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Being in the army lost some of it's glory with the first real battle he was in after he arrived on Earth, fresh out of the military academy back on Cybertron. The Decepticons where every bit as nasty as the rumors and hearsay said, but it didn't get real until he saw them up close.

It wasn't enough to send him running home, like a coward. No, Barricade was proud to be here, fighting for the Autobot cause. He just got a little more cautious when he had seen with his own optics what, exactly, they were up against

But being cautious isn't always enough.  He got separated from his group and had to run, outnumbered by Decepticons. The Saleen followed protocols: get to safety and send a request for backup. 

It would've been simple, if it wasn't for the fact that his comms had been knocked offline by a nearby blast. So he was forced to go with plan B; hide and set an emergency beacon.

He found an empty factory, barbed wire fence partially broken down by curious humans, one of the large doors hanging open, hinges creaking as it moved in the wind. The Mustang slipped inside and quietly made it further into the building as he was certain that he had shaken his tail of Cons.

With the emergency beacon activated, he hunkered down in the corner, hidden behind a stack of old boxes, waiting for his backup to arrive.






By now, minutes has turned to hours without anybot showing up and Barricade slips into light recharge a few times. What could possibly take so long? Maybe his beacon doesn't work either? Should he keep waiting, or should he go? It's starting to get dark outside...

He still opts for staying, like protocols say he should. The battle might have dragged out, or maybe Ratchet has a medbay full of injured.

The last thought is like a blow to the stomach. What if they're all deactivated, or injured, and he is still alive just because he run and hid like a coward?

But he still stays, doesn't dare to go outside, and still adamant to follow protocols, inexperienced as he is in a situation like this. His systems are still scrambled; he seems unable to scan the surroundings and it leaves him blind of any danger coming until it's close enough to hear or see.

Something scrapes over by the door and Barricade's spark speeds up with relief. He quickly stands to see over the boxes, eager to be found, and get home to see how everyone is doing.

The Saleen looks at the silver mech coming closer, gait smooth as any earthen feline. He cycles two of his optics to get a better look, doesn't really recognize him.


"Why, I'm insulted. No, 'm not Sideswipe."

The mech's visor flickers from an unreadable silver, through a rainbow of colors, before stopping at a menacing red.

Every instinct Barricade has turns from relief to alarm as the Decepticon languorously closes in on him.

Why did he sit in the corner? He should have made sure to have a way out in multiple directions.

"Well, lookie wha' we have here." The mech snickers.

"Stay away from me, Decepticon!" The Interceptor snarls, voice quivering nervously.

"Or what, li'l Bot?" The mech smirks as he just keeps coming closer. 

Barricade walks slowly backwards, the Decepticon crowding him, and Barricade keeps backing up until he hits the wall. Taloned servos come up on each side of Barricade's helm as the mech leans closer, effectively boxing him in. The Saleen can't help but whimper in fear and the mech's grin widens where he towers over Barricade by at least a helm. 

This is it. He has been to lectures about withstanding torture and interrogation, and now thise lessons will be useful.

The Decepticon leans in even closer, scenting Barricade's neck with a deep invent, humming in what seems like amusement. The Saleen shudders as something brushes his neck.

"My backup will arrive at any second now." Barricade growls.

"I doubt tha', considerin' I'm dampenin' your beacon." The mech is too close, grin widening to show too sharp denta. "Or does tha Prime hand out rape whistles now?"


"Pretty li'l frame like yours, ya might need it..."

"What?" Barricade squeaks when the mech grasps his wrist-struts, quick as a rattlesnake.

He struggles, cursing that he didn't just shoot the Con, but it's one thing to shoot at someone from a distance in the heat of battle. It's a damned big difference to kill someone in cold blood, face to face. His struggles are useless, the mech is stronger than him, and the Decepticon holds both his wrist-struts with one servo against the wall above Barricade's helm.

"Ya dunno what a rape is?" The Con asks, sounding incredulous.


Barricade always figured that if he ever got caught and interrogated, he'd be asked questions he knew the answer to, that he'd be forced to lie and endure pain to keep his secrets.

"Do ya know anythin' 'bout interfacin' at all?" The Decepticon asks, optics roaming Barricade's stretched frame.

"No! I have no idea what you're talking about." The Interceptor squeaks, getting scared.

He's going to be tortured for information, and he doesn't even have it and the mech will never believe him...

The Decepticon strokes down Barricade's chestplates, down his side, to his hip with one servo, thumb sliding along the juncture of Barricade's hip, to the plate between his legs. The Saleen whimpers in fear for what the mech is about to do, the Decepticon looking much like a turbofox staring at it's prey, visor bright.

The thumb rubs the panel a few times and Barricade squirms as something behind the panel starts to tingle strangely. The Decepticon grins again, even wider this time.

"I love this feature right here." He says, moving his servo to Barricade's shoulder-wing instead.

The Autobot holds his vents and stiffens, waiting for the mech to grab it harshly, to twist the sensitive component, but he doesn't.

"Relax, li'l Bot. I probably won't hurt ya...much." The Decepticon purrs.

Instead of hurting the Saleen, he slides his servo along the plating, talons dipping into seams, up to Barricade's tire. The Interceptor gasps when he squeezes the tire, confused by the reaction between his legs; he gets even more tingly.

His frame feels funny, almost a little itchy. In the same way it feels whenever he can't stop staring at Ironhide's broad back, or Sideswipes beautiful legs.

The Decepticon slots his leg between Barricade's, presses his thigh against that panel and Barricade can't help but squirm again. It gives him some friction and he starts to feel moist behind the plate.

"I swear, I know nothing about interfacing!" Barricade blurts, cursing how scared and desperate he sounds.

"Really?" The Con chuckles.

The silver mech turns the Mustang easily, still holding his servos above his helm, and Barricade's front hits the wall. A servo slides down his ventral plating to that panel between his legs that's starting to feel hot.

"So ya want me ta believe that ya never 've greased up your servo ta stroke your spike?" The Con hisses in his audial, frame pressed against Barricade's back.

"Eew! No!" 

"Ya never humped your mattress until ya came all over it?"

"Definitely not. That's gross." 

He doesn't fully understand the question. What does the mech mean by coming? This interrogation is so weird.

"Really? Because I do rub one out frequently. Don'cha like jerkin' off? Or do ya like waking up with your panels all filled with sticky fluid?" The Decepticon asks, still stroking Barricade panel.

"How did you know...? I mean no!

He has woken up like that before, all sticky and gross, and he still hasn't figured out why he leaks sometimes. It's worrying when it happens, no fluid he knows what it is, but he has been too embarrassed to ask a medic.

"No, as in ya don' like wakin' up sticky?"

"I...uhm... I don't know."

It's so incredibly hard to think when that servo is slowly rubbing his panel, making the tingling more noticeable behind it, when it's spreading through his systems.

"I don't particularly enjoy jerkin' off, but I really hate wakin' up with a blown load inside my panel." The Con informs him.

Barricade is at a loss. He doesn't understand what the mech wants, what the purpose of this interrogation is. But he's still afraid of getting tortured, so he tries to be compliant until he finds out what the mech is after. So far, he hasn't even had any relevant answers for the questions. At least he hasn't been hurt.

"What do you want, Decepticon?" Barricade groans as those digits tease a seam and the Interceptor's frame runs hotter.

"Ta stick my spike into somethin' more interesting than my servo."

It doesn't make any sense at all.

He's trapped there, between the Decepticon and the wall, and Barricade tries to come up with a way to free himself from the vice-like grip when a talon finds a sensitive spot inside the seam and his panel suddenly pops of it's own accord.

"That's it, good li'l Bot." The mech croons against Barricade's neck-struts.

Slender talons slip easily over components Barricade isn't very familiar with. The Interceptor's hips twitch involuntarily when the Con finds a particularly sensitive spot. His cooling fans clicks on, and his vents are coming faster.

Barricade is confused, because he's still afraid that the mech will turn violent and hurt him, like an interrogation should workbut then there's that growing heaviness between his legs, the tingling that's growing into a pressure he wants released and the things the mech does with his digits feel kind of good.

He doesn't even notice when the grip around his wrist-struts loosen at first, too occupied with all the unfamiliar sensory input, how sharp denta nips at his neck-cables and talons dip into him. But then a servo slides down his arm to find his shoulder-wing, tweaking sensitive wiring and cables, while that other servo still teases him between his legs and Barricade mewls and bucks against the servo to get more friction, in spite of realizing that he's not restrained anymore. What's he supposed to do now? He braces his servos against the wall beside his helm.

Barricade hears the sound of plating shifting around and then something hard rubs slickly against his aft, but he's still too occupied with the coiling pressure in him to process it when the mech nudges his pedes further apart with his own pede.

"This will hurt, li'l Bot, but tha pain won't last." The Decepticon says matter of factly when he grabs Barricade's hips and something slides between Barricade's legs, rubbing against the wet components there.

It sobers him up, and he tries to turn around.

"Wait! Please don't hurt me. I don't know anything about interfacing, I swear!" He whimpers.

"Well, tha' much is clear." The Decepticon mutters with a flicker of his visor. "Look, i's just goin' ta hurt when I break your seal."

"My what?"

"Your seal." 

A servo slides down between Barricade's legs again and he can't help but rubbing against it, to get more of that friction and it earns him a predatory grin from the Decepticon.

"Do ya really want me ta stop doin' this?" He purrs.


This can't be right. But he has no idea how to handle the situation, and making the Decepticon angry seems stupid, and it feels so fragging good... "I guess not..." Barricade mumbles.

The Con looks nothing short of victorious when Barricade glances over his shoulder.

"I'll hafta break this..." 

A talon presses hard against something inside Barricade.

"Ow, ow, ow..." The Saleen whines.

"Oh, cut it out, ya whimp."

"I'm not a whimp!" Barricade growls.

"Ooh, feisty!" The Decepticon snickers. "I jus' poked a hole in your seal ta make it a li'l easier on ya, nice mech that I am."

He keeps teasing that sensitive spot on the outside of the components and Barricade instinctively arches his back to give him better access. The Con groans when the hard thing slides between Barricade's legs. Then the mech reaches down between them and something much thicker than his talons is pushed into Barricade.

It's too big. The stretch burns and aches when the Con grabs Barricade's hips for leverage.

"Primus be damned, it is way too long since I last gotta have my spike in a tight li'l valve." The Decepticon purrs.

"It hurts! I can't..." Barricade whines, digits scrabbling against the wall.

"I thought ya said ya weren't a whimp? Tha first time always hurts. If ya just endure a li'l, it'll feel good."

He isn't a whimp. He can do this.

The Con keeps toying with that sensitive spot but doesn't push in deeper, and Barricade finds that he actually acclimatizes to it, pleasure winning out. He mewls, hips twitching. Then the mech suddenly thrusts, hips clanging against Barricade's aft. The Interceptor cries out in pain.

"Shh. You're doin' good, li'l Bot. Relax." The mech croons.

The Decepticon stays still, hilted, and Barricade draws fast and shallow vents while he gets used to the fullness, the Con still teasing that spot with his digit. The Saleen feels himself relaxing when the stretch turns into less burn and more pressure and apparently, the Decepticon feels it too; he starts moving.

The continuous stimulation to the spot just in front of where the Con slides inside him has Barricade tensing with a coiling need, mewling with want, pushing back to get more, and the mech reads him perfectly.

"Oh, ya feel so good 'round my cock, li'l Bot." The Decepticon groans, rutting into Barricade with deep thrusts.

Barricade doesn't answer, doesn't know what to say. The heat and pressure is building low in his stomach, and he gasps with the hard thrusts, the flicking of that spot...

Then he's released, contractions pulsing in his core, and he moans when the pressure finally gives, digits scrabbling against the concrete wall. The mech behind him grunts and presses Barricade's aft against his pelvic plating with harsh grips on the Interceptor's hips.

The Saleen comes down from his moment of suspension, venting hard, cooling fans spinning quickly. He feels oddly relaxed, hydraulic pressure low in his legs.

The Decepticon steps back, sliding out of Barricade, servos still on the Mustang's hips. He nuzzles Barricade's neck.

"I needed tha'. Goddamnit, ya felt good 'round me."

Barricade's helm is spinning. What's he supposed to do? He hasn't been prepared for this situation. The Con spins him and he follows, allows his back to be pressed against the wall, the mech crowding him again. Still feeling too good to protest. He vaguely register the fluid dribbling out of him, running down his legs.

The Con licks Barricade's intake, glossa sliding across supple lip-plates and the Interceptor gasps, intake widening minutely. Of course the Decepticon takes advantage. His glossa slides into Barricade's mouth, teasing the Saleen's tongue.

How should he answer that?

A servo cups his aft, one slides up his side, and Barricade puts his servos on the mech's shoulders.

The glossa keeps prodding his, and hesitantly, he does the same, licks the Con's tongue. The silver mech answers with becoming more insistent and Barricade follows his lead, becoming more eager.

It feels so good, the heaviness between his legs is returning, he's going hot. The servo stroking his side reaches his shoulder-wing, tweaking cables at the base, and Barricade mewls into the Decepticon's intake, glossa accidentally sliding against sharp denta.

It sobers him up and he stiffens. The Con pulls back, pressing his lip-plates against Barricade's one last time before letting go of the Interceptor and stepping back.

"Ya probably should'nt tell tha other Bots that ya interfaced with a Con. And ya definitely don' wanna tell them that ya overloaded, trust me on tha'." The silver mech smirks, seemingly satisfied with himself.

Barricade just stands there, still not certain what to do. The Decepticon throws a rag to him.

"I like tha' look on ya; covered in my fluids, but it probably wouldn't look good if ya come home like tha'. Ya should clean up, kid. N' don't forget ta close your panel."

With that, the Decepticon turns his back on Barricade, apparently dismissing him as a threat, and strolls away, leaving the flabbergasted Mustang behind without so much as a glance.

When he's certain that the Con has really left, he looks down on himself, inspecting his frame. The Interceptor finds a few dents on his hips after the Decepticon's digits, some paint transfers that's obvious to him that comes from this... Interaction with the Con, but it doesn't really stand out among the damage from the battle.

His legs are sticky and slick. The Saleen recognizes some of the fluid from when he himself has woken up with a gross panel. Making a face, he starts wiping down. He doesn't really know why, but somehow he believes what the Con said; that he better keep this a secret.

Barricade saves the parts between his legs for last, apprehensive about it all, but when his legs show no trace of what happened, he is forced to deal with it. He wipes himself with the rag at first, cleaning away the outer stickiness, but he still feels slick and weird inside and tentatively, he prods himself with his digits.

Soft, pliable edge. Just like when he washes himself, only slightly sore and maybe a little looser? His hesitant touch still brings a tingle deeper inside him, a want for more. The Mustang carefully slips a digit through the moist slit to examine the parts he has no real knowledge of. He hits a little bud at the front of the slit and his hips jerk involuntarily. So that's what the Con was touching. It feels good, and he's tempted to touch it more, but he probably shouldn't do it here.

Instead, he slips a digit inside instead. The cavity is soft and wet and sore. Did the Con really have his spike in here?

A scraping noice has him startling, thinking it might be another Decepticon.

"Barricade! Are you in here?" Prowl calls out from the door at the other end of the building.

Barricade scrambles to slam his panel shut, throwing the rag on the floor. The floor stained with fluids. He runs out from behind the boxes to meet his Uncle.

"I'm here, Prowl."

"Thank Primus, we were worried!" Ironhide rumbles, flanking Prowl. Ironhide's charges, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are at the door, on the lookout.

"Why did you not set a beacon until now? We had no clue what had happened, where you were." Prowl chides him, voice tinged with worry.

"My comms were knocked out and I did set a beacon! As soon as I got here. Maybe it glitched." Barricade answers quickly.

They'll never know what happened, he won't tell.

"Are you alright? Except the comms, of course." Ironhide asks.

Is he? After what happened. What exactly did happen? He interfaced with a Decepticon. And it felt sort of good. Isn't that wrong? How is he supposed to know, he has never heard of interfacing before.

Ironhide studies him, looking worried.

Can they tell that he has interfaced?

"I'm fine. Need a shower and my comms fixed, but otherwise, everything is a-ok."

He feels good. Older, more experienced. But he is going to find out more about interfacing. But first, a shower. And recharge.

Chapter Text

The washracks seems to be the best place to try it. Easy to clean up and whatnot.

Standing under the spray, Barricade grabs the bottle of lubricant from his subspace, spark spinning wildly in excited nerves, and pours a good amount into his servo. His panel opens easily at the first command, as usual, but he's so nervous, he can't extend his spike as he usually does when he cleans himself. He stands there, awkwardly, servo all greasy, staring at the uncooperative cover over his spike, wondering what to do.

The Con did tease his other panel open with touches.

He lightly rubs a digit across the cover and something responds. Barricade touches it a little more firmly and he feels his spike twitching in there. He rubs a little quicker and it doesn't take long for the cover to slide away and his spike to pressurize.

It looks bigger than when he extends it just to wash himself. Did the Con really stick something this big into him? No wonder it hurt.

Tentatively, he grabs the tip between his digits and rubs it, not sure what to do. He gasps at the sensation, not prepared for how good it feels.

The Decepticon rutted into Barricade, so he should probably try something like that. And the mech called it jerking off, so if he grabs his spike and tugs....

Barricade moves his hips forward, sliding his spike into his own grip and he mewls, hips bucking involuntarily, because that felt wonderful. Leaning his other servo against the wall and offlining his optics, he starts to slowly stroke himself.

Is this how it would feel if he had Sideswipe in front of him and he was sticking his spike into the fr...

"Barricade! What are you doing? What's he doing, Dad?"

Barricade's optics online abruptly, moan caught in his vocalizer, when Bluestreak's voice rings out over the sound of the shower.

"Barricade!" Prowl barks.

The Interceptor drops his spike as if it burned him and spins around. Bluestreak stares at him with bright optics. Prowl is scowling at him, optics locked on Barricade's pelvis and the Saleen is mortified when he looks down to see his spike bobbing, still fully pressurized. He covers himself with his servos, fighting the urge to touch it.

"I...uhm..." What's he supposed to say?

"Bluestreak, go back to your room. We will talk about this as soon as I have talked to Barricade." Prowl grinds out.

Bluestreak skitters away and Prowl crosses his arms and glares at Barricade.

"Put that away. We are going to discuss this in my office."

Barricade is at a loss for how to actually get it away. It just won't depressurize and he can't close his panel like this.

"I...ah... I can't..." He mumbles.

"Run cold water over it." Prowl tells him.

Barricade turns his back on his Uncle and grabs the showerhead, turning the dial to cold. At first when he points the stream at his spike, the stimulation feels good and he just wants it to continue until this built up pressure releases, but then the water turns cold and he whimpers in discomfort. His spike slowly depressurizes, and as soon as it's soft enough, he pushes it back into the sheath manually and closes his panel just to get out of the cold water.

Prowl turns and leads the way, and Barricade follows, optics riveted to the floor. He feels ashamed, even though he isn't certain why. 

The Interceptor takes a seat across from Prowl's chair at the desk and the door is closed and locked. The older Autobot sinks down into his chair, studying his nephew. Barricade squirms, doesn't want to meet Prowl's optics.

"How long have you been doing that?"

"This was the first time!" Barricade defends himself.


"Yes, I swear! I've never done it before."

"How did you come up with that? Was it Ironhide's twins' idea?" Prowl curls his lip-plate in contempt. "Or that Sniper he is mentoring?"

"No, they had nothing to do with this." It's the truth, and he would hate to see his friends get into trouble.

"So how did you get the idea?"

"I...uhm..." What's he supposed to say? The Saleen almost panics. "I was just washing myself and my spike got all thick and sensitive and I just... I..." 

Is it illegal? Will he wind up in the brig? That wouldn't look good in his resume. He has disgraced the family. Then he really starts to panic when a worrying thought hits him. Is is a Decepticon thing to do?

"Those parts will fill a purpose one day, when you have found a conjux and are bonded."

"Ok?" This is more than he ever heard before.

"Until then, you should not touch yourself like that. You should only clean those parts."

"I... I didn't know..." He mumbles, embarrassed.

"It is fine, Barricade. But please refrain from doing it again. It might burn your optics and make you blind."

Barricade's optics brighten in alarm.

"I-I won't!"

Prowl dismisses him and Barricade scrambles back to his room, worried. He's so lucky that Prowl saw him before he fragged up his optics!

But on the other servo, the Con admitted to jerking off all the time, and he didn't seem blind...






It's movie night, and the young humans have joined the young Autobots. They're all sprawled out, watching an action flick, having a good time, when on the screen, the hero and the damsel in distress lock their mouths together, looking like they're trying to eat each other.

"Primus, what are they doing?!" Smokescreen squeaks, horrified.

"They're...uhm... they're..." Sam stutters awkwardly.

Mikaela snorts. "They're kissing! Really, Sam, how hard can it be to say it? We do it all the time."

"You do?!" Bluestreak's voice rises an octave.

Barricade rolls his optics. Big deal! He has kissed someone too. Though then he didn't know what it's called. He has interfaced, and he has kissed a mech. A mech he doesn't even know the designation of...

"Yes, like this!" Mikaela says and attacks Sam's mouth with her own.

"Eew!" Bluestreak blurts.

"It's not 'eew'! It's nice!" Mikaela says.

"Humans!" Sunstreaker says contemptuously.

"We could do it too." Barricade says without thinking it through. "I mean, probably. We have the components." He adds hurriedly.

Crosshairs tips his helm toward Barricade and smirks at him from his place on the couch.

"So, who 'ave ye been kissin', Barricade?"

"N-nobot! I'm not allow-allowed to do that until I'm getting bonded." Barricade stutters.

"So ye 'ave no idea 'ow good it feels to roll yer glossa around someone else's? To press yer lip-plates against 'nother mech's and just nibble..."

"No! I don't do those kinds of things!" He squeaks.

"Too bad. I' really is nice." Crosshairs says.

The Sniper leaves it at that, turning back to the movie, but the damage is already done. Barricade has been reminded of how it felt to kiss the Decepticon, and in extension, how it felt to interface. When the humans on the screen starts pulling at each other's clothes, he's already wet behind his panel, spike trying to pressurize, chafing against the cover.

Barricade can't help but squirm repeatedly, earning glances and smirks from the Paratrooper, and he just wishes thst the movie would be over so he can go back to his room. He doesn't dare trying to sneak away. It feels like his panel is leaking at the seams and the plate will probably pop open to let his spike out if he tries to stand. He presses on the panel with his servos, but it doesn't really help with the pressure.

The Mustang startles when something touches his shoulder-wing softly, and he whips his helm around to see who's touching him.

Crosshairs winks one optic at him and strokes the component softly, plucking with the seams and squeezing his tire, still watching the movie. The touches seems innocent enough from an outside point of view; just a friend absentmindedly tickling another because it feels good, but Barricade's venting picks up. He's too revved up and his wings are very sensitive. He just wants to go and sit in a trough of cold water.

The pressure is rising between his legs and Barricade is thankful for his silent cooling fans, because they are spinning quickly by the time the movie is over.

The credits start to roll, but then the screen flickers strangely, a loud moan heralding the view of a human female sinking down on a pink, spike-like thing. She lifts off and sinks down repeatedly, moaning loudly.

"Eew! What is she doing?!" Smokescreen and Bluestreak screams in unison.

"Can we do that too, Barricade?" Crosshairs murmurs, lip-plates brushing Barricade's audial.

"Where's the remote?" Sam shouts, face an unhealthy red.


"Turn it off!"

On the screen, the female is lifted from the pink thing and dropped on the spike of a male human instead. Barricade is forced to keep his panel closed manually with his servo.

Then Crosshairs tweaks a cluster of sensors at the base of Barricade's shoulder-wing and the Interceptor can do nothing when his hips twitch where he's sitting, can't stop the little mewl from leaving his vocalizer when the pressure behind his panel is released and he goes disgustingly warm, wet and slick and he's alarmed, because he leaked in his panel!

"Ye seemed a little tense, like ye needed an overload. Ye're welcome." Crosshairs whispers in his audial before he leans back in the couch.

As if nothing happened. Barricade looks around, convinced that everyone saw, that everyone will know that he leaked in his panel, but nobody is paying attention to him. Someone have finally found the remote, and as the human male shoots ropes of white fluid on the female's aft, the screen goes dark. At least the human seemed fine with the leaking, actively squeezing the fluid out of his spike.

"What in the pit was that?!" Bumblebee clips together.

"I-I... Eh... That" Sam mumbles, almost too low to hear.

Bluestreak squeaks wordlessly in horror.

"Oh, God." Mikaela groans. "Listen up, before you all freak out. That was porn. A movie made to arouse humans. The girl was riding a sex toy at first, a thing made to pleasure herself without a partner. Or with a partner, for that matter."

"You do that?" Bumblebee asks her.

Mikaela turns pink.

"I... Yes, sometimes. Mostly with my fingers. But that's private stuff, were not going to talk about that now." She says pleadingly.

"Aren't you afraid of breaking your eyes?" Barricade asks, too curious to think more about his soaked panel. Humans seems to be quite similar to Cybertronians, after all.

"Breaking my e... Oh!" Mikaela laughs. "No, that's just something parents tell their kids to keep them from masturbating. We don't go blind from it."

"He stuck his spike in her hole!" Smokescreen sounds terrified.

Barricade rolls his optics. Seriously, she seemed to like it. And it doesn't hurt for long anyway.

"Uh, he put his penis in her vagina. Or, if we want to be crude, he stuck his cock in her cunt. They had intercourse, had sex, did the deed. They fucked." Mikaela says, clapping her hands together. "Ok, class! Human sexual behavior 101 is dismissed. If you have further questions, consult the internet." Something wicked gleams in her eyes and she smirks. "Or you can always ask agent Simmons."

Sam manages to blow soda out his nose and starts coughing. Mikaela grabs his arm and drags him out of the room before anyone can think up another question. The Autobots starts to file out, but Barricade remains on the floor. He needs to see if he has to clean the floor or something.

Crosshairs lingers, still sprawled on the couch and Barricade just wants him to leave, but even when the room is empty, the Paratrooper shows no sign of leaving. Instead, he lolls his helm to the side to look at Barricade.

"Want to watch more porn?" The green mech asks.

"Eew! No!" Barricade says, because that seems to be the correct response.

Even though he's so curious about it, he's about to burst.

"Too bad. I though' we could kiss a li'l, and ye could return the favor." He gestures to Barricade's lap.

The Saleen feels something twitch between his legs at the mention of kissing, but he looks down, reminded of the situation. There's sticky fluid dribbling out around the seams of his plate. He whines in distress. At least it isn't waste fluid. A rag lands on his thigh. He looks up at the Paratrooper.

"Aaw, Cade! I didn' mean to make ye sad, I though' i' was jus' a li'l secret fun between us. Sorry." Crosshairs says, field sincere. 

Barricade kneels and wipes himself until his chassis show no signs of what happened. He wipes the floor where he sat and stands to leave.

"Guess i's jus' me an' my servos tonigh', then." Crosshairs smirks, waggling his digits.

Barricade just doesn't know what to say. He stares as Crosshairs cups the plating between his legs, rubbing slightly. The Corvette grins at him, optical ridge cocked, bucking against his own servo with an exaggerated moan.

"I-I'll wash the rag. Good night." Barricade stutters, and then he flees, leaving the Paratrooper with his porn and his servos.

He heads straight for the washracks. Everything behind his plate is slick and soaked and feeling gross. He doesn't want to touch himself this time, too afraid of being caught again, too mortified by what happened. 

What did happen, exactly? Crosshairs said something about "overload", the same word the Decepticon used when they... they interfaced. And the Con called it to have a blown load in his panel. Maybe it was like the human in the porno...? Did Barricade blow his load in the rec room? Did that ever happen to anyone else? 

As soon as he has cleaned up, Barricade heads for his room, even though he can't help being curious about what Crosshairs is doing. He doesn't dare to  back to the rec room though. What if Prowl or Ironhide catches him?

The Mustang closes the door, intending to throw himself on his berth, but he freezes mid step. There's a note on his pillow. He's sure he didn't leave it there, Cybertronians rarely use human made paper.

Grabbing it carefully, he unfolds it slowly. The handwriting is kind of square, but a bit sloppy, and it's written in English.

Apparently, you enjoyed the porno. Don't worry, I won't leave you frustrated and unsatisfied for much longer. You really should masturbate though, so you don't have to cum in your panel after 40 seconds of porn and a tweak to your shoulder.... Go ahead, slide those digits into that wet little valve of yours. You know you want to. Just like you want me to rub your node while I'm fucking you from behind, until you overload so hard, you can barely stand. Or if your digits aren't what you want, you could always use one of the little gifts I left in the box underneath your berth...

It's signed with a Decepticon insignia, nothing else. He really should take this to high command. The Con has been inside the base, has been watching them. But then they would know what Barricade did.

Barricade reads it again, and he can't help but think about that porno. In his mind, the human female turns into him, the Con replacing the male. He starts to feel moist behind his panel again.

Not trusting a Con to leave a gift, it might as well be a bomb, Barricade bends down to peek under his berth before he stretches his arm under there to pull out the storage drawer. On top of his stuff, there's a black box with a purple lid he doesn't recognize. It's locked with a padlock, but the keys are placed neatly on top of it, fastened to a keychain with the Decepticon insignia.

The Saleen carefully lifts it out and places it on his berth, slowly taking the keys. His spark is spinning quickly with nerves when he unlocks it and slowly opens the lid. Then he just stares, dumbfounded.

Inside the box is, there's a multitude of tools he has never seen before; an oval marble with a remote, something looking like a butterfly with small magnets on its wings, a rod with a bent tip and other things. Barricade has no idea what do with them. The centerpiece stands out though, and that one, he can guess.

It's a purple and glittery spike. 

He lifts it, testing the surface with his digits. It's covered in small plates, making it flexible but still firm, and it is ridged. At the base, there's a Decepticon insignia.

Barricade blushes, even though he's alone in his room. But he just can't help getting curious. He reaches down to slide his digits through his moist slit, to figure out how to aim, and rises slightly to his knees. The Saleen holds the tip against the opening of his...what did Mikaela call it? Vagina? But the note said something about digits in his valve, maybe that's the Cybertronian term? 

Sinking down slowly, it slips in with the resistance of friction. He's wet, but not enough, and it isn't painful, but it doesn't feel spectacular either. Barricade's optics fall on a bottle in the box. Lubricant. He pulls the spike out and grabs the bottle, pouring some on the tip of the thing.

This time, it slides in easily and he lifts off and sinks down again, riding it like the female did in the porno. It's kind of awkward. His legs go tired and he doesn't get enough stimulation to get that delicious pressure to rise all the way.

Frustrated, he gets on his berth. The Con took him from behind and Barricade leaned against the wall. He can't do that and still hold the spike. He kneels and bends forward, resting his cheek against the covers, grabbing the spike with one servo.

The position is better, and he manages to touch that sensitive little bud with the digits of one servo, manoeuvering the spike with the other. It feels amazing. Like an itch he finally manages to scratch, and he bites his lip-plate to keep from moaning.

The Mustang increases the pace when he pushes the spike into himself, flicking the bud frenetically, and it doesn't take long for him to instinctively push back against the spike to get it deeper, entire frame jerking in time with the contractions in his valve and he stifles a moan by pressing his face into the covers.

He tips over on his side lazily, feeling the spike slide out of him, but he doesn't care, too sated to move. It doesn't take many minutes for him to start to fall into recharge. He briefly thinks that he hears a shuffling in the vent, but he's just too tired to react, and instead of investigating, he slips into darkness.

Chapter Text



Barricade checks his chronometer again. Two minutes since the last time he checked it.

They never get a real hotspot, rarely see anything of interest when they're on a stakeout. The rookie's lot.

"Anyone seen anything?" He comms the others.

"A stray dog eating something in the dumpster and a human female standing around on the corner wearing practically nothing." Sideswipe reports.

"Nothing since the last time you commed." Sunstreaker sneers. "You do know that we should keep radio silence as much as possible, right?"

"Yeah, whatever. Over and out." Barricade breaks the connection, throwing a stone at the wall.

He's hunkered down in an abandoned warehouse, the twins stationed at strategical points a couple of blocks away. Their mission is night-long, and Sunstreaker is right; they have been ordered to stay silent to not give their positions away. Apparently, there has been Decepticon activity in the area. Barricade snorts. As if they ever let the greenhorns get a spot where stuff goes down.

He stands up, looking out the broken window. Why bother keeping down when nothing ever happens anyway? And he's right again; nothing interesting is happening. The street is so empty, the only thing missing to make it look like a ghost town is a tumbleweed rolling by. Two hours down, ten to go. Barricade wishes he could be home in his berth instead. This is pointless, and he's still experimenting with the toys the Con dropped off...

Something scrapes in the silence, echoing throughout the room. The Saleen onlines his guns and spins around, spark spinning with the rush of adrenaline.

A bird lifts off, flying up into the darkness, stirring up dust and debris from the beams. Barricade rolls his optics and offlines his guns. Is he really that desperate for action? He still scans the room. Just to be sure. He isn't going to comm the twins again. Wouldn't do if Sunstreaker gets pissy enough to put it in his report. His scans come up blank. Great.

It isn't like he's spoiling for a fight or anything, Barricade knows how dangerous that is. The Cons are all skilled and vicious. But just a teensy bit of action wouldn't hurt. Like a chase or something. He crosses his arms, staring out the window, checking his chronometer again. Another three minutes has passed. Great.

There's a soft thud behind him and he turns around again, expecting some other kind of furry Earthen creature.

He's entirely unprepared for the Decepticon standing just short of three yards away, red visor roaming his frame, hungry smirk firmly in place.

"Mhm, I jus' don' get how they think lettin' ya out on your own like this is a good idea." The Decepticon shakes his helm in disbelief.

How the pit is he supposed to handle this? The Con hasn't been violent so far, but he sort of used parts that should not be touched until bonding? But it felt so good, and Prowl didn't say that he shouldn't have a cock in his cunt, just that he shouldn't jerk off...

"What do you want now, Decepticon?" Barricade snarls, because he doesn't want to sound... solicitous with a Con.

"I'n'it obvious? I wanna fuck." 

The Con closes in on him and Barricade backs away, still not even thinking about onlining his guns.

"I don't think I should..."

He stuck between the Decepticon and the wall again, and he stops before he's pressed against it, trying to hold some space and not just surrender. The Con stops too, the silver mech not meeting his optics, nor touching, but staring down at Barricade's frame in a way that makes the Interceptor feel as if his panels were already open. The mech's field is heavy against Barricade's, with something that has the Interceptor's entire frame crawling with charge.

"Shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't..." The Con leans in to drag his glossa up Barricade's neck. "...all borin' reasons, fabricated ta make ya not do this jus' because someone else has an opinion of it bein' right or wrong. The question is never if ya should, could or would; it's if ya wanna."

Lip-plates nips at Barricade's jaw and the Interceptor gasps, tilting his helm to allow better access out of pure instinct. Servos slides down his sides and it feels so damned good.

He shouldn't have sex with a Decepticon.

But nobot else ever touches him like this, makes him feel this good, so it's all too easy to give in and allow the Con to slip his glossa into Barricade's intake, to take up that battle and swirl his own tongue in time with the silver mech's.

He hardly even notices when he's backed up against the wall, back hitting the gritty concrete; he's too preoccupied with their battling tongues, his digits mapping out the plates on the Decepticon's back.

A servo slides down his ventral plating, down between his legs to his hot panel and somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Barricade acknowledges that it isn't right, that he should stop this. Even though he's already starting to feel wet, a tingling spreading between his legs.

"I don't know...?"

"Shhh... I'll make it worth your while. Just relax li'l Bot, n' enjoy tha ride." The mech murmurs against his lip-plates.

The Decepticon slowly kneels, kissing and licking down Barricade's front and the Interceptor's fans are roaring by the third wicked touch of a wet glossa.

By the time the Decepticon reaches this ventral plating, Barricade's interface panel pops of it's own accord again, leaving him bare and on display. He feels his faceplates burn in embarrassment and he has absolutely no idea how to handle it.

"Such a lovely li'l valve, all drippin' wet n' ready for me." The Decepticon mumbles, staring at Barricade's private parts as if they were a never before seen relic from myths of old, something to worship.

The silver mech leans forward to let his tongue slide through Barricade's wet slit and the Mustang just can't help bucking his hips forward. The Con curls his glossa to play over Barricade's opening with every buck. He nudges Barricade's leg, urges him to put it over the Decepticon's shoulder and Barricade does, mewling when it obviously gives the mech better access.

His digits are scrabbling over the concrete, and somewhere along the line, he has arched his back to get more of the delicious slide over that sweet little bud. The Saleen is making little noises with every vent and the charge is coiling ever higher. He's so damn close...

The Con stops licking.

"What... Why? Don't stop!" Barricade growls in frustration.

"Oh, I was jus' gonna ask ya if ya really should do this." The Con smirks up at him.

"I...yes!" Barricade almost pleads.

"Like I said in my li'l letter: I wanna fuck ya from behind, n' I promise I'll rub your node."

