to answer before his glossa thrust in past his now parted lips.

Sunstreaker shook. There was no way that he could have missed something he didn’t even remember, but now he remembered.

He remembered the attraction, the danger, the strength—the bad and the good. He hadn’t made a habit of ogling the enemy leader, but now he didn’t need to have done so to know every detail of Megatron’s frame. Unlike Sunstreaker’s, it had barely changed over the millions of years the war had ravaged their species.

The millions of years they had been apart.

Had his spark had the time to forget those emotions? All the perilous thrill that had come to such an abrupt end, the magnetic allure that had never cooled back then in spite of everything, and perhaps still hadn’t. He couldn’t strike from his mind the way Megatron’s physique had always titillated him, how he’d loved every curve, every spike in his thick armor, making him look as dangerous as he really was—the embodiment of everything it was to be Kaonite, a gladiator.

Now it was wrong. They were on opposite sides of the massive chasm their race had been torn into by the same damned mech now touching him–

And still he couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t deny the way his spark quickened in its rotation, pulsing urgently.

It hadn’t forgotten.

Megatron’s touch never turned rough as he toyed with Sunstreaker’s valve panel, teasing and coaxing until Sunstreaker was squirming in place, unable to pull away with the grip Megatron maintained of his fin—and the tyrant still kissing him with heat. Where Sunstreaker had forgotten, Megatron had no reason to have done the same, but it looked like the warlord hadn’t gotten over his own feelings for him any more than Sunstreaker’s spark seemed to have.

Whatever those feelings actually were. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what he should have called it, recalling all of the behavior Megatron had always displayed. Was it just his version of genuine love, or only possession and obsession?

If one day he might know, now wasn’t that time. In the present Megatron was expertly turning Sunstreaker’s frame against him, and before long he could no longer pretend his valve wasn’t slicking, that his ventilations weren’t turning unsteady. It wasn’t just about the physical sensation, either. That had to be the worst part. Memories, so many of them of situations just like this, pushed to the forefront of his mind—reminded him of just what Megatron could do to him, the ecstasy he could bring. His spark responded too, pulsing with vim even as his mind rebelled against it all to no notable effect. Good sense said he shouldn’t be doing this, that this was everything he shouldn’t be doing–

And yet, on one scratch across his cover, Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from groaning, and couldn’t keep his panel from retracting.

Megatron’s digits dipped in immediately, encountering all of the lubricant that had already gathered, and the tyrant purred with clear pleasure. Indeed, what reason did he have to not enjoy the way he could turn Sunstreaker on with such ease, as if he was irresistible to Sunstreaker… And maybe he was. The past sure suggested he was.

He should have fought it. Maybe that would have gotten him exactly nowhere, but he should have fought it out of principle. They were enemies. They had to be. Megatron was a Decepticon. Sunstreaker was an Autobot.

This was wrong.

But still, despite knowing that with every reasonable thought he had, Sunstreaker didn’t fight it when Megatron pulled from his mouth only to take a hold of him and gently lower them to the ground until Sunstreaker’s back hit it with barely a thud. Megatron didn’t quite pin him even as he caught Sunstreaker’s servos in his own and pressed them to the ground a little above his helm. Despite the tenderness of that and everything else, Sunstreaker wasn’t certain he could have actually pulled away if he had tried.

But he didn’t even try, not even when Megatron’s spike cover transformed aside. Sunstreaker didn’t look. Not like he needed to to know exactly what he was getting into.

Megatron released one of his servos to run his hand down Sunstreaker’s frame, all the way to his hips that he then lifted, aligning their equipment. The tip of the tyrant’s spike nudged against his valve entrance and Sunstreaker shuddered with his entire frame, his helm tilting back as Megatron began to push—slowly, but never once stopping. The entry was controlled, methodical, and Sunstreaker did no more than feel every inch, every caliper that expanded, gave way to the wide length pushing into him. Among the Autobots, few on top of Optimus could compare to this, and Sunstreaker wasn’t sure his frame and spark didn’t welcome Megatron with far more affection and eagerness than they had ever done with the Prime.

He was gasping by the time Megatron’s hips were brought flush to his. The warlord rumbled as he stopped there, simply enjoying the heat of Sunstreaker’s frame and the uneven clenching of his calipers as they adjusted around his girth. Sunstreaker gladly took the moment to try to arrange his thoughts into some sort of order.

Tried to remember he wasn’t supposed to want this for so many reasons.

Then his once lover began to move, pulling back leisurely, pushing back in with the same calm ease—gentle as he ‘faced him. His mouth came to Sunstreaker’s again, lips pressing against lips. Sunstreaker’s parted before conscious thought caught up and Megatron claimed the invitation it wasn’t.

They kissed until Sunstreaker couldn’t find the will to not return it.

