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He remembered the code for the key by spark, and he was thankful for it because the mech at the front desk was beginning to become casual with him. Casual meant he was recognized more often than not. Casual meant someone, possibly multiple someone’s, were sure enough of their ability to ID him that they could probably testify to it in court. He hoped things never made it that far.
Skirting around the main office to the line of cheaply painted doors, Rodimus moved to the one he needed in an almost dream like state, concerned with other things. He did not need to check the number; he remembered every streak of dirt and grime like the feeling of a reverse neutrality field rifle in his hands. He punched in the key, pushed the faded metal back, and stepped into the cold light of the only place he felt completely free.
Ultra Magnus looked up and smiled.
“I’m sorry I’m late. There was a lot of confusion with the team arrangement this evening because Brawn and Hot Shot both…” he leaned back against the door, wiping a hand over his face.
“It doesn’t matter, Rodimus. Come here.”
Ultra Magnus stood from the bed, reaching out, and Rodimus gladly fell into his wide embrace. It was the kind of easy release he had needed for so long, and here he could have it. There was no pressure for greatness behind these flimsy walls, no heavy hand on his back pushing for constant improvement. Ultra Magnus was the word of the law even outside, but here he was comfort and warmth.
“Did you have to wait long?”
His broad chest rumbled lightly.
“No longer than usual. You know it is better for our reputations to space our arrivals and departures as it is.”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t want to think about that right now. He never did, truly, but there was too much riding on their relationship being perceived as platonic and respectable to ever really forget. They were allowed to be close in the public optic because Rodimus was gearing towards the Magnus title fast, even if he was barely past his ceremonial right of becoming Prime. Stolen moments when they were behind closed doors, hands brushing instead of lips because they could never be too careful. It was exhausting trying to hide what they were. Magnus was too old and Rodimus was too young. In the Guard you were never supposed to love.
Rodimus kissed the edges of his chest plate, hands moving to rub down Ultra Magnus’s back in deep, hard strokes.
“You’re eager today.”
“I’m sorry,” he wasn’t, “I need this.”
It had been too long since their last meeting. This hotel, chosen above all others, had no cameras, no real surveillance, but while a fake cover of electronic paint and a simple decal to hide his sigil could cover Rodimus’s tracks, Ultra Magnus was recognizable everywhere. They paid the front desk extra to keep it down, Magnus having his ways of knowing a bot’s true colors, but it was never a sure thing. People of influence could always be watching, somehow, somewhere. It was a sleazy little joint, the bad part of town rising all around it like a net of black spines, but there was always a chance. Fate was never kind.
“It’s alright,” said Magnus, tone gentle, the closest he would ever get to admitting me too.
His hands, so much larger than Rodimus’s, pulled at the Prime’s thighs, tracing up his spoiler with enough force to illicit a whine. They stumbled back a bit, Rodimus’s thin legs mixing with Magnus’s, until they fell back onto the berth. Allowing his hands to fall back by his helm, Rodimus pushed his chest forward, panting, sensual. Ultra Magnus caged him in his arms, the bulk of his frame a wonderful pressure and heat above him. Rodimus relinquished all control, like a good Prime should, to his superior. A knuckle traced down his sharp cheek with soft adoration.
“It’s alright.”
They kissed, long and sweet. Ever pushed by his need Rodimus raised his legs out, spreading them, trying to encourage more touching and more pressure as Ultra Magnus shifted closer. His head, cradled among the flat and lumpy pillows of the cheap suite, rolled up and Ultra Magnus mouthed at his jaw and throat, teeth just barely grazing. He could not leave marks. Even though Rodimus was skilled at fixing himself, buffing out his own plating, the sheen and cut of a freshly polished neck shown too often had already caused some gossip among his team, and the Guard as a whole, and they could not risk it again. The touch, tender at best, meant more than the bite would anyways. Ultra Magnus lowered himself and his chest pushed Rodimus down, the heat between their thighs beginning to mingle. They had time, more than usual, but there was always an urgency to their coupling.
“Oh Primus,” Rodimus said, knees shaking as fingers cupped his groin, massaging with the same care as every other movement. His squeezed his thighs tight around Ultra Magnus’s hips, kneading at his back. The cheap berth pad creaked as their weights shifted again, leaning into each other. A thick thumb flicked at his panels and Rodimus retracted them both, sighing as his spike sprang up into the waiting grasp.
“Come on,” he hissed, hands moving down to grasp at the Magnus’s thigh, “you too.”