Barricade takes his leg down from the Cons shoulder and swivels around quickly, leaning against the wall.

"My, ya really are eager. But I want ya on tha floor. On all fours."

The Interceptor looks at the Decepticon, gauging if he's serious, and his faceplates flush when he sees the mech's spike bobbing, fully pressurized. The silver mech seems entirely unashamed about it.

It's a little awkward, and he isn't that confident about his own frame when he gets down on his servos and knees like that, but he really wants that release. The Con kneels behind him, stroking his aft and the back of his thighs, up to tease his slit with just a digit.

"I do love tha way your aft looks in this position. Like tha' time when ya fragged yourself with tha dildo I gave ya. N' ya're welcome for tha', by tha way."

Barricade doesn't answer, he's embarrassed and he doesn't have time, really, because the Con slides into him to the hilt and the Mustang's processor goes blank.

"Damn you're wet." The Con growls.

He starts thrusting, and reaches around to stroke Barricade's node and the Saleen almost overloads, but the mech backs off with the touching. Barricade quivers with tension and sinks to his elbows, tries to find an angle that will give him that sweet release. The Con growls behind him.

"Ya look so hot like this, aft in the air for me."

The silver mech touches Barricade's node again, and he moans loudly, embarrassed by how loud he's getting. The Con keeps rubbing that sweet spot and finally, he allows Barricade to overload. The Autobot's vocalizer hisses with static and hums with feedback and his entire frame twitches, deep contractions inside him finally releasing that built up pressure. The Con groans and falls forward over Barricade, hips pressing against Barricade's aft.

The weight makes Barricade keel over to the side, the Con landing behind him with a crash. The silver mech starts laughing.

"Le's hope your friends did na' hear tha'. I'd really hate ta hafta hurt 'em."

Barricade's optics online with a flare, because the comment sobers him up. He's interfacing with a Decepticon! A Con who probably wouldn't really have any regrets hurting the other Autobots. Probably no regrets about hurting Barricade either, if he wasn't playing along.

"Hey, don' get all panicked n' regretful. Ya wanned ta do it, ya enjoyed it, n' it's our li'l secret. Your friends ain't squawking, so they're safe in the hopelessly useless lookout spots they chose. They're in for an uninteresting night n' ya've had a much better one. Give it a rest."

The Con gets up, wiping himself with a cloth. A cloth Barricade recognizes.

"Hey, that's mine! How did you get that?"

"Wha'? Oh. I took it from your room." The mech unsubspaces another rag and throws it to Barricade. "This one, I picked from your subspace." The mech smirks, satisfied with himself. 

Barricade can't help his flabbergasted stare, intake hanging open. The mech is entirely shameless of anything he does. 

The Interceptor occupies himself with wiping away the fluid, pressing the rag against his slit to catch it before it dribbles out over his legs.

"I'm all scratched." He mumbles, thinking about how he's going to explain that.

"I have polish. I'll help ya get tha scratches out. Stand up." The Decepticon says, pulling out a bottle from his subspace.

Barricade gets up, looking down on his chassis. At least he isn't dented, that would be harder to fix.

"Ya take tha front of your legs n' I'll do your aft."

The mech kneels behind Barricade and starts to rub polish on a plate on Barricade's aft. It's really awkward to have the mech kneeling there when he's forced to bend forward to get at the scratches on his knees, but at least he can't see the mech's face when he's getting a good look at Barricade's behind.

By the fifth time the Con touches Barricade's interface panel with a digit and an unrepentant "oops", the Saleen is pretty dang certain that it isn't all that accidental, but he tries to ignore it, and the way it sends a heat to his valve.

The the Decepticon deems himself done and rises, arms coming to wrap around Barricade's waist, one servo sliding down between his legs. The mech presses his lips to Barricade's neck-struts and the Interceptor feels the Con's hard spike rubbing against his aft.

"All tha lookin' at, n' touchin' tha' sweet li'l aft of yours makes me wanna go again..." He purrs against Barricade's neck.

"Then I'll just be scratched again..." Barricade says, voice strained, because for all the inconvenience of it, he's getting wet again.

"So? I could polish your aft again." The mech leers.

"And then you'd start over again and I'd be scratched again..." Barricade protests weakly.

"Wha's wrong with tha'? Sounds like an excellent night."

Yes, what exactly is wrong with that? It sounds more tempting than staring at an empty street... But he needs to do his duty.

"I need to work just a little bit too." Barricade mumbles.

"Sadly, so do I. But we could do it quickly..." 

The Con turns him around, splaying his servos on Barricade's aft to press the Interceptor's ventral plating against his groin, rock-hard spike between them. He leans down to lick Barricade's lip-plates and the Saleen immediately responds, melting into the kiss that's hungry and hard and delicious. Then the Con pulls back again.


"No, I'll be scratched..." But the tingling between his legs is really annoying.

The Decepticon pouts at first, but then a sly glint flickers in his visor.

"I know wha' we can do ta get rid o' our charges without scratchin' ya. Kneel."

Hesitantly, Barricade does what the Con said, confused and wary. It puts his helm in the same height as the Con's spike and he feels his faceplates burn with embarrassment again.

"And now?" He asks.

"Ya suck it."

Barricade scrunches his faceplates. It sounds kind of gross. But he has seen something like that in the human pornos he has been watching in curiosity. But still...

"Don' be like tha'! Everyone does it, even though nobot talks about it. 's... practical; no seals need ta be broken, no mess ta clean up, no telltale scratches..."

The Interceptor still hesitates.

"I'll lick ya ta overload when ya're done..." The Decepticon singsongs.

He really wants that. Barricade feels himself go wet just thinking about it.

He grabs the spike and lets it slide into his intake, his glossa rubbing the underside of it. The Decepticon groans and that is encouraging. Barricade wriggles his glossa around as much as he can and squeezes lightly with his servo, working the base. He tries sucking lightly.

"Oh, that's good. Pull off and lick the head." The Decepticon says, voice thick with arousal.

He does, keeps just the head of the spike in his intake and keeps working the base with his servo when he swirls his glossa around the tip. The mech's hips twitch and he lets out another groan. Barricade experimentally takes it as deep as he can and then he sucks as he pulls off until only his lip-plates rest against the spike. He swirls his glossa again, and then he repeats. 

It doesn't take long for the Decepticon to start trembling with tension.

"I'm gonna..."

A servo is placed on Barricade's helm, and then the spike starts twitching, fluid filling his intake.

"Swallow it, it's not dangerous." The Con groans.

It's a little gross, but Barricade's intake is getting really full, so he swallows as quickly as he can. As soon as the spike stops twitching, the Con takes his servo from Barricade's helm and the Interceptor stands, not certain how to feel about what they just did.

The Decepticon pulls Barricade into his arms.

"Tha' was really good. Sure ya haven't done this before?"

"I haven't." Barricade mumbles.

"We'll, then ya're a natural."

The mech leans in for a kiss, and Barricade starts kissing back after a few seconds of hesitation. If the mech can kiss him after he did that, then it can't be that bad to have a spike in his intake, to swallow a load. Right?

His train of thought is derailed when the Con starts to kiss, lick and nip his way down Barricade's neck, down his chestplates, further down his ventral plating, lingering in a frustrating way just above Barricade's interface panel. 

It pops even without a single touch to it, but the Con doesn't acknowledge it, keeps working with his glossa just above where Barricade wants it. The Interceptor whines in frustration. He puts his leg over the mech's shoulder, giving better access, but that doesn't make the Con change what he's doing. Barricade growls.

"What d'ya want, li'l Bot?" The mech smirks up at him in an infuriating way.

"You know what I want." He growls.

"Yeah, but I want ya ta say it."

It's embarrassing. What's he supposed to say, if he doesn't want his faceplates to burn up? It's one thing to do it, and just standing there with his cunt on display is not something he's comfortable with as soon as he starts to think about it, saying it out loud is a whole other level.

"I want to overload." He almost whispers.

"Who doesn't? How d'ya want to get there?"

"Uhm... I... I want you to use your glossa?" He mumbles.

"Like this?"

The Decepticon starts to lap at Barricade's ventral plating again.

"No, a little lower."


He starts licking at the juncture of Barricade's hip. So close but still too far. 

"To the right."

"Like this?" The Decepticon looks sceptical.

He starts licking the juncture of Barricade's other hip.


"Oh, ya meant my right!" He says and starts licking the outside of Barricade's hip.

Barricade is getting more and more convinced that the mech could play this game all night.

"For fucks sake! I meant that I want you to lick my clit and pussy!" Barricade growls in frustration.

Then he catches fire. At least it feels like his faceplates did. The Con grins at him, optical ridge cocked, and Barricade hides his face in his servos.

"Ya've been hittin' tha human porn, I hear. Well, now I finally know whatcha want; that I stimulate your anterior node n' valve with my glossa."

"Yes." Barricade whispers weakly.

"I think ya earned yourself a good eatin' out."

Then the Con finally touches the tip of his glossa to Barricade's sweet little bud and the Interceptor bucks his entire frame.

"Damn! Ya're eager!"

"Yeah, yeah, I am! Please don't let me wait any longer!" Barricade mewls desperately.

"I won't, li'l Bot."

The Decepticon starts to lap at the slit of Barricade's valve, alternating with teasing the Mustang's node with the tip of his tongue and Barricade seems unable to control the twitches of his chassis, the buck of his hips, and the moans and mewls that leave his vocalizer.

"Don't stop, DecepticonPlease, don't stop!" He grinds out when he's teetering on the edge, the Decepticon working his node with tiny flicks of his glossa.

Then the Con slides a couple of digits into his valve and curls them, hitting something inside Barricade.

He falls over the edge with an uncontrollable warble, entire frame tensing before going lax. The Con catches him and eases him to the floor as the last pulsing contractions inside him are slowing down and losing power.

For a while, Barricade just lays there, grinning dopily up at the ceiling.

"That was awesome." He mumbles.

"I know, right? N' no scratches." The Con snickers.

Then the moment of bliss is interrupted  when Barricade's comms crackles to life.

::This is Sideswipe requesting backup! I repeat, requesting backup! Like, right the fuck now!::

"N' that's my cue!" The Con says, as if he heard that comm too.

Barricade doesn't have time to scramble up from the floor. He's flipped to his front, servos restrained behind his back, and magnacuffs are slapped around his wrist-struts in a matter of seconds. The Con grabs his ankle-struts and ties them with a wire, attaching it to the cuffs.

::This is Barricade, also requesting backup, I'm...::

"They can't hear ya, I'm blockin' your signal. They'll hear ya when I'm far enough away from here."

"Fragger! Why are you doing this?!" Barricade hisses.

"Decepticon, darlin'. It's in tha name, really."

"I hate you!"

"Aaw, don' be like tha'. Ya liked it. So did I. I think it was a good way ta spend tha night."

"You did it just to throw me off my game!" Barricade snarls.

The Decepticon snorts, shaking his helm.

"Nah, I could've jus' killed ya right away and I'd be done with it. Ya wouldn't even have seen me. I jus' think it would've been a waste. Your friends will live too, I ordered tha'."

The Con looks down at the hog tied, snarling Interceptor who's fighting against the restraints, the silver mech's face unreadable.

"I did enjoy it..." He trails off, turning his helm to look towards one of the doors.

"I suggest ya close your panel."

With that, the Decepticon heads for the backdoor, without so much as a glance at the tied up Saleen. Seconds after he is out of sight, Barricade hears pedesteps down the hallway, closing in fast and suddenly, he's back on the network with comms and everything working again. The Interceptor closes his panel and waits for his backup to reach him.

Chapter Text

Of course Barricade is almost vibrating with nervous anticipation when he hurries through the Autobot base. It's the first time his special training has been needed.

His first interrogation.

Prowl sounded unusually tight lipped and irritated when he commed Barricade, but that can't stifle his excitement. They have a Con in the brig, and his expertise was asked for.

He steps through the door to the brig and catches the tail end of an argument.

"For frags sake, Prowl! I don't care what your calculations say, I don't think it's a good idea to let a rookie interrogate him!"

"He has been trained for this. Of course he should be the one to interrogate this prisoner. How is he supposed to grow if you take his job without giving him a chance?"

"Of course he should be allowed to do his job! But putting him in the same room as Jazz for his first time? It's like letting a lamb into the wolf pen and expect it to herd the wolves into the shed for evening hay!"

Barricade walks into the observation room adjacent to the interrogation room, interrupting the argument between his uncle and the Weapons specialist.

It's disheartening to hear how little Ironhide thinks of his skills. Barricade really looks up to the big Autobot, and the Saleen is a little hurt by the way the Weapons specialist dismisses him as an inexperienced rookie without even giving him a chance.

"Barricade. We need some information, anyinformation, out of this Decepticon. Intel file PAD10-P3SS, designation 'Jazz'. What were they doing at the place you and the twins were ambushed, what their motives were, anything you can find out." Prowl instructs him.

Barricade nods silently, feeling his faceplates flush, remembering that night. He glances at Ironhide, who has crossed his arms. The Mustang expects the mech to be scowling in silent anger that he wasn't allowed to do the interrogation, but when he meets the optics of the massive Autobot, he looks... concerned?

Then Barricade straightens his back-struts, takes a deep invent to collect himself and step into his role, like he was taught at school, and steps into the interrogation room.

Inside the door, he freezes. Sprawled on the chair, the perfect picture of careless ease, is the mech Barricade has been interfacing with. School did not teach him how to deal with a prisoner who has licked his... Focus!

An insolent smirk spreads across those rather handsome faceplates.

"Oh! Oh-ho-ho! What do we have here? Tha sacrificial virgin?" Jazz turns to the one-way mirror. "So how's this s'posed ta go, I give ya intel, n' I'm allowed ta stick my spike in 'im?"

He turns back to Barricade, visor roving his frame with a predatory glint. The Saleen feels like he forgot all his plating somewhere else, but it can't stop him from feeling something twitch behind his panel.

"C'm'ere n' sit on Daddy's lap." Jazz leers and pats his thighs, before shamelessly grabbing his interface plate in spite of his wrist-struts being cuffed together. "I'll give ya somethin' hard ta sit on."

Barricade works his intake, uncertain what to say. Daddy?

He tries to remember anything useful from his training, but it seems to not quite fit this situation. He should loom, to intimidate the prisoner. But he's fairly certain that this particular Con won't be intimidated by anything he does. And Jazz could tell the others what Barricade has done.

The Interrogator takes the seat on the other side of the table, trying to go for a more friendly approach and hope the Con will humor him, all confidence in his own competence gone.

"So... Jazz..." He clicks his vocalizer. "What was your purpose there that night?"

"Ooh, I love tha sound of your voice. Keep talkin'."

Barricade raises an optical ridge.

"My purpose? Ta make sure a bunch'a Autobrat kids did'na throw a monkey wrench in tha wheels of mighty Lord Megatron's plans."

"And those plans, what do they entail?"

"Ya still sore?" The mech smirks.

"What?" The Interrogator squeaks, feeling his faceplates flush and his spark speed up in apprehension.

"From tha cuffs, n' tha wire, I mean." Jazz turns to the mirror. "I'd like ta have those cuffs back, by tha way. M' favorite ones." He says loudly.

"Hey, Decepticon! Quit playing and answer the question!" Barricade snarls. 

Well, at least he tries to. It doesn't come out nearly as assertive as he was going for. But it gets the Con's attention, Jazz turns back to him, that infuriating smirk turning into a grin full of sharp denta, and suddenly he truly looks like the dangerous Decepticon he probably is.

"Feisty li'l youngling, I like that. Lord Megatron's plans, ya ask? Ta rule tha universe, n' rebuild Cybertron. Same as always." 

"Be more specific." Barricade presses. "Why were you there that night?"

"I was there ta make sure ya nosey li'l kids did'na have another borin' n' useless stakeout."  He purrs, and that voice does indecent things to Barricade's frame.

"Why didn't you take us hostage? Or offline us?" 

Barricade is slipping into more personal questions, not at all professional, he knows that, but he needs to know. Jazz snorts in amusement.

"Ya know, most mechs would consider themselves lucky... I jus' thought what we did was more... fun than jus' deactivatin' ya. But y'all should heed this warnin'; interfere with our plans, next time ya might not be so lucky."

Fun. Barricade suddenly wonders if the Decepticons who jumped Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did something like what Jazz and Barricade did.

"But now I've told ya my piece, n' I think i's time for my... reward. Come on, lamb chop, hop on n' ride your Daddy, like a good li'l Bot." Jazz leers.

Barricade stands up, needing to get out of there.

"Aaw, Barricade! Ya hurt me! Don' I deserve a blow job at least? Lemme sink my spike down your intake. I'll finger ya when I'm done if ya uncuff me."

How the frag does the Con know his designation?!

The Saleen slams the door shut behind him, leaning against it, spark spinning wildly. The worst part is that he's getting tingly again, thinking about what the Decepticon can do with his frame. Ironhide and Prowl is there immediately.

"You did great." Ironhide throws an arm across Barricade's shoulder and reels him in close. "He's a real asshole."

"Language, Ironhide." Prowl chides.

"Thats what he is." Ironhide shrugs unrepentantly.

"We did not get much information out of that, except that he was the one who jumped you that night. And that he is a lewd, disgusting, pervert." Prowl says with vehemence. "Well done, Barricade. You handled it quite well, I think."

"Thank you, Prowl."

The tactician leaves to twist and turn the information that they got and try to match it with satellite pictures, maps and every other piece of intel they've gotten to try to figure out what the Warlord is up to now.

Ironhide drags Barricade along, arm still slung over his shoulders, and the Interceptor relaxes against the strong frame.

"I think you did great. Jazz is a sly fragger, cunning as they come. You were thrown in at the deep end, but you made it. Let's go get some energon."

"Sounds good."

The arm across his shoulders rubs his shoulder-wings as they walk, and embarrassingly enough, it's making his frame run just a little hotter and he gets a little tingly, because he finds Ironhide very handsome, and has done so since the first time he met him. Being this close to the Weapons specialist makes him nervous, but in an exciting way, and he can't but help thinking about that massive servo, if it would just slide down his side to his hip, or maybe tweak the base of his shoulder-wing...

Barricade feels his valve start to go wet and he tries to halt it by thinking of anything else.... The interrogation!

"Why did he refer to himself as 'Daddy'? Said that I 'should give Daddy a ride, like a good little Bot'?"

Ironhide freezes for a second, then he walks slower.

"It's because I... Some mechs, have kind of a... Prowl will probably have me thrown in the brig if I tell you this."


Ironhide steps away from Barricade to get a couple of cubes, and the Interceptor is a little disappointed by the loss of contact. The Weapons specialist looks around, as if checking his surroundings, while he hands one of the cubes to Barricade, then he drags a servo down his faceplates.

"Frag it, if this is going to be the way the Cons behave when you interrogate them, you need to know a whole lot more, traditions or no. Let's go to my quarters."

Barricade almost jumps with excitement and hurries to keep up with Ironhide as they walk in silence down the hallway. He makes a mental note to ask the twins later about what kind of fun the Cons had with them.

Ironhide invites him in, and gestures for Barricade to take a chair. The officer sits down on his berth.

"So, how much do you know about interfacing?"

Barricade feels himself flush with embarrassment and nerves.

"I...uhm, I know that the spike goes into the valve. Kind of like how the humans have sex." He mumbles. It's neutral enough to not give away what he has done, right?

"That's the very basic. There's many ways to interface, but the expectation is that younglings hold off until they're bonded with their conjux. Praxians are the strictest about this, that's why you have never been told about it; to not encourage you to try it, or play with yourselves."

"It's kind of hard to remain completely ignorant around the humans..." Barricade says, thinking about the readily available porn and the way the organics make out and touch each other in at least semipublic situations

"I know, right?" Ironhide chuckles. "Then there's the kinkier stuff, mechs who gets turned on by more advanced stuff. Like doing it in public, and enjoying the risk of getting caught, being tied up, the list goes on and on..."

Ironhide rubs the back of his neck, as if he's a little embarrassed for what he's about to say.

"And then there's the Daddy-kink. It's often a dominance game, but not always, where one is the leader, the 'Daddy', and the other one is the innocent youngster."

Barricade is speechless, because that seems really twisted. Like, who'd want to frag his sire? Yuck. Or interface with their kid? That's sick. Ironhide looks kind of stricken. Did Barricade say that out loud?

"It's not like that! It's kind of a softer version of a slave relationship. Instead of the Sub calling the Dom 'Sir' or 'Master', the Sub says 'Daddy'. And the Dom should treat their Sub like a little Primeling when they're good, and protect them, and maybe spank them if they're bad..." Ironhide trails off, a strange look on his face when he looks at the Interceptor.

In the silence, Barricade hears something start up in Ironhide's frame, a loud click when it's shut off again. The sound repeats itself several times.

"So... If the little Bot was good, they could snuggle up in Daddy's lap, and Daddy would keep them safe, and touch them in nice ways and make them feel good...?" He asks, trying to wrap his helm around it.

Like when Ironhide had his arm around Barricade before, and praised him. It felt so good, he felt safe and appreciated. If he was curling up in the Weapons specialist's lap right now, the mech petting his shoulder-wings, Barricade would snuggle into those broad chestplates, and Ironhide's servo would slide down between Barricade's legs to toy with his panel, and Hide would ask him "what do you have here, little Bot?"...

He's snapped out of the fantasy by Ironhide's cooling fans speeding up, the attempted override clicking several times before the Weapons specialist gives up. Barricade doesn't really think about that, he's all too busy with being mortified by how quickly he's going wet.

"Uhm, yeah... I think I get it. Won't be as taken off guard next time. Thanks for the information. And I won't tell Prowl about it."

Barricade basically flees from Ironhide's room, and as soon as the door slams shut and he finds the hallway empty, he reaches between his legs and checks the seams to his panel. No leakage.

Thankful for that, he hurries down the hallway towards his own room, embarrassed for being turned on by that, by being turned on by Ironhide when he was being helpful and friendly. He turns the corner like a racer on a mission and runs smack into Crosshairs. Barricade stumbles and falls ungracefully and the Sniper topples over, landing on top of him.

"Oi! Where's the fire?!" 

Inside his fragging panel.

"Nowhere, I just..." Well how should he explain this?

Crosshairs untangles himself and stands, holding out a servo to help Barricade up. The Interceptor grabs it and is easily pulled to his pedes.

"So, what're ye goin' te do now?"

"I... I don't know." Doing something with Crosshairs might take his mind off of this. "Do you want to hang out?"

"Sure, sounds like fun. Rec room, yer room or mine?"

"Mine's closest." Barricade says, and continues in the direction he was going in the first place.

"Watch a movie? I know of this one with stranded aliens on Earth."

"Haha, very funny!" Barricade rolls his optics.

"No, seriously! I's like a giant ship jus' 'angin' there in the air and the aliens look sort of like huge, skinny insects or somethin'."

"Alright, let's give it a try." Barricade opens the door and waves Crosshairs inside.

The hab suites the grunts have are smaller than those of the Officers, and Barricade has no chair or extra furniture, like Ironhide did. Don't think about being in Ironhide's quarters, or what he was talking about.

Barricade has a berth, a storage drawer under it, a few shelves, and a rather small TV screen. Fortunately, he has managed to get ahold of a few pillows, so they can prop themselves up against the wall and still sit reasonably comfortable.

Crosshairs has the movie on a memory stick and plugs it in, before he scoots back to sit beside Barricade. They both lean against the little mound of pillows Barricade constructed while Crosshairs started the movie, shoulders pressed together from the lack of space, but it isn't uncomfortable.

On the contrary, Barricade finds the contact nice, Crosshairs is warm, but not uncomfortably so, against him. He leans his helm deeper into the pillow, relaxing more, and the Sniper does the same, their helms leaning against each other.

For a while, he's comfortable with the friendly intimacy of their mingled fields, just watching the movie, but then his thoughts go astray again, back to what Jazz said, and the Con is still kept in the brig, what Ironhide told him. And that leads him to his own response.

Of course, he starts getting tingly again. The Interceptor squirms.

"Uncomfortable?" Crosshairs asks.

"Just... my hip... Wait."

The Saleen turns over on his side, resting his helm on Crosshairs' shoulder. He puts his knee on top of Crosshairs', and drapes an arm across his ventral plating, curling his digits around the Sniper's hip in a loose grip. The Corvette snakes his arm around Barricade's shoulders, and after the first tense minutes, they start to relax again.

Barricade absentmindedly strokes the Paratrooper's hip with his thumb and after a few minutes, Crosshairs starts to rub the base of Barricade's shoulder-wing.

Suddenly Barricade is all too aware of where he's stroking the Sniper, how it might be received. The Interrogator looks up at Crosshairs, the Paratrooper meeting his optics.

It's a seemingly never-ending moment of suspension before the Sniper tilts his helm forward to press his lip-plates against Barricade's. The Saleen is too caught off guard to react at first, but when Crosshairs pulls back, he follows.

The Corvette leans in again, another soft press of lip-plates and Barricade opens his intake, swiping his glossa over Crosshairs' upper lip. The Sniper responds, opens up for Barricade's glossa with a sharp intake and the kiss turns more heated. The Saleen crawls higher to get a better angle without breaking the kiss, pressing his frame close, his interface plate rubbing against the Sniper's thigh, the friction against his panel making him long for so much more.

He drags the green Autobot with him  when he tips down from the pile of pillows to stretch out more on the berth and Crosshairs follows, though he seems slightly hesitant.

The Mustang slides his servo up Crosshairs' side, thumb sliding over his ventral plating, up to his chestplates and the Corvette moans into Barricade's intake, servos hesitantly sliding over black and white plating.

Barricade's frame is quickly heating up, and he's getting eager to release that rapidly building pressure. He slides his servo down Crosshairs side, thumb following the juncture of the Sniper's hip and Crosshairs' hips twitches minutely. Barricade slots his leg between Crosshairs', pressing his thigh against the Paratrooper's interface plate, grinding his own plate against the Sniper's thigh at the same time.

His spike is chafing against the cover, his valve is soaked and Barricade gets his servos under Crosshairs' coat, splaying them on his aft to press them even closer together. The Sniper mewls and grinds against his thigh, then he suddenly stiffens. Barricade eases up on the pressure but slides his servo over Crosshairs' hip and down between the Paratrooper's legs, rubbing the scorching hot panel.

The Corvette breaks the kiss in an almost alarmed way, inventing sharply, grabbing Barricade's wrist-strut to wrench the servo away from his plate.

"Cade! I-I...ah... I'm goin' te..." Crosshairs sounds flustered.

Then his panel slides away and his weeping spike pressurizes. Barricade looks at it, fascinated, but the Sniper covers his face in his servos, field tinged with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry!" He mumbles.

"I thought you..." Suddenly Barricade is embarrassed too. He thought Crosshairs wanted this as much as he does. "But in the rec room?"

"I didn' think ye'd overload from tha', I jus' wanned te flirt with ye. N' then I pretended te be cocky 'bout it te not seem like an inexperienced loser. I've kissed a mech before, n' I've jerked off. Nothin' more."

"I... I've kissed someone too." Someone sitting in the brig at the moment. "But you liked this, right?"

"Yes." Crosshairs says.

"Can't we just slow down a little? Because I really liked this." Barricade says.

"Jus' kissin' n' a li'l touchin'?"

"Yes, of course. I'm supposed to be untouched when I get bonded." Barricade mumbles, remember that.

"Where I come from, it isn't tha' unusual tha' mechs lose their seals before bondin', bu' i's frowned upon, n' they ge' bad reputations, n' might 'ave a 'ard time ta find a conjux. Bu' almost everyone plays with their own spikes."

"Well, we were obviously kept completely in the dark, but it isn't always that works out to be a good way." 

Barricade pointedly saves the thoughts about his own unsealing for later, when he's alone and can freak out about it.

Instead, he lays down again, pressing his lips against Crosshairs', rubbing his hip against the Paratrooper's spike. Crosshairs bucks slowly against him with a gasp, deepening the kiss. Barricade slides his servo to Crosshairs hip again, thumb teasing the juncture, close to where the Sniper's spike is pressed, but not touching, and he can feel from Crosshairs field that he's even more nervous than Barricade. The Corvette slides a servo along the Interceptor's side, but doesn't find the courage to get closer to his panel, but just the anticipation when a servo touches Barricade's hip is enough to make his panel pop anyway. He rubs himself against Crosshairs, groaning with the pleasure of finally finding some friction.

Crosshairs is getting bolder, moving against him, field heavy with what Barricade is realizing is arousal. The Saleen brushes his thumb against Crosshairs' spike and pulls his hips back slightly to take the pressure off the Sniper. The green mech bucks in frustration, trying to rub against him, but Barricade pulls away more.

Instead, he wraps his servo around the Paratrooper's spike, slowly sliding it down the length. Crosshairs moans loudly and the Interceptor can't help but smirk against the Sniper's lips when he starts to stroke the spike and Crosshairs seems to lose his inhibitions. Barricade starts to nip and lick Crosshairs' neck, because the Corvette is unable to keep kissing him, servos scrabbling over black and white plating.

Then Barricade gets an idea. He rolls over on his other side and digs around in the storage under the berth. Crosshairs whines in frustration.

"Why did'ye stop?"

"Trust me, this is going to make it even better."

He finds the lubricant and pulls the bottle out, smearing his servo. Even the disaster in the washracks, when he was caught stroking himself, couldn't keep him from trying again, and he tried that little piece of advice about greasing his servo up. 

He turns back and grabs Crosshairs' spike again, stealing a kiss now that the Paratrooper is a little more coherent again. The Sniper bucks into his servo with a groan.

"Wetness and lubricant makes it so much better." Barricade chuckles, meaning both this and when he's using his toy.

Greasing his servo up must make it feel more authentic. His valve is always sopping wet when the Con, Jazz, frags him.

He increases the pace when Crosshairs impatiently bucks into his servo, and starts rubbing himself against the Sniper's hip. The Corvette moans loudly and then his spike starts twitching, shooting ropes of sticky fluid over his ventral plating. Barricade isn't far behind and it doesn't take him many seconds to overload, his fluid mingling with Crosshairs' on the green Autobot's abdomen. Barricade slumps with a stupid grin, looking at the sticky Paratrooper, still sprawled, frame lax.

"So, did I return the favor?" 

"I... Tha' was amazing." Then Crosshairs lifts his helm and grimaces at the mess on his front. "N' I guess tha' we're even for me makin' ya cum in yer panel."

"I didn't even think about that, I was just enjoying it." Barricade mumbles before kissing Crosshairs.

The kiss is deepening, slower now that they're not charged and revved up, but it still feels good, and Barricade strokes Crosshairs side again.

They both startle when the alarms start to blare, Prowl's voice coming over the PA system. 

"Everyone to the briefing room immediately, every mech on and off duty."

Barricade grabs two cloths and throws one to Crosshairs, wiping himself before helping the Paratrooper clean up quickly.

Running down the hallway, he wonders if Crosshairs feels like he did after the first time he interfaced: exposed, like everyone will know what he just did. He makes a note to ask later.

They're the last ones to reach the briefing room, but nobody seems to notice, they're not late. When there's an emergency like this, they don't take chairs, and as soon as everyone is inside, Prowl starts speaking.

"The Decepticon we apprehended earlier today has escaped. He was in the brig, but somehow, he managed to block the surveillance system and got out. We suspect he crawled through a vent, but at this point, we are not certain."

What. The. Fuck?!

"We will all go searching for him. Split up in pairs, nobot will be going alone. Keep close to each other and check in by comms to your team leader every fifteen minutes."

"Ye wanna partner up?" Crosshairs asks him.

"Oh yes! Otherwise, I always get assigned to go with Bumblebee." Barricade grimaces. That mech just manages to stomp on every nerve Barricade has.

"No' if I get assigned te 'im first. If 'e's no' with you, 'e's always with me." Crosshairs rolls his optics "Ye don' get along with 'im either?"

Barricade shakes his helm.

"Too concerned with following protocols, makes him delay action."

"I hear ye, an' he is bossy 'bout it too. Who is he te tell me wha' te do?" The Sniper crosses his arms.

"Says he's being cautious. I'd say he's a robochicken." Barricade glances at the black and yellow bot.

Crosshairs clucks like a chicken, and Barricade snorts in amusement.

"Sometimes, a mech just needs te mech up an' dive into the unknown. No' jus' 'ang around at the sidelines. An tha' comes from the Sniper, who should man the sidelines first an' foremost."

"And still he got better grades at the academy than I did." Barricade grouses.

Barricade smirks at the Corvette. He and his new partner is going to get along famously.

"Barricade!" Prowl calls out as the teams get their assignments.

"Going with Crosshairs. Where too, Sir?"

Prowl stares blankly at him for a couple of seconds, then he glances at the Sniper with something suspiciously close to a glare.

"Very well, industrial area, East side of town. You have between these coordinates. Ironhide will be your commanding officer."

A data package is sent to them both and Barricade opens the map.

Great. Why would the Con go there? They're just being sent off to Nowhere Important. As usual. While Bumblebee and... Bluestreak are being sent to city central. Great.

::Looks like we're being sent to a spot colder than the Arctic. Again.:: Barricade sneers over comms to Crosshairs.

::Ye kiddin'? Look at tha' long, straight road an' these turns!:: The Sniper highlights a few of the roads on the map. ::Ye thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?::

:: Street race!!:: They shout in unison over their private line.

::Let's just look for the Con first.::

::Of course! Need te complete our mission before we play.::

::Of course.::

"That was all the assignments. Be careful out there, this is a dangerous mech." Prowl finishes his briefing.

Yeah, right. So far, Jazz hasn't been violent, and there's two of them and one of the Con, so Barricade isn't really that concerned.

Crosshairs smirks at him and he smirks back, knowing that they're going to have a blast.

"Come on, Cade. Let's go get the fraggin' Con." Crosshairs says, clapping Barricade on the shoulder.

"Yeah, Cross. Let's get him."

"You call for backup if you make contact. Don't do anything stupid." Ironhide rumbles behind them.

"No, Dad, we won't." Crosshairs snarks. 

Barricade jolts a little. Why does Crosshairs call him Dad? Ironhide cuffs the back of the Sniper's helm.

"I'm serious. Be careful out there. Dangerous is an understatement." The Topkick says sternly.

"Yes, Dad, we'll be good." Crosshairs flashes an unrepentant grin at the Weapons specialist.

Ironhide rolls his optics and sends them out. They both transform and roll out of the base, in a hurry to get to their playground for the night.

Chapter Text

They cruise the area slowly, doing all the scans, following the protocols, like good little Bots, but they come up empty handed. Just like they thought they would. And there's no point in doing it all again, right?

So they do what raceframes do best; they race. 

Crosshairs is in the lead at the moment, Barricade hot on his heels, but they don't forget to check in with Ironhide. The commanding officer gets the comm right on time; they're fine, haven't seen anything of interest, they keep doing their laps.

Technically, they're not lying. Their laps are just a little quicker than they should be. Okay, a lot quicker. But nobot needs to know, except the two of them.

Barricade has just commed Ironhide with their third check-in when everything goes straight to the pit.

Crosshairs is up front, and Barricade sees the crackling of a sudden burst of electricity under the Corvette. The Sniper's engine goes quiet and he rolls to a stop.

::Hey Cross! Are you okay?:: He comms the Corvette.

No answer.

Barricade is starting to panic. He transforms and nudges the unmoving car.

"Come on, Cross, this isn't funny!" He says, shoving harder.

Then he realizes how quiet Crosshairs is. His engine is shut off, EM field non-existent. If it wasn't for his colors still being bright, Barricade would've thought he had deactivated.

"Crosshairs!" His voice is going shrill with fear as he bends down to look closer.

::Ironhide! Something's wrong with Crosshairs!::

He only receives static.

"He can't hear ya. I'm blockin' your comm."

Barricade startles badly, but has no chance to whip around, because Jazz grabs his hips and presses up against him, hard spike pressing against Barricade's interface plate.

"I love tha way your aft looks when ya bend over like that."

"What have you done to him, you asshole!" Barricade shouts, both angry and scared.

"I just knocked 'im into a really hard reboot. He'll be good as new when he's back online. But you n' I are on a tight schedule. We need ta be done when Daddy expects your next check-in."

"I... What?" Barricade flounders.

"I'm horny."


Jazz starts to stroke Barricade's plate, and the Saleen's frame responds quickly, now that he knows that his friend is alright. 

Should he really trust a Con to tell the truth? 

Barricade stretches from his bent over position, leaning his back against the Con's chestplates, arms wrapping around the mech's neck.

"I wanna do it right here." Jazz purrs in his audial, and that voice makes Barricade's panel slide away.

"Here?" The Interceptor squeaks, but it turns to a mewl when Jazz slides his digits through Barricade's folds.

"Yeah, next ta your nappin' li'l friend. Ya better overload quickly, or he'll see us fucking." Jazz murmurs in a voice that's pure sin.

"How do you want me?" Barricade asks, trembling with arousal.

"Be careful with that kinda questions, I might take liberties..."

Barricade snorts in amusement. As if the Con isn't taking liberties already. Then he flushes with embarrassment, because he can't even imagine what kind of liberties Jazz might take.