“Oh, how I have missed this,” Megatron breathed, pulling away from his mouth only to dip his helm to the side. “Missed you,” was whispered directly into his audial.

Sunstreaker moaned—just a small sound, but he moaned all the same, as if those words were something he wanted to hear.

As if they brought him pleasure the same way the steady thrusts of Megatron’s hips did.

“You were mine once upon a time,” the tyrant continued. “Do you remember how I cared for you? Protected you, from your owner, from your inexperience—taught you until you could win every fight to the death.”

“Don’t take all the credit,” Sunstreaker would have liked to growl back, but the words only came out as a husky groan. “You weren’t the only one we trained with. You weren’t–“

“But I was the best and the only one who loved you. Recall my affection. Recall everything I did for you and still claim I didn’t have your best interests in mind.”

“Oh, I recall,” the twin managed to hiss. “Every time you tried to order me around, all the control you tried to exert over me. Tell me what to do, what not to do, when this, when that, who to associate with–“

“And you never listened to me. Don’t you see you left me no choice if I wanted to keep you safe?”

“My safety wasn’t your concern–!”

“But it was. Your misguided attempts to deny my help were just that: misguided. Was that not what led you here? Without your memories, no knowledge of all the time we spent together, as lovers, in love?”

Sunstreaker’s arguments died in his throat as Megatron sped up the steady rhythm of his hips, while still remaining as gentle as he knew the mech to be capable of. The softness… He doubted many had ever seen it.

But Sunstreaker had. It had belonged to Sunstreaker. Wasn’t it proof that not everything Megatron said was a lie? That maybe the now-tyrant really believed what he said? He’d brought terror upon their entire species, all but torn their planet apart, killed millions… Yet he fucked Sunstreaker so gently.

Kissed him with such care.

Sunstreaker could find no words to speak against the grey mech’s lips as the charge climbed higher, as his spark danced in all those long forgotten things he had been given back…

His overload was sudden and anything but insignificant. Sunstreaker’s back arched as the whiplash of energy exploded in his frame, sending him higher than he could remember being in a stupidly long time. He groaned deep from his chassis and Sideswipe repeated the sound to the side of them, where he still lay and now pressed his face into his arm as the overload claimed them both.

And the arrhythmic tightening of Sunstreaker’s calipers had Megatron growling two thrusts before he pushed in as deep as he could go and Sunstreaker felt the transfluid pumping from his spike, into the very back of his valve.

He slumped against the ground once the energy stopped exchanging between their frames, venting heavily. His optics fluttered back open, only to see Megatron already looking at him, his gaze the deepest red, reflecting nothing but his immense power.

Just as Sunstreaker remembered—and like he had never feared the intensity in it, all the promises it held of what Megatron was capable of… He didn’t fear it now either.

Megatron’s digits came to brush the side of Sunstreaker’s face, still so loving, at such complete odds of what he knew most thought of the warlord. Megatron wasn’t loving. Megatron wasn’t gentle.

Megatron was violence and brutality, ruthless in his pursuits. Nothing stood in his way.

And yet here he was… Anything but that, just for Sunstreaker.

Well, aside from the “nothing stood in his way” bit. Certainly Sunstreaker’s reservations were of no concern to him when they didn’t align with what Megatron wanted.

“Don’t forget me again,” Megatron murmured with one last stroke along Sunstreaker’s jaw before he withdrew from his valve, leaving the twin to shiver from the sensation of his retreat against sensitized sensors, and that of copious amounts of lubricant and transfluid both leaking out of him afterwards. Sunstreaker didn’t get up even as Megatron rose to his pedes, merely propped himself up on his arms and quietly watched as the warlord walked over to… Sideswipe.

Sideswipe, who still hadn’t gotten up himself, but was staring at Megatron with rapt attention. Their old lover crouched in front of him and hooked just one digit under Sideswipe’s chin, gently guiding him up onto his knees before laying a kiss on his lips too. It was a fierce thing, desirous, and Sideswipe mewled into it, unsure of how he was supposed to react—aside from the knowledge that he certainly, certainly shouldn’t have allowed it.

But he did. He did allow it, and when Megatron pulled away with one final bite on Sideswipe’s lower lip, his twin’s arms were shaking from the inarticulate bundle of emotions violently ricocheting between them. They could only name desire and qualm out of it all.

Megatron said nothing more; neither did the brothers. Or Soundwave, for that matter, whose presence they had managed to mostly forget with how still and unresponsive the telepath had been through everything. They only registered him again now when he transformed onto Megatron’s servo, the tyrant following that with his own transformation around his Third.

Then he was off, all over again, just like that… Except this time he had gotten what he wanted.

And by the pits the things he had wanted—and however more he would still want, now that they remembered. Now that they knew, again.

Megatron was their past, and after all this they wanted to make no guesses as to what their future would be.

( Next )