Ultra Magnus had a good, thick spike. Rodimus had long ago committed every groove and curve to memory, long nights of sliding his fingers and lips along its shaft keeping him warm when he was alone. he couldn’t quite fit a single hand around it, and now he used two, fingers interlocking where they met, to smooth down the shuddering plating even as it finished pressurizing, his own spike twitching in sympathy into Ultra Magnus’s hold, a finger moving down to breach his valve, tight with excitement and stress.
Spreading his legs wider yet, Rodimus nudged his hips into the touch, prompting the finger to sink deeper. One was the size of several of Rodimus’s so it was more than enough for now. he know all the right ways to twitch and tweak that single digit, quick, practiced motions making him leak in nano-kliks, the soft squelch wringing a wet pant from his throat. He squeezed his fingers around Ultra Magnus’s shaft, starting from the base and slowly dragging upwards where he rubbed and teased the head, thumbing the slit carefully, cupping the ridges. Moaning, Ultra Magnus’s engine thrummed with an old power that shook the berth, deep and strong. Rodimus arched at the feeling of it, enthralled.
“Oh, frag,” he said, helm lolling back, “don’t make me wait any longer, Magnus-!”
Twin hands wrapped about his thighs, the lack of contact making Rodimus hiss for a mere moment, and he was lifted back, open and wanting. Ultra Magnus buried his face between his legs and Rodimus yelled, sure of himself even with the paper thin walls and the crack beneath the door and the interconnected pipes in the wash rack. He was more sure of this than anything.
His hands scrabbled against Magnus’s helm, curling around his antennae, like rods on a dispensary, milking sensation from what he could as a sizable tongue and teeth devoured him. Ultra Magnus knew where to suck and where to lick, Rodimus’s spike so painfully pressurized it lay flat against his stomach. He did not beg, not quite, but he threw his helm from side to side, pawing the air and the sheets and his own face, toe pieces curling out.
“Oh, Magnus, oh Primus oh, slag, I l- I love you-!”
Ultra Magnus pulled back, optics bright and shining, and he crawled forward again to rap Rodimus up in a passionate kiss, still tasting of his fluids. Rodimus’s hips jerked up, rubbing his valve and spike against Ultra Magnus’s plug, needy and unsteady in his movements.
“Please, please!”
He wasn’t sure who said it because they were both thinking it, feeling it. Ultra Magnus guided his spike inside him in a clean movement, practiced over many dark nights, and though Rodimus was accustomed to its width he still gasped and rolled as he was filled. It was like nothing else, no other partner he had been with before, the size and intensity of their connection too deep to fully comprehend. They kissed again as he fully sheathed himself, rocking together in a moment of near silence. It was as if their sparks had fully aligned with the rotation of the planet and everything in the universe beat with them. An overly romantic thought, one Rodimus would laugh at himself for entertaining later, but right now it meant everything.
They parted and Ultra Magnus closed his optical shutters, leaning into Rodimus’s neck to breathe words of love and affection into his plating. Rodimus, without real language here, moaned.
Their movements were slow but uncontrolled, the need for friction and touch stronger than any worry of perfection. Their fingers intertwined somehow, resting on the berth pad, and Rodimus gulped down air like a drowning mech. Ultra Magnus was large and so the berth was shifting with them, and it was hard to keep Rodimus in position so they had to pause every few kliks and readjust, but it was good. Their overloads built like the incoming tide, waves that pushed and pulled, creeping in until they both were full with charge and froth. It was too much to bear and Ultra Magnus suddenly jumped, engine turning over like a firecracker going off, and pushed in hard and fast. Rodimus was shaken, doing his best to meet the new and exciting pace, arms and legs flailing as everything was thrust into a secondary stage of need, beyond the want of closeness and love and into the wild passion of the starving beasts.
Rodimus succumbing with a throaty gasp when Ultra Magnus hiked his legs up higher and angled his spike in just the right way. His valve spasmed and the Magnus pushed harder, rutting through his own burst even as his transfluid overflowed and spattered across the dull berth sheets. Rodimus raked his fingers over his own stomach, wonderfully full, feeling the plating shift and bulge a little to adjust for it.
They did not disconnect for a long while after, Rodimus bucking with the occasional aftershock as Ultra Magnus let his spike remain inside. It wasn’t that they couldn’t bear to part but that there was no need for it, the closeness, as their systems cooled and the metal pinged, as natural as anything. Every small twitch moved the fluid inside Rodimus’s gut, bubbling out and making him moan and hiss. Finally, too tired to keep holding himself up and unwilling to crush Rodimus, Ultra Magnus rolled to his side, almost falling off the berth, and they curled close side by side. A gush of fluids wet Rodimus’s thighs.