"Hm, maybe I should tie ya up n' let your li'l friend wake up ta me fraggin' ya into tha ground? Let 'im see how it's properly done." Jazz muses.

Barricade shivers. It's not that he wants to be caught, the risk is just thrilling to think about.

"Maybe he'd join. Ya could sit on my lap, my spike buried in this downright drippin' li'l cunt o' yours..." Jazz pumps his digits into Barricade's valve to prove his point. "...n' he could suck your spike."

Barricade grinds down on Jazz's servo.

"Or maybe ya want me ta frag your valve while ya suck his spike?" 

The pictures popping into Barricade's helm is embarrassing, and still exciting.

"But I think we're done talkin'." The Decepticon concludes.

Jazz easily turns Barricade, pushing his back against the wall, servos sliding down the Interceptor's side to cup his aft. The Saleen is easily lifted, putting his arms around the Decepticon's neck to steady himself and Jazz's spike finds it's target as if it was a heat seeking missile. Barricade wraps his legs around the Decepticon's hips when the spike slides in to the hilt. Jazz groans, visor flickering with pleasure.

"Ya were so sexy in that interrogation room, so flustered n' innocent, 'n tryin' so hard ta hide it." Jazz growls against Barricade's neck.

Barricade seeks out Jazz's lip-plates, hungry for a kiss, and he mewls against the Decepticon's mouth with every thrust, his charge building quickly.

"How did they catch you?" Barricade groans, curious.

"I let them. Ain't no way tha Bots would be able ta catch me if I didn't wanna be caught."


"Jus' havin' some fun, teasin' ya. Knew ya're tha interrogator." Jazz grunts.

That's about all the information Barricade can process at the moment. Jazz thrusts quicker into him and turns the Interrogator into a moaning mess.

He's teetering on the edge of overload when Jazz stops. Barricade growls in frustration and gets an unrepentant grin in return. The Decepticon somehow manages to carry Barricade, spike still inside. He kneels beside Crosshairs' prone form and Barricade leans back until his shoulders rest on the ground, Jazz still keeping his hips up.

"Touch yourself until ya overload." Jazz leers.

Barricade feels his faceplates flush. It's one thing to do it by himself, something else entirely to do it with Jazz's bright visor following his every move.

But the Decepticon isn't moving, nor touching him, and Barricade really wants that overload...

He slides a servo down his ventral plating, further down, until his digits reaches his node, and his hips buck when he presses the sensitive bud. Jazz's face goes predatory as he stares where Barricade is toying with himself, and the Interceptor feels more sexy than ever. He arches his back more, to give Jazz a good view, and to get better access, and he mewls when he's quickly getting closer to overload.

"Should I load ya up, or d'ya wanna suck me to avoid stains that would be hard to explain?" Jazz asks, thrusting slowly into Barricade.

It's so very hard to think. But the stickiness would be hard to get rid of in time.

"I'll suck your spike." He whimpers out when a thrust rubs against something inside his valve.

Then he flicks his node one last time and his back arches even more, frame tensing, and Barricade can't stop the drawn out moan leaving his vocalizer. 

The Interceptor goes limp when he comes down from the overload, but  when Jazz pulls out, he collects himself and gets up on his knees. They might not have much time left. This time, he doesn't hesitate. The Saleen sucks the spike right into his intake, wanting to get Jazz to overload quickly. Before Crosshairs reboots and sees him giving the eascaped Con a blowjob.

"Ya're eager tonight, li'l Bot. Maybe I should jus' kidnap ya n' defile ya in every way possible 'til tha sun comes up?"

Barricade's traitorous valve clenches at the thought. But it's wrong. He increases the pace, sucks a little harder, works with his glossa, and it doesn't take long for Jazz to overload. The Saleen swallows without hesitation this time, and the Decepticon groans, his helm lolling back.

"Ya really are good at that."

He helps Barricade up and splays a servo on the back of the Mustang's helm, pulling him in for a kiss. His servos slides down Barricade's back to cup his aft, pressing their pelvic plating against each other's. The Saleen melts into the Decepticon and is entirely unprepared when Jazz spins him around.

"Have ya lost track of time? Ya need ta check in with Daddy." Jazz presses up against Barricade's back. "Does Daddy know wha' a bad li'l Bot ya've been, hm? That ya're off fraternizing with a filthy Con, while tha Sniper is down for tha count?" He murmurs in Barricade's audial.

The Interceptor shivers in a confusing mix of alarm and arousal. He sends the request for the comm connection.

"Will Daddy spank ya when ya get home, ya bad li'l Bot?" Jazz hisses, and grabs Barricade's arm to easily bend him forward and restrain him there.

A swat of the Decepticon's servo lands on Barricade's aft the second before Ironhide answers. He stifles a yelp just in time.

::Everything alright over there?::

Why is he asking, is he suspecting something?! Another slap stings his plating.

::I-I... Yes! Everything is f-fine!:: He stutters out, cursing himself.

Ironhide is silent for long seconds, while Jazz keeps slapping Barricade's aft.

::Are you sure?::

::Yes! Can't see the Con.::

Behind him, out of sight, Jazz snorts in amusement. Barricade wonders how he can hear what they talk about on their encrypted network so easily. Digits slide through Barricade's folds, still slick after their round, and he jerks in the awkward position, trying to concentrate.

::Alright. Prowl ordered the search to continue. Be careful out there.::

::Absolutely, Sir!:: Barricade squeaks when Jazz flicks his node in a delicious way.

::Over and out.:: Ironhide's voice rumbles over the comm before he disconnects.

"When lyin', stick as closely to tha truth as possible. Well played." Jazz praises him.

"Do you want me to get caught?!" Barricade hisses.

His anger would be so much more convincing if he wasn't bent over, being fingered in a way that is making him charged, rocking back against that servo.

"Nah. Jus' want ta train ya ta get a better pokerface."

Barricade doesn't answer. Jazz slides digits into his valve and the Saleen rocks back against them, getting more eager but Jazz stops and pulls him back up, leaning Barricade's back against his chest again.

"I can feel how charged ya are. But we ain't got time. Look, your friend is wakin' up. Ya should get him ta suck your cock." He purrs.

The Decepticon steps around Barricade and drags a digit along Crosshairs' spoiler. The Corvette shudders under the touch. Jazz bends down and pulls something from Crosshairs' undercarriage and subspaces it, stroking that spoiler again, and earning another shudder, before he leaves the still silent Corvette. 

Jazz grins wickedly at Barricade as he comes back to stand in front of the Interceptor. He slides a servo between Barricade's legs and Barricade grinds down on it. Jazz leans in to kiss him again, and Barricade grabs the silver mech, wanting more, but Jazz soon pulls back.

"I need ta go now. 'til next time..."

The Con rubs his thumb over Barricade's spike cover a couple of times before stepping back to transform.

"Ya should rub his spoiler while he comes online. To... soothe him. Or somethin' like that." There's something wicked in Jazz's smirk. "Don' forget ta close your panel."

He folds into a Solstice, the first time Barricade gets to see his alt mode, and peels out. The Saleen looks after him until he disappears around the corner, then he turns back to Crosshairs. The Corvette is starting to boot, and Barricade does as Jazz said, stroking that spoiler with slow movements.

The Sniper bursts into transformation, abruptly online, and he turns to Barricade.

"Wha' 'appened? Why are ye touchin' me like tha'?"

"I-I'm sorry! I just thought it would be soothing! I don't know where to touch you when you're in alt mode!"

"Oh. I's jus'... I'm sensitive there."

"Yeah? I was careful..." Barricade doesn't understand.

"Like sensitive, sensitive. Like yer shoulder-wings."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry, I didn't know...!" Fucking Decepticon!

"Nah, i's cool. I jus'... Wha' 'appened?"

"You ran over something, and the hit kicked you into reboot somehow."

"Huh. Never 'appened before."

"I checked in with Hide and waited you out. Tried to not say too much."

"Good. Let's go. Somethin' about this place gives me the creeps. Feels like I'm bein' watched."

They fold into their alt modes and roll out, making another lap around the area. Barricade keeps his sensors alert, scans everything for any signs of Jazz, but there's nothing to be found.

Crosshairs is in the lead, but they're not racing anymore; the mood for it vaporized. They patrol every road two more times in silence before the search is called off. Barricade heaves a relieved sigh. He's still revved up from Jazz's touching, and he just can't stop thinking about what it would feel like to have his spike sucked.

::Your tail end looks really good from here.:: He blurts over their private comm.

Crosshairs snorts. Then the Corvette fishtails teasingly. Barricade's engine revs.

::Is tha' so?::

::Want to kiss a little before we go back? We're fast on the road, we could still be in time for the debrief...::

Crosshairs transforms and turns to the Saleen, and Barricade follows suit, immediately pressing up against the Sniper, their intakes clashing together in their eagerness. Barricade's panel slides away, his spike pressurizing and rubbing against the Corvettes thigh.

"'m still revved up from ye strokin' my spoiler." Crosshairs manages to get out.

Barricade slides a servo between the Sniper's legs, stroking the hot plate.

"No' 'ere!" Crosshairs' optics brighten.

"Why not? There's nobot around, and do you really want to go to the debrief..." Barricade looks down when Crosshairs'  panel pops and his spike pressurizes. "...go to the debrief like that?"

"We'll ge' sticky..." Crosshairs groans weakly when Barricade grabs the Sniper's spike and strokes it slowly.

"I have an idea..." Barricade says slowly, not sure how to say it. He flushes, because he still gets embarrassed by talking about stuff like that.

"Wha' kind of idea?" Crosshairs asks, bucking into Barricade's servo.

"We could suck each other's spikes..."

"Wha'?! Eew!"

"It's not that bad."

"How do you know? Ye've done i' before?"

Barricade's faceplates catches fire again, and he almost panics, because he didn't mean for Crosshairs to find out.

"I...uhm...yeah." The Interceptor mumbles.

"Ye count tha' as kissin' too?" Crosshairs raises an optical ridge.

"I-I... maybe? Technically, we're just kissing other parts of each other. And kissing isn't that bad, is it?" Kissing can't be that frowned upon, right?

Crosshairs looks him in the optics, as if considering it. Then he leans in for a quick kiss, pressing his frame against Barricade's.

"We could try. I'm really charged... But i's our secret, right?" Crosshairs says.

Barricade smiles, relieved that the Paratrooper doesn't just go running, or worse; tattling. 

"Of course it's our secret."

He starts kissing and nipping down Crosshairs' chestplates, servos sliding down his sides, under the Paratrooper's coat, to his hips, and the Sniper leans his back against the wall with a quiet moan. The Corvettes legs are trembling with tension and he whines when Barricade drags his glossa along Crosshairs' spike.

The Saleen teases the head of the spike with the tip of his glossa and Crosshairs' hips jerk.

"Frag, Cade, I'm gonna over..." The Paratrooper says thickly, words turning into a wail when he suddenly overloads.

Fluid lands in Barricade's open intake and across his face before he can react and take the spike in his mouth to swallow the load. Crosshairs is mewling in pleasure, but as soon as he's done, he hides his face in his servos.

"I'm sorry. It jus' looked so ho', an' it felt so good, an' I jus'..." Crosshairs rambles, field thich with embarrassment.

"Hey! It's ok. It's not like we're experienced..." Barricade says, wiping his face with a rag he found in subspace. It's kind of gross, but he's not going to say something that might jeopardize getting Crosshairs to wrap those lip-plates around Barricade's spike.

"No, bu' I... I wanted te be good."

"I gave you a blowjob. I'm not even sure you can be good at getting one." Barricade slides his servos up one of Crosshairs' thighs. "You can still be good at sucking my cock..." He tries to purr, going for the way Jazz uses his voice to do all kinds of things to Barricade's frame.

Crosshairs grimaces, but Barricade lets it slide. It isn't like he was thrilled to do it the first time either.

The Sniper sinks to his knees and Barricade leans against the wall, spark spinning wildly with nervous anticipation. Crosshairs grabs the Saleen's spike and licks the head of it tentatively. Barricade gasps at the sensation, hips twitching with a need to thrust. 

Then Crosshairs sucks Barricade's spike into his mouth and Barricade mewls in an embarrassing way, because that wet heat is unlike anything he has ever experienced and it's almost too much.

The Corvette slowly takes him deeper, and Barricade just wants to thrust, shivering with the effort of not doing that and just jam his cock down Crosshairs throat. That definitely would not count as 'being good' at this.

Crosshairs wriggles his glossa around, and that is Barricade's undoing. With a loud groan, he overloads, spike pulsing with his release. Crosshairs' optics go bright and his cheeks puff out. As soon as Barricade's spike starts to depressurize, he pulls off and spits the fluid out.

The Saleen isn't offended. It takes some getting used to. But Primus, does getting his cock sucked feel good! 

Not as good as having his valve licked, or being fucked by Jazz, but really good. He pulls the Paratrooper up, pressing his lip-plates against Crosshairs'. It doesn't take long for the Corvette to answer the kiss, not ravenous like they were before, but softer, more tender.

"We really need to go back." Barricade says against Crosshairs' lips.

"I know. We should do this again. I sucked..." Then Crosshairs starts to laugh. "Well, literally. Bu' wha' I meant was tha' I wasn' good at this."

"I think you were really good. I couldn't hold back longer. But yeah, we definitely should do it again."

Crosshairs smirks, but some of his usual cockiness is missing, and then he leans in to kiss Barricade again, one last time before they have to go back and sit through a debrief about nobot catching a glimpse of Jazz. 

Barricade knows, because he knows who the Decepticon was doing.






The debrief was just as boring as he expected. Of course nobot had found a single trace of the Con, they were in the wrong parts of town.

The Interceptor steps into his room and closes the door, plating still damp from the shower. He freezes for a second when he sees the note on his pillow, but then he hurries to pick it up.

That was quite the show. You're so hot when you nervously try something new. Your face when you came in his mouth... Oh, I wish I could've been there and kissed you. Or maybe fucked your valve at the same time. I know you like to get filled, but don't tell the Bots. They're such prudes. You should try the butterfly vibrator tonight. Go on, I know you want to get that little node of yours stimulated. C ya...

It's signed with the Decepticon insignia, just like the last note. Barricade folds it, and when he pulls his storage drawer out to grab the box of toys, he hides it with the last note, under a few datapads. 

Then he grabs the little thing shaped like a butterfly, and the remote, and crawls onto his berth.

Chapter Text

It's been a while since Barricade has seen Jazz. Sometimes, he feels oddly disappointed about it, something that makes him slightly uncomfortable. He shouldn't miss a Con. But that's not what's on his mind right now, though.

They're in Crosshairs berth this time, servos mapping out new sensitive spots, and finding known ones at each other's frames, kisses turning increasingly heated.

The Sniper's servo slides between Barricade's legs, and the Saleen opens his panel, but when Crosshairs' palm rubs across his spike cover, he just knows that another handjob or blowjob isn't what he wants. His valve-lips are puffy and hot to a point of aching.

Still too shy to bluntly ask for what he wants, he spreads his legs more, and places his servo on top of Crosshairs' and guides the Paratrooper's hand further. Crosshairs breaks the kiss and looks down at their servos, letting Barricade steer, and the Interceptor slides the Sniper's digit over his node and gasps with pleasure. He rolls his hips, rubbing against the servo.

Crosshairs catches on, experimentally sliding his digit over Barricade's node, and the Mustang moans to encourage him, still too embarrassed to say it.

It's so much better to have someone else do it, and Barricade feels how wet he's getting. Crosshairs' digit slides through his slick folds hesitantly, and Barricade wonders if the mech has ever even touched those parts of himself. He seems uncertain what to do.

The Mustang gasps and grinds down when the digit teases the opening of his valve, the digit just barely slipping inside. Crosshairs makes a little swirl before pulling it out to rub over Barricade's node again, smearing Barricade's lubricant over the little bud, creating a slicker slide. Barricade mewls and squirms on the berth, getting charged at an embarrassing pace.

The Corvette seems to grow bolder with Barricade's enthusiasm, alternating between dipping two digits shallowly into Barricade's valve and rubbing his node. Those digits slide in a little deeper next time and Barricade bucks, wishing for something thicker, but not daring to ask for another finger.

The digits slide out again, and Barricade whimpers at the emptiness, but he's quickly distracted by the teasing touches to his node and his legs are trembling with tension as he's getting closer.

Crosshairs sinks his digits into Barricade's valve again, deeper and deeper in a torturously slow movement, flicking the Interceptor's node with his thumb and Barricade's vocalizer is crackling with static when he's teetering on the edge of overload.

The Sniper seems to freeze up for a second, optics bright and field tinged with surprise, and Barricade bucks, and grinds, and whines in frustration.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, please more! Curl your fingers. Please, please, please." He whimpers, servos scrabbling over the berth.

There's a few more flicks of his node, then Crosshairs presses on that spot in Barricade's valve, and the Saleen overloads with a wail, back arching and optics flickering, before he goes limp. He grins dopily at the Sniper, as Crosshairs digits slide out of his slick valve.

Crosshairs toys with Barricade's hip, a thoughtful look on his face. The Saleen inches closer, pressing in against the Paratrooper.

"Ye're no' sealed."

Barricade's optics goes bright with panic and he scrambles to sit.

He didn't even think about that Crosshairs would find out. He just wanted to get his node rubbed and get a valve overload, to get rid of the pent up need. But he got distracted when Crosshairs digits slipped inside him and now the Sniper knows.


His entire world comes tumbling down when he finally is forced to think about what that might mean for him. He isn't even supposed to touch those parts with his own servos!

"Please don't tell anyone." He whispers, voice trembling.

"I won'. So who was i'? Someone on base?"

"No, nobody here. I didn't mean for it to happen. Didn't know what he was doing until it was too late." Barricade whispers.

"You were forced?" Crosshairs grinds out.

", not really. He tricked me, and did things that felt so good, I didn't want him to stop. And then, after it happened, I learned that I'm not supposed to do it, but then it was already too late. How did you know I'm not sealed?"

"I....ehm... I touched myself, an' the seal is blockin' my valve. I could hilt my digits in ye without anythin' stoppin' me."

Barricade sinks back down, and Crosshairs presses in close, sliding a servo down between Barricade's legs. The Interceptor bucks, still very sensitive after his overload, and the Sniper slides his digits inside again. Crosshairs grinds against his thigh, and Barricade feels the Sniper's hard spike sliding against his plating, smearing him with the fluid weeping from the head.

"Ye know, since ye're already unsealed..." Crosshairs kisses Barricade's neck-cables. "... I could spike ye an' i' wouldn' make any difference."

The Paratrooper rolls to lay on top of Barricade, spike sliding against the Saleen's slick folds. Barricade gasps when it rubs against his node and his valve clenches, feeling empty. He did want more inside him when Crosshairs fingered him...

Crosshairs leans in to kiss him and Barricade opens his intake, allowing the Sniper's questing glossa access. The slow roll of Crosshairs' hips, rubbing his hard spike against Barricade's node has the Mustang's charge rising again. 

"We don' have te of ye don' wanna." Crosshairs assures him.

He's already unsealed. What difference would it make?

He tilts his hips the next time the head of Crosshairs' cock slides over his node, making it slide down to his entrance, and grinds down to get it inside. It slides in slickly, and he hums at the sensation of finally getting something inside.

Crosshairs gasps, sliding in to the hilt and then stilling, his frame trembling.

"Oh Primus, I'm so close." The Sniper grinds out.

Barricade wraps his legs around Crosshairs, putting his pedes on the Sniper's aft and holds him hilted, while he kisses him. Jazz is never that quick, but maybe that's just because Crosshairs is inexperienced?

He lets up on the pressure and allows Crosshairs to start moving. He moans with every thrust, finally being filled again, and he's getting charged, though not as quickly as if his node would be stimulated. The position makes him unable to reach down to do it himself.

It can't be more than ten thrusts before Crosshairs slams in deep with a groan, spike twitching with his overload. The Sniper collapses on top of Barricade.

"Wow, tha' was... Jus' wow. So different from jerkin' off." He looks at the Interceptor with an amazed smile, but then he frowns. "Ye didn' overload."

"I guess the valve needs more time to reach that level of charge. Or I need my node touched."

"I was crap. Sorry." Crosshairs seems to lose his excitement, and Barricade feels bad about it.

"No, you just didn't know what I needed." Barricade kisses his cheek. "Cheer up, you just lost your virginity!"

"I did." Crosshairs grins. "An' I liked it, it felt good."

His spike slides out and Barricade feels the fluid running down his aft to be absorbed by the mattress.

"You're also going to be sleeping on a wet patch tonight." Barricade snickers.

"'ey, a' least I won't wake up with it inside my panel."

"Good point." Barricade concedes.

Crosshairs rolls off of him and snuggles up against Barricade, a servo sliding down to the sloppy mess between the Interrogator's legs, stroking his valve-lips. Barricade is still charged.

"The rim of yer valve is so puffy." Crosshairs notes.

"It's because I'm horny."

"Oh. Sorry. Wan' me te do somethin' for ye?"

"What you're doing now is a good start." Barricade groans, grinding against Crosshairs' digits.

The Sniper slips a couple of digits into Barricade and starts to work his node with his thumb again. 

"More, another digit inside." Barricade mewls, wanting the stretch.

"Greedy!" Crosshairs snickers, but he still obeys.

"Well, I just had your cock inside me, guess I'm a little stretched." Barricade manages to grind out, panting as he's getting closer.

Crosshairs gets up to lean on his elbow, looking down to where he's pumping his digits into Barricade's valve. It's a little embarrassing, and it makes the Saleen feel very naked, but then Crosshairs curls and uncurls his digits quickly a few times and Barricade overloads hard, arching his back and moaning loudly.

He stretches his frame before relaxing, and Crosshairs lays down again. They're silent for a while, plucking with cables and wires at each others' frames. Barricade is thinking about what they just did. He has interfaced with two mechs now. Not that it matters how many he sleeps with, his seal is already gone. The Saleen wishes he had touched himself before, just to know how it felt when he was still sealed.

"Can I touch you like that?" Barricade asks, curious about the seal and someone else's valve.

"Okay, but I'm no' much for playin' with my valve. Jus' doesn' feel tha' much. Guess I'm a spike-mech."

Crosshairs spreads his legs to allow Barricade's servo room to feel him up, but he looks tense. The Interceptor slides his digit through Crosshairs' dry and unaroused folds. He dips his digit into the Paratrooper's valve, no more lubricated than the normal moisture, and his soft valve-lips makes it a little tricky. A little more than half his digit fits inside, then he hits something firm yet flexible. Crosshairs grunts and Barricade remembers what it felt like when Jazz poked through his seal. 

"Sorry." He murmurs.

He backs off on the pressure and curls his digit slightly, testing if he can find that sweet spot, or if it's above the seal. Crosshairs squirms.

"Feels good?" Barricade asks.

"Odd. Like I need te void, an' still no' quite like tha'."

The Sniper's valve is going wet, though.

"Can I try something? See if you like it too."

Crosshairs makes a non-committal, doubtful noise.

Barricade crawls down the Sniper's frame until he can lick his node. The Saleen rubs that spot inside with light pressure with his digit, trying to mimic what he does to himself, and swipes his glossa over Crosshairs' node. The Paratrooper gasps in surprise.

"Wha' was tha'?"

"I licked your clit. Like I made you touch mine. You've never played with your node before?"

"No, I jus' pushed a digit inside..."

"Then I understand why you don't like playing with your valve."

Barricade swipes his glossa over Crosshairs' node again and the Sniper mewls, field vibrant with surprised pleasure. It encourages the Mustang to lap at the Paratrooper's node and slide another digit into his valve, lubricant slicking him more for every second. Barricade notes that Crosshairs is tighter than him, two digits actually stretching the rim of the Sniper's valve.

Crosshairs must be approving, because he's squirming and mewling, trying to grind down on Barricade's digits and glossa, and it's arousing to the Saleen. His spike is achingly hard and he's desperate enough to almost start rutting against the mattress.

"Can't I stick my spike in you if I promise not to break your seal?"

Crosshairs' optics flickers as he struggles to process what Barricade asked through his arousal.

"I... wha'? How do ye mean?"

"Just the tip. I won't unseal you, I just want to try it a little."

Crosshairs looks torn. Fleetingly, Barricade thinks about goading him, like Jazz did to the Saleen that first time, but he decides against it. It wouldn't be worth it if Crosshairs resented him for it afterwards. Instead, he teases the Sniper's node with the tip of his glossa.

He works the Paratrooper with all the skills he has earned from satisfying himself. Barricade feels good when Crosshairs' fans roars to life, and the Sniper's digits scrabble over the berth. The mewling and panting and swearing is a receipt that Crosshairs could very well be a valve-mech too, with the right treatment.

Crosshairs' thighs stiffen with tension, and Barricade recognizes the signs of imminent overload.

He stops.

The Sniper growls in frustration, glaring down at the Interrogator.

"So, can I fuck you shallowly?" Barricade asks innocently.

"Yeah, yeah! Jus' keep doin' somethin'."

Sits back on his knees, smearing Crosshairs' lubricant across the Sniper's valve-lips to make for a slicker slide. He lifts the Corvette's hips and lines up, trembling with nervous arousal. Crosshairs' field is equally nervous. Then he pushes against the opening, meeting resistance.

"Ow, ow. Ye're too big, it 'urts!" Crosshairs whines.

"It's just the first stretch, it'll get better. I wish I could go quicker, but I might accidentally hit your seal..."

Barricade pulls back and rubs Crosshairs' node to keep his charge up, even if the pain is distracting him from the pleasure. The Sniper's hips immediately jerks and he moans again. Then Barricade rocks his hips and the head of his spike pops inside.

Crosshairs draws a sharp vent and Barricade groans, using all his willpower to not just thrust. That tight, wet heat feels incredible around the tip of his spike, and he wants more.

"I' doesn' 'urt anymore. Jus'feels weird." Crosshairs says.

Barricade pulls out, just to press in again, starting to fuck the Sniper slowly and shallowly. He works Crosshairs' node with his thumb.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, Cade! I'm gonna overload!" Crosshairs cries out, field surprised.

The Sniper overloads with a wail laced with static, trying to grind down on Barricade's spike, but luckily, the Saleen has a pretty good grip on him. Then Barricade overloads too, fluids being pushed out around his spike, dripping down Crosshairs aft to make the wet patch even bigger.

He pulls out and stretches out next to Crosshairs, an arm slung across the Corvette's ventral plating.

"Now we both lost our virginities." Barricade smirks against Crosshairs' shoulder.

"Frag tha' was good. I should've played more with my valve before." Crosshairs grins dopily.

"I'll be happy to do it for you." 

"Ye better." Crosshairs rolls over to kiss Barricade and the Interceptor meets him.

"We should hit the washracks. Everyone is probably in the rec room now, so we'll avoid questions."

"Ye're right."

They wipe away the worst evidence of their activities and hurries off to the washracks, keeping their sensors alert for approaching mechs, but they make it without bumping into them in the hallway. 

Barricade watches the water running over Crosshairs' plating and wishes that they could share the shower head, could soap each other up, pressed closely together. But he doesn't dare. Not after he was busted jerking off. There's too high a risk to get caught, and Primus knows what kind of consequences that would bring.

He still reaches out to snake a servo under Crosshairs' coat to cop a feel of that aft when the Sniper has offlined his optics under the pelting spray. Crosshairs squeaks and Barricade starts laughing when the Sniper retaliates by throwing a sponge at him.

Then the door opens and Ironhide steps inside and Crosshairs suddenly seems strangely subdued and nervous.

"Hi, mechs." Ironhide greets them.

"Hello, Ironhide." Barricade says easily.

"'ello, Hide." Crosshairs mumbles.

Ironhide studies the Paratrooper, who squirms under the scrutiny.

"Is everything ok, Crosshairs?" Ironhide asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

::What are you doing?:: Barricade hisses to Crosshairs over their private comm.

::What if 'e knows, if 'e somehow sees tha' I'm no' a virgin anymore?::

::Trust me, he won't. Unless you keep acting like you just did something very naughty... But you still have your seal. And Hide's a cool mech.::

"Are you sure?" Ironhide asks Crosshairs.

"Yes, I'm sure, Dad." Crosshairs finds some of his normal snark.

Barricade sees the tiny jolt in Ironhide's frame, and can't help but wonder if Crosshairs really plays that kind of game with the Weapons specialist, or if he's totally oblivious of what he's doing to the mech.

"It's just that Cross has been a bad little Bot." Barricade says on a whim, grinning at Crosshairs

Crosshairs stares at him, intake hanging open in shock. Ironhide crosses his arms, face unreadable, as he looks back and forth between them.

"He has been throwing sponges at me. I'm sure there's a rule against that somewhere in one of those long lists Prowl has."

Ironhide rolls his optics when Crosshairs flips Barricade off. The Interrogator bends over kind of slowly, picking up the sponge and giving Ironhide a good look at his aft. Then he throws the sponge at Crosshairs, hitting the Sniper in the chestplates.

"Guess I'm a bad little Bot too." He grins innocently.

Ironhide raises an optical ridge at Barricade.

"The two of you have no idea what being a bad little Bot entails." Ironhide grunts, almost to himself.

The sponge comes sailing again, hitting Barricade in the back. He grabs it and throws it at Ironhide, hitting his shoulder. Ironhide stares at him, as if he can't believe that Barricade actually did that. The Saleen grabs another sponge and throws that one too, hitting the Topkick in the helm this time. Ironhide picks them both up, seemingly weighing his options.

None of the younger Bots are ready when he throws the first one, quicker than such a heavy mech should be able to move, hitting Crosshairs square in the helm. The Sniper squeaks and Barricade, who has whipped around to look, is not prepared for Ironhide to grab him, mashing the sponge against the Mustang's face. He splutters and flails in surprise.

"I'll give you both for sponge-war." The Topkick growls playfully. 

He wrestles with the smaller Interceptor, and Barricade struggles valiantly, but Ironhide's superior experience and mass quickly has him sprawled on his front on the floor, Ironhide straddling his aft to pin him. The bigger mech pushes his digits between the plating on Barricade's sides and then he starts tickling Barricade's protoform.

The Saleen squawks and starts thrashing to free himself, but Ironhide just laughs and tickles him even more intensely.

"Aah, mercy! Crosshairs, help me!" Barricade squeaks between his laughter.

The flabbergasted Sniper snaps out of his stupefied staring, and throws himself around Ironhide's neck, trying to wrestle the big mech away from the Saleen. The Weapons specialist grabs Crosshairs and rolls them, pinning the Corvette against the floor instead, and starts tickling his charge. The green mech flails desperately, trying to block Ironhide's servos, squealing.

"You don't sound like a bad Bot, bad Bots don't squeal like little turbopiglets." Ironhide laughs.

Barricade tries to sneak up on them from behind, to help his desperate friend, but it just ends with flailing and an undignified yelp when Ironhide gets an arm around his waist and throws him across the Weapons specialist's thighs and the struggling Paratrooper he's still straddling.

Barricade is pinned with a heavy arm across his back, and then Ironhide's big servo lands across his aft. The Mustang warbles from the unexpected sting.

"Are you a bad little Bot?" Ironhide growls, landing another slap.

Barricade flails uselessly, both indignant and confusingly aroused by it, not sure how to handle it when the third clang of servo against aft-plating resounds in the washracks.

", I'm a good little Bot!" Barricade squeaks, hoping his arousal isn't leaking into his field.

"Good." Ironhide lets him up and resumes tickling Crosshairs.

"I'm good too! Please, Hide! Mercy!" Crosshairs laughs, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Barricade can't resist the urge to touch the Weapons specialist, so he starts trying to tickle the big Autobot. Ironhide roars a laugh, before grabbing Barricade again, managing to wrestle both him and Crosshairs to be pinned under him.

"Yield! Or I continue." He says, tickling both of them, one with each servo.

A small part of Barricade doesn't want it to be over, but the tickling is horrible and he's worried about what his field is going to show if Ironhide keeps touching him.

"I give up!" Crosshairs laughs. "Mercy!"

"So do I!" Barricade giggles, vents quick. "I'm throwing in the towel."

"Be careful with throwing washing supplies. See what happened this time..." Ironhide growls playfully at him.

Something starts throbbing deep inside him when he thinks of Ironhide throwing him across his lap again.

Cold water, snow, glaciers, space....

Ironhide rises to his pedes and easily lifts both Barricade and Crosshairs.

"Thanks for that. I really needed to do something silly." Ironhide chuckles.

He puts his arms across their shoulders, dragging them back under the showerhead, still spraying hot water. He picks up the sponges and hands them out, grabbing one himself.

Then he grabs Barricade's shoulders and turns him around, so Barricade has his back against the Weapons specialist. The Interceptor's vents hiccups when Ironhide starts scrubbing his shoulder-wing, the sensation going straight to his valve.

"Help me out, Crosshairs. It's always good to get a little help with reaching on the back."

The Sniper hesitates for a moment, then he smirks wickedly at Barricade and starts working on the Interceptor's other wing. The Saleen pulls his field in as tight as he can, braces his servos against the wall and clenches his denta, trying to think of anything that has nothing to do with interfacing, while his valve starts weeping, throbbing with charge.

Rain... ooh, Ironhide's plating, soaked in water after their last drive... 

No! Icicles, cold, hard long... he could probably push one into his valve and... 

Stop it! Boring stakeouts... and then Jazz drops in for a frag...

Damn it! Prowl, doing... maintenance on himself! With the door open. Ugh.

What seems like a successful strategy derails in two seconds flat when Crosshairs tweaks Barricade's tire, while Ironhide is meticulously cleaning sensitive wiring. The Interceptor struggles with the urge to open his panel, arch his back, and beg them both to just fuck him already.

::I hate you!:: He comms Crosshairs.

::To me, ye seem to like i'.:: Crosshairs leers.

::Do you want us to get caught?::

::No, I jus' want ye horny...::

::You do realize that we'll wash you next. I'll rev you up at least as bad. And then I will go to my room and stuff... something really deep in my valve, something thick, and filling, and good, while you go back to your wet patch and your right servo...:: Barricade snickers, thinking of sweet revenge in the form of revving Crosshairs up and leaving him frustrated.

At least he can use his toys. The Sniper will have to make do with his digits.

::Fragger! Ye wouldn' dare!::

::Watch me!::

"Thank you, I think I'm clean now." Barricade says, unsuccessfully going for smoothly.

"Are you sure?" Ironhide murmurs in his audial, sliding the sponge down Barricade's back to his aft, thumb toying with a plate.

Barricade shudders, wanting more of those servos on him, but he's getting nervous. What if Ironhide isn't interested, what if Barricade is just misinterpreting everything? What if Ironhide gets mad and tells Prowl that Barricade is trying to...what is he really trying?

"Yes, I'm sure!" Barricade yips.

"Let's do Crosshairs, then." Ironhide says.

Barricade's processors stalls and falls straight into the gutter. For long seconds, all the Interceptor can focus on is the vivid pictures in his mind, where him and Ironhide is doing Crosshairs; Ironhide fragging Crosshairs valve while the Sniper sucks Barricade's spike.

Then he collects himself and goes straight for that spot where the plating forming Crosshairs' coat is mounted to the Paratrooper's frame and he hears the unsuccessfully stifled moan leaving Crosshairs' vocalizer.

::Bastard!:: Crosshairs mewls in the comm.

:: What goes around, comes around.:: Barricade singsongs back.

Thinking about both of them going to bed horny, all alone is still frustrating. But Barricade doesn't dare proposing that Crosshairs could sneak over to him. What if they get caught?

Barricade's comm pings him with a request from an unknown connection. He thinks about not answering, but then it just opens anyway.

::Are ya alone, li'l Bot?::

Barricade freezes up. How the hell does he have Barricade's comm? The Interceptor watches Crosshairs squirm under their ministrations, spark spinning wildly. What if the others realizes he's on the comm with a Decepticon.


::Ya with Daddy?::

Suddenly Barricade regrets backing out when Ironhide was washing him, because he gets a picture of himself splayed out on the Weapons specialist's lap, thick digits sliding into his throbbing valve.

::Sort of. Washracks.::


:Not like that! Showering.:: 

But, oh, how he wishes he was busy being fucked against the wall instead, by any or both of the mechs present.

::Ooh, frustrated, li'l Bot? Make sure ta wash your valve thoroughly before ya go to berth. Ya know, if ya grab that showerhead n' angle tha spray against your node, ya might even overload.::

Curious arousal makes Barricade's valve clench, and the Saleen squirms, rubbing his thighs together. Ironhide glances at him and Barricade feels his faceplates flush when the Topkick raises an optical ridge and smirks at him.

::I'll keep it in mind.:: Barricade says, voice strained.

::I'll leave ya to it. See ya 'round.::

The Con disconnects and Barricade focuses on getting Crosshairs clean, no more trying to rile him up. The Sniper is aroused enough, and Barricade just wants to go back to his room and stuff the dildo into his valve and not take it out.

Ironhide seems to have read his mind, because he leans in to ask Crosshairs if he's clean or if he wants more. The Paratrooper shakily declares himself clean, and motions to Barricade to help him with scrubbing Ironhide's back.

Watching the solvent trickle down that plating, the slide of the sponge over the expanse of Ironhide's back is intensely erotic, and when Barricade slides his digits under those plates to get at cables and wires, he's damned close to just pressing up against the Weapons specialist and beg him to spike Barricade until he walks funny.

He restrains himself, tries to focus on the cleaning instead of thinking about how it felt when Ironhide had his servo on Barricade's aft. When he spanked the Interceptor. 

It's impossible. He's so damned horny. He keeps cleaning with one servo and sneaks the other between Crosshairs' legs. The Sniper's helm whips around.

::Wha' 're ye doin'?::

::You better fuck me tomorrow.:: Barricade groans.

::I want it now.:: Crosshairs whines.

::Me too, but we can't.::

::I know.::

He pulls his servo away, to not torture the Sniper any more, and Crosshairs exvents sharply in frustration.

"Alright, I'm good here. Finish the rest yourselves, then it's time to hit the hay." Ironhide rumbles. 

They split up, taking a showerhead each, and start to wash the rest of their plating. Barricade opens his panel and takes the showerhead from the wall, angling it against his array. It does feel glorious, tickling in an enticing way. 

He looks up to find the other mechs staring at him with bright optics, and he flushes. The Saleen cups his array with his servo, rubbing it back and forth to clean himself, and it's so hard to do it without bucking against the friction, but he manages somehow, most of the slick lubricant being washed away but his arousal withstanding.

Barricade snaps his panel shut as soon as he's done, feeling uncomfortably hot and swollen. He finishes up quickly and dries himself sloppily, in a rush to get back to his own room and his toys. 

"Good night." He says to the remaining mechs, flushing when Ironhide offlines and onlines one optic in a wink, smirking knowingly.

If only he hadn't asked Ironhide to stop, if he had dared tell him that he's unsealed and need a thick spike in his valve. Or if he could have a 'sleepover' with Crosshairs. It's a good thing that he has toys.

Then the Mustang hurries through the hallway, every step rubbing his folds and nodes together to make him want to just sink to the floor, open his panel and finger himself until he overloads or someone finds him and frags him.

He doesn't though, he reaches his room and practically throws himself inside, slamming the door shut, fans on full blast. The Saleen turns to his berth and freezes on the spot.

There's a Decepticon lounging on his berth, stretched out in a careless sprawl, wicked smirk in place.

"Hello, li'l Bot." He looks Barricade up and down, leering. "Ya seem tense. Why don'cha hop on my lap n' give me a hard ride?"

Chapter Text

Barricade stares at the Decepticon for long moments, stupefied.

"Aaw, am I not welcome here?" Jazz pouts. "And I even have something ya really need."

He pressurizes his spike and Barricade flushes at how completely shameless the mech is.

"How did you get in?" 

"Would ya believe me if I said that they lemme in through tha front door when I asked ta see a friend?"

Barricade glares at him. He's not stupid. Just really charged and wet.

"Suppose not. Sorry darlin', tha'ssa trick of tha trade." Jazz says, slowly stroking his spike. "So whadd'ya say? Ya wanna be a good li'l Bot n' suck my spike? It's been awfully long since ya wrapped your intake around it..."

He shouldn't. 

The Decepticon somehow broke into his room, something he has obviously done before, but actually finding him here makes it so much more real, and he seriously should inform high command about this. 

But he's so fragging horny.

"Where have you been?" Barricade asks, slowly approaching the berth, intensely aware of going willingly to the mech. He could turn and walk out the door but he doesn't.

"Oh, here and there, doin' this and that, but tha's not important."

Barricade licks a line along Jazz's spike and the Decepticon groans, rolling his hips to get his spike into Barricade's mouth. The Interceptor pulls back and straddles Jazz instead, panel still closed.

"What if I think it's important?" He asks, grinding against Jazz's spike.

"Oh, ho, ho! You're gettin' cocky, li'l Bot. Wha's this, your new interrogation technique? I should get caught more often!" Jazz groans, bucking against Barricade.

Barricade backs off, slides back to not touch Jazz's spike.

"You could call it that. So, where have you been, Decepticon?" He growls.

Because he's curious, and he sort of felt a little... neglected. And a small part of him wondered if Jazz had found someone else to play with, and he didn't like that. Even though he shouldn't care. 

"Ya know, there's jus' one tiny problem with this strategy of yours..."

"And what would that be?"

Jazz grins wickedly, grabbing Barricade's hips.

"Ya're at least as horny as I am."

A thumb slides down to rub over Barricade's panel and it pops of it's own accord, sliding to the side to reveal his soaked valve. Jazz slides his digits over Barricade's node and the Saleen mewls loudly. 

"Ya're so wet n' charged. N' ya've got a fat cock right within reach. Still wanna play hard ta get?"

Jazz is infuriatingly smug, and Barricade wants nothing more than to not give in. But those digits are working him with way too much skill... He scoots forward and slides down on Jazz's spike with another mewl.

"Tha'ssa good li'l Bot." Jazz croons, bucking up to get in really deep.

He grabs Barricade's hips and starts rocking him back and forth and the Mustang is surprised that his node is rubbed against Jazz's pelvic plating, offering delicious stimulation. His digits dig into the Decepticon's sides and he starts rocking furiously, chasing his overload.

Jazz chuckles, allowing the Interrogator to take his pleasure from his frame, bright visor locked on where they're joined.

Barricade's charge is rising incredibly fast, and he overloads with a binary wail, slumping over the Decepticon.

"Ya're really loud, darlin'. Whaddif Prowl hears ya?" Jazz purrs.

"I'll just say that I'm interrogating you." Barricade pants.

Jazz laughs, bucking into Barricade again.

"N' tha's goin' ta go so well."

The Interceptor flails and squawks when he's pushed off, landing front first on the berth, face pushed against the matress. Jazz hikes his hips up, stroking his aft.

"Ya really think he would buy tha'? Or would he say tha' ya're a bad li'l Bot? Send ya ta Daddy ta get a good spankin'?" Jazz growls, slapping Barricade's aft.

Then he slips his digits into Barricade's valve, curling them to touch that sweet spot and Barricade squirms, unable to rock back. 

"Please, Jazz, fuck me!" Barricade hears how whiny he sounds.

"See, this isn' very convincing, if ya say tha' ya're tha one interrogatin' me."

Barricade just whimpers, desperate for more.

"Lucky for you, I'm in an accommodatin' mood." Jazz says, sliding his spike in to the hilt.

Barricade moans loudly as Jazz starts to thrust in earnest.

"Touch your node." Jazz growls at him.

Cheek still pressed against the berth, aft up, Barricade spreads his legs more to reach and starts to flick his node. He's whimpering and whining, teetering on the edge, frame tensing almost painfully, but he doesn't quite manage to reach that overload. Until Jazz tilts his hips, hitting some sensitive spot inside the Mustang's valve.

Barricade overloads with something close to a scream, entire frame convulsing with the powerful contractions in his valve. Above him, Jazz grunts quietly and pushes in deep, spilling inside the Saleen.

Then things happens fast again, too fast for Barricade's muzzy processor, when Jazz pushes the Interrogator so hard, he tips over on the berth. A blanket is thrown over Barricade's hips and the Decepticon disappears under the berth.

The befuddled Saleen is just about to ask what's going on, when the door to his quarters opens, Prowl stepping in. Barricade's spark starts spinning even quicker. He gets up to lean on his elbow.

"I thought I heard a scream. Is everything alright in here?" Prowl asks, looking around the room.

At least Barricade can't detect the Con under his berth, but Prowl's sensors are probably more advanced than the Interceptor's and Barricade is on the verge of panicking, desperately reeling his field in to not let it show.

"I... uhm... yeah. Just a dream?" Barricade says insecurely.

Prowl looks at his nephew, optics sweeping the berth with the bedding all rumpled. Barricade flushes, knowing how sticky his frame is under that thin blanket, feeling naked and guilty with his panel still open, just covered by the flimsy fabric.

His uncle studies the rest of the room suspiciously, but seems to come to the conclusion that there's nowhere to hide. And aside from the state of his berth, nothing seems out of the ordinary, that much Barricade is certain of.

But please, Primus, don't let him look under the berth.

Prowl seems to decide that nothing unacceptable is going on.

"If you have more of these nightmares, maybe you should have Ratchet check you. And if you are having trouble recharging, you could always share a room with Bluestreak or Smokescreen."

"Okay. I'm fine now, though. Thank you for checking in on me." Barricade says, relieved when Prowl seems ready to leave.

"Goodnight, Barricade."

"Goodnight, Prowl."

The door closes and Barricade falls back on the berth, exhaling in relief. He doesn't say anything, and it takes half a minute before Jazz stirs under the berth, crawling out again. The Decepticon immediately plunks down between Barricade and the wall, trailing little kisses along his shoulder and neck.

The Interceptor starts laughing quietly, now that his spark is returning to normal. The rush of almost getting caught is exhilarating in a dangerous ways, and getting away with it is a heady feeling.

"That was intense!" He says, looking at Jazz.

 "Flattered that ya call me a dream."

The Solstice smirks and leans in to capture Barricade's lips in a kiss. The Saleen turns, splaying a leg across Jazz's hips, suddenly feeling all revved up again.

"Ya really should learn ta keep a sensor suite or two out ta be on tha safe side." Jazz smirks against his lips.

"That's how you knew when it was time to duck for cover?"


Barricade slides his digits up Jazz's side, dipping in between plates to get at wires and cables. It's the first time he really does that to the Decepticon; they've never been in a situation where he has had the opportunity to explore the silver mech's frame. Jazz has always been the one to take charge, and they never really have had time. And they have never been in a berth.

Jazz plucks with his plating, strokes his shoulder-wings and teases protoform, and Barricade is going really charged.

Then the Decepticon rolls on top of him and Barricade spreads his legs expectantly, but instead of sliding into his valve, like the Saleen hopes for, Jazz almost rolls over to the other side and reaches under Barricade's berth. He rummages through the storage, and when he has found what he's looking for, he sits back on his knees, looking down at Barricade's array.

The Mustang squirms, feeling very exposed under the scrutiny of that bright visor. Jazz reaches for his array, and something nudges his valve-lips before easily sliding into his wet core. Jazz smirks wickedly and closes Barricade's panel manually, leaving the little egg shaped toy inside the Saleen's valve. It's one of the toys Barricade hasn't tried yet.

"Could ya get us some coolant? If I'm goin' ta frag ya all night, we're goin' ta need it."

"Oh, come on! Can't we just have another round first?" Barricade whines, half charged and the thing in his valve is just big enough to tease him in an annoying way.

"No. Ya're goin' to get coolant now. Or ya ain't gettin' more of this baby." Jazz says sternly, grabbing his spike to emphasize what Barricade won't get.

"Okay, you twerp." Barricade grumbles, earning a bark of laughter.

The Saleen reluctantly leaves the berth, Jazz stretched out lazily, pressurized spike bobbing enticingly, lascivious grin firmly in place.

Barricade slams the door quietly, enough to show that he's not happy with the proceedings but not loudly enough to make people take notice, and pads down the hallway, the thing in his valve big enough to be felt but not enough to satisfy. Why coolant?! It's all the way over in the refueling room. If the aft had just asked for energon, they have that in the rec room, just around the corner.

He turns the corner, and then he freezes on the spot with a startled mewl, hips jerking as the little egg Jazz slipped into him before closing his panel starts to vibrate. Barricade presses his fisted servos against his temples to regain some semblance of control. 

The Saleen forces himself to start walking, the progress awkward as his charge is rising. Fucking Decepticon. He tries to hurry up, because while  waddling along makes it a little easier, it will just take more time to get back and get Jazz's cock inside him.

And since lady fate surely hates him, the next corner sees him running straight into Ironhide's broad back. Barricade almost falls over, while the Weapons specialist merely turns his helm to see what hit him. The Interrogator leans a servo against the wall with a desperate gasp, steadying himself when the vibrations increase.

"Watch it there, kid. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Ironhide rumbles in amusement.

Barricade desperately reels his field in tight, mortified by the situation.

"I'm sorry, Ironhide. I..." He trails off, grinding his denta as he fights to stop his hips from bucking uncontrollably.

"Are you ok, Barricade?" Ironhide narrows his optics suspiciously.

"I'm fine!" He squeaks.

Ironhide looks sceptical.

"I'm fine. Really. Just need some coolant." Barricade manages to grind out, voice tight. "Excuse me."

He rounds the big Autobot and almost runs down the hallway to get that fragging coolant. At least the Saleen doesn't bump into someone else and reaches the refueling room without any trouble. Except for his drooling valve, threatening to leak through the seams of his panel, and the horrible teasing as his slick folds are rubbed together with every step.

The Mustang grabs four bottles and hurries to return to his room, but he's forced to stop halfway. The vibrations pick up even more and he's so damned close. Barricade leans his back against the wall, bracing himself for the imminent overload. He bites his glossa to stifle any moans threatening to spill over his lip-plates and tries to scan the hallway for anybot approaching. He seems alone, and he allows himself to stop fighting it, to let the vibrations bring him to the sweet release right there, in a communal hallway.

The vibrations stop. 

Barricade growls and bangs the back of his helm against the wall in frustration. Then he makes a run for his room and the bastard Decepticon doing Primus knows what in there while he's tormenting Barricade.

He doesn't take many steps before the vibrations start again, and he trips, sliding a few yards on his knees, hips jerking uncontrollably when he's teetering on the edge.

Fuck it!

Barricade claws at his panel, trying to open it with the intention to get himself off right there, but finds the panel locked in some way he has neither time, nor patience enough to try to figure out. With a desperate whine, he gets up again and scrambles for his room. The Interceptor staggers inside, dropping all the bottles, and as the door slams shut, he falls to his knees and servos.

He crawls towards the berth and turns, folding his arms to lay chest down, aft up. Jazz likes how his aft looks when he bends over, so maybe he'll get to it quicker like this, even though the Mustang is a little uncomfortable displaying himself like that.

"Please, Jazz! Frag me!" He whines.

The Decepticon snickers from his place on the berth, sprawled easily as if he's not horny at all. The vibrations pick up again and Barricade starts keening in pleasure bordering on pain.

Jazz rolls over, so he can reach Barricade with his servo, and opens the Autobot's panel. Lubricant gushes out, trailing down Barricade's legs in a mortifying way.

"My, ya really are wet." Jazz purrs.

A single digit slips between Barricade's swollen, almost aching, valve-lips, just to coax the little torture device of pleasure out of him. 

"Fuck me now, Con!" Barricade mewls.

"I'll jus' do this first."

Something bigger nudges Barricade's entrance, and he rocks back, trying to get it into him, but the thing moves with him, just staying lightly pressed against his valve-lips. 

"Ya want this, don'cha?"

"Yes! Fuck me! Make me overload!"

"There's a catch, though." Jazz singsongs.

"What? Barricade pants, still trying to rock back and get something inside his weeping valve.

"I wanna record this. Ta have something pretty ta look at when I jerk off."

It's so embarrassing; knowing that Jazz will watch his array closely right now, and then continue to watch him later on. But overloading sounds so sweet...

"Do it. I want to overload."

"As ya wish, li'l Bot." Jazz chuckles.

Then something thick finally slides into Barricade's valve and he moans loudly.

"Ah-ah, don't be too loud. Wouldn' want anyone coming in here ta check on ya again, would ya?" Jazz says, slowing down.

Barricade glares over his shoulder and realizes that Jazz is fucking him with the fake spike, bright visor locked on where it slides in and out of Barricade's valve.

It's both embarrassing and arousing and he feels his charge ramp up even further. Jazz starts pumping the toy faster into Barricade, long, hard, deep thrusts, and the Saleen is keening in desperate need to overload.

"Touch yourself." Jazz commands.

This time, Barricade doesn't hesitate, even though Jazz is looking. He's so damned close, and he has already done it before, so he starts rubbing his node with abandon, chasing that overload.

He comes with a drawn out moan, valve throbbing deliciously around the toy Jazz is still working him with. He lets his servo fall to the floor when he comes down from the overload and Jazz pulls the toy out and throws it behind him on the berth.

Barricade doesn't even try to get up, and he doesn't have to. Jazz slithers to the floor and comes to kneel behind the Mustang. Barricade warbles when a servo is placed over his intake, and he's dragged up to lean his back against Jazz's broad chestplates.

"I told ya that ya need ta keep tha noise down." Jazz growls dangerously in Barricade's audial.

Barricade's optics go bright and he nods what little he can with his helm restrained by the grip. It should be terrifying; a Decepticon restraining him like that so easily.

But instead it's turning him on, and Barricade is coming to realize that he probably has a thing for mechs who are powerful and can subdue him. Like that first time with Jazz, when the Decepticon pinned his arms so easily. His moan is muffled by the servo, but Jazz smirks knowingly.

The Decepticon reaches down to line his spike up and pushes into Barricade, then he slides his servo over the Interceptor's hip to reach between his legs, digit slowly circling the sensitive nub. Barricade twitches, still too sensitive, and Jazz seems to understand, backing off on the stimulation and focusing on just thrusting into Barricade.

His valve is extra sensitive too, but not so much as to cause discomfort. No, just enough to make the penetration enough to ramp his charge up even more. The servo across his intake certainly helps too.

Jazz quickens the pace, rolling his hips to get really deep, and Barricade is whimpering against the servo, his charge closing in on the peak again. His legs tremble with tension, and his servos are scrabbling over Jazz's thigh plating of their own accord.

When he overloads, Jazz doesn't push in deep, doesn't groan with his own release. He hums in Barricade's audial, a sound that is pure sin, and then Barricade is thrown on the berth.

His ankles are grabbed and he's pulled down until his aft hangs over the edge. Jazz kneels next to the berth and puts the Mustang's legs over his shoulders, sliding in again.

Truth be told, Barricade is exhausted. He lays there limply when Jazz rearranges him, when the Decepticon slides into him again. But he doesn't protest, because it doesn't feel bad either.

"Come on, li'l Bot, look alive." Jazz chuckles.

Barricade grins dopily, because sometimes, the mech is such a dork.

"'m tired." He mumbles with a smile, not even thinking about how he's borrowing Jazz's speech pattern.

"Ya look like a mech well fucked. How come?" Jazz interviews him, thrusting slowly into the Interceptor.

"Because I am." 

"Noo! Who'd do such a thing ta a virtuous li'l Bot like you?"

"A dirty scoundrel of a Con." 

Jazz barks a laugh. Then he picks up the pace, and as tired as the Saleen is, that well-known pressure starts coiling in Barricade's valve.

Jazz starts rubbing his node with a thumb and while Barricade's frame remains lax, he mewls when his charge starts rising quickly. Jazz speeds up, hips clanging against Barricade's aft.

The Saleen teeters on the edge, but he seems unable to overload, frame tensing. It's almost painful, the way his valve is clenching but refusing to reach his release.

"Please, Jazz, I can't..." He begs.

"Oh yeah, ya can, n' ya will." Jazz growls.

"No, I really can't!" Barricade almost sobs.

Jazz grabs him across his throat cabling.

"Ya're goin' ta overload now, li'l Bot. Don' make me punish ya." He growls.

It pushes Barricade over the edge, finally, and his back arches, his vocalizer crackles and his servos grab on to the mattress for dear functioning.

Jazz overloads, grinning wickedly at the Interceptor, and as soon as he's done, he rearranges them. 

Not in a careful way with gentle nudges and sweet helpfulness. No, without pulling out, he sort of plows Barricade in front of him as he crawls onto the berth. When the Interceptor is in a spot he finds good enough, he pulls out and plops down next to the Autobot, leaving Barricade to lay on the growing wet patch.

If Barricade had been more experienced, he might have objected. As is, he's just to doped up on postcoital bliss to even notice.

Jazz wraps an arm across the Interceptor and pulls him closer, resting his helm against the pillow. Barricade presses in close to the Con, and it doesn't take long for him to start dozing off. Then he suddenly wakes with a start.

"We never had the coolant!" He blurts.

"Are your levels low?" Jazz asks with a grin.

"Not really..." Barricade frowns.

"Then why would ya need it?" The Solstice murmurs against Barricade's neck-cables.

"But you said I had to get it..."

"I did."

"Why?" Barricade asks indignantly.

"How else would I get ya ta do that sexy li'l gauntlet?"

"You tricked me!" Barricade hisses.

"Decepticon, remember?"

Barricade growls wordlessly.

"Aaw, don't be like tha'! It ended gloriously, didn' it?"

Fucking Con. And he's right, the bastard. Barricade has probably never been so revved up in his entire functioning.

"I guess..." He growls.

Jazz nudges Barricade to his side, pressing up against the Interceptor's back. A servo wriggles down between them and a digit slips through Barricade's folds.

"Lemme make it up to ya." Jazz purrs.

That voice is so tempting. But Barricade winces when Jazz starts to slide his digit inside.

"No. I'm sore." He says tiredly.

Jazz pouts. Then a wicked grin slowly blooms across his faceplates.

"We could try somethin' else then."

Jazz pushes at the back of Barricade's knee, urging him to curl up, and the Interceptor follows his lead, too tired to protest. And curious.

Jazz fiddles with something just behind the Saleen's valve, and Barricade hears a lock disengaging, then the Decepticon pushes a plate to the side. Digits slide through his still slick folds, and then a digit teases his tailpipe.

Barricade jerks forward, turning his helm to stare att Jazz.

"What are you doing?!"

"Tryin' somethin' else." Jazz says, as if it should be apparent.

"That's my wasteport."

Jazz rolls his optics.

"Ya don' say, Captain obvious."

"I'm pretty sure that's not made to stick a spike in."

"It's not, but it works anyway. Look, lots of mechs do it. It's jus' that they don' talk 'bout it. N' ya said ya were too sore..." Jazz says with a shrug, but then he smirks. "Oh, but tha's right; ya Bots don' talk 'bout 'facin' at all, let alone do it... No wonder ya prefer tha vanilla stuff, like a little whimp." He goads Barricade.

The Interrogator feels his hackles rise.

"Fine! We'll try it."

Jazz grins victoriously and Barricade suddenly gets a little embarrassed, because this somehow seems a bit... taboo when he thinks about it. He turns away, focusing on the kind of strange sensation as Jazz keeps teasing his port, the digit prodding it making it clench reflexively.

"Jus' relax." Jazz croons.

The Decepticon fiddles with something in a subspace pocket, then Barricade hears the familiar snap of the lid of a bottle.

"Jus' need a little more glide." He murmurs against Barricade's neck-cables, nipping and kissing.

His digit is cold and wet when it touches Barricade's port again, but this time, it slips in easily. The Saleen tenses slightly at the foreign feeling, but then Jazz uses his other servo to slowly circle Barricade's node, distracting him from the second digit being added until the stretch has him scrunching up his faceplates.

"I... Jazz, this..." Because he doesn't even know how to describe it.

"Does it hurt?" Jazz asks, pumping his digits slowly.

The circling of his node is getting him charged, the penetration feels weird; both uncomfortable and still stimulating in a confusing way.

"No, not really..."

"Good. Ya'll get used ta it."

More lube is added, easing the burning from the friction, and then a third digit is worked into him. Now the stretch is decidedly uncomfortable, but he's still getting charged.

"Jazz... I... It's... It almost hurts."

"Almost? Just almost?" Jazz snorts. "Then it's better than it usually is tha first time. Remember tha first time I fucked your valve? Didn' tha' hurt?" Then he smirks wickedly. "Or maybe it isn't your first time? Have ya taken it in the aft before? Instead of having your seal broken. Naughty li'l Bot... Did Daddy fuck ya in the ass ta keep your seal intact and your uncle none the wiser?"

"No! I've never done this before!" Barricade blurts, strangely mortified at the thought of doing something like this, something feeling so very...taboo. Even though he's actually already doing it, and the part of it being taboo makes it more arousing. "And I remember." He mumbles, settling down to try to get used to how it feels. Jazz is right; the first time can be a little painful.

Then Jazz curls his digits and it's like electricity shooting through Barricade's frame. His spike pressurizes instantly and he moans, because that felt pretty good. He hears Jazz hum in self-satisfaction. The digits slide out, but then something bigger pushes against his port. Barricade whines in discomfort when Jazz pushes into him.

"Ya're doin' so well, li'l Bot." Jazz praises him, stroking a servo along Barricade's back-struts.

"You're so fucking big." Barricade whimpers.

"Thank ya! N' ya're rather tight." Jazz snickers.

Then the Decepticon starts to rock his hips slowly and Barricade grabs the sheet, tensing up when Jazz slides deeper. The Solstice stops, stroking Barricade's hip soothingly.

"Relax. It's almost halfway."

"Halfway?! Just halfway?!"

"Yeah, but ya're doin' so very good."

"I'm not sure... You're big." Barricade mumbles.

"Ya can do it. I know ya can. Ya're so good." Jazz croons.

Barricade relaxes when his frame slowly adjusts. And he really wants to be good. The Decepticon takes the opportunity when Barricade relaxes and slides in deeper before pausing again.

Then he flicks Barricade's node and the Saleen mewls in surprise. He wasn't aware of being so charged, so wet and aroused. His hips twitch and the Mustang rocks back against Jazz, accidentally taking him even deeper.

"Good li'l Bot! See? I told ya it would be good."

Barricade feels very full, and while the stretch isn't entirely comfortable, the fullness has his charge rising quickly, especially with that digit skillfully circling his node. And then Jazz slides in to the hilt with a groan. 

"Pit, you are tight!" Jazz purrs against Barricade's neck-cables.

The Decepticon starts thrusting, almost pulling out all the way before slowly sliding in again, and Barricade scrunches his faceplates, not certain if it really is that enjoyable.

"Ya should stroke your spike." Jazz says, voice tight.

It's kind of embarrassing, but his spike really is hard... And just being fucked in the ass won't bring him over. He grabs himself and starts stroking. Jazz makes an unintelligible sound and starts to circle Barricade's node again.

Discomfort and pleasure blends in a confusing mix, but Barricade's charge is rising quickly under the barrage of sensory input.

He overloads hard, transfluid landing like sticky ropes on the sheet, valve clenching around nothing. Jazz grunts when Barricade's port clenches and then the Decepticon overloads too.

The Interceptor feels the spike slide out of him, sticky fluid trailing it and he feels sore and weird, but mostly tired. Jazz kisses his neck-cables.

"Tha' wasn't so bad, was it?" The Decepticon murmurs.

"I'm sore. And I feel... loose."

Jazz pulls back, looking down Barricade's backside.

"Ya do look a li'l loose n' sloppy..."

"Shut up!" Barricade snarls, too tired for it to really sound heated.

"'m kiddin'! Ya're really sticky, though."

"Whatever. Too tired to care."

The Decepticon starts to rummage around and Barricade let's him, even though it's annoying. He's about to fall into recharge.

Jazz pulls the sheet out from under the limp Saleen, using the odd clean spot to wipe down the Autobot's frame. When he's done, he throws the sheet on the floor and crawls back next to Barricade, pulling the blanket over them both.

"This is nice" Barricade mumbles, halfway into recharge.

"Yeah." Jazz murmurs, pulling are Mustang closer.

Then Barricade drifts off to recharge, snuggled up to a Decepticon. In the morning, he vaguely remembers waking up hours later, Jazz kissing him and saying that he has to go. The stained sheet is missing, a clean one is placed on the foot of the berth, and if it wasn't for that, and his soreness everywhere, Barricade might have thought it was just a dream.

Chapter Text

It starts with sparring. Sparring with Ironhide, to be precise.

Barricade definitely is getting better at hand to hand combat, but he is still no match for the Weapons specialist. Over and over, Barricade has wound up pinned to the floor, just to be helped to his pedes to try again.

And there is a traitorous part of him thats perfectly happy with being pinned under the heavy Officer, a part that would make him lose oh, so willingly every time. 

"You're not even trying." Ironhide growls in his audial.

"I am! You're just too big and powerful." Barricade protests from underneath his teacher.

"Maybe I should punish you every time you lose? To give you a reason to really put some effort into it."

Barricade's processsor supplies him with a picture of Ironhide holding Barricade and spanking him, and he can't control the flare of arousal in his field or the slickness in his valve.

"No! I'm a good little Bot! I'll try harder!" He pleads to hopefully distract Ironhide from his true feelings about it.

"Is that so?" Ironhide smirks, making a sniffing sound as he pushes air over his olfactory sensors.

Barricade is mortified, because the older mech will probably smell how wet he's getting. His intakes hitch when Ironhide slides his servos along Barricade's sides, up to his shoulder-wings, and tweaks something there, and it feels as if Barricade is about to overload at any second and wouldn't that be embarrassing enough to melt the floor underneath him?

"Would you try harder if I..." 

The servos slide down to his sides again, and Barricade almost whines at the loss of stimulation to his wings. Digits snake under his plating and then he flails, squawking in surprise when Ironhide digs into his cabling with blunt digits.

"... tickle you every time you lose?!" Ironhide laughs.

Barricade squeals and panics. Ironhide easily holds him down and tickles him for a few more seconds before letting up.

"Again. Try harder, or you're in for more of that."

Oh, he really fights this time, no holds barred. 

"Good! This looks great. The Cons are mostly bigger than you are, and those who are not are still strong, skilled and they fight dirty. You should do the same." Ironhide praises, vents quick with exertion.

The Saleen holds his own for quite some time, but inevitably he's overpowered again. And it's even more arousing this time, when his engine is running hot and he really gave it his best and still he's held prone against the mat.

He's pinned front down, an arm twisted up on his back, and Ironhide sitting on his legs.

If Ironhide wants to spank him, Barricade's aft is perfectly presented for it. And if he thinks Barricade is a good little Bot, he could just let the Mustang lift his aft and sink his thick spike into Barricade's soaked valve...

The Interceptor's panel almost opens when he thinks about that. He hears Ironhide sniffing again and he's embarrassed for being so revved up.

"I tried to be good." He says in a small voice, hoping there won't be more tickling.

"You were. I'm very pleased with you, you fought hard."

Barricade sucks the praise up like a sponge, grinning happily. Ironhide releases him and stands, easily lifting the smaller mech to his pedes.

"Lesson's over for today. Hit the washracks."

Ironhide pats his shoulder, and Barricade has an urge to ask if the Weapons specialist wants to join him, but he doesn't dare. All the way to the washracks, he's regretting being too shy, too much of a whimp, to ask.






He gets another chance, of a different kind, later that night. Barricade enters the rec room, finding the Weapons specialist alone in there, sprawled on the couch, a cube of high grade in his servo.

"Good evening, Officer." 

"Hey, Barricade. You can call me by designation when we're off duty."

Barricade nods and takes a seat on the couch. He glances at the Topkick several times, not able to really get into the TV show. He's too distracted by the bulky frame next to him.

"How does that taste?" He asks, eyeing the high grade.

Ironhide hands him the cube.

"You're old enough to try, but don't tell Prowl. We're not supposed to have this at all." Ironhide whispers conspiratorially.

Barricade sips it and makes a face. The taste is awful. Ironhide grins at his reaction and takes the cube when Barricade hands it back, taking a deep swig. 

"You'll learn to drink it when you grow up too." Ironhide teases him.

The Saleen grabs the cube again, demonstratively taking a few deeper gulps and swallows it quickly to not get the taste, just to show Ironhide that he's not a whimp. The Weapons specialist cocks an optical ridge.

"That's strong stuff, little Bot."

It really is. Barricade feels it burning all the way down to his tank.

"I can handle it, old mech." He says, grimacing at the taste.

Ironhide grins.

"Watch it, little Bot. Don't get cocky now." Ironhide growls.

Nope. More like getting a little dizzy. The high grade is taking effect, and Barricade feels a little loopy and relaxed, leaning his helm against the back of the couch. And his frame is getting hot, because suddenly all he can think about is their sparring earlier.

He really likes when Ironhide touches him. The Mustang glances at the big mech again. Ironhide has returned to looking at the show, sipping the last of the high grade. Barricade admires the mech's thick arms, his powerful frame that pinned the Interrogator so easily.

The Saleen takes a deep vent and steels himself to keep what courage he manages to gather. Then he crawls up into Ironhide's lap. 

The Weapons specialist holds his arms out awkwardly, as if not certain what to do, but Barricade presses his face against broad chestplates, snuggling into the bigger Bot.


"I just want to cuddle a little. Haven't I been good today?" Barricade asks in an innocent voice.

Ironhide is quiet for long moments and Barricade's spark spins wildly when he almost thinks that he's about to be rejected. What if Ironhide tells Prowl? Why did he think this was a good idea?

"Okay, we can cuddle a little." Ironhide finally says, wrapping strong arms around the Interceptor.

Barricade happily snuggles against Ironhide, spark spinning with nerves now. The Topkick slowly strokes Barricade's side in a way that probably would feel soothing, if only Barricade wasn't getting charged by it.

It brings a new problem, because while he doesn't want to be anywhere else, his frame is heating up and his valve is going wet, and Barricade's traitorous processor doesn't help at all by supplying dirty images of Ironhide pushing him down on the couch and fucking him.

He squirms, trying to get at least some friction, or maybe just to try to disperse some of the lubricant making the inside of his panel all wet; he can't really tell which. It's to get some stimulation, just admit it.

Ironhide stiffens under him, but then he continues to stroke Barricade when the Interceptor forces himself to be still again. The servo on his side is splayed wider now, a thumb sliding down Barricade's ventral plating, all the way down to the upper edge of his pelvic plating, before it wanders upwards again. Barricade's spark spins with nerves while it travels downwards, and then when Ironhide's servo moves away again, he wants to whine in frustration, wants to buck up to get that thumb where he really needs it, but he remains still and quiet.

Until his cooling fans speeds up one notch. It's nothing that couldn't happen just from his frame getting hotter by how close they are. It's still embarrassing though, because Barricade knows full well that the reason for him running hot is arousal.

The Saleen squirms again, and this time, he hears Ironhide's vents hitch slightly as the big Bot stiffens momentarily again. Barricade notices that his aft feels warmer, and suddenly he realizes that Ironhide is getting aroused by his squirming against that panel.

Confidence growing from that knowledge, Barricade shifts around again, pressing into that stroking servo, deliberately wriggling his aft against Ironhide's heating panel. He isn't still for long before the next wriggle, and then the next, and even though Ironhide's field is reeled in, their close proximity allows him to feel the mech's growing arousal.

"What I fail to understand is if this is you being a good little Bot, or a bad one." Ironhide murmurs in Barricade's audial.

The Interceptor flushes when he leans back slightly to look at the Weapons specialist.

"I'm being good.... Daddy?" He mumbles, unable to meet the mech's optics.


Barricade nods, optics downcast.

"Then I guess you need a reward."

Ironhide easily lifts the Interceptor and turns to stretch his legs out on the seat of the couch.

"Straddle me." He says to Barricade when the Saleen is back in his lap.

Barricade's optics goes bright in surprise, nervousness and not a small amount of alarm.

"Relax, little Bot. I'm just going to make you feel good." Ironhide croons.

Barricade hesitantly straddles the mech and Ironhide pulls him into an embrace, waiting until the Mustang relaxes again, leaning against broad chestplates. To someone walking by, it would look as if Barricade is just snuggled up against the Topkick, and the Interceptor wraps his arms around the sturdy Weapons specialist, feeling both safe and comfortable, and nervous at the same time.

Ironhide slides a servo down Barricade's side and pushes it between them, stroking Barricade's ventral plating. It's the servo on the furthest side from the rec room, and the movement is hidden from view of any passerby by their frames. Barricade's spark speeds up and his vents hitch when the tips of Ironhide's digits stroke the upper edge of his interface panel.

The plate slides away of it's own accord, to Barricade's embarrassment. Ironhide chuckles.

"That horny, little Bot? Don't worry, Daddy's gonna take care of you." Ironhide murmurs.

Digits slide through the soaked slit of Barricade's valve and the Interceptor can't help twitching his hips

"Primus, you're going to be the deactivation of me." Ironhide groans. "You have to keep still and quiet and keep your field in if someone shows up. You don't want Prowl to know that you let Daddy touch you like this, do you?" Ironhide purrs in Barricade's audial.

"No, Daddy. I'll be quiet." Barricade whines, charge building quickly.

"Good little Bot." Ironhide praises him.

Ironhide focuses on Barricade's anterior node, slowly circling it with a slick digit and Barricade is desperately biting his glossa to not just start grinding and mewling.

"Hmh. I'm just not entirely certain that you actually deserve to overload right now..." Ironhide muses and stops his ministrations.

"Please, Daddy! I've been good, haven't I?" Barricade whines. He's so close!

"Well, I guess you have..."

The Weapons specialist flicks Barricade's node quickly a few times and it allows Barricade to reach that sweet release. His frame stiffens, knees squeezing against Ironhide's hips, before he goes lax, but he manages to stifle the moan threatening to break free from his vocalizer. He leans heavily against Ironhide, feeling much like the snuggled up, tired mechling he probably looks like in the lap of the bigger Bot.

He notices that Ironhide hasn't taken his servo away. No, he rests his digits gently against Barricade's valve-lips, without putting any pressure to the components or moving his digits. It feels warm and nice while Barricade's valve-lips go soft when he comes down from his arousal.