“That was good,” he sighed, a big hand stroking his back, “I needed that. I really needed that.”
Steam billowed from his shoulder vents and Magnus played with it under the lamp light.
“We both did.”
There was a little charge still skittering between them, Rodimus having been reignited by the feeling of transfluid making him ache inside. He pushed a bit against Ultra Magnus’s side, letting him feel his still pressurized spike.
“Oh, Rodimus,” the older mech moved slowly, smiling with an apology in his eyes, “I can’t go again. Not tonight.”
“I know, but,” Rodimus chewed his lip, not quite as embarrassed as contemplative, “maybe we can…”
He let his actions speak for him, sitting up and spreading his thighs a bit. He was a mess and knew it, letting his optics shift between himself and Ultra Magnus, who got the idea immediately.
“Well,” he said, “I think I can oblige.”
They took a moment to maneuver, but Rodimus soon found himself perched atop the older mech’s chin, dripping and shaking with the post overload thrills still running through his spark. His spike jutted out awkwardly and he stroked it in anticipation as Ultra Magnus guided his hips lower, licking his lips.
He’d already gotten a taste of Rodimus’s valve earlier, but it was never so sweet as when he had already cum once, the bitter tang of his own transfluid only just detectable behind the richer flavor of the newly produced lubricants. He pulled him down roughly, mouth large enough to really devour him, and Rodimus wriggled and moaned atop him, riding his tongue like a throne, nimble fingers working his own spike in a hypnotizing manner. Ultra Magnus, in his younger days, would have been ready to go again just at the sight of it, but now his systems could not handle too much strain in so short a period of time. It didn’t bother him, really; getting to admire his Prime in pleasure without any thought of himself was like a gift. Age had taught him the sweetness of bringing another to overload, that watching and feeling were very different things from simply pursuing his own end, mutual or not. The way Rodimus screwed up his optics and let his mouth hang open was a beautiful sight and he closed his optics with it imprinted on his hard drive, focusing on his work.
Rodimus knew better than to buck widely, but he twitched and rolled nonetheless, Ultra Magnus’s tongue passing in and out of him in a beautifully languid rhythm. He had to reach forward and brace himself on the backboard when the Magnus pulled back a bit to suck on his external node, tongue swiping over it between gasping stretches of pressure. His own grip on his spike tightened, the boil in his belly growing tight and primeval.
“Oh I- I’m close,” he warned, having to reset his vocalizer twice as the gravel of lust clogged it. Ultra Magnus hummed, a vibration that was only rivalled by his thrumming engine and made Rodimus buck harder than he meant to. It mattered very little; the strong hands holding him steady not allowing for much error. His breath hitched higher and higher, the peak this time feeling sharp and alpine. Magnus sucked at his folds, tugging with his lips, and then his tongue was back inside prodding at that one very special spot he had memorized ages ago and Rodimus toppled forward into the wall hard enough to bang his helm. He didn’t care much, shaking like a leaf as his overload crashed through him, the breaking wave. His spike discharged for the second time tonight, drizzling across Ultra Magnus’s forehead and he leaned and curved like his bow.
This time, when he was gently lowered to rest beside his lover on the sheets, Rodimus was content to remain still, hot and sated. Ultra Magnus pet his chest and stomach, happy just to watch him recover. This was why their secrecy was important. Though he was loathe to check his chronometer he did, relieved to find they had time yet. Rodimus was beginning to come back to himself, lips parting as he hummed, rubbing Ultra Magnus’s fingers on his chest. The romance of the moment moved something in him.
“I think that, if we never move past this, if all we have are these moments in a hotel such as this one, I would still be happy to be with you.”
Ultra Magnus immediately had to avert his optics, embarrassed to have spoken so openly, and Rodimus himself seemed startled by the admission, grip tightening.
“I, um,” he could not think of words that held an equal weight. Something was better than nothing, though, and for lack of eloquence he lifted the heavy hand to his mouth and kissed every knuckle in the way he had seen mechs in the movies do, breath shuddering with nerves. Ultra Magnus’s lips slackened and he turned back, gaze warm.
“I do love you, you know.”
“I know.”
Rodimus muffled his voice behind a pale palm, eyes smiling for him. Ultra Magnus leaned in and kissed his forehead. They lay together a while more, letting the buzz of the neon sign outside their door and the slosh of the filthy communal pool lull them like the serenade of an angel.