"That was pretty good, little Bot, but you did make a little noise, and you didn't keep completely still."

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Barricade says contritely.

"It was a hard task, and you really tried. You just need more training." Ironhide's rumbles.

Barricade nods against Ironhide's warm frame, feeling very relaxed.

They just sit like that, quietly, for quite some time. Ironhide seems to be engrossed in the TV show again and Barricade just enjoys sitting there. But those fingers just resting against his valve is enticing, teasing in their stillness.

The Saleen feels his valve-lips start to swell again, getting warmer and puffier. He squirms ever so slightly again, just to cause a tiny hint of friction. His anterior node has obviously swelled too and is peeking out between the plush lips of his valve, because it grazes one of the digits.

Barricade gasps with the taunting contact, wanting so much more. Of course Ironhide notices his movements.

"You getting charged again, little Bot?" He murmurs quietly in Barricade's audial.

That deep voice does sinful things to the Interceptor in his lap. Barricade nods, not trusting his own voice, and wriggles again. The Weapons specialist curls one of his digits and it slides easily through Barricade's folds, dipping just slightly into his valve, and Barricade tries to grind down, wanting something inside him.

Ironhide flicks his digit back and forth like that and Barricade just can't stop the frustrated little grunt he makes. The Weapons specialist misunderstands his noise and movement.

"Don't worry, little Bot; I won't do anything that might compromise your seal."

Barricade's spark hickups, thinking about the potential ramifications if Ironhide would find out, just like Crosshairs did. But it would feel so very good to get something inside his valve. The Saleen is torn between asking for just a couple of fingers shallowly, or agreeing with Ironhide. He could get that sweet spot rubbed. But then Ironhide might know where the seal should be and realize that it isn't there.

He nods again, deciding that he will have to make do without anything inside him. It isn't that much of a disappointment really. Ironhide is skilled with his digits.

::You better keep very still and quiet now, little Bot. Someone is coming.:: Ironhide comms him, the big mech's field humming with amusement.

Barricade's spark speeds up. He can pick them up with his sensors now, he just missed it earlier because his processor was preoccupied elsewhere. Jazz is right; he needs to learn to keep a sensor suite out for sentients.

Bluestreak and Smokescreen walks in, stopping just inside the door, and even though Barricade isn't looking, he just knows that they're staring at him draped over the Weapons specialist, judging him.

"He was uptight after today's training. Finally getting him to unwind." Ironhide says smoothly, as if his digit isn't still playing with Barricade's valve.

"I guess that's good..." Smokescreen says hesitantly. "He can be such a tight ass."

"Maybe he is." Ironhide answers, voice not conveying the lascivious amusement his reeled in field is vibrating with. 

Barricade can still teek his field though, pressed against the Weapons specialist as he is, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment.

Jazz did say that he is tight... So not the point!

The younger mechs sprawls in the chairs, Bluestreak grabbing the remote.

"Can I change the channel, Ironhide, Sir?" The young Praxian asks with a formal cant.

"Go ahead, kid. I'm having fun whatever show is on." Ironhide answers, leer only tangible in his field.

Barricade overloads, digging his digits into black plating where he's sure the movements won't be visible, straining his entire frame to make it look like he's relaxed.

::You're such a good little Bot!:: Ironhide croons over the comms.

Barricade nods almost imperceptibly, fighting not to twitch when that digit slowly circles his sensitive anterior node, teasing enough to keep his charge going, but not so much as to be uncomfortable with his post-overload heightened sensitivity.

:: What are you doing?:: He whines over comms to Ironhide.

::Aren't you a good little Bot?::


::Then you're going to give Daddy a few more overloads.::

::But we have company!::

::You better stay real still and quiet then, won't you, sweetspark?::

::I... Yes, Daddy.::

::Such a good little Bot.:: Ironhide murmurs, field caressing Barricade with approval.

The Interceptor presses into that praise. He's going to be such a good little Bot.

Ironhide strokes his back-struts slowly, a gesture that looks comforting to the other mechs present. The digits teasing cables and wires as they roam belies the innocent intent, and Barricade feels himself heating up again.

:: You're so wet, little Bot.:: Ironhide groans, digit slipping inside Barricade's valve, just past the entrance.

The Saleen stiffens, spark speeding up. He doesn't want Ironhide to find out that he has interfaced.

::Relax, I won't go deeper than this. Just want to make you feel good...::

The Topkick curls his digit, rubbing softly against that sweet spot and Barricade can't help but gasp a little.

::Shh! You need to be quiet.:: Ironhide hisses.

::I'm sorry, Daddy! I'll be good.:: Barricade whines, desperate for more.

Ironhide's thumb starts circling the Mustang's anterior node, while he still rubs that sweet spot inside and Barricade really wants the Weapons specialist to just jam three digits into his weeping valve. Or maybe just stick his spike in there. The big Bot probably has a thick spike...

With a shudder that makes his plating rattle, a few panels clattering against each other, Barricade overloads again. He fights to keep his rapid vents quiet, pressing closer to the Weapons specialist.

"Easy there, kid. It's just a dream." Ironhide murmurs out loud, stroking the Interceptor's back-struts with the servo he has kept still on Barricade's back so far. 

For the benefit of his cousins, Barricade realizes.

::I told you to be quiet and still, little Bot. You're being bad...:: Ironhide rumbles over their private comm, but his field gives away that he's amused.

::I'm sorry, Daddy! I really tried!::

::You have to try harder if you want to be a good little Bot.::

Ironhide pets Barricade's valve-lips with his flattened servo, the touch soft enough to not be too much. He rubs back and forth, stroking Barricade's array in an almost soothing motion. It feels good, relaxing while Barricade rests after his overload. The Saleen feels almost drowsy, the intensity of his arousal and the nervousness about the risk of being caught draining him of energy. He's close to actually nodding off, feeling safe and comfortable in Ironhide's lap.

Then the Weapons specialist slides his servo further back, one digit reaching under closed plating to tease Barricade's port. The Saleen onlines his optics and stiffens.

::What are you doing?!::

::Relax, little Bot. I'm just going to make you feel good.:: Ironhide croons. ::But you better pull that field of yours in tighter...::

Barricade does, afraid that his cousins will notice and start watching them closer. Ironhide presses his palm against Barricade's array and just gently teases the Interceptor's port, doesn't even try to dip inside, and Barricade slowly relaxes. It doesn't feel bad. And the light pressure against his array is slowly making him anticipate more.

::You really are tight.:: Ironhide chuckles.

::Shut up!:: Barricade squeaks, mortified.

::Watch your field, little Bot! And that's no way to talk to your Daddy...:: Ironhide growls, pulling his servo away.

::I'm sorry, Daddy! I just... I got embarrassed:: Barricade mumbles, not keen on that slowly building arousal to be cut off.

::I'll let it slip for this time. And you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You're such a pretty little Bot, with such a lovely frame.:: Ironhide says softly.

The teasing continues, warm digits pressing against Barricade's slowly swelling valve-lips, the tip of a single digit stroking his port, and Barricade has a hard time not squirming in frustration. He just needs more friction.

"Hi, Prowl." Ironhide rumbles casually.

Barricade almost jolts away from the Weapons specialist's lap, but the big mech somehow manages to squeeze the Saleen tighter against his frame, keeping him in place. It's a good thing that Ironhide has that kind of wherewithal. Throwing himself away with his panel open, valve dripping wet would be a certain way to... The brig? Something very bad, at least.

"Good evening, Ironhide. What is this about?"

"He just needed a little... comfort after our sparring." Ironhide says smoothly, even though that ghost of a field conveys the leer absent in his voice.

Barricade's spark is spinning, and he redirects the majority of his hydraulic flow to just circulate, nervous that he won't be able to keep still, because Ironhide has not removed his servo and is still exerting that taunting pressure to his array, still slowly stroking Barricade's ass. The Interceptor is afraid of being caught, mortified by what he's allowing to be done to his frame in the presence of others, by how good that lone finger on the entrance of his port feels, how he wants more, and confusingly aroused by all of the above. He's going wet and hot, entire array throbbing, and he wishes Ironhide would just make him overload.

::Reel that field in, little Bot, or Prowl is going to figure out what I'm doing, where my digit is.:: Ironhide purrs over their private line.

Barricade somehow manages to get his field under control, but before he can get something snappy out as a reply, his valve starts pulsing, contracting rhythmically when he overloads, and all he manages is a drawn out moan over the comm line.

"He looks like he needed to relax. I do not think he has been recharging properly since his first run-in with the Decepticon." Prowl says, obviously still looking at Barricade as he takes a seat.

"I think he'll sleep well tonight though." Ironhide replies.

::You naughty little Bot. What would Prowl say if he knew what you're enjoying right now?:: Ironhide chuckles.

::That Daddy needs to punish me and teach me how to behave?:: Barricade asks tiredly.

Ironhide's vents hitches minutely, just a slight hiccup, but Barricade notices, pressed close as he is.

::Is that so? Pray tell, is that what you think, or what you want?::

::I don't know?:: Barricade suddenly realizes what it sounded like an invitation to and feels a little insecure. Is he really ready for something like that, if Ironhide would want to follow up on it?

::We'll see.:: Ironhide says, leaving the discussion open ended.

Then those digits start to move again, and Barricade stifles a whine at the last second.

:: I don't think I can, Daddy...::

::Yes, you can! I know you can, you're such a good little Bot. Just one more.::

::I... I'll try. For you, Daddy.:: Because he really wants to be good, wants that praise.

::Good little Bot.::

Ironhide starts circling Barricade's node again, keeping the pressure light to not overstimulate the Saleen's little nub, and Barricade can't help but be grateful for how skilled the mech is. The Mustang is slowly going aroused, no discomfort like there would be with too much, too soon after an overload like that.

He hears the others talk quietly, and it keeps his spark spinning with nerves but it also makes him aroused. They're totally oblivious and it's so very thrilling. He can't resist snaking his digits under Ironhide's plating with the servo hidden from view by their frames, and when the Weapons specialist flares the plates to allow him access, he starts tweaking cables and wires with nervously fumbling digits. It's one thing to be inexperienced with Crosshairs, who's equally unskilled. It's a very different thing to do stuff to a mech who knows how things should feel.

::Getting bolder, little Bot?:: Ironhide's voice rumbles over his comms.

::I like touching you, and I want you to feel good too, Daddy.::

::Keep touching that and you'll give me problems explaining the results to Prowl.:: Ironhide groans when Barricade tweaks a relay.

The Interceptor backs off a little, stroking the relay but not as hard and not continuously. He doesn't want to get Ironhide into trouble. And it's getting increasingly hard to focus on anything but the coiling charge in his valve. It's rising slowly, getting higher and higher to a level Barricade didn't think was possible.

It feels like he's teetering on the edge, but instead of tipping over, it rises even more until it burns, and he wonders if he ever is going to overload, or if his frame is too spent to do it. If only he could get Ironhide's thick digits inside him.

::I can't, Daddy! I'm sorry!::

:: You can, little Bot, I know you can! You're doing so very good. Come on now, cum for your Daddy.:: Ironhide croons.

It's a good thing that Barricade has opened the pressure gauges to his hydraulics. Otherwise, he'd be clawing on Ironhide's plating, bucking and grinding in desperation against the big mech. He offlines his vocalizer, just to be sure he won't accidentally start whimpering.

Then he finally overloads. His hydraulics opens the returnflow completely, leaving his frame completely limp, but his valve is pulsing with contractions and he cannot stop the binary beeps he opens the comm line to Ironhide with.

The Mustang comes down slowly, still leaning heavily against Ironhide and the big Bot gently strokes the small of Barricade's back with a thumb.

::You ok there, little Bot?::

::I-I think so... I don't know if I'll regain hydraulic pressure today, though...::

::That's ok. You can sit here as long as you like.:: Ironhide rumbles, field tinged with fond amusement. ::Or I could carry you back to your room.::

::Going back to my room would be nice...:: Barricade mumbles, feeling very much ready for recharge.

::Alright. Just relax and pretend to be recharging.::

The Topkick manually closes Barricade's panel, then he wraps his arms around the Saleen, cupping his aft to hold him in place, and stands as easily as if he isn't carrying another mech.

"Going to put this one to berth. Good night, mechs."

"Good night, Sir!" Bluestreak and Smokescreen says in unison.

"He looks like he needed that. Thank you, Ironhide. Good night." Prowl tells the big mech.

Barricade feels the smugness in the Weapons specialist's field, and he himself is thrilled with getting away with this. He still hangs limply in Ironhide's arms, optics offline all the way to his room. Ironhide kicks the door closed behind him and sets Barricade down on the berth.

Barricade feels wobbly as he sits at the edge of the matress, uncertain what to do or say after that. Should he just let Ironhide leave? The big Bot hasn't gotten off, but Barricade can't offer his valve. Truth be told, he doesn't have the energy to overload again right now.

"That was fun. Good night, Barricade." Ironhide rumbles.

"Don't you want something in return?" Barricade asks quickly when the Topkick turns to leave. He doesn't want to be left alone yet.

"That's not necessary. I enjoyed that too."

"But I want to make you feel good too! Daddy." Barricade pouts.

Ironhide turns around, crossing his arms, optical ridge raised.

"Is that so, little Bot? What did you have in mind?"

His valve is out of the question, just dry-humping seems too... No, that's probably not Ironhide's style. Handjob gets so messy. That leaves mouth or ass. He still isn't convinced that he's really into taking it in the port. And he flushes from embarrassment just thinking about telling Ironhide that he can fuck Barricade in the ass...

"Uhm... maybe you have something I could... Ehm, could suck?" He mumbles.

Ironhide looks at him for long moments.

"Barricade, you don't have to..." 

"I want to!" Barricade hurries to say. 

Because he honestly does. Thinking about it almost makes him a little tingly, both nervous and excited. He pushes his field out to let Ironhide teek what he's feeling.

The Topkick seems convinced. He comes back to the berth and sits down, scooting back to lean against the wall, pulling Barricade with him to set the Interceptor in his lap, straddling thick thighs.

"So, little Bot, did you want to please your Daddy?" Ironhide purrs.

Barricade nods, optics downcast to hide his embarrassment, then he crawls back to kneel between Ironhide's stretched out legs. The Weapons specialist's lap is stained with Barricade's lubricant from their little foray in the rec room, but the Mustang doesn't care. He bends down to kiss and nip at the plating there, trying to find the sweet spots, stroking Ironhide's interface plate with his digits. It's hot to the touch. He teases the seam and is rewarded with Ironhide allowing it to slide away.

The Weapons specialist's spike pressurizes, and Barricade is suddenly relieved that he didn't decide on suggesting that Ironhide could fuck his ass. Everything about the Bot is thick and sturdy, of course his spike would be too.

It's ridged with rounded spines, gunmetal gray and black, and lit by tiny biolights, glowing a surprisingly bright blue. Barricade almost drools thinking about getting that in his valve. His valve doesn't stop at 'almost', it starts weeping inside his panel.

Barricade licks along the length, teasing the head with his glossa before sucking it into his mouth, only managing to get half of it in there. He grabs the base and starts swirling his glossa around it. Ironhide groans, one of his servos coming to rest on the back of Barricade's helm. It doesn't feel restrictive or forceful, more encouraging and praising, and the big Bot strokes the Interceptor's helm with his thumb.

"Such a very good little Bot." Ironhide whispers, voice hoarse and thin with arousal.

Barricade suckshat praise up as eagerly as he sucks Ironhide's cock as deeply into his mouth as he can manage. He pumps the base of the shaft with his servo to make up for not getting it all the way into his intake, bobs his helm and sucks.

Ironhide is talkative in berth, or at least while receiving oral, the Saleen discovers, but unlike the Earthen porno he has studied closely, it isn't a litany of derogatory names and orders leaving the mech's vocalizer.

No, Ironhide praises him, encourages him to keep going when he does something especially good and to try different strokes with his glossa. And it's so very arousing. Barricade has never felt more sexy than right there, kneeling hunched over in a position that in reality is kind of awkward. He isn't a total newbie, but he still isn't very experienced. Ironhide doesn't make him feel awkward or embarrassed about it. He makes Barricade feel like a master at giving blowjobs, and the Interrogator finds himself quite willing to suck the mech's cock anytime Ironhide wants him to.

"I'm going to overload soon. If you don't want it in your intake, you probably should stop now..." The Topkick groans.

Barricade doesn't mind swallowing. Not one bit. On the contrary, he wants to swallow it all and make Daddy proud of him.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to take that spike out of his intake. The Saleen's increased effort will have to be answer enough.

A low moan and a twitch of the Weapons specialist's spike is the warning he gets, then his mouth is filled up with hot fluid and Barricade stills to be able to swallow the entire load. Ironhide strokes his helm and Barricade squeezes the spike with his lip-plates to keep from drooling a single drop.

The Topkick has quite a load, but Barricade eagerly swallows it all before the spike in his intake stops twitching and starts to depressurize. A careful lick, soft to minimize discomfort, cleans up the droplets left and then he crawls up Ironhide's frame to press in close, leaning his helm against the big mech's shoulder.

"Did I do well, Daddy?" 

Ironhide chuckles, slinging an arm across the Interrogator's shoulders.

"You're a very, very good little Bot."

"Can we cuddle until I fall asleep?" Barricade asks in a small voice.

"Of course, sweetspark." Ironhide murmurs, kissing Barricade's helm.

The Topkick pulls the Saleen down to stretch out next to him on the berth, Barricade's back pressed against Ironhide's broad chestplates. The warmth, and the teek of a heavy EM field close by feels safe and comfortable, and wrapped in strong arms, Barricade is falling into recharge in just a matter of minutes.

Chapter Text

Poking the bear. 

That's what the humans would call it. It started innocently enough, with him and Crosshairs going to the shooting range. They were goofing around, not in a dangerous way, but really not being serious either.

That did not sit well with the Weapons specialist. He showed up, obviously in the mood to blow shit up, and a couple of young soldiers not following protocol? Ironhide himself nearly blew up. At least Barricade thought he might.

Crosshairs dared being his snarky self for all of five seconds until he realized that this was not the time and place to push the Topkick and test the limits.

Barricade still couldn't stop himself from talking back, adding a sarcastic 'yeah, Dad', but he quickly snapped his intake shut after the glare he got for it. An angry Ironhide was seriously intimidating.

In an incredibly sexy way.

The younger Bots tucked tail and fled the scene, opting for hitting the rec room instead. The Terror Twins were there, playing a video game, so Crosshairs and Barricade joined them to kill some time, and a few zombies, until they were expected in Prowl's tactics class.

But as time passes, Barricade finds himself unable to focus on the game. His processor is occupied with replaying the memory of Ironhide shutting Crosshairs up with a thick digit pointed at the Sniper and a deep growl to shut up and pick up the things he'd spread all over the place, or else.

And as much as Barricade wouldn't have dared talking back at that point, there's something about Ironhide being commanding that makes him all tingly. What if he had talked back? Would Ironhide have spanked him? Or would the Weapons specialist throw him in the brig for insubordination? Until he had time to deal with the bad little Bot. He'd come down there and order Barricade to stand against the wall. "Optics front, soldier." Then he'd fuck Barricade roughly to remind him of his place... Except Ironhide doesn't know about Barricade being unsealed, so he wouldn't do that. Maybe he'd order Barricade to kneel instead? And tell him to....

"Oi! Ye gonna play or what?" Crosshairs shouts, cuffing him in the back of his helm.

"Uhm..." His fragging valve is drooling again. "I think I'll go and have a little quick recharge before class." He says, getting up and handing his controller over to Crosshairs.

"K." Crosshairs shrugs.

He could've asked Crosshairs to join him, but Barricade feels like being alone with his toys and that fantasy, and he isn't up for being fragged by the two-minute man. He hurries down the hallway to his room and pulls out his box of supplies, sending a grateful thought Jazz's way as he digs through it. What to do today?

He grabs the purple dildo, because that's a favorite, and the little butterfly vibrator. The slight pressure when the vibrator is magnetized in place over his node makes him gasp, and he hurriedly rubs the dildo through his folds to smear it with his lubricant. What if he was straddling Ironhide's lap, working himself down on the Weapons specialist's spike. Just the tip, to pretend he was still sealed. He offlines his optics and kneels on his berth, holding the dildo still, inching down slowly, as if he was hesitant and uncertain. "Is this good, Daddy? Just a little? It's so big." He lifts off and sinks down just a couple of inches, like when he frags Crosshairs. It isn't that satisfying, not when he knows how it feels to take it all. It just won't do. 

He starts the little vibrator on his node on a low setting, sinking slightly deeper and he soon realizes that he better not try the shallow fucking with Ironhide ever, or he's going to be revealed as unsealed within the minute. The Saleen sinks as deep as he can in this position, mewling at finally being full. But this can't happen with Ironhide.

Barricade thinks of the Weapons specialist's skilled touches, those teasing digits sliding through his folds, touching his sweet spot inside. His port.

Hesitantly, he collects some of his lubricant and rubs the opening. It tickles, but in a good way. He's such a naughty little Bot. With the vibrator still going steady on his node and the dildo deep inside, he pushes against the opening. It gives, relaxed by his stimulation, and the tip of his digit slides inside smoothly, until there isn't enough lubricant to allow for the slick slide. It's so much tighter than his valve. And like this, it doesn't feel bad to touch it. The Saleen experimentally wriggles his digit. That actually feels good.

Reaching into his box for the lube, his digits bump against something else. The slimmer toy, the one with a curved tip. Jazz did curl his digits and hit a sweet spot when he was prepping Barricade for fucking him back there. He grabs the toy and the bottle of lube and douses the thing. Better too much than not enough. The Mustang feels nervous and excited when the cold and wet tip of the thing rests against his port. Then he slowly pushes it inside. It's definitely thicker than his digit, and it causes some discomfort, but he stops and allows his frame to adjust. He has taken bigger things. The memory of how naughty he is sends a thrill straight to his core.

He pushes the toy a little further in, and he hits the spot. With a startled mewl, he jerks as the sensation travels through his frame. He experimentally pulls the toy out a little bit and pushes it inside again, deeper this time, and now his spike pressurizes. The Saleen fiddles with the toy and manages to start the vibration, buckling forward when the sheer amount of pleasurable input makes him lose motor control for a few seconds. It's too much. 

It isn't enough.

Barricade grabs his spike and slowly strokes it, setting the vibrations on his node low to keep himself from overloading within the minute. He wants this to take a little longer than that.

The Mustang matches the pace of stroking his spike with sliding the toy in and out of his port, but he really needs more servos. He wants the dildo to move too. A little frustrated fidgeting later, and he manages to grab both the toys to simultaneously frag himself with both. A glob of lube in his servo makes stroking his spike so much better.

He's being fucked by Ironhide, because he has been a good little Bot and deserve to feel good. But Ironhide thinks that he's still sealed, so... No. Barricade has been a bad little Bot and is in the brig when Jazz has gotten caught again. They're somehow put in the same cell, and Barricade winds up riding the Decepticon. Ironhide finds them. "Please, Daddy, don't tell Prowl! I'll do anything..."

Of course Ironhide would want a piece of Barricade too, as payment for keeping quiet. He joins them, grabs Barricade's hips and slides into his ass.

The Saleen lets go of his spike for a few seconds to find the remote and increase the vibrations on his anterior node. Then he fists his cock again with a groan. He squeezes it harder, wondering if that's what it would feel like to take someone in the port. Maybe he should try it with Crosshairs.

It's kind of awkward to try to hold both toys while riding them, but it's still stimulating, and his charge is slowly rising, building very high on the sheer amount of input. His valve is quivering around that purple girth, the continuous rubbing against that sweet spot in his port is sending shocks of pleasure through his frame and he's teetering on the edge, stroking his spike with a firm grip, not wanting it to end, and still longing for that release. 

Then he increases the pace and he overloads instantly, transfluid landing like sticky ropes on the berth, his valve clenches around the toy and Barricade cries out in unadulterated pleasure. The Mustang tips over, frame lax, and he lays there for a minute, while his frame cools down. His comm pings a request, and he lazily accepts.

::Where the hell are you? Did you forget that I'm taking over the tactics class today, and we start half an hour earlier?:: Ironhide growls at him. ::Or are you just being a bad little Bot all around today?:: The last part is purred, all lascivious intent woven into the words.

::I-I... I'm sorry, Daddy!:: The response is automatic, stuttered out long before he processes that he just managed to make it sound as if he's playing with Ironhide, and not just being forgetful.

:: You'll be sorry, alright. After class. You're not going to play hooky on my watch, little Bot. You have ten seconds until I reach your room. I better meet you running towards class...::

Barricade squawks and scrambles to get the toys out of him and into the box. He shoves it under the berth and looks for a cloth. Precious seconds disappear to panicked searching before he finds one, and he hears heavy pedesteps coming down the hallway. There's no time to wipe down thoroughly. He slams his panel shut without wiping himself there, wipes his thighs and pulls at his blanket to turn it over to hide the transfluid left there.

The door is yanked open and he throws the blanket in panic, knowing how very guilty he must look. Ironhide sniffs a vent and raises an optical ridge knowingly when Barricade hurries for the door.

His panel feels wet and he's still slick everywhere, and that makes him feel exposed, guilty, busted. Ironhide has to know what he was doing. Embarrassment flares when he wonders if the Weapons specialist can smell the synthetic lube, and if he'll know why Barricade used that and...

The Interceptor squeals when he's grabbed and thrown over Ironhide's massive shoulder, a thick arm pinning his legs against the Topkick's chestplates.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" Barricade protests, because it isn't very dignified to be carried like that down the fragging hallway.

"Taking your aft to class. And it's quite a fine aft, I must say." Ironhide says amusedly, pinching Barricade's rear end.

"Hey!" The Interceptor squeals indignantly, wriggling around to free himself.

A big servo lands heavily across his aft.

"Ow!" The Saleen whines.

Another slap makes him squirm and whimper.

"Too bad I don't have time to do this properly. You deserve to be sore enough to feel it while sitting through my class, you bad little Bot." Ironhide growls. "Would serve as a good reminder to not be late."

Why, oh why, is he getting wet by that thought? Why now? Ironhide will know, and Barricade will offline from mortification. Probably.

Another hard slap snaps him out of that thought.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" He whimpers, wanting it to stop before someone sees. 

Before Ironhide notices that Barricade is getting even more wet inside his panel.

"Not nearly enough. You will come to my quarters after class."

"Yes, Daddy." Barricade mumbles contritely.

For some reason, he thought that the Weapons specialist would let go of him, set him back down, if he was just appropriately repentant. But no, the big Bot just keeps carrying him, getting closer to the classroom.

"I have legs to walk with, you know!" Barricade growls petulantly.

"I know. They're really nice to look at." Ironhide says simply, not even pausing.

"Seriously?! Are you going to carry me into the classroom?!" Barricade starts squirming again, more urgently this time. How mortifying wouldn't that be?!

Ironhide spanks him again.

"Ouch!" Barricade cries out.

"Keep still. Maybe then you'll learn to be on time."

"Ironhide! This is embarrassing!" Barricade whines, sounding very much like a little brat, he realizes.

"I know. It does wonderful things to your field, little Bot." Ironhide sniffs. "And apparently to other parts of you too." He leers.

The mech wants to embarrass him, damn it! And the worst part is that Barricade finds it arousing, and Ironhide knows that. Daddy is punishing him right in front of everyone for being a bad little Bot, and no one is the wiser.

He hears how everyone goes completely silent when the Topkick walks through the door with the mortified Saleen hanging limply over his shoulder.

Ironhide sets Barricade down, and the Interceptor stares at the floor, not able to meet the optics of his friends as he hears a few muffled snickers.

"Have you learned from this? That punctuality is very important?" Ironhide says sternly.

"Yes, Sir! I'm sorry, Sir." He mumbles before hurrying to his seat.

::I'm sorry, Daddy.:: He comms Ironhide.

::My quarters, half an hour after class is over. Don't be late.:: An order, not a suggestion. ::And try not to leak through your panel during class...:: Ironhide adds with a leer.

Barricade almost squeaks out loud. He sinks down next to Crosshairs.

::Loser!:: Crosshairs cackles over their private comm.

::Shut up! I just forgot that we were rescheduled.::

::Yeah, right! I think ye 'ave the hots for Hide!:: The Sniper teases.

Barricade is alarmed.

::No, I don't!::

::So ye weren't 'angin' there, 'appily ogling 'is aft?::

He didn't. Because he was preoccupied with their conversation and Ironhide spanking his aft...

::I wasn't.::

::Really? Because he does 'ave a pretty nice aft... I know he's sort of my foster-dad, but we're no' related... An' 'is guns are... Damn!::

Ironhide is kind of Barricade's Daddy too. In an entirely different way.

::He does have a sweet frame...:: Barricade admits.

::I knew it!:: Crosshairs cackles victoriously. ::I'm fine with tha', ye know. It's no' like he's my real Dad. An' I 'eard about when ye fell into recharge in his lap in the rec room.::

Yeah, 'fell into recharge.' Barricade's spark speeds up when he thinks about that, and he's aware of just how moist the inside of his panel is.

::I was still upset after what happened with the Con. He makes me feel safe...:: Barricade defends himself.

::I get it. Sometimes, when I've 'ad nightmares, I've been sleepin' in 'is berth.:: 

::What?!:: Barricade is shocked. Is Crosshairs doing that kind of stuff with Ironhide after all?!

::Recharging, ye nymfo! He 'aven't been touchin' me like that. Geez, Hide's a good guy, he wouldn' take advantage, like some sort of creep.::

::I didn't think that! I just thought that maybe you wanted that and let him touch you...:: Barricade clarifies. 

He doesn't think Ironhide would trick a young, inexperienced Bot into something. Unlike Jazz... The Saleen pushes that thought away.

::Nah, he's nice te look at, but I don' want that. He's kind of old fer me.::

::Yeah, but older mechs have experience. They can teach you stuff you and me wouldn't even think about trying...:: Barricade muses.

:: So ye lost yer seal to an old bloke?:: Crosshairs prods.

::Not old. Older. Experienced. Really good at 'facing. How do you think I got the idea to suck your spike?::

::Then I should thank 'im if I ever meet 'im. He taught ye te suck really good.::

::You're...:: He's cut off.

"Barricade! Answer the question!" Ironhide barks.

"I... Uhm... I-I think I..."

"Are you paying attention at all?!" Ironhide growls.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir! I was rearranging my notes and I didn't..."

"Spare me your excuses and pay attention. Another frag up from you today and you'll have scrubbing duty for the rest of the week." 

"Yes, Sir." Barricade mumbles.

::As for now, you can spare your excuses for later,. You will be punished for this.:: Ironhide purrs over the comm.

::Yes, Daddy.:: Barricade answers contritely, even as he feels his panel get more wet.

He switches his comm to busy, leaving only Ironhide's line open. Even though a  part of him wants to keep pushing the Topkick. But doing it here isn't a good idea. If Ironhide feels the need to make an example of him, he might be stuck on cleaning duty or something like that, and that's not something he would enjoy.

With his comm unavailable to most, he can focus on what Ironhide is saying, and he realizes that he really should take the opportunities when the Weapons specialist is teaching. Prowl is outstanding in tactics, but he's not a very good teacher; his battle computer is too advanced, and quite a lot of the details he's teaching flies over the helm of the young soldiers. His uncle isn't a bad warrior at all, but he's even better at drawing up the plans for a battle. 

But Ironhide is a soldier first and foremost, and his experience from the field, the snap decisions in the heat of battle, is very valuable. The Saleen really hopes that they will have more lessons with the Weapons specialist, he actually thinks about requesting it. The things they learn here today might be the difference between remaining online or being deactivated in the field. It makes Barricade feel bad for being so nonchalant about this, for being late and being preoccupied with blabbering about nonsense with Crosshairs. He decides to try to be a great student, in both tactics, hand to hand combat, and shooting. To make Daddy proud of what a good soldier he's going to become.






Being a model student has nothing to do with what kind of little Bot Barricade is in his free time.

So when Barricade, freshly showered, knocks on the door to Ironhide's quarters, he's fashionably late. 

Sure, returning to his room and cleaning up after his earlier happy time took a little while, but he easily would have made it on time. He even could've squeezed in a quick trip to the washracks without being late. But here he is; valve going slick, jittery with nerves, and late.

The truth is that he's enjoying being a bad little Bot. Pushing the Topkick's buttons. Poking the bear.

When the door is yanked open and he finds himself face to chestplates with the massive Topkick, he realizes that the bear reference is quite accurate. The mech is massive. Barricade's spark hiccups when he sees the look on Ironhide's face. His shoulder-wing is grabbed and he's pulled into the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

"I'm sorry..."

"You're not sorry, little Bot, or you wouldn't be late again, would you?" Ironhide rumbles.

The Mustang's spark speeds up. It's true, and that means that Ironhide caught him apologizing insincerely. What's he supposed to do now?

"That's what I thought. You leave me no choice but showing you what happens to bad little Bots."

Barricade's arm is grabbed, and Ironhide easily pulls the Interceptor along to a chair. The Weapons specialist takes a seat, and Barricade has just enough time to wonder if he should crawl into the mech's lap and try to make it up to him, before he's pulled to lay front down across Ironhide's thighs.

"I warned you several times, little Bot. Told you that you had no idea what you were getting into. But you kept pushing, kept being bad, and bad little Bots get punished."

Ironhide fiddles with the plating on Barricade's aft and the light touches tickle pleasantly, make the Interceptor's valve twitch in anticipation. Then he feels how Ironhide folds some of the plates away, having unlatched the locking mechanisms, and the protoform of his aft is chilled by the air.

Barricade starts to wriggle, embarrassed by having his aft bare under the Weapons specialist's gaze.

"What are you doing?" He asks, voice sounding squeaky with nerves.

"Shush. You brought this on yourself." Ironhide says sternly.

A big servo strokes the bare protoform, Ironhide's field wrapping around Barricade with a promise of safety.

"If you've had enough and really want me to stop, the safeword is 'Simmons'. I'll stop immediately if say it." Ironhide murmurs voice low and soft, not commanding like before.

"Safeword? What are you..." Barricade tries to arch his back to look at Ironhide over his shoulder.

"Quiet, little Bot. You've been bad and disobedient, and bad Bots get punished to learn how to behave." The sternness is back in the Topkick's voice.

Barricade opens his intake to say something, but it's lost to a startled yelp when a servo lands with a hard slap on his bare protoform. He instinctively starts flailing, trying to get away, but Ironhide easily pins him with a thick arm across his back. 

The Weapons specialist quickly finds a rythm, slap after hard slap landing on Barricade's bare aft and it hurts, his sensitive protoform burning from the stinging slaps as much as his faceplates burn with humiliation at being so easily held down an punished. 

"No, stop!" He wails, pushing at Ironhide's legs to get away.

The Weapons specialist's grip isn't budging, and the rythm and force of the slaps doesn't waver with Barricade's plea.

"You know the safeword if you really want an out." Ironhide says neutrally, but his field is laced with sincerity.

It gives Barricade a mental pause, even though he keeps writhing to get away from the spanking. He's not powerless in this, he could make Ironhide stop if he wanted to. Does he want him to stop? He has been curious about this, has been baiting Ironhide all day for this.

"No, Daddy, please! I'll be good!" Barricade almost sobs.

"You better be." Ironhide grunts.

Barricade squirms, aft burning by now, every slap hurting more than the last, but somehow, that's turning him on. He knows he's safe, but still... feeling this helpless is intoxicating. He has been a bad little Bot, and he deserves this. He should've been good and behaved well for his Daddy.

A sob escapes him, but still he doesn't want to call the safeword. He wants to be a good little Bot and take the punishment his Daddy sees necessary to teach him a lesson.

"I'm sorry, Daddy! I really am, I'll be a good Bot and do what you tell me, and I'll behave and pick up after myself, and I'll be on time and pay attention in class! I'm really sorry, Dad." He sobs, voice hitching with every slap.

Ironhide stops when Barricade goes quiet, his servo resting lightly on the burning protoform of Barricade's aft

"Good. I think you will, now that you know the consequences."

Ironhide lifts Barricade to stand in front of him, and then the Weapons specialist rearranges Barricade's plating the way it was before. It's ingenious, really; it hurts more when he hits bare protoform, and Barricade will walk out of there without dents or scratched plating.

"I'm really sorry." Barricade mumbles, optics riveted to the floor.

"I know, Sweetspark." Ironhide's voice is a soothing rumble. "Come here."

The Weapons specialist holds an arm out in invitation and Barricade sits down in his lap, eager for some comfort, for being back in Daddy's good graces. The Saleen recoils to stand as soon as his hot aft touches Ironhide's thighs. He's really sore. He whimpers in distress, wanting to curl up in that strong embrace.

"Come on, Sweetie." Ironhide croons as he rises from the chair and takes Barricade's servo.

The Topkick leads Barricade to the berth and sits down, scooting back to lean against the wall. He easily pulls the Saleen closer and Barricade straddles his thighs to not have all his weight on his aft. The Interrogator leans against Ironhide's chestplates.

Clever digits stroke his back-struts soothingly, occasionally dipping between plates to reach sensitive wiring, and Barricade starts plucking with cables and brackets on Ironhide's torso. He hears the Topkick's fans spin faster, and his own frame is responding too, especially when Ironhide starts to toy with his shoulder-wings. Barricade squirms, but his position doesn't allow for any meaningful friction to come out of it.

"Want Daddy to make you feel good, now that you're a good little Bot again?" Ironhide murmurs in his audial.

"Yes, Daddy, please." Barricade mumbles against Ironhide's chestplates.

He deliberately opens his panel to give Ironhide instant access and that's met with an amused hum and a servo immediately coming down to his array. Daddy is so good to him, he should behave and make Daddy proud and happy.

Digits slowly tease his plump valve-lips, not going for more sensitive parts, and Barricade almost whines in frustration, because having Ironhide's servo there fills him with a trembling anticipation, but he's not going to complain. After being such a bad little Bot, he should just be thankful that he gets anything at all.

Frustrating as it is to not get his more sensitive parts stimulated, the anticipation does make his charge rise, and Barricade is realizing that it's Ironhide's M.O. He did the same thing that time on the couch, just touching the Saleen suggestively and let Barricade's fantasy and frame do the rest.

But eventually, Barricade can't take it anymore. He grinds against that servo, a digit slipping through his folds, all the way to touch his port. The entrance clenches at the unexpected touch, but Barricade still gasps, because the tickling touch felt good.

Ironhide doesn't chide him for being impatient, simply lets his digits slide forward again through Barricade's slick slit, just ghosting the Saleen's node with a frustratingly light touch, before turning to dip into the opening of his valve.

Barricade just wants to grind down, to get it as deep as possible, but he doesn't. He can't risk his lack of seal being revealed. It's annoying, really, because he really wants Ironhide to fuck him, wants to give the Weapons specialist something as good as the Saleen is always getting. But there's not much he can do. Except suck Ironhide's spike when the big mech has given Barricade what the Topkick thinks he deserves.

The digit slides back and forth through his folds, smearing the increasing wetness, slicking Barricade up, and the Interceptor just can't stop his hips from jerking, making the digit slip back to his port again. He mewls, because it does feel good. This time, Ironhide lets his digit linger, doing a little swirl, before going back to Barricade's node.

Maybe he should try that again, even though he wasn't convinced last time. Jazz has told him that he should try everything at least three times... And he really wants to be a good little Bot for Daddy, and Ironhide is nice to him...

He still doesn't decide, sits there, face pressed into the crook of Ironhide's neck and allows the Topkick to work his magic on Barricade's valve and node. When Ironhide finally allows him to get closer to his peak, he slides his servos down the bigger mech's sides and rubs Ironhide's ventral plating with his thumbs. The Weapons specialist groans and works Barricade's node with more intent. The Mustang stiffens and overloads, valve clenching emptily, and he can't stop the drawn out moan that leaves his vocalizer.

The Saleen rests against the Weapons specialist, comfortable to sit there as Ironhide strokes his back-struts in a soothing way, but eventually he starts thinking. He really wants to give pleasure back. But he already has given Ironhide blowjobs on several occasions, and it feels kind of inadequate. Like a bad surrogate. And he really wants to be covered by Ironhide's massive frame, be pinned under him and feel the Topkick move on top of him. It may be worth the discomfort. Hide will make it as good as possible, he's sure of that.

Spark spinning nervously, he rocks his hips, rubbing against the servo resting flatly against his array. One of Ironhide's digits touches his port and Barricade tilts his hips slightly to keep it there. Ironhide wriggles the digit and Barricade gasp to show his approval, face still hidden in the crook of the Topkick's neck. His faceplates heat with embarrassment. Isn't he kind of slutty wanting this? 

Ironide keeps teasing the opening and Barricade's spark is spinning so fast, he wonders if the Weapons specialist can hear it. The Interrogator hopes that Ironhide will understand, because there's no way he'll be able to ask for this without smelting from mortification. The Saleen mewls when Ironhide increases the pressure slightly, not enough to push inside, but to really make him feel the stimulation. He has to make the Weapons specialist understand that he wants this.

Gathering all courage he can find, he grinds down, making that digit slip inside. He moans to show that he really likes it, face still hidden. Ironhide wriggles his digit before letting it slip out, then he pushes back in again.

"You like this, little Bot?" Ironhide murmurs.

Barricade nods, cheek still pressed against Ironhide's shoulder.

"Yes, Daddy." He mumbles, embarrassed to say so.

"Don't be ashamed. Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes." Barricade whispers.

He sits just as still as he did when they were playing on the couch. This time, it's because he's too embarrassed to meet Ironhide's optics, and he doesn't know what to do. The Weapons specialist grabs a bottle of lubricant from a drawer in the nightstand and smears his digit before he continues teasing Barricade's aft. His other servo reaches between them to toy with Barricade's valve.

It's much easier to relax this time, now that he knows what to expect. And Ironhide is always good to him, makes sure that he enjoys it. The Weapons specialist lubes his digit up even more, but he doesn't slide the digit right back in. Barricade feels the tips of two digits wriggle against ass. He tenses slightly, waiting for the stretch when they're pushed inside, but that doesn't happen. That's surprisingly disappointing.

He whines in frustration when he remains empty, the teasing touches making him feel ready for something thicker.

"It's up to you where you want to go with this, little Bot. If you can't tell me, you force me to guess what you want and I can do nothing but offer and see if you take it for yourself."

Somehow it would feel easier if Ironhide just pushed inside, just prepared Barricade and then took him, like Jazz did. To make the decision himself and take what he wants is the same thing as saying out loud that he wants to be fragged in the port. Not that they talk a lot about interfacing, but Barricade would probably offline before telling his friends that he asked for being fucked in the ass.

He does the least embarrassing thing; he pushes back. The digits slip inside slickly and he moans softly, pushing back until he's taking the entire digits. It feels really good. Especially since Ironhide is working the Mustang's valve and node with his other servo.

Barricade feels a little bolder, starting to touch Ironhide's sides and tease seams and cables, hips moving around in his eagerness. Ironhide could probably add another digit now without too much trouble. He almost rides those digits now, and he's getting frustrated that the Weapons specialist isn't advancing.

Then Ironhide suddenly stops what his doing, digits deep inside, servo resting lightly against Barricade's valve.

"How do you want to continue, little Bot?" He croons.

Barricade shrugs, trying to distract Ironhide by sliding his digits under the big mech's plating.

"Look at me, Barricade." 

"Why?" The Interceptor squeaks.

"Look at me." Ironhide sounds more stern now.

Barricade forces himself to sit up, faceplates flushing. It's so very hard to look at the mech when Ironhide still has two digits in Barricade's port. He manages, barely, and it's so embarrassing, he almost wishes he hadn't started this.

"Good little Bot. I must say your field is very interesting, with all the embarrassment, frustration, the want and the determination. But it's giving me a helmache to try to follow, so I need you to tell me where you want this to go. How am I supposed to make it good if you don't even tell me if you want one finger or three?

Oh, look it's Unicron! He's here to collect Barricade. Official cause of deactivation: mortification.

"I want your spike in my aft!" Barricade squeaks.

There. It's out. He will die now. 

The silence stretches as Ironhide looks at him, seemingly stunned. Barricade feels like his faceplates are overheating. Then he suddenly goes cold when another thought hits him.

"Please don't tell Prowl even if you don't want to do it." 

It seems to shake Ironhide out of his stupor.

"Didn't see that coming. Wow. Don't worry kid, I won't tell Prowl." Ironhide chuckles. "You really think I would tell Prowl, even after all the other stuff I've done with you? He'd fucking offline me for half of it."

Barricade nods, optics riveted to Ironhide's chestplates.  He doesn't want to. He won't tell Prowl, but he doesn't want to frag Barricade. How's he supposed to look the Weapons specialist in the optics ever again after this? After telling him that Barricade wants to be fucked in the ass.

"I really want to spike you, Barricade. But you get to decide how much or how little you can take. If we try and you get uncomfortable and doesn't want it anymore, that's ok, you understand?"

Barricade looks up and meets Ironhide's optics. He nods slowly.

"If you can't take more than one third, that's perfectly fine, more than I ever hoped for. But if you suddenly feel that we need to stop, you say so, and we stop. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Daddy." Barricade answers shyly.

A slow smirk stretches Ironhide's lip-plates.

"Good little Bot. Why don't you tickle Daddy's panel a little, so Daddy's equipment gets warmed up?"

Barricade is relieved by the distraction and eagerly reaches between them and starts to stroke Ironhide's interface plate, teasing the seams and rubbing the panel. Ironhide groans in pleasure and the Interceptor feels the plate heating up quickly.

The digits inside him slide out and Barricade whimpers at the loss, having become used to the penetration.

"So demanding, little Bot. I'm just going to get some more lube." Ironide chuckles.

Then three digits push against his port, and Barricade is almost trembling with nervous anticipation. Ironhide pushes into him slowly, keeping careful optics on Barricade's faceplates. The Interceptor bites his lip-plate as the stretch treads the line to discomfort, but he's still enjoying it. His valve is drooling lubricant and when Ironhide grazes his node again, Barricade throws his helm back and moans loudly.

"Primus, you are so pretty!" Ironhide whispers.

The look on the Topkick's face is one of rapture and Barricade feels some of his nervousness ebbing away. Ironhide really wants him, and he doesn't think that Barricade is a dirty little pervert.

He pushes back against those digits, trying to relax his port to allow something bigger into him. Then Ironhide curls his digits and hits that sweet spot and Barricade's spike pressurizes, bobbing between them, the tip of it rubbing against Ironhide's forearm.

"Sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean to..." He half whimpers in pleasure, half squeaks in mortification.

"That's nothing to apologize for. It's a good sign that you enjoy this."

Ironhide's plate slides away and his spike pressurizes. Barricade grabs it and starts stroking it slowly. The girth of it makes him nervous again, but he's still aroused. He wonders how Ironhide will take him. Laying on his side? Or maybe Ironhide wants to have Barricade laying on his front, to pin him against the mattress with Ironhide's superior weight?

"Are you feeling ready?" Ironhide murmurs, as if he could read Barricade's thoughts.

"Think so. Nervous, but...uhm... it feels good..." He just can't say out loud that those digits feel nice in his port, not at all too big.

Ironhide smirks, probably picking up on the embarrassment in Barricade's field.

"Grab the lube and slick up my cock. Trust me, you'll want loads of lube."

Barricade flushes, but still grabs the bottle and pours a liberal amount in his servo. He smears it all on Ironhide's spike, and then he's suddenly at a loss. 

" do you want me, Daddy?" He mumbles uncertainly.

Ironhide pulls his digits out of Barricade's port, wiping his servos on a rag. 

"I want you to ride me. That way, it's entirely up to you how much you want to take. Grab my shoulder and rise a bit."

The Interceptor does, hovering over Ironhide's lap. He looks down, sees the thick spike pointing up towards him and Barricade's spark starts spinning with nerves.

"Line it up yourself and take it at your own pace." Ironhide tells him.

His servo trembles slightly when he reaches down to grab the length to steady it, then he slowly sinks down until the head of Ironhide's spike nudges at his entrance. He exvents slowly as he sinks deeper. It meets resistance, and there's a certain amount of discomfort, but Barricade keeps going slowly. Then the thickest part of the head of the spike passes the calipers, and it pops inside.

Barricade lets go of the spike and steadies himself against Ironhide's shoulders, just staying still to allow his ass to adjust to the new intrusion. 

"You're doing so well, little Bot." Ironhide croons, his field nudging Barricade with proud approval.

The Saleen wants to bathe in that pride, wants to bask in his Daddy's approval. He pushes down just fractions of an inch, encouraged to do even better.

Ironhide reaches down between them, one servo starting to play with Barricade's valve again, the other wrapping around the Mustang's spike. He thought he would have to play with that himself!

With small movements, he starts to ride Ironhide, lift off and sink down, and all the stimulation combined draws a shaky gasp from his vocalizer.

"You're so fucking big." He manages to get out.

Ironhide chuckles.

"Language!" He chides. "No, but that's why I didn't just pound you into the berth, I want you to enjoy this too. You're gorgeous when you're slightly overwhelmed though, little Bot."

Barricade can only estimate how much he has taken by how high above Ironhide's lap he stops when he slides down, but he is probably not even halfway down yet, and still it feels as if he has two big cocks all the way inside.

He still pushes on, slow but steady progress with each lift off and sink down, and his charge is rising as Ironhide's digits graze his empty valve. Look at him, being a bad little Bot, taking Daddy's spike in port so his valve is left unused.

Ironhide sure knows how to handle Barricade's spike too. The Saleen leans back and changes the angle of his hips slightly to give the Weapons specialist better access, and the next time he sinks down on Ironhide's spike, the new angle makes it hit that sweet spot inside him. With a surprised mewl, he lifts off and sinks down again quickly, wanting more of that stimulation that sends a pulse of pleasure straight to his spike. The Weapons specialist smirks knowingly and starts to stroke Barricade faster and it doesn't take long for the Mustang to reach his overload. His spike shoot's sticky transfluid across Ironhide's ventral plating, and Barricade doesn't even notice that his hips jerk so violently, he sinks down almost two inches deeper on Ironhide's spike.

He comes down from the high, leaning against Ironhide's shoulder, fans spinning on their highest setting. Barricade leans back, and his optics brighten in mortification.

"I'm sorry! You're so sticky..." He mumbles, embarrassed for the mess he has left on Ironhide's frame.

"I knew that would happen. It doesn't matter." Ironhide rumbles soothingly.

The Topkick grabs a rag and wipes the worst of it from his plating. Then he starts to slide his digits through Barricade's folds again. The Mustang's valve is still soaking wet, and Ironhide easily dips the tip of his digit inside to tease that sweet spot.

"I'm not done with you yet, little Bot."

Barricade's hips twitch and it jostles the cock in his ass. Now that the worst nerves has been washed away with his overload, and he still isn't that charged again, he finally has the mental clarity to realize something. He's interfacing with Ironhide. His third partner. Sure, he has sucked Ironhide's spike before, but that doesn't really count. Granted, he isn't having his valve thoroughly fragged either, but still... This definitely counts ass interfacing. Then he mentally facepalms at the bad pun.

The moment of clarity quickly is dissolved when the Weapons specialist starts to get Barricade's charge to rise again. Between slick circling of the Saleen's node with just the right amount of pressure, the curling and uncurling of a digit inside and the fullness in his port, he's racing towards the edge very quickly. He rides quickly, with small movements until he teeters on the edge and freezes up, entire frame tensing. He moans in frustration, clenching his denta with the physical effort of almost being there but still not reaching it.

Until he finally overloads. With a loud wail, he feels his valve clench around that single digit, his ass squeezes the thick spike inside him and Barricade's hips jerk uncontrollably in time with the contractions inside. He slumps forward against Ironhide's chestplates, frame spent and limp.

It take long minutes before he moves or thinks, but the first thing that comes to mind is the still rock hard spike in his port. He frowns.

"You didn't overload?" He asks, a little distressed. Wasn't he good enough?

"I wanted to watch you. You're so pretty when you overload." Ironhide's voice and field are laced with approval.

"But I wanted this to be good for you, Daddy!" Barricade whines.

"Who said it wasn't good? Who said I'm done with you?"

Barricade's jaw hangs open.


Ironhide barks a laugh, then he easily lifts Barricade and the Saleen is turned and thrown front down on the berth with a squeak. Ironhide crawls on top of him.

"I'm going to fill you up, little Bot. Tell me if it hurts or you get uncomfortable." Ironhide murmurs in his audial.

A thrill travels down Barricade's back-struts when a heavy servo on his back pins him and the Weapons specialist nudges Barricade's knees apart. He feels Ironhide lining his spike up, the tip of it teasing Barricade's ass. Then the Weapons specialist slides inside. 

The Interceptor cries out in pleasure. This vulnerable position where Ironhide's splayed servo pins him with the clear message that he is to lie there and take it is very arousing.

The big Autobot grabs his hip for leverage and fucks him with long, slow strokes and it feels so good, Barricade arches his back, pushes his aft up to let the Weapons specialist have him. The Interceptor holds on to the mattress, mewling into it with every thrust.

Then Ironhide changes his movements, pulls out all the way, and Barricade whines at the loss. The Topkick pushes in again, just the head of his spike, before pulling out again. He repeats it, just pushing in and pulling out and Barricade is starting to wonder why, when he feels his ass go warm and wet with the next pull out. Ironhide pushes in again and now Barricade can feel the pulsing of the Weapons specialist's cock.

When the Topkick pulls out, he sits back on his knees. Barricade looks over his shoulder to see what Ironhide is doing, and finds that the Weapons specialist is staring at his aft. He squirms a little, uncomfortable with the attention, but big servos get a firm grip on the Interceptor's thighs to keep him spread, thumbs rubbing soothing little circles into the struts, and the smaller Autobot can't really move much. Then he flails in mortified panic.

"Let go! I need to void, please Daddy I'm leaking!" He squeals, flailing to get up.

"Sch-sch-sch. Take it easy. Are your levels high? Is your gague about to open?"

Since he can't free himself from the grip, he checks his systems.


"Good. Then you don't need to worry."

"But I feel full, and I can feel my ass dripping." Barricade mumbles into the mattress in embarrassment.

He squirms under that heavy grip, under those optics.

"All my transfluid got trapped between your first and second set of calipers. The amount I have is too much to fit in there, and considering how well fucked you are, it's bound to dribble out."

Barricade whines, because it's still embarrassing. He wriggles but Ironhide's grip on his legs tighten even more.

"Be a good little Bot and be still. Daddy wants to see your ass drool because I filled you up so good."

Barricade eeps, and that makes Ironhide laugh. 

"Yes, Daddy." Barricade squeaks. He wants to make Daddy happy, even though it's embarrassing.

"You look so good. I'd do this if it was your valve I had fucked too. I like my little Bot filled up, dripping with cream."

Then the Topkick lets go of one of Barricade's thighs and flicks his anterior node with one digit. The Saleen mewls in surprise, hips twitching. Ironhide stretches forward to hover above Barricade on his knees and one elbow and lower arm, still playing with the Mustang's valve with his other servo.

"Do you know what I want to do to you, little Bot?" He murmurs in Barricade's audial.

"No?" Barricade whispers, hips starting to twitch with the stimulation to his node.

"I want to bend you over the desk right before class and fuck you. I'l make you cum in your panel, then I'll fill your little aft with a good load, like this..." The Weapons specialist's thumb circles Barricade's sticky ass. "... I'll close your panel and then I'll watch you squirm throughout class, when you sit there with your increasingly wet panel, trying to keep it inside, hoping the seams won't leak so someone will catch you and ask questions about why your panel is full of transfluid."

Just the thought is mortifying, and still it sends that heaviness to his core, because it's turning him on. He can't help himself; Barricade pushes back, that thumb sliding into him, and he moans loudly.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? Naughty little Bot, want to sit there, knowing that you took Daddy's cock up your ass while everyone thinks you were receiving a dressing down."

Barricade starts rocking against Ironhide's servo, the thumb just not enough. His valve-lips feel swollen and aching with his arousal.

"Maybe that's what you want; to pay for better grades with your frame? Save the test score with sucking my spike, or let me have this little port of yours."

Barricade eeps again, even though he knows it's ridiculous considering what Ironhide currently is doing to his frame. But those suggestions are so naughty and so arousing.

"So what do you say, little Bot? Can your aft handle another round?"

"Yes!" Barricade hisses. It better.

Ironhide sits back on his knees and grabs Barricade's hips to hike them up. The Saleen hears how he smears more lube on his spike, and fleetingly, he wonders if that's necessary, considering his aft is literally dripping, but then on the other servo he'd rather take too much lube than not enough.

Ironhide's spike slides smoothly into him this time. The Weapons specialist grabs his wrist-struts, forcing Barricade to have his helm pressed against the mattress, aft in the air. His valve winks emptily, neglected for too long, but there's nothing he can do about that. Ironhide fucks him with long, almost lazy strokes and Barricade is moaning into the matress, close, but not close enough.

"Please, Daddy, touch my node!" He whimpers.

"Since you ask so nicely..." 

Ironhide gathers both Barricade's wrist-struts in one servo and then he caresses the Mustang's node with the other. It's so arousing, because Barricade can do nothing but take what he gets, and is he getting it! Ironhide isn't hilting himself with his thrusts, but Barricade is certain that this is the most he has ever taken and he's really starting to feel it. But those digits on his node, the feeling of being at Ironhide's mercy, makes it feel right. The mech is claiming the pleasure that Barricade owes him, and the Saleen is so proud that he can take his Daddy's spike this good.

He overloads, valve clenching around nothing, port squeezing Ironhide's spike, and Barricade wails into the mattress. His frame goes limp, but Ironhide moves his servos to get a grip on his hips, doesn't stop thrusting into the spent Interceptor.

"You're really loud, Sweetspark." Ironhide grunts.

Barricade doesn't answer, too tired. The Topkick's hips starts to stutter a few seconds later, and he pulls out almost all the way. This time, Barricade recognizes the sensation of his channel being filled up, how Ironhide's cum stretches the tube. When Ironhide finally pulls out, the Interceptor slides forward to lay splayed on his front. He knows that Ironhide is looking at him, but he's too tired to be embarrassed anymore. Condensation mists his plating and his cooling fans are working on the highest setting.

Ironhide pats his aft and Barricade jolts, hissing at the sudden sting. He had forgotten about how sore his aft was, but that was a reminder.

"Something tells me that you won't enjoy sitting down tomorrow..." Ironhide chuckles.

"Shut up." Barricade whines.

"Language, little Bot. Wouldn't want another round right now, would you?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Barricade mumbles honestly. Nope, his aft can't take anymore at the moment. In any capacity.

"I know, little Bot. I'll let it slide this time, you've been so good tonight."

If he had the energy for it, he'd preen, but Barricade only smiles proudly. He rolls over onto his side and curls up to get more comfortable, and he can feel the transfluid dribbling down his aft to form a wet spot under him.

"Do you want some energon, kiddo?"

"That'd be nice." Barricade mumbles.

Ironhide grabs a cube from the small cooler and hands it to Barricade. The Interceptor rolls back to his front, propped up on his elbows to be able to drink it. He can't sit up.

"I must say I enjoy this view. And I don't just mean your ass. You have such a pretty frame." Ironhide murmurs.

Barricade squirms embarrassedly. He isn't used to compliments.

"Thank you." He glances over his shoulder. "I think you look really good too." He manages to admit.

"Thank you, Barricade." Ironhide pats his thigh, a safe distance from anything that might be sore.

Barricade finishes the cube, feeling very comfortable there on Ironhide's berth. He always feels so safe around the Weapons specialist. His Daddy.

"I could use a shower." He says finally, because it's getting late.

"We could commandeer the washracks. Officers have privacy privileges, and nobot needs to know you're in there with me."

Ironhide grabs a rag and helps Barricade wipe away the worst signs of their sordid little affair. He hands a small cloth for Barricade to put inside his panel to keep it from leaking through the seams and then he checks the hallway for mechs who might get curious. Barricade realizes when they step out that he could use his sensory panels for scans like that, they're more sensitive than Ironhide's. It's so easy to leave everything to the Weapons specialist, to rely on Daddy, but helping out would definitely count as being good.

The washracks are empty and Ironhide locks the door behind them. Barricade starts the showerhead to get the warm water going, then he takes the cloth out of his panel.

"I...uhm... I think I want to void first." He mumbles, not certain if Ironhide will be disappointed.

"Of course. Dripping is just fun as long as we're playing. I'll grab sponges in the meantime." Ironhide dismisses.

Barricade makes a quick visit to the maintenance room, and realize that he's probably going to be pretty sore tomorrow.

He goes back out to join Ironhide, the big mech dragging him under the stream of warm water, immediately starting to stroke his frame with a soapy sponge. Barricade offlines his optics and enjoys the attention when his entire frame is treated to a slow and thorough washing.

When Ironhide's digits slide over his array, he onlines his optics again, but the touch doesn't turn sexual, just cleaning. Then he reaches Barricade's port and the Saleen winces slightly.

"Barricade, are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

There's so much concern in Ironhide's voice and field, Barricade almost feels guilty for his reaction.

"No, it's ok, I'm just sore. Your cock is pretty damned big." Barricade says.

"Are you sure? You don't want to go to Ratchet?"

"Primus, No!" Barricade blurts, alarmed.

"He takes patient confidentiality really serious, you know. You wouldn't get in trouble at all."

That might be true, but Ironhide might still get into trouble and there was no way he would let that happen. Especially not when it was Barricade's own idea, and he liked every second of it.

"I'm fine! I'm not hurt, I'm just sore because I  just got a fat cock up my ass twice. I think it's normal to walk a little funny after that." Barricade says heatedly, then he claps his servos over his intake.

A slow grin spreads across Ironhide's faceplates.

"Ok, kid, I believe you. I'm just concerned. But if you feel that something is wrong, then go to Ratchet. He's a good medic and he handles things discreetly."

"I'll remember that." Barricade says, relieved that Ironhide is letting it go.

It's good to know that Ironhide finds the Medic trustworthy, though. That probably means that he is.

Then the Interrogator whines as the sponge slides across his aft. He's sore inside and out today. Thoroughly fucked and punished.

"Maybe we should reschedule tomorrow's field tactics class and have target practice instead? So you don't have to sit down." Ironhide murmurs in his audial, snaking his arms around the Saleen.

"You'd do that for me?" Barricade asks, incredulous.

"Of course. I like to inflict a little pain, I'm not into torturing pretty little Bots." Ironhide rumbles.

"Prowl will have kittens with such a last second rescheduling." Barricade smirks, leaning his helm against Ironhide's chestplates.

"Prowl could have an entirely litter of sea cows, I'd still reschedule it for my little Bot."

Barricade feels himself flush. This is definitely worth the general soreness of his entire tail end.

Chapter Text

Yet another boring patrol in a low interest area. As usual

Him and Crosshairs just never get the hotspots. After two thorough rounds, they stop, bored and frustrated.

::This is pointless! We haven't seen a single trace of a Decepticon, and just because we go around and around in circles for hours, it won't magically appear either. This location is colder than the Arctic.:: Barricade spits over their comm line.

::I know! Did ye see the abandoned factory a few blocks away? I feel like gettin' out of my altmode for a while.:: Crosshairs groans.

::Yeah. We should... check it. For Cons.:: Barricade leers. And maybe fool around a little. 

::Oh yes. It's the only place te 'ide. For a Con, I mean.:: Crosshairs catches on.

They roll along the fence and find the gate open, an old padlock rusting on the ground next to it. There's a loading dock with broken down doors, but none of them can get up there in altmode. A thorough check of the surroundings to make sure no nosey humans are around, then they both transform, climbing into the building.

Whatever kind of factory it has ever been, the machines are long gone, and the floor is littered with broken glass and withering concrete. It crunches under their pedes when they walk deeper into the building, turning a corner.

The offices and break rooms are human sized and they can't go in there, but they find what appears to have been a storage area deeper in the building; more secluded and not as dilapidated as the other parts.

They're barely through the door before Barricade looks at Crosshairs and steps closer, a deft digit sliding up the Sniper's arm. Crosshairs smirks knowingly and leans in to lick at Barricade's lip-plates. The Saleen immediately allows him entrance, wrapping his arms around Crosshairs' neck-cables. The Corvette slides his servos along Barricade's back-struts, down to cup the Interceptor's aft.

"Ye really enjoy doing stuff in public, don't ye? Perv." Crosshairs grins when they break the kiss.

Oh, the Sniper has no idea...

"I don't hear you complaining." Barricade teases back.

"'ell no!"

Their intakes clash in another kiss, glossas getting more urgent. Barricade slots his thigh between Crosshairs', grinds against the Paratrooper to give them both some friction, and groans into Crosshairs' intake when the green mech answers by pressing against him, bucking his hips.

The Mustang reaches between Crosshairs' legs, slowly stroking his interface plate, and it doesn't take long before it pops open, the Sniper's spike pressurizing. He grabs the length and strokes it slowly, teasing the head with the tips of his digits.

"Blowjobs?" Crosshairs asks.

Barricade shakes his helm.

"I want you in me." He opens his own panel, revealing how wet he is.

"'ere?!" Crosshairs blurts.

"Yeah, why not?" He has done it in places like this before, and it feels quick, dirty and it's thrillingly exciting for it.

"Wha' if someone comes in while we're doin' it?"

"Who would come in here, the pigeons in the other room?" Barricade says impatiently.

Crosshairs seems to war with himself, but at the same time, he slides his digits into Barricade's valve and groans when he feels the slickness.

The Saleen backs away and turns to put his servos against the wall, planting his pedes widely, and arches his back-struts.

"I want you in me." He repeats, knowing from experience that there's almost zero risk that he won't get what he wants when he behaves like this.

Crosshairs' bright optics are locked on Barricade's wet valve and the Interceptor wiggles his aft. The Corvette steps up behind Barricade, digits sliding through slick folds again, and the Saleen pushes back with a gasp. Crosshairs reaches between them to line up his spike, and Barricade's valve clenches in anticipation.

"Well, well, well what is this right here?" Someone cackles.

Crosshairs throws himself away from Barricade and the Mustang slams his panel shut in panic.

"I spy, with my only eye.... Two little Bots interfacing." A deep voice rumbles.

Crosshairs is pushing his interface plate shut manually as three Decepticons unhurriedly walk into the room. Barricade's spark starts spinning. He knows Mohawk, the one with the annoying voice, and he's fairly certain that the one with eight optics is Dreadbot, but the big one...

"Who the hell are you?" He snarls as he onlines his guns, trying to not show how scared he is.

The big mech clicks his vocalizer, seemingly amused.

"A pigeon, I suppose. Since I came in here and all..."

The mech has been out there long enough to have heard that!

The Decepticons close in on them, and Barricade hears Crosshairs pulling his blasters. They're at a disadvantage, both because they're outnumbered, but also because none of them have melee weapons, the range is too close for a gunfight, and they can't call for backup, because it would raise questions about what they were doing in here in the first place.

::We have to break through their line and focus on escaping.:: Barricade comms Crosshairs, but he receives only static. Fucking Decepticon signal dampers!

Barricade rushes forward and takes a swipe at Mohawk, managing to knock the smaller mech over. Crosshairs is wrestling with Dreadbot while the Saleen manages to get on top of the smaller Con. He raises his arm, spark spinning a million revolutions a minute, the sound of energon rushing through his lines roaring in his audials, and aims point blank at the smaller mech's helm. He offlines his optics, doesn't want to watch when he sends the command to fire...

He's hit by a train.

At least that's what it feels like when the huge, one-eyed bastard kicks him in the side and sends him flying. He's still fighting to get air into his vents when he's roughly grabbed, and his arms are twisted behind his back, wrist-struts magnacuffed together. The Saleen manages to twist his helm to look for Crosshairs when it finally registers that the sounds of fighting has died away, that it's in fact eerily silent.

The Interrogator's ragged wents stop when he sees Crosshairs stretched out on his front, optics bright with terror locked on Barricade. 

Dreadbot has one of Crosshairs' blasters, muzzle pressed against the back of the Autobot's helm. There's a derisive sneer on the Decepticon's faceplates, and Barricade can see him rubbing a torn up part of his thigh. Crosshairs obviously got him before he was overpowered.

"Fucking runt!" Dreadbot snarls, shoving the gun against Crosshairs' helm.

The Paratrooper whimpers in terror. Barricade feels the energon rise to the back of his intake. He's going to shoot Crosshairs. And it's going to be Barricade's fault when there's bits of processor all over the floor and his best friend is gone forever.

"Let's take them back to base, Dreadie." The big one rumbles.

"Don't call me that, you fragging glitch." Dreadbot spits, swiveling to point the gun at the other Decepticon.

The big one snorts and rolls his single optic, unimpressed. Mohawk is picking himself up from the floor, helm dented where Barricade managed to punch him. The Saleen hears the loud clang of metal hitting metal and Crosshairs grunts. Barricade turns back to the other Autobot and finds him curling up when Dreadbot kicks him a second time.

Barricade's helm is yanked back when Mohawk grabs the back of his helm just to smash the Mustang's face against the floor. His optical ridge and cheek plate takes the worst hit and he cries out from the unexpected pain.

"That's for punching me, piece of scrap." Mohawk hisses.

The Interceptor hears the scraping sound when Crosshairs is lifted to his pedes and then the big Con starts laughing.

"He's so fucking scared, he voided his tank." Mohawk cackles. "So gross."

"What, afraid of little ol' me?" Dreadbot hisses with a nasty snicker, pressing up against the Sniper's back, servos sliding down Crosshairs sides in a mockingly gentle touch, lingering on the Corvette's hips.

Barricade is hoisted to his pedes with a painful grip around one of his arms. Energon is leaking from his optical ridge, making the feed from two of his optics appear blurry. He glances at Crosshairs, sees the way the Paratrooper shivers in the close proximity to the disgusting Con who's still pressed up against Crosshairs' back. Sees the puddle on the floor, the glistening drops around his panel. He understands, would probably have done the same, because it really seemed like Dreadbot was about to shoot Crosshairs.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking us?!" Barricade growls, but there's a panicked tinge to the words. 

They were talking about bringing them to the Decepticon base, are they going to be interrogated? Tourtured? Something else bad, considering how Dreadbot is rubbing up against a whimpering Crosshairs?Barricade shudders at the thought.

He feels the pull of a magnet close to the back of his helm, but before he can react, the feeds from his optics and audials are shut down. Barricade screams, but he can't even tell if he's actually making any sounds. Through the terror, he realizes that most of his sensory input is shut down. He can feel when something touches him physically, but he can't teek fields, can't pick up on air currents, doesn't know if anyone is close by. He knows that he's laying on a floor that seems to be moving, probably some sort of transport, but not much else.

Blind and deaf, he's left to his increasingly terrified thoughts.





He knows that he's being carried and then strung up in chains, whines when digits pry open the cover of one of his data ports. The plug slides into his socket in an almost sensual way and it's disgusting. His firewalls scramble to keep the attacker out, his countermeasures launch to take care of the intruder. The Saleen fights internally, frame feeling weak, but his firewalls hold up. The hacker gives up, and the Interceptor feels when dampers are mounted directly on his weapons systems, making them go numb and unreachable.

Then they finally take away the damper on his helm, his sensory feeds returning, the sudden influx of data scrambling his systems momentarily. The big Con is in the cell with him, as is Mohawk. The smaller Decepticon is rolling up a data cable. So he's the failing hacker. Barricade looks around and finds himself in a brig. 

A Decepticon brig.

Crosshairs is strung up just like him, in a cell next to Barricade's. Dreadbot is in there, mounting dampers on the Paratrooper.

The Saleen pulls at his chains, testing them and it makes the big bastard grin.

"This is how it's going to go; we ask questions, you answer and you might not get slagged...much." Dreadbot says, sadistic smirk stretching his intake to reveal sharp denta.

"We're just grunts! We don't know anything interesting!" Crosshairs says, voice shrill with fear.

"Shut up, piddle-panel! You'll only talk when askedsomething!" Dreadbot snarls and tears at a wire in Crosshairs' side with his talons.

The Paratrooper whimpers in pain and terror.

"And don't you fucking dare piss on the floor! I'll make you lick it up, every single drop." Dreadbot growls, denta pressed against Crosshairs temple.

Barricade's processor is spinning. This interrogation is nothing like what he learned to do back at the academy. The Mustang feels like purging. Whatever he learned about resisting torture was probably nowhere near enough.

His attention is snapped away from where Dreadbot is still hassling the Sniper when slim digits slide under his ventral plating. The Saleen wriggles, tries to get away, because he doesn't want touches in such a vulnerable place, but it's futile, and Mohawk still grabs a piece of a wiring harness and tugs harshly at it. Barricade howls in pain.

"They're quite the squeakies, Nitro!" Mohawk snickers.

"Now, I'm not sure, but I'm fairly certain that none of ya have 'interrogation' in your work descriptions..." A familiar drawl comes out of the darkness surrounding the cells.

Jazz appears out or the shadows like a ghost, visor flickering from the smooth silver that makes him invisible in the dark, to glowing a menacing red. The other Decepticons startle and turn to the small grounder as he smoothly glides forward. Dreadbot recovers first.

"Just softening them up for you. Sir." He cocks an optical ridge and smirks insolently, twisting something low on Crosshairs' ventral plating and earning a howl of agony for it.

Mohawk and the big one called Nitro, steps back apprehensively, optics riveted to Jazz.

"Leave." Jazz says calmly, but his voice is still razor sharp.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Mohawk and Nitro immediately salutes and hurries out of the cell.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to spend more time together." Dreadbot leers at Crosshairs, looking the Sniper up and down, waggling his glossa, before he turns and languorously walks out of the cell.

"Have fun..." He smirks at Jazz as he passes the Solstice.

Barricade startles badly when Jazz rounds on the other Decepticon, quickly grabbing Dreadbot's arm, and sends him flying. The smaller Con straddles Dreadbot, a wicked looking energon blade pointed at the surprised mech's throat.

"Never forget that ya're jus' a grunt. Ya ain't worth shit. Less than those two. We can't trade them if they're slagged, n' I think Soundwave would be mighty pissed off if ya cost him Laserbeak n' Ravage..." Jazz hisses.

Dreadbot's optics brighten in alarm.

"I'm sorry, S-Sir, I-I didn't think..."

"Exactly! Ya didn't think. Consider this punishment for your insubordination n' failin' ta report two prisoners ta high command." Jazz says harshly. "N' for tryin' ta steal my favorite job." He adds with a purr.

The blade sinks into Dreadbot's neck, his pained scream cutting out to become a gurgling. Jazz pulls the blade out just to push it in below Dreadbot's collar fairing and he thrashes in obvious agony.

"Ya ain't gonna die from that. Now get out of my sight." Jazz hisses.

Dreadbot scrambles backwards, a servo coming up to press against the leaking cuts. Jazz dismisses him, turns his back on Dreadbot to look at the prisoners instead. His intake is pulled into a tight line.

Barricade watches as he enters Crosshairs cell, looking the Sniper up and down, rubbing his chin as he seems to consider his options. Jazz is hard to read on a good day, but somehow Barricade gets the impression that the Solstice is angry or at least annoyed.

"First time ya're interrogated?" He asks the Sniper.

"Frag you!" Crosshairs spits, but he's too obviously frightened to really sound biting.

Jazz laughs jovially, but there's a hard edge to it and as soon as he stops laughing, he's back to unreadable.

"Cute. Here's tha deal; I ask questions, ya answer."

"I'm not tellin' ye anything, Con." Crosshairs says.

"Hm. I suggest ya don't go down that road. It's rather...uncomfortable. Now, is it true that Laserbeak n' Ravage is in your brig?"

"I don' know." Crosshairs says truthfully.

Barricade should know if they have caught any Decepticons, he should be the one interrogating them. To his knowledge, the Autobots' brig is empty.

Jazz flicks out that knife again, dragging the tip lightly down Crosshairs' throat, down to the Sniper's ventral plating.

"Ya sure? Last chance ta tell me."

"No! I don' know! I swear!" Crosshairs shrieks and starts to struggle with the chains.

"I don' believe ya." 

The blade slides in between two plates, and the Sniper cries out in pain.

"Leave him alone, you bastard! He says he doesn't know!" Barricade snarls.

Jazz's helm whips around and the look on his faceplates gives Barricade pause. He doesn't really know Jazz that well. Suddenly, the momentary relief he felt when Jazz showed up is gone and he's filled with apprehension, because the mech truly looks like a ruthless Decepticon.

"Shut up, or I'll make sure ya can't talk until I want ya ta." Jazz spits angrily.

Barricade averts his optics, can't stand to see Jazz do those things to Crosshairs. 

"Second chance. Are Laserbeak n' Ravage your prisoners?" Jazz asks.

"I don't know! I really don', I'm jus' a grunt an' I don' get te know stuff like tha' an I swear I don' know! Please don't hurt me again." Crosshairs sobs.

"I'm gettin' bored with ya, cryin 'n' beggin' like a whimp from just a little pain." Jazz growls, tugging at a bunch of wires to make Crosshairs scream.

Barricade feels the sour taste of half-price asked energon at the back of his intake. He never thought that something like this would happen, even though he has been to all the lectures, he knows that they're in a war, that the Cons are nasty. It has been all too easy to forget that Jazz is a Decepticon. And that other Decepticons might be much nastier than the mech who took Barricade's innocence has been up until now.

"No! Please don't, anything but that!" Crosshairs cries out.

The Interceptor can't keep from looking and he's taken aback. Jazz is pulling out a data cable and the Sniper is struggling furiously with his chains, begging the Con to not do it.

It doesn't help. Jazz quickly finds the socket on Crosshairs' neck and plugs in. The Sniper goes quiet and still a few seconds later, optics pinned, darting around rapidly. Then he slumps, frame hanging limply by his wrist-struts.

It seems like hours before Jazz unplugs and release the Sniper from his bindings, lowering Crosshairs to the floor rather carefully. When he's done, he turns to Barricade. The Saleen shudders in his helpless position, having no idea what to expect. Then the Decepticon comes into his cell, not stopping until their fronts are almost touching.

"Ya gonna be a good li'l Bot n' tell me what I wanna know?" Jazz smirks.

"I don't know anything." Barricade whines, close to sobbing.

"Hm, I think I heard ya say that b'fore, but I cured that ignorance, didn' I?" Jazz leers.

Barricade flushes, knowing exactly what encounter Jazz is talking about. His unsealing. At this moment, he sorely regrets losing his seal to this mech. It should've belonged to Crosshairs or someone else he holds dear. Not this bastard.

Jazz holds up the plug of his data cable in front of Barricade and wiggles it between his digits.

"We're goin' ta hardline a li'l."

"No! Please don't..." Barricade sobs. 

He can't trust Jazz.  If the Solstice had  asked for a connection like that the last time Barricade saw him, he probably would have done it without a thought. But not now, not after this. With Crosshairs bleeding from a stab wound, hacked and unconscious.

The plug slides into place in the socket of his neck port and Barricade feels the presence of Jazz slithering through his awareness, smooth and alien like a snake.

"Y'are goin' ta tell Soundwave that ya have Laserbeak n' Ravage." 

It's as if Jazz is saying it out loud, but it's really inside his processor, sounds like he's everywhere, and it's both confusing and terrifying.


The answer is a compulsion and he's screaming internally at himself, trying to get that presence out of his processor. His frame remains completely still and unresponsive.

"You hurt Crosshairs!" He manages to get through Jazz's control of his systems.

"I had ta. N' I'm gonna hafta hurt ya too. Tha others can't know that I did this ta save ya both."

"Save? You are torturing and hacking us!" 

Jazz has eased his grip on Barricade, the Saleen can feel it. The Solstice allows him to fight back, to say his piece.

"Tha others would've done so much worse than this. They hafta think I did my job, tha' I kicked 'em out ta have my own fun. 'm sorry for this, Barricade."

Jazz drags the energon blade down Barricade's chestplates. It burns as it cuts into his plating, leaving a clean cut down his bumper and grill. It hurts, but he still can't move, can't scream out loud, and he's so terrified when it grazes the seam that would open him up to reveal his sparkchamber...

The blade leaves his plating, the searing pain still blooming in his sensory net, but Barricade can do nothing but wait for what's going to happen next, suffering silently through the agony.

Jazz releases more of his control, allowing Barricade to be able to move and his frame starts trembling with his pain and fear. The servo slipping down his shoulder-wing to the sensitive base has him so occupied, he doesn't notice when a Decepticon steps up to the bars of his cell.

The Solstice digs into the cabling at the base of his shoulder-wing and Barricade cries out, finding his vocalizer back in his control.

"So are ya gonna tell Soundwave tha truth now? Do. Ya. Have Laserbeak n' Ravage?

Barricade growls, not willing to play along in Jazz's little game. The digits dig in deeper, tugs at something and Barricade feels when some of the wiring is torn apart. He screams, yanking at the chains.

"Ya can make it stop. Jus' tell us whatcha know."

His resolve wavers when Jazz grips another bunch of wires and starts to tug at them.

"Yes! We have them! Both of them. In our brig." He cries out defeatedly.

Jazz grins and turns to the silent mech.

"Looks like we found tha li'l Cons. This is Prowl's nephew right here. Bet the Butts wanna trade."

"Contacting Prime. Are the prisoners in condition to be traded?" The Decepticon says flatly.

"A li'l banged up, but good'nuff."

Jazz withdraws from Barricade's systems and pulls his plug out from the Interceptor's socket. The Decepticon onlines one of his guns and points it at Barricade's helm as he reaches out to release the Saleen's wrist-struts.

"Siddown. Might be a while before tha trade is arranged an I wouldn' want ya ta dent yourself from fallin' inta reboot while standin'." Jazz says and motions with his gun to the corner.

Barricade does as he's told and the two Decepticons leave. The Mustang looks at Crosshairs, the Sniper still out cold on the floor, energon leaking sluggishly from his ventral plating, and Barricade wants to break down and cry. This is his fault. He shouldn't have tried to seduce Crosshairs there. He should've kept his sensors out for Cons. He should've been a better fighter to get them out of there.






It takes a long time, but Crosshairs finally starts stirring. With a groan, the Sniper crawls over to the wall to lean against it when he manages to sit up.

"Wha' 'appens now?" He asks, voice strained.

"They're talking about trading us. But I don't know if that's true."

Barricade doesn't want to speak too much, the Decepticons are probably listening in. He doesn't even try the comm. If it actually works, Jazz is probably listening somehow, the bastard.

"I fuckin' 'ope so."

The silence stretches between them for a while, but Barricade sees Crosshairs look at his wound, servo prodding it.

"Is it deep?" He asks, worried for the Corvette.

"Kind of. Didn' really hit anythin' severely though. Jus' a few small energon lines."

Jazz and Soundwave walk in again, followed by a third mech, and Barricade almost gawks when he recognizes Starscream. Both Soundwave and Starscream?! That's most of Decepticon high command. Only Megatron is missing... Then he cowers back when the Seeker's red optics lock on him.

"I still don't see why have to come along to collect those little pests." Starscream sneers.

"Auw, come on, Screamer! Ya get a chance ta fly." Jazz smirks.

"Don't call me that!" Starscream snarls.

"Stand here, servos behind your back." Soundwave orders Barricade, a heavy cannon aimed at the Interceptor.

He does as he's told and his wrist-struts are cuffed behind his back. Jazz does the same to Crosshairs. Then that awful damper is back on his helm, and he can't see or hear anything.

He's dragged out and get that feeling of being on the floor in a transport again. 

The trip is longer, or at least it feels that way. Barricade didn't have the wherewithal to check his chronometer. When they finally stop, he's dragged outside, the damper removed. They're standing in the desert, Soundwave and Starscream pointing their guns at them. Jazz paces leisurely, twirling a knife in his servo.

"You're so weird." Starscream sneers.

Jazz just grins, looking slightly unhinged when he's pointing the blade in Starscream's general direction. Barricade sees Crosshairs shudder.

"Alright kids, ya start walkin' straight forward. Tha rescue squad is over there by tha cliffs." Jazz says.

Both the Autobots hesitate. Aren't they supposed to be uncuffed? Are they supposed to just turn their backs on the heavily armed Cons, and walk like big targets through the open landscape tied up and unarmed?

"Walk, or I'll shoot. I don't have time for this." Starscream snarls.

It gets them going. With stiff movements, they start to walk across what seems like vast plains.

"I feel like they're jus' sendin' us out ta use us for target practice." Crosshairs mumbles.

"Don't give them any ideas." Barricade hisses back, and it shuts the Sniper up.

::I'll be 'round. We need ta talk.:: Jazz comms Barricade, sounding tastelessly serious and repentant.

::No, we don't.::

::We do. I'll explain everythin'.::

Barricade wants to argue, but he doesn't dare saying more. He still has his back to the heavily armed Cons. Just because Jazz was waving a blade around, it doesn't mean that he isn't packing some serious firepower. The Interceptor just keeps walking in silence, next to his partner who's equally quiet. They're getting close to the cliffs before Crosshairs speaks up again.

"I don't want te go back te base like this. Everyone will know I pissed myself. I'll never 'ear the end of it from the twins or yer cousins. Or Bumblebee." The Sniper's field flares with embarrassment as he talks.

"We'll figure something out. I won't tell anyone."

"Thank ye."

They reach the cliffs, and finally something moves. Ironhide is the first to approach, followed by Prowl and Optimus Prime.

"You ok, kids?" Ironhide says, looking them over as he approaches.

Prowl starts to work on the cuffs around Barricade's wrist-struts.

"Can you transform and drive back to base, or do you need transportation?" Optimus asks them.

"I can drive." Barricade says.

Prowl is removing the dampers on Barricade's frame, and it's a relief to have full access to his entire frame again.

"Me too." Crosshairs says to Optimus.

"I am glad that you are reasonably unharmed. You will report to the medbay straight away when we get back. Ratchet is waiting." Prowl says, putting a servo on Barricade's shoulder.

His uncle's digits graze the sore base of his wing, and Barricade flinches slightly. It makes Prowl pull away. The Saleen looks over at Ironhide and Crosshairs when he hears Ironhide sniffing.

"You sure you're ok, kid?" Ironhide murmurs to Crosshairs, pulling the Sniper into a hug.

It makes Barricade a little jealous. He wants to curl up in those thick arms, wants Ironhide to be worried about him too.

"I... I got scared... I jus' want to go 'ome." Crosshairs mumbles.

Ironhide nods and hugs the Paratrooper harder before letting go. 

"Alright, let's go back to base. You kids need a check up, a debrief, a shower and some fuel." Ironhide says, looking Barricade over once more before transforming.

The others follow suit, Barricade wincing when the parts Jazz had a go at hurt throughout the sequence.

::I need te wash up before we get back!:: Crosshairs comms him, clearly agitated.

::Did you tell Ironhide?:: Barricade asks.

::No! Wha' was I supposed te say, 'I'm such a whimp I wet myself, I need te wipe down before I get 'ome'? He's Ironhide! He'd think I'm a coward. I jus' want 'im the be proud of me.:: Crosshairs says unhappily.

::Hide takes good care of his little Bots.:: Barricade objects.

::I think I'd deactivate from embarrassment if I 'ad te tell 'im I peed my panel.::

Barricade can understand what Crosshairs is saying. He would be mortified too. Even though Ironhide would probably just take care of his little Bot and help him clean up. But they need to solve this situation, because Barricade knows his cousins, and especially Smokescreen, would be hassling Crosshairs forever if he found out, and so would Bumblebee. They can't possibly understand, Barricade have never known this level of fear before either.

::Ironhide? Crosshairs wants to get inside rather unnoticed. He has some... issues he needs to deal with.:: Barricade hedges.

::Wants to clean up?:: Ironhide immediately comms him back.

::Yeah. He was too embarrassed to say anything.:: Of course Ironhide would notice. Barricade is thankful that the big mech understands.

:: Let's go in through the back door, straight to the medbay.:: Ironhide broadcasts to all of them.

Affirmatives are sent from them all.

::You go in first and keep Ratchet occupied. He can sneak into the maintenance room across the hall immediately.:: Ironhide sends to Barricade.

::Thank you! You're the best.:: Barricade says fondly.

::De nada.:: Ironhide replies.

The Interceptor relays the plan to Crosshairs, without telling the Sniper that Ironhide knows. Why add to his mortification?

When the base comes into view, Barricade heaves a relieved vent. It has hardly been a day, but it feels like weeks since they left.






They're patched up and thoroughly checked for viruses by Ratchet, they have gotten some fuel and have been debriefed by high command. Barricade felt like he was made of jelly while answering the questions, especially when Jazz had to be mentioned, telling his story, but he must've seemed fine, because nobot seemed suspicious. His voice sure sounded matter of fact and detached. Crosshairs sounded equally steady when telling his version. Disconnected.

They both head for the washracks, taking the showerheads next to each other. Barricade stands there under the pelting water, optics offline, trying to process the day.

His lover is a complete bastard. Barricade knew that he was a Decepticon, of course. But it has been so easy to forget, to gloss over. In a way, the affair he has had with Jazz has made him lose some of his healthy respect for Decepticons. And today, that could've cost Crosshairs his functioning. Could've cost Barricade his best friend, his other lover. Might even have cost Barricade himself his life. He has let Jazz come and go in his functioning, has offered up his frame, all his first times, and today, he watched Jazz torture and hack Crosshairs.

Guilt and fear and betrayal roils into a powerful maelstrom and he can't stop himself from crying silently, shivering even under the hot stream of water. A strangled sound has him onlining his optics again.

Crosshairs is leaning against the wall, crying, and Barricade is both miserable for putting the Sniper in the situation in the first place, for having slept with the asshole who did some of this to Crosshairs, and immensely thankful for the Corvette to still be alive.

The Saleen closes the short distance between them and wraps his arms around the Paratrooper. Crosshairs immediately hugs him back, holds him so hard, the patch over the cut on Barricade's chestplates almost starts to come loose.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Barricade sobs.

"I thought I would die. I thought 'e'd shoot me and then they'd do 'orrible things to ye." Crosshairs wails.

"Primus, when I saw you there with that gun to your helm..." 

"My own fuckin' gun. I felt tha' muzzle against my helm, an' I was so certain 'e'd pull the trigger. Didn't even know I voided until they said I did." Crosshairs sobs into the crook of Barricade's neck-cables.

The stay like that for a while, just holding each other while crying, releasing all the built up tension. It's grounding and reassuring to have the Sniper so close, warm and very much still active.

It starts with reassuring strokes and caresses, but soon their intakes find each other. There's no urgent heat in the kiss, it's almost hesitant, as if none of them dare to realize that both of them actually made it home, but they both pour all their relief into it and it quickly escalates with their urgent need to reassure themselves that they both are okay.

"Am I interrupting something?"

They throw themselves away from each other on instinct, and it reminds Barricade so much about the event in that factory, he starts trembling with fear when he turns to the familiar voice.

It's Ironhide. Barricade spark still spins out of control from his startle, and he doesn't even have the wherewithal to be thankful it was Ironhide who caught them, and not basically anybody else of the Autobots. He's vaguely alarmed that Ironhide has discovered that he's making out with Crosshairs, but with his frame still half battle ready, it feels rather inconsequential.

And Ironhide looks amused mostly; cocked optical ridge and a slightly crooked smirk in place. The expression slips away when he studies the two in front of him.

"Are you really sure you are okay?" He asks, stepping closer.

A shudder travels through Barricade, and then he hears Crosshairs' increasingly loud sobbing. He looks at the Sniper, sees how he hugs himself as if it would protect him, or hold him together.

"No." Barricade whispers, voice too unsteady to talk louder.

"Come here, kids." 

Ironhide opens his arms, and they both press up against his chestplates. He wraps them in a crushing hug, and it breaks the dam; they both start crying.

"I was so scared!" Crosshairs wails.

"Me too. I thought they were going to kill him right in front of me." Barricade sobs."

"I'm such a worthless pansy." Crosshairs cries.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. You were both very brave. You survived being interrogated by the Decepticons. How tough isn't that? And now you're home and safe." Ironhide rumbles soothingly.

Barricade melts into the Weapons specialist's heavy field, wrapping them both in pride and comfort.

"Can I recharge with ye tonight?" Crosshairs asks in a small voice.

"Of course, Cross." Ironhide croons, stroking the Sniper's back soothingly.

Barricade is so envious. Prowl said that he could recharge with one of his cousins if he wanted, but he won't feel safe there. They won't understand. And an alarming thought is insistently nagging his processor; Jazz can get into the base. If he can get into Barricade's room so easily, he really won't be safe with Smokescreen. Jazz said that he will show up again, just not when and where.

"I want to recharge with you too." He whines pathetically, knowing it's futile.

"My berth is big enough for the three of us." Ironhide offers.

"Prowl won't let me." Barricade says dejectedly.

"He will. I'll talk to him."

Barricade doesn't believe it, but it's nice to know that Ironhide cares enough to try. The smaller Bots stay in his embrace for a while longer, Barricade's spark slowing to normal pace.

"Prowl's fine with it." Ironhide suddenly says.

Barricade gapes up at the Topkick, and Ironhide slowly starts to grin.

::He doesn't know what a bad little Bot you are sometimes.::

Barricade flushes and quickly reels his field in to not make Crosshairs suspicious.

::Thank you, Hide.::

The Topkick ruffles Barricade's helm fondly and lets go of both the younger mechs.

"Are you done showering, or do you need to clean up more?" Ironhide asks.

"I didn' even start." Crosshairs mumbles.

"You mechs finish up here and come to my quarters when you're done." Then Ironhide smirks wickedly. "And make sure nobot else finds you sucking face or other parts of each other's frames."

They both eep, Crosshairs' field flaring with as much embarrassment as Barricade's. The Saleen feels himself flush and he sees the Sniper's faceplates change color too. Ironhide barks a laugh.

"Are you going to be ok, or do you want supervision?" He asks, and there's both a tone of concern in his voice and a slight leer in his field.

It's nice to know that Ironhide wants to make sure they aren't going to break down. But Barricade's processor focuses more on a vivid fantasy of the Weapons specialist keeping his optics on them when they make out in the shower. It's exactly the distraction Barricade needs to keep from thinking about all the scary things that happened today.

"We're fine!" Crosshairs squeaks, still embarrassed about being called out out on making out.

Ironhide flickers one optic in a wink before he leaves the washracks. Barricade and Crosshairs stare at each other before breaking into nervous laughter.

"I'm not going to kiss you more right now though. Primus knows what will happen if Prowl or my cousins walk in..." Barricade says.

"Sounds good. I've 'ad enough of bein' caught for today." Crosshairs keeps the tone light, but they both feel the undercurrent of unease thinking about it.

"Did I tell you about when Bluestreak and Prowl caught me jerking off in here?" Barricade says to lighten the mood.

"Noo, they didn't?!" Crosshairs cackles.

Barricade begins to tell the story while they start scrubbing themselves and they both relax, Crosshairs cackling in horrified amusement with Barricade at his shameful first time self servicing.






They're in a slightly better mood when they walk through the door to Ironhide's quarters. The shadows of today's experience are still looming at the edge of Barricade's awareness, waiting for a chance to drag him under and drown him in frightening thoughts, but they try to keep each other occupied.

Ironhide studies them as they enter, clearly looking for any signs of an impending meltdown, but his intense scrutiny doesn't bother Barricade. The mech has seen all of him, and he feels rather safe when Ironhide keeps his optics on him.

Crosshairs fidgets though, nervous and embarrassed about something. Barricade glances at the Sniper, confused about what has made him feel like that all of a sudden.

::What are you doing?::

::'e caught us kissin'! Isn' tha' like forbidden or somethin'? What if it's punishable?::

Barricade almost rolls his optics, because who would Ironhide be to judge someone for a kiss? The Topkick sure has no qualms about fucking Barricade, and the Weapons specialist sure knows how many ways there is to keep a mech sealed and still thoroughly defile him. But Crosshairs doesn't know that, and Ironhide could still be stringent about Crosshairs remaining sealed

::Like, throw you in the brig for kissing?:: Barricade scoffs.

Maybe kissing is punishable by spanking? Ironhide might put Crosshairs over his knee and push that coat to the side, removing some plating to be able to spank Crosshairs' bare aft, and when he's done with the Sniper, he'll take Barricade next...

::No... I don' know.:: Crosshairs says thoughtfully.

::Are you afraid he's going to spank you?:: Barricade says teasingly to gague Crosshairs reaction.

:: Wha'? No!:: Crosshairs almost squeaks over their comm, optics going bright, field slightly embarrassed.

::Are you sure? He wouldn't bend you over his knee and slap that pretty little aft of yours until you know who's the boss? Until you're crying for Daddy to forgive you?::

::I...uhm... 'e could be the type, I guess...::

Oh yeah, he definitely is!

::Would you like that? To have your protoform tanned real good?::

::I-I... This is weird! Why are we talkin' 'bout this? I....maybe?:: Crosshairs' field is burning with confused arousal and embarrassment.


:: Hide's a cool mech. Don't worry about it. He just said we should be careful to not be caught.:: Barricade reassures Crosshairs, changing the subject.

"Have a seat, mechs. I can't very well keep calling you kids now, soldiers." Ironhide rumbles, motioning for the berth.

"We can still be your little Bots." Barricade hurriedly answers.

"Is that so...?" Ironhide smirks as he reaches into his energon cooler.

The Weapons specialist throws a cube to them each and joins them on the berth, leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. 

They open their cubes and sip the fuel. Barricade makes a face when he recognizes the taste of high grade and he hears Crosshairs coughing.

"I figure you deserve some high grade. Just sip it slowly." Ironhide says offhandedly.

Barricade and Crosshairs glance at each other, the Paratrooper smirking.

::I've underestimated Hide! 'e really is cool." Crosshairs comms Barricade.

::Told you.::

They sip their drinks in silence for a while, then Barricade sees how Crosshairs starts fidgeting, his field going nervous again.

"So...'bout wha' ye saw in the shower..." The Sniper starts nervously.

"You mean when I caught you kissing?" 

"Yes..."  Crosshairs seems at a loss for what to say.

"What about it?"

"Aren't ye goin' te be mad?"

"Who would I be to complain getting a show from two pretty little Bots?" Ironhide leers.

They both squeak embarrassedly, but the thought of having Ironhide watch Barricade get it on is arousing. And then the Weapons specialist could join them...

"Seriously though, I'm not exactly partial to keep interfacing this very taboo, secret thing, or turning simple kissing into a capital crime. I get that it's a cultural difference and that remaining unsealed has it's benefits, and I'm not going to argue with someone for sticking to their traditions, but I won't go tattling either."

"Thank you." Barricade says, leaning his helm against Ironhide's upper arm affectionately.

The high grade has him feeling comfortably relaxed and fuzzy, and it's making his frame run a little hotter and he's suddenly very aware of sitting between both his lovers. The Interceptor pointedly pushes away the thought of his first lover that wants to creep to the surface. The bastard.

"You can always come and talk to me. Whether it's about something that happened today, or interfacing or anything, really."

"You always take care of your little Bots." Barricade says adoringly.

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge in amusement.

"Damn straight, I do."

Barricade finishes his cube and leans over Ironhide to put it on the nightstand, putting all his weight on the Topkick's thighs, arching his back when he reaches out to put it down to really give Ironhide an opticful of his aft. Then he rolls back to his place just to shimmy down to stretch out on the berth between the other Bots. He snakes an arm under Crosshairs' leg, servo resting high on the inside of the Sniper's thigh. He starts to dip his digits into seams of Crosshairs' plating.

::Wha' are ye doin'?!::

:: I just... I feel cuddly.:: Barricade says meaningfully.

::Are ye serious? Right 'ere?!:: 

But Crosshairs field is betraying how much he enjoys what Barricade is doing, so the Saleen doesn't stop.

::Is it okay if I make out a little with Crosshairs, Daddy? Maybe...suck something of his...:: Barricade comms Ironhide.

::Horny, little Bot?:: There's an audible smirk in Ironhide's voice when he comms Barricade back.


::Go ahead. I'll enjoy the show.::

Barricade rolls over, wrapping his other arm around Crosshairs' leg too, grazing the Sniper's interface plate with the tips of his digits.

::No fragging, he can't know I'm not sealed, but a little making out and maybe some petting?::  Barricade proposes to Crosshairs.

::I...uhm... But 'e's watchin'!::

::Yeah. Doesn't it make you feel a little sexy?:: Barricade asks, wiggling his aft for Ironhide's benefit.

::More embarrassed an' self conscious...:: Crosshairs mumbles.

Barricade rolls over on his back again, still teasing Crosshairs' thigh with one servo, dragging the other down his own chestplates. He squirms a little in that way he knows makes Ironhide's vents hitch.

"Do you think we're pretty, big Bot?" He asks innocently, even as his servo slides between his thighs.

Ironhide cocks an optical ridge and grins.

"Yes, you trollop. You're very pretty."

"Crosshairs too?"

"Crosshairs is also a very pretty little Bot."

Barricade teeks the Sniper's field flare with flattered embarrassment. The Saleen looks up at Crosshairs and sees how bright his optics are. The Paratrooper is both overcharged and aroused.

The Saleen crawls up to straddle Crosshairs' thigh, leaning in for a kiss. The Corvette immediately allows him entrance and their glossas start an intense battle for dominance. Barricade reaches down to stroke Crosshairs' interface plate. It's hot to the touch. He hears Ironhide's fans kick up a notch. The Interrogator breaks the kiss and leans back, rubbing his headlight with the servo not teasing Crosshairs' panel.

"See something you like, big Bot?" He purrs with an anything but innocent smirk.

"I do enjoy the view..." Ironhide grins, optics welded to Barricade's chestplates. "Do you mind if I touch?"

"Please do!" Barricade moans.

::Wha' are ye doin'?:: Crosshairs hisses over comms.

::Being a bad little hussy? Do you mind? Because I'll stop if you do...::

::No, I jus'... He'll know everything!::

Barricade moans out loud as Ironhide starts to tease his headlight with those skilled digits. The Interceptor grinds down against Crosshairs' thigh.

::No. We won't frag. Just touch and kiss. And maybe suck and lick. He said he won't tattle.:: Barricade comms decisively.

::He's touchin' ye.::

:You don't like that? Because I do think he's hot, and I want him to touch me. He's damned good with his servos...:: Barricade says, the last sentence groaned with pleasure.

::It's a little weird, I've never thought of 'im tha' way, really. I guess 'e really won't be mad if 'e'll touch ye like tha'...::

If only Crosshairs knew how little Ironhide cares about the traditional taboos. How he makes sure his little Bots get what they deserve.

::Just relax and enjoy it.:: Barricade says, losing himself in the pleasure.

He leans in to capture Crosshairs' intake again, digits seeking out the seams of the Paratrooper's panel to tease them relentlessly while rubbing his own plate against Crosshairs' thigh. Ironhide's digits on his headlight teases small circles into the glass and Barricade can hear his own ragged vents and little mewls and whimpers going needy.

He can't wait any longer. When Crosshairs' panel snaps open, Barricade crawls down to kneel next to the Paratrooper's thighs, lapping at the weeping head of the Corvette's spike. He feels the flare of naked embarrassment in the Sniper's field, and apparently so does Ironhide.

"You're both so pretty, little Bots." He breathes, voice thin with arousal.

The Topkick moves on the berth, reaches out to slide his digits through Barricade's folds and the Saleen's hips twitch.

Oh, if only he could allow one of them to fuck him. Just the thought of being caught between them, a spike in his intake and one in his valve, or his port, has his pussy winking emptily, his ass loosening with need. But he can't. Ironhide can't find out that he's unsealed, and he doesn't want Crosshairs to know that he takes it up his ass.

The Saleen mewls around the spike in his intake when Ironhide seems to read his mind and pushes his thumb into Barricade's aft, digits teasing his slit and node. His hips start jerking desperately, and he can't stop thinking about Ironhide getting behind him, pushing deep inside, fucking him, while he sucks Crosshairs cock...

Barricade overloads. Digits digging into Crosshairs' thigh, he throws his helm back and wails, entire frame stiffening, before he slumps over Crosshairs' lap.

"You're so very pretty, little Bot." Ironhide murmurs, kissing his shoulder-wing.

"Thank you, Daddy." Barricade mumbles into Crosshairs' plating.

Then he stiffens. He didn't mean for Crosshairs to know about him calling Ironhide 'Daddy'.

Ironhide doesn't seem to care though. He just scoots back up to lean against the wall, closer to Crosshairs this time.

"Since Barricade seems to need a little bit of rest, do you mind if I finish you off? Would you allow me to touch you?" Ironhide asks the Paratrooper. 

Crosshairs optics dart back and forth and he looks torn.

::What do I say?:: Crosshairs comms Barricade.

::Do you want it?::

:: I-I don' know!::

::Do you find him attractive?::

::Yes? But 'e's old.::

::He's experienced. And does the age really matter? He's not that old.::

:: Maybe not?::

:: He's fantastic with his servos. If you don't think it's gross, and you think he's nice, and hot, why not?::

"You don't have to if you don't want it." Iron hide murmurs, sincere reassurance seeping into his field.

"I...ah... I'm a little nervous." Crosshairs admits. "But I want it!" He adds hastily.

"Come here." Ironhide rumbles, reaching out for the Sniper.

He pulls Crosshairs into his lap and lets him slide down until the Corvette's aft is resting on the berth between Ironhide's thighs, legs hooked over the Topkick's knees. Splayed wide. Barricade's optics are riveted to those plump valve-lips, the hard spike.

"You're so pretty, little Bot." Ironhide murmurs in Crosshairs' audial.

The Topkick reaches around the Sniper, digits of one servo sliding through his folds, the other servo gripping his spike, and Crosshairs whimpers, bucking into the touch.

Barricade feels his valve clenching when Ironhide starts to draw a figure eight over Crosshairs node with one digit, the other servo slowly stroking his spike. The Sniper has thrown his helm back, intake open and optics bright.

"You're gorgeous like this." Ironhide croons.

"Oh, God!" Crosshairs mewls.

"Still just Ironhide..." The Topkick snickers.

"I'm...ah, I'm gonna cum." The Sniper whimpers.

"Go ahead."

Crosshairs' entire frame bucks and arches, transfluid shooting across his ventral plating, and Barricade sees how the Sniper's valve drools, slick lubricant dribbling down his aft to soak into the mattress and he's just slightly jealous, because he wants to be that good at getting his lover off.

The Paratrooper slumps, frame sprawled limply across the Weapons specialist's lap. Ironhide rests his palm over Crosshairs valve. The Sniper's fans are running on full blast and he looks beyond dopey. The Weapons specialist grabs a rag and starts to wipe Crosshairs' ventral plating.

"Such a pretty little Bot." He croons in Crosshairs' audial.

The Sniper stirs, movements uncoordinated, and Ironhide helps him to stretch out on the berth. Barricade crawls up Ironhide's frame, nipping along his thigh plating until he reaches the Topkick's interface plate. He swipes his glossa over the hot panel, pushing the tip into the seam. The plate slides away and Ironhide's spike pressurizes.

Barricade sees Crosshairs optics brighten from their very dim setting as the Sniper focuses on what Barricade is doing. It makes him hot all over again, being watched when he's languorously licking along the thick length. He's such a bad little minx.

"Tha's so ho'."  Crosshairs says, voice low.

"Want to help me?" Barricade asks.

The Sniper's optics brighten even more, then he rolls over, leaning on his arms, licking Ironhide's spike from the other side. The Weapons specialist groans when they both drag their glossas along his spike.

"The two of you are very good little Bots." He mumbles, vents hitching as he watches them.

Barricade whines, his charge slowly rising again, and Crosshairs reaches between his legs, two digits easily sinking into the Interceptor's valve. The angle makes Ironhide unable to see exactly what the Sniper is doing, just that he's toying with Barricade's array. The Saleen moans loudly, grinding against the servo.

::Ye're so fuckin' wet. Ye really like bein' with the both of us, don' ye? Like te be watched when ye pleasure us.::

::I wish you could fuck me while I suck his spike.:: Barricade whimpers, the picture all too vivid in his mind.

::Kinky!:: Crosshairs snickers playfully.

The Paratrooper adds another digit, still licking Ironhide's spike in tandem with Barricade. The Interceptor is finding it increasingly hard to keep the pace, and sucks the head of the spike into his intake instead, rolling his glossa around it. The Corvette starts to curl and uncurl his digits and Barricade's entire frame starts to tremble with pent up tension as his charge skyrockets. He is vaguely aware of Crosshairs mouthing and lapping at the shaft of Ironhide's spike, focused on those digits inside him, the spike in his mouth....

When he overloads, it's with a muffled wail, hips pumping against Crosshairs' servo of their own accord. It sends Ironhide over the edge, Barricade's intake being filled with fluid quicker than he can swallow. The Paratrooper is there to lick up the dribbles escaping between the Interceptor's lip-plates, running down the thick shaft of Ironhide's spike.

Then Barricade slumps, helm resting on Ironhide's hip, faceplates almost touching the Topkick's depressurizing spike. Crosshairs leans forward to steal a kiss from Barricade, glossas rolling around each other lazily. When they break apart, the Sniper falls to land in his back. Ironhide fiddles with one of Barricade's audial-fins, then he scoots down to stretch out between them, pulling them closer until they rest their helms on his shoulders.

"You're both so very gorgeous, such good little Bots." He murmurs.

Crosshairs squirms embarrassedly, with a flattered little grin on his faceplates. Barricade just presses closer to the bigger Bot.

A long day, high grade, and the thorough relief of tension soon has them both dozing off in Ironhide's comforting embrace.

Barricade is almost in recharge when his comm crackles to life, rousing him.

::Are ya okay, li'l Bot? Can I come over n' talk ta ya?:: Jazz asks.

::What do you care? And no. Leave me alone.::

::I jus' wanna explain. I'm really sorry 'bout today...:: Jazz sounds sincere.

It's disgusting, how the Con still tries to manipulate him.

::So am I. I'm sorry for everything I ever did with you.::

::Ouch. I mean it, though. I had no chance ta intervene earlier, n' I'm so fuckin' sorry it had ta be that way.:: Jazz sounds regretful.

Probably just to get a chance to trick Barricade into interfacing again.

::Just leave me alone.::

Barricade closes the line, then he realizes something very worrying. Jazz could tell someone about what he has done with the Decepticon. Tell them about how Jazz has been his first in every way, about how Barricade has sucked his cock willingly, overloaded for Jazz so many times... The Con even has a recording of Barricade letting him fuck him with a fake spike, complete with a Decepticon insignia. His frame is going cold. Jazz could easily ruin his entire life. Maybe he can't refuse? Maybe he has doomed himself to forever dance along to Jazz's fiddle?

"What has you so worried, Sweetspark?" Ironhide croons sleepily.

"Nothing, Daddy. Just bad memories."

"Want to talk about it?"


"That's fine. But you know I'll always listen."

"Yes, Daddy. Thank you."

"You're safe now, darling."

"I know. Good night."

"Good night, little Bot."

Barricade presses in even closer and tries to concentrate on the soothing sounds of Ironhide's frame.






The Saleen has no idea how long he has been in recharge when he's startled awake by an energon chilling scream. He bolts upright to see Ironhide grab a wildly flailing Crosshairs, holding the Sniper hard against broad chestplates.

"It's ok. You're safe. It's just a nightmare. You're ok." Ironhide croons.

Crosshairs breaks down and wails against the Topkick's chestplates, grabbing pieces of Ironhide's plating as if they were a lifeline. Barricade stifles a sob and crawls over to them, pressing in against them both. He can't help but feel guilty about it all; for putting them in that situation, for what he has done with Jazz, for Crosshairs nearly being killed. The last part still terrifies him, the picture of his friend's terrified face when that gun pushed against the back of his helm is burned into his processor forever.

Ironhide wraps him too in his strong arms, and Crosshairs and Barricade laces their digits, seeking comfort as they cry for what could've happened as much as what did happen.

The Topkick's soothing field wraps around them like a warm full frame hug, and they sit there until exhaustion takes it's toll and they slip into recharge again.

Chapter Text

The door to Barricade's quarters is yanked open and Crosshairs storms inside. The Interceptor's optics reboot sleepily. He has been on night patrol and hasn't recharged that much.

They have both moved back to their own quarters after living with Ironhide for a week after the incident, but Barricade still has nights he flees from his berth to curl up in the Weapons specialist's arms, chased by nightmares. Both him and Crosshairs are slowly being eased back to duty, only patrolling with one of the officers for now.

The Saleen is just about to sweetly tell the Sniper to fuck the fuck off and let him recharge, when he gets a better look at Crosshairs, really sees him.

He's crying.

And his field is a morass of despair, anxiety and self derision, so when the Corvette throws himself onto the berth, landing next to the Interceptor, Barricade does nothing but instinctively drag his distraught lover closer.

"My seal fell out." Crosshairs sobs into his shoulder.

Barricade resets his audials.


"My seal fell out! I was in the washracks, an' somethin' was chafin' in there, so I poked my digit inside, an' it 'ad fallen down an' was jammed sideways. When I poked it, it slipped down further, an I was so shocked I pulled it out!" Crosshairs sobs so hard, it's hard to hear what he's saying.

"Are you sure it was your seal?" Barricade asks stupidly, because it is a lot to process for his half-booted CPU.

"Of course! I pulled my fuckin' seal out! Then I freaked out and flushed it down the drain." The Paratrooper wails.

"Have you actually checked that your seal is gone? So it wasn't something else?" 

He can't believe that a seal can just fall out. He has been very careful to not hit it whenever he has fucked Crosshairs. But he isn't exactly educated about those things. His words seems to calm the Sniper, at least.

"Can ye check it? Please." Crosshairs asks in a small voice.

Barricade nods and hears when the Corvette's panel slides away. He rests his digits against unaroused valve-lips and slowly slides a digit into Crosshairs' rather dry valve.

It keeps going deeper.

All the way, until his entire digit is buried inside Crosshairs tight channel, nothing stopping it.

They stare at each other with bright optics for long seconds as they process it. Then Crosshairs' faceplates scrunch up as he starts sobbing again.

Barricade pulls his digit out with mixed feelings. He pities the Sniper, of course, because he knows how much trouble it might cause. Then there's that selfish part of him that noticed exactly how warm and inviting Crosshairs' valve felt around his digit, a part that thinks of how little it matters if he spikes Crosshairs through the berth now that he's unsealed anyway.

That yearning is smothered when he register just how devastated the Corvette is.

"We should go to Ratchet, he might be able to fix it." Barricade suggests, because if Ironhide trusts the medic, so will he. And he really wants Crosshairs to be happy again.

"Wha'?! No way! I'm no' tellin' anybot. They'll never believe I 'aven't been sleepin' around with everyone. I'm the no-good, slum-trash progeny of a syk-slut who left me in the streets because her latest pimp didn' like me, remember?" 

"You don't know why it fell out. What if something is wrong? Maybe you need repairs? Ratchet takes patient confidentiality very seriously, he won't tell. I'll go with you if you want me to..." Barricade says, a little worried for Crosshairs now that he thinks more about it. If seals are so important to keep intact, it can't be normal that they just fall out, right? And if it is common, maybe he can blame his lack of seal on that.

"Alright, we'll go." Crosshairs says after a long hesitation.

They get up, the Sniper closing his panel and taking a deep vent to steady himself, then they walk through the corridors towards the medbay. Barricade can teek Crosshairs' increasing nervousness as they walk, but he can't do anything but accompany the Sniper to his unknown fate.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Barricade asks when they're standing in front of the medbay, staring at the doors as if they were a portal to certain doom.

"Pit no! I need ye in there with me!" 

The Corvette grabs Barricade's servo, as if he's afraid that the Saleen is going to run off on him if he doesn't physically keep him there, and Barricade laces his digits with Crosshairs' to show that he isn't going anywhere. The door opens as they step closer; the medic is obviously not with a patient at the moment. 

Ratchet looks up from something he's working on, and both the Bots fidget nervously under his scrutiny.

"None of you have an appointment. Is something wrong with the repairs I've done?" The medic asks tersely, optics dimming.

"No, I... Uhm... I have a different...issue." Crosshairs mumbles.

"I'm not busy right now, I could have a look." Ratchet says turning to Barricade. "And your purpose here? I'll have a look at Crosshairs. You are not going to be here for that."

Barricade turns to leave, but Crosshairs holds his servo so hard it hurts, effectively stopping him from leaving.

"No. I want 'im 'ere! For moral support. 'e stays or I'll leave too."

Ratchet glares at them both, and for long seconds, Barricade thinks that the medic is going to kick them both out if they disobey him, but then Ratchet seems to resign.

"Fine. I've heard that you've been clingy since the Cons got their servos on you. Come on over here. Sit on the berth and tell me what's lacking."

Crosshairs slowly walks over to the berth, looking like he's going to his execution, and climbs up on it without letting go of Barricade's servo.

"Describe the problems you're experiencing." Ratchet says, picking up a datapad and making some notes.

" seal fell out." Crosshairs mumbles almost inaudibly.

"Your what?"

"My seal! ...the seal in my valve fell out!" Crosshairs burst out, then he starts sobbing and retells the story to the medic.

Ratchet has put the datapad to the side and is listening, face unreadable. It makes Barricade fidget slightly, because he was the one who dragged Crosshairs here, and if the Sniper gets in trouble, it'll be Barricade's fault. Again. Crosshairs goes silent and Ratchet looks at him for a few moments.

"I need to examin your valve. Do you still want to have Barricade here?"

"'e's stayin'." Crosshairs says adamantly.

"Fine." Ratchet says grumpily. 

The medic unfolds two rods topped with cradles from the foot of the berth, then he turns back to Crosshairs.

"Scoot down until your aft is on the edge of the berth, put your pedes up and open your panel."

Barricade sees the grimace Crosshairs does and teeks the apprehensive embarrassment in his field. The Saleen gives his servo a reassuring squeeze as Crosshairs turns and lies back to get into the awkward position.

"Further down. Your aft should almost hang over the edge."

Barricade is guiltily relieved that he isn't the one to be on display like that, but he tries to give the Sniper a small smile of reassurance when he sees his lover's face flush. Ratchet sits down on a chair with wheels, rolling forward until he has full view of Crosshairs' bared array. It must feel so horribly embarrassing. Barricade opts to not look at the medic as he works and add to the Paratrooper's discomfort.

::You're doing great.:: He soothes.

::This feels awkward as frag.:: Crosshairs says stiffly.

:: Does it hurt?::

::No. Jus' feels odd. I feel 'im pokin' 'round down there, but it's just no' pleasurable.::

Ratchet leans back, pulling his gloves off, mumbling something about the best invention humanity has come up with.

"I'm done, you can close your panel and sit back up."

Crosshairs is quick to obey, but he doesn't let go of Barricade's servo. He sits there on the edge of the berth, and Barricade can teek the nervous jitters in the Corvette's field.

"You're absolutely right, your seal is completely gone. There's not even traces I need to scrape away." 

The confirmation doesn't bring any comfort. On the contrary, Crosshairs starts to sob again, leaning against the Saleen. Ratchet turns to Barricade. 

"So are you involved in this?"

"I-I.. what do you mean?"

"This wouldn't have happened without interfacing. And you're here as moral support..."

Barricade feels his intake fall open.

"But 'ow? 'e jus' stuck it in a li'l te no' break my seal."  Crosshairs whispers, voice broken.

"Usually, the seal is broken with a forceful thrust. That leaves the rim of the seal where it's attached to the valve walls. The seal is actually not resistant to transfluid, so that will soften whatever remains of the seal, and it will be a little more dissolved with every interface until eventually, it's gone. If it was indeed unbroken and fell out, it has to have been exposed to transfluid on numerous occasions until it got soft enough to come loose."

The following silence is so thick it could be cut with a knife, the Sniper's bottom lip quivering.

"Please don' tell anyone." Crosshairs sobs.

"I'm not going to tell, I've taken an oath and I stick to it." Ratchet says, sounding annoyed that Crosshairs even would question it. The medic turns to Barricade.  "So how about you, Barricade? Do you need to be examined too?"

Barricade mentally flails and panics, shaking his helm. Ratchet will know, and what else could he see down there? That Barricade takes it in the port too?

"No, we never did it like tha'." Crosshairs says truthfully. 

Because Barricade was already unsealed when they started to sleeping together.

::'e doesn't need te know. It's bad enough one of us is found out.:: Crosshairs comms him.

::I... Thank you.::

"I just slipped it in a couple of inches." Barricade says weakly, still having a hard time comprehending how completely he fucked up in spite of being careful.

Ratchet looks at him for long seconds, and Barricade squirms, because it really feels like the medic will somehow know that Barricade certainly isn't sealed anymore. But then Ratchet nods and turns back to Crosshairs.

"The bad news is that I can't fix the seal, you just have to be without it. The good news is that everything else seems to be perfectly normal and nothing to worry about. Just keep being careful, and further interfacing should not be a problem at all." Ratchet concludes.

"Yes, Sir." Crosshairs says quietly, not at all happy with the verdict. 

They leave the medbay, Barricade feeling as lost as Crosshairs looks.

::Are you on duty today?:: Barricade asks.

::No. Nightshift.::

::Want to come with me back to my quarters? I think we need to talk, and I need some more recharge.::

::Sounds good.:: Crosshairs answers.

They walk back in silence, apprehension churning in Barricade's tank. Will Crosshairs resent him for this when the have had a chance to process it thoroughly?

They walk inside his quarters, and Barricade stretches out on the berth, uncertain what to do. They've had serious talks after the incident, but that was always about what happened, when they needed to vent something. Crosshairs sits down on the berth, looking glum.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that could happen, and I didn't mean it." Barricade apologizes, afraid his lover is blaming him.

"I know ye didn't. It jus' sucks tha' it 'appened. Wha' if I'm supposed to get bonded and then they kick me out when they find out tha' I'm no' sealed?"

"You're still a virgin. Sort of. Aren't you? You haven't got it all the way inside yet..." Barricade tries, but the arguments are weak, he knows that.

"I don' think most mechs will see it tha' way." Crosshairs says, looking like he's about to start crying again.

"I'm scared of that happening to me too. What if nobot wants me, once they know I'm unsealed? And I've been fucked for real. By more than one mech, there's no way to bend the truth with semantics." Barricade mumbles, wrapping an arm around Crosshairs' midsection.

The Sniper tips over to lay beside Barricade and the Saleen pulls him closer.

"Please don' tell Ironhide. I don' want 'im te know." Crosshairs whispers, voice unsteady.

"I won't. I won't tell anyone." He doesn't want Ironhide to know that he's unsealed either, in spite of what he does with the Weapons specialist.

This whole mess is bringing up issues Barricade has been able to push to the side and ignore for quite a while. He can keep it all a secret for now, has done so successfully for a while by now, but eventually, he'll be expected to bond with someone. Someone appropriate, approved by his uncle. Someone who will be sealed, and expecting him to still be sealed too. His conjux to be will tell their sire, and their sire will tell Prowl, and Barricade doesn't even dare to think about what will happen then. He's so lucky that Prowl took him in when his Carrier ran off with her latest squeeze. In spite of the Saleen being the offspring of the black turbosheep of the family, the son of a slut hanging off the arm of a new mech every other week. Nobot even know who his sire is. Barricade is yet another disgrace to the family, and if Prowl disowns him, he will never go back to Praxus. He'll be too ashamed, he knows what will be said about him.

"Can't we make a pact? Like, if nobot want us and we're rejected, you and me could get bonded." Barricade says, nuzzling Crosshairs' neck.

"Ye mean we should be each other's last ditch resort?" Crosshairs mumbles.

"No! I mean, I'm not even thinking about bonding right now, not with anyone, and I seriously hope that's far off in the future. But if it just doesn't work when that time comes, I'd like to be with you. We have fun together, we can talk about everything, I think you're hot and the sex is good. More like we'd be each other's really good backup plan."

"Tha's... actually a good arrangement." Crosshairs muses.

The Sniper turns around to face Barricade, putting his servo on Barricade's hip. His field is settling from his despair.

"So it's a deal?" Barricade asks, running his digits down Crosshairs side.


The Sniper leans in to press his lip-plates against Barricade's and the Interceptor responds, deepening the kiss. He feels himself relaxing, because even if what happened to Crosshairs is still upsetting, they're in the same boat and they have a plan if everything goes to hell. He won't be forced to be a lonely pariah, and he won't need to go from berth to berth just to have company for a short while, like his carrier did.

They break the kiss, looking at each other, and Crosshairs smiles slowly, almost hesitantly.

"I feel so much better now. For a while, it felt like the world was endin'." The Paratrooper murmurs.

"You'll always have me." Barricade mumbles, fatigue taking over.

"We could use a nap, I think." Crosshairs says, snuggling closer.

Barricade nods and relaxes against the Sniper's warm frame. It doesn't take long for them both to slip into recharge.






Barricade is first to wake up, still pressed up against Crosshairs. His spike is pressurized, rubbing against the Sniper's leg and the Saleen groans. He slides a servo down to Crosshairs' aft, giving it a squeeze before pressing them closer together.

It rouses the Corvette and his optics online dimly. He smiles sleepily.

"Ye horny?"

"Yeah. Having a pretty Paratrooper in my berth does that to me."

"Smooth talker." Crosshairs smirks.

"You know..." Barricade hesitates, not wanting to sound presumptuous.


"Your seal is already gone..."

Crosshairs' optics brighten when he looks at the slightly nervous Saleen. What if Crosshairs gets mad at him for wanting to take advantage of the situation?

"Ye want te fuck me?"

"I would like that. I want you to be the first mech I spike for real." He really does. He feels safe with the Paratrooper, and he knows what Crosshairs likes, so it could probably be good for them both, even if it's the first time.

"I... I do want ye te be the first te spike me for real." Crosshairs says, nervousness seeping into his field.

Barricade's spike twitches when he thinks about sliding in all the way into Crosshairs' valve. He needs to make it as good as possible though, so he crawls down until he's laying on his front between Crosshairs' spread legs.

The Saleen licks the heating panel until it slides away, revealing puffy valve-lips and bright biolights. Barricade drags his glossa through the folds, tasting the lubricant as he dips inside the rim before focusing on the sensitive anterior node. He slides a digit inside until he can't reach further. Crosshairs is still tight in the parts of him that has been hidden behind that seal up until this morning. The Saleen starts to thrust slowly with his digit, allowing Crosshairs to get used to the sensation, while lapping at the Sniper's node with his flattened glossa.

Crosshairs' valve is quickly going slick, his tense frame relaxes, and his hips are starting to buck when his slight apprehension is giving way for arousal. Barricade adds a digit and meets resistance when he pushes in beyond the the already stretched part of the Paratrooper's valve. Crosshairs hisses and tenses up.

"Tha's no' very comfortable." He says, some of his apprehension returning.

"I know, Sweetspark. It's like the first time I entered you, and I can't do anything about it, more than make it quick." Barricade says, pulling his digits out a bit to ease the pressure.

"I know, I jus'..."

" Feeling ready, or do you want me to continue? Do you want to overload m before...?"

"I-I... I think I'm ready. It won't get better by waitin'..."

Barricade crawls up Crosshairs frame, hovering above him while stealing a kiss, digits toying with Crosshairs' node until the Paratrooper is mewling and bucking under him again. The Interceptor lines up and pushes inside, no deeper than he usually does, just thrusting shallowly, pushing in and pulling out while flicking Crosshairs node. He teeks the Sniper's field to gague when he's fully relaxed, nerves gone with the familiarity of the act. Then the Saleen hilts himself.

Crosshairs cries out in pain while Barricade stays still on top of him, allowing him to adjust to the stretch, trailing little kisses along the Sniper's neck-cables.

"Fuck!" Crosshairs growls.

Barricade snorts. "That's exactly what we're doing." He's fighting the urge to start thrusting into the unbelievably wet, tight heat enveloping his spike.

"I think I'm ready. It doesn't 'urt now." Crosshairs says, voice tight.

Barricade starts out with playing more with the Paratrooper's node. The pain has dampened the Sniper's charge, and Barricade can tell that he won't last long when he starts thrusting, so he wants Crosshairs to be really close.

The Corvette whimpers and mewls, and it doesn't take long for Barricade to have him trying to buck his hips to get Barricade to move. He still waits until Crosshairs' frame is tensing, digits scrabbling almost painfully across Barricade's back. Then he starts thrusting, long, hard strokes, hilting himself. It's so good, his optic feed is going pixelated, and he vaguely hears the wail Crosshairs lets out when the Sniper overloads. It doesn't take many thrusts before Barricade follows the Corvette, slumping on top of his lover as soon as he's coming down from his sweet release.

They're both still for long minutes, fans running hard to cool their frames. Barricade feels his spike slowly depressurize, sliding out of Crosshairs' valve, trailed by sticky transfluid and slick lubricant. He wants to watch that. There's something about the idea that's making him curious. Ironhide sure seems to enjoying the sight of Barricade dripping. The Saleen manages to get up to sit back on legs feeling like rubber, looking down at the sloppy mess that's Crosshairs array. He drags his digits through their mingling fluids. There's energon there.

"You're leaking a little. Does it hurt?" He asks the Sniper.

"I'm sore, but I think it's ok?" Crosshairs sounds very uncertain. 

"I leaked some when I lost my seal, and I was sore for a day or two. It passes, and I think it's normal." Barricade says, remembering the freak out he had when he woke up to energon stains on the sheets the morning after.

"It 'urt, but I still liked it in the end." Crosshairs says, looking oddly shy when Barricade grabs a soft cloth and starts to carefully wipe the Sniper's array.

Barricade nods and presses the cloth against Crosshairs' valve to catch the fluids running out when he plunks down next to the Corvette, resting his helm on Crosshairs' shoulder. 

"Ye know, I'm glad we've already done some stuff before this. I don' think I would've enjoyed it if I wasn' comfortable with ye. An' I'm pretty certain it would've sucked if ye'd been as bad as I was the first time I fragged ye."

"You didn't suck! You just had no idea what I needed to overload. And it isn't easy to keep from overloading straight away..." Barricade adds the last part embarrassedly. He really wouldn't have lasted long enough to make Crosshairs overload if he hadn't known the Sniper's needs so well.

"It's really stupid tha' we're supposed te be completely untouched when we bond. I mean, how good would this've been if we didn' know anythin' 'bout interfacin'? Bondin' night would be awkward, painful an' unsatisfyin'. An' over real quick..." Crosshairs says rather heatedly. Maybe he's trying to justify what just happened?

"Yeah. I guess none of us would've wanted to use our valves again if it just hurt and didn't even end with an overload to make it worth it. I think I'm actually glad that I was tricked into 'facing an experienced mech." Even though said mech is a bastard he wishes hadn't managed to pilfer the privilege to take his seal.

"I guess tha' if ye 'ad known more, he might no' 'ave manged te trick ye into 'facing, though..."

The Sniper is probably right. He would've fought for his functioning if he would have known. Would Jazz have taken him anyway? The worst part is that if he hadn't been tricked into fragging with Jazz, he wouldn't be doing this with Crosshairs. He wouldn't be playing with Ironhide. And that's things he really can't bring himself to regret. But Crosshairs' seal would be intact, so there's that...

"I'm glad we did this. I don' think I could've relaxed an' enjoyed it with someone else anyway, so I guess it turned out te be for the better." Crosshairs cuts his musings off.

"And your valve is amazing! Such a tight little hole for me to fuck." Barricade says mischievously, pulling the rag away to dip a digit inside Crosshairs valve. "Well, not that tight anymore... Loose and sloppy is a better description."

"Shut up!" Crosshairs whines embarrassedly, slapping Barricades upper arm.

"I'm kidding! You're exactly the right size for my spike. Are you very sore, though?"

"Pretty sore. I'm on patrol with Prowl tonight, so I better no' be walking funny, or he might figure it out."

"Worst of luck. I love my uncle, but he sure isn't fun to patrol with."

Unlike Ironhide, who's fun to talk to and doesn't hesitate to play with his little Bot whenever they take a break, or when they get back to clean off before they hit the berth.

"An' I guess 'e wouldn' be all tha' surprised if he found out tha' I'm unsealed..." Crosshairs says kind of bitterly.

"Hey, don't care about that. He compares everyone to his little angels, and nobot really measures up. Me included. I bet he secretly thinks that most of the crew here are heathens..."

Crosshairs barks a laugh. "Imagine if 'e 'ad seen ye wriggling 'round in Hide's berth like a strumpet, wishin' I could spike ye while ye were suckin' his cock...."

"No, I don't even want to think about that. He'd probably strangle us all and disown me."

"Ye're playin' a dangerous game, with really high stakes, Sweetspark." Crosshairs murmurs, rolling over to press a kiss against Barricaes lip-plates. "Ye'll always 'ave me, though. If Prowl doesn' strangle us. But I think Hide would stop 'im."

"And you'll have me. I like you so much." Barricade smirks at Crosshairs. "But you better try to walk like you didn't just take a spike in your valve."

Crosshairs flips him off with a grin.

"Speakin' of yer cousins; Sideswipe 'as a crush on Smokescreen, and whoever Sideswipe fancies, Sunstreaker fancies."

"Noo, you're kidding!" Barricade cackles.

"No kiddin'. An' last I 'eard, tha' li'l 'angel' of yer uncle's 'ad kissed Siders back. With glossa." Crosshairs looks absolutely gleeful.

"Did you tell them about spikesucking?"

"Wha'?! No! Why would I wan' them te get into the same trouble as we're in?" Crosshairs sounds taken aback.

"Oh, you know how it is. They start kissing, then all of a sudden theres servos inside each other's plates and next thing you know, 'they only stuck it in a couple of inches'. And then it's too late." Barricade says offhandedly.

Crosshairs stares at him with bright optics. "Fuck, ye're right. 'ow do I tell them without sayin' too much ' bout what we've done?"

"Just say that you've heard of mechs having their cocks sucked, no names need to be mentioned." Barricade goes silent while he thinks about something else, and he can't stop himself from grinning. "Tell them to watch human porn. There's plenty of ways to frag without the seal being broken."

Crosshairs dims his optics suspiciously. "Ye're so 'elpful all of a sudden..."

"I just think that a crush like that should lead to more fun than just sitting on each end of a couch, and if they're already kissing, they probably want more... Aaand, if one of Prowls little golden Bots turns out to be almost as defiled as us, that can only help our case. The worst thing that could happen is that the Twins and Smokey have a few good times and Prowl have a meltdown before being forced to accept that we're all horny little sluts."

The Sniper smirks at Barricade. "It actually makes sense, when ye put it like tha'. I'll tell them. 

"Not that I want to get rid of you, but shouldn't you be going to your briefing right now?" Barricade asks, still pressing in closer to the Sniper. 

"Fuck! I'm gonna be late!" Crosshairs says while trying to untangle himself from the Saleen. 

"Well, at least Prowl probably won't come and throw you over his shoulder to carry you there..." Barricade mutters while attaching himself harder to the Corvette. 

Crosshairs cackles, wrestling with the Saleen. "Tha' was 'ilarious!"

"More like horribly embarrassing." But the aftermath was so worth it.

The memory of that evening makes Barricade's spark speed up, and his arousal makes his field flare before he can reign it in.

"Ha! Ye enjoyed it! Just say it; Hide bein all strong and assertive made ye all hot an' bothered. It's not like I don't know that ye think he's ho'." Crosshairs starts to tickle him.

"Yes! It was embarassing and I felt like an unruly youngling and it turned me on!" Barricade squeals. 

Suddenly Crosshairs stops tickling him and sits back. He studies the Saleen with a smirk pulling at the corners of his intake.

"So, would you like it if Daddy spanked yer sexy li'l aft? Is tha' why ye asked me about tha'? I 'eard ye slip an' call 'im Daddy." The Sniper's smirk is turning into a grin when he looks at the floundering Saleen.

Barricade flushes. "I-I... uhm... I, ah..."

Crosshairs rolls the unprepared Mustang and starts slapping his aft. Barricade is quickly getting aroused through his mortification and he can't stifle a mewl.

"So, did Daddy spank yer butt? Come on, ye can tell me. I won't like ye less for it, ye kinky li'l fragger."

"He did! I went to his qurters after class, and he spanked me so good, I couldn't sit for two days, and then he made me overload a lot." Barricade confesses into the mattress.

Crosshairs stops spanking Barricade, and the Interceptor peeks up at him.

"'ow long 'ave ye been playin' with Hide?"

Oh, fuck! Primus, please, if you're listening; don't let Crosshairs be mad about this. He didn't even think about that they might not like to share him like that. 

"Since that time I 'fell asleep' in his lap in the rec room." Barricade confesses quietly. 

Crosshairs looks at him for long seconds. Then a grin splits his faceplates. "Really? Right there?!"

"You're not mad that I didn't tell you?"

"I might've been if ye'd actively tried te keep it a secret from me. I see why ye don' flaunt it in public, but I would've been fragged off if ye 'ad shared a berth with the both of us for a week an' 'adn't told me." Crosshairs cringes. "If I'd woken up an' found ye with 'is cock down yer throat... But ye were 'onest an unashamed 'bout wantin' us both, an' I respect tha'. I know ye like older mechs, an' Hide is as good as they come. An' 'e did tech me a thing or two tha' week..."

"Thanks for not being mad. I didn't mean to keep it from you to get you to stay. I was just all around careful. He didn't know about us either, because I didn't want to make him mad at you."

"It's all good. But from now on, we tell each other if we're interested in someone else, an' if we do stuff, k?" 

"I agree." Barricade grins. "So, yeah, Hide's my Daddy, and sometimes he spanks me when I'm bad, and, as you know, he's damned good with his servos. But you really have got to go now, before Prowl barges in and stares you out of here with his judgemental optic of doom, you slut."

"I know, but we will continue this conversation later. Ye are goin' te tell me all about Daddy spankin' yer aft, an I'm definitely goin' te hear 'bout the thing in the rec room." Crosshairs smirks. "Or I'm tellin' my Dad ye're bein' mean an' demand I get to watch 'im spank ye."

Barricade gasps in mock affront, even as the thought turns him on. "You would not!"

"Would too."

"Of course you would! Perv." Barricade flips the Sniper the bird and watches as he leaves, relieved that they've talked about everything and made a good deal. 

If they ever get in trouble for this, at least they'll have each other. And Barricade lost his spike-virginity and took Crosshairs' valve-virginity properly. And he wasn't bad. So cool.

Barricade snickers to himself. It may have started out a shitty day, but so far, it has turned out pretty good. He wriggles deeper among his pillows, feeling ready for a little more of his postponed recharge.






When Barricade reboots later that evening, his good mood has subsided. It would be easy to write it off as a side effect of his night patrol and fragged up recharge schedule, but that would just be him lying to himself.

He had a disturbing defrag. Not one of the nightmares that send him running to Ironhide's berth. No, of one of his times with Jazz. In his own berth. The way the Decepticon wrapped an arm around him afterwards and stayed almost all night.

He grabs a cube of energon from the dispenser and walks by the rec room to see if anything distracting is going on, but he just finds Bumblebee and Bluestreak playing a video game and he isn't interested  in hanging out with them. He nods a greeting as he passes, pulling up the schedules for the entire base. Ironhide's on patrol with Smokescreen, Crosshairs is out with Prowl, the twins are probably recharging for their next patrol.

The Interceptor doesn't feel like going back to his quarters. Not alone, anyway. Jazz could show up at any minute. This has been true for every time he has been there alone since the encounter, but it seems more likely in the evening, when the base is relatively quiet, and the defrag reminded him of that the Decepticon said that he would be around to have a talk. 

On a whim, he turns and heads for the exit. The Saleen doesn't feel like being cooped up inside, and since he knows that Jazz easily can get into his room, he might as well go outside. There's mechs out there patrolling, so he should be reasonably safe if he doesn't venture too far from the base.

The air is cool and still, the skies are clear and the Saleen takes a deep vent before he transforms to alt mode, rolling away at a leisurely pace, not at all in the mood to go racing down the road. A part of him thinks it would be good if Jazz would indeed show up, to get it over with, so he doesn't have to be on edge, waiting for the Con to show up. The largest part is still scared slagless of the thought of meeting Jazz again. Of trying to tell the Con that whatever it is that they were doing isn't going to happen again.

How he wishes that Ironhide could be with him for that conversation. As back up as much as general support for when he has told the Con to crawl back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But he's alone in this, because Barricade can never tell anyone about what happened, He's a traitor, that's what happened. Off fraternizing with a Decepticon while his friends were incapacitated in various ways.

Barricade is so deep in his self derisive thoughts, he doesn't hear another car approaching until he registers sounds of transformation and something slams into him. Even long before he sees that it is Jazz, the Saleen fights viciously, no holds barred, determined to not let he fucking Con overpower him again. He's done with being the too careful, hesitant rookie.

Jazz's experience still wins out, and Barricade finds himself on his back, Jazz straddling his hips, pinning the Interceptor's wrist-struts to the ground with strong servos. Both mechs fans are spinning quickly with exertion, and Barricade notice with satisfaction that Jazz's lip-plate is swelling, oozing energon from a wound. He doesn't stop struggling under the Decepticon, not ready to give up just because he's restrained.

"Let go of me, you fucking bastard!" He snarls.

"Will ya stay n' talk if I do?" Jazz grunts, straining his frame to keep hold of Barricade.

"There's nothing to talk about! You hacked and tortured me and my friend. That's it! Case closed. Fuck off and leave me alone to live my own life." He grinds out, still thrashing.

Jazz looks very unimpressed, disappointed even, and that makes Barricade uncertain. He's so out of his depth with this mech. He can feel a sob building in his vocalizer, from the frustration of not being able to free himself. He squashes the building anxiety that stems from the memory of last time a Decepticon overpowered him.

"Stop! Let me go!" He screams.

"Now, this isn't workin'. This is how it's gonna go; I let ya up, n' ya're gonna stay here n' talk. Like a civilised mech, n' let me explain a thing or two 'bout real life. Ya with me?"

"How about you let me up and we go separate ways." Barricade mutters, going limp under the Decepticon. No point in wasting his power like this. Better let the Con relax and maybe have a chance to catch him off guard.

"See, I can't do that. You know it would plant us firmly on each side of the war, and I would really hate ta hafta kill ya one day or tha other."

"You'd have to get a chance first." Barricade says irritably, even though he knows his position under the Con isn't the best place to be cocky. Just let him go home and then they can go back to being enemies.

Jazz barks a laugh, an ugly, bitter sound, devoid of amusement.

"Ya're so fucking naive. Ya think I haven't had plenty of opportunities to make ya a graying heap of slag? The Bots are idiots ta send a bunch of kids into tha war this unprepared. Now are ya gonna play nice, and stay put without me holdin' ya down, and give me a chance ta explain a thing or two and actually listen?"

"Why would I do that?"

Jazz heaves a deep vent, tilting his helm back to look at the sky for a few moments, as if to gather strength.

"Primus, I really hoped that it wouldn' come ta this." He looks down at the Interceptor with that red visor glowing dimly. "I'm gonna let go of ya, and ya're gonna sit here nicely, n' listen. If ya don't, Prowl is gonna get a little file sent ta him, anonymously. Tha only question is what I'm gonna send, n' how much. I dunno, whadd'ya think; that li'l recording I made? A memory of how your intake feels 'round my spike? That time I fucked ya six ways from Sunday in your own quarters? Ya know, when I hid under your berth when Prowl came in. Or how about some footage from my cameras, planted all over your base, hmh?" 

Barricade's spark plummets to his tank when he thinks of the ramifications.

"I have a pretty nice li'l scene of you bent over a desk, bein' thoroughly fragged by one of tha officers. D'ya think the resolution is high enough for Prowl ta see where his fellow officer is sticking it? Or how about all tha times ya've been gettin' it in the valve from tha Sniper? I might even manage ta get something like that of us too. Imagine what Prowl would think; the nephew he has tried so hard to make an honorable mech, willingly and happily making himself a traitor by bein' fucked by a Con...”

A sob leaves Barricade. He'll never be rid of the Decepticon, will forever be forced to do whatever Jazz says, whenever Jazz feels like it.

"I'll listen." He says weakly.

"Good answer."

Jazz gracefully rolls off him to sit next to Barricade.

"I didn' wanna hurt either of ya that night. An' I'm sorry I was so late ta get there, but I had ta give tha Bots a bargaining chip. Ask Ironhide how they even found Soundwave's li'l spies in tha first place."

"But you hacked us! And you stabbed Crosshairs. You knew that we didn't have any information." Barricade accuses the Decepticon.

"Sure, I knew. Believe me, if I thought you had information I really wanted, things would not have been that pretty. But I had ta make it look like I were doin' it for real. I did say that I wanted my fun, n' Dreadbot wasn't happy 'bout me kickin' him out. Have ya even thought 'bout what they would've done to ya?"

"I... No. I was busy being terrified that you would show up in my room to continue. Busy having nightmares." Barricade bites out.

Jazz shakes his helm, looking annoyed.

"It would be ridiculous, laughable, if it wasn't for tha fact that tha Bots are puttin' younglings on tha line with their stupid ideas. Ya go to an academy tha' scares ya of tha kind of 'interrogation' ya did ta me, and tells ya of tha garden variety of torture. No pictures of the aftermath of someone like Vortex. Or some of tha things I've done for that matter. Ya're not even told about consensual interfacing, while some of my faction brothers would enjoy tha chance ta brutally rape yawhile hacking ya, just to really be able ta relish your pain and fear and humiliation. Ya're fuckin' sent to a glorified war, prepared for paintball practice, thinkin' ya're goin' up against your sparring partners, playin' by tha rules and that fuckin' code of honor in battle, written by some mech behind a table, romanticizing away tha pain and tha energon spilt. Of course, if they told tha truth, half of tha classes would probably oil themselves before runnin' home cryin', droppin' out." Jazz rants angrily.

Barricade looks at the Decepticon, haven't ever seen him like this, passionate in a different way. Some of the things he's saying rings true. The Interceptor can't help but notice that Jazz is attractive when he's like this.

"So why didn't you just deactivate me when you had the chance? Why did you use me? You took my seal and destroyed my chances to get a conjux." Well, he has that pact with Crosshairs, but he's ruined for following the traditions.

"'cause I really hate the thought of offlining young mechs who are in way over their helms, tricked into a war they're not fit to handle. It's such a waste. And ya were so hot, standing there with tha' alarmed look on your face, n' your quivering shoulder-wings n' complete innocence." Jazz snorts. "Believe me, those traditions isn' all that banged up either. Do ya really wanna bond with a mech somebot else choose for ya? A mech ya don't know, who ya might not even be attracted ta? And then give your seal ta him and hope ya're compatible in the sack n' in life in general. Seriously, tha' seal doesn't make ya a better person."

When he puts it like that, it doesn't sound that good, actually. What if he got someone like Bumblebee, who he doesn't get along with. With the looks of Mudflap. Sheesh, that deal with Crosshairs sounds even better when he's thinking about it like that.

"Anyway, I couldn't draw attention from high command or tha others 'bout me knowin' ya n' tryna protect ya both. Ya do realize that I could be so much worse off than you if they find out I've been fraggin ya without gettin' intel or something out of it? That I like ya." The last part is added hesitantly.

He hasn't even thought of this treason going both ways, and that the Cons might be harsher in their judgement.

"What would they do if they found out?"

"Best case scenario: execution. Worst case: drawn out torture until I deactivated." Jazz says offhandedly, as if it isn't anything to it, really.

Barricade's optics brighten when he suddenly doesn't feel completely powerless anymore.

"So, if I were to send a memory or two to, I don't know, say Starscream, he doesn't seem very fond of you... If I managed to get a memory of you in my berth to him, telling him that you know where our base is, that you come here to get laid and that's it, you'd be up to your neck in waste?" Barricade can't help smirking at the Con.

"I'd appreciate if ya didn', but yeah." Then Jazz grins. "Ya're learnin' tha game! I'm proud of ya, noticin' our dynamics even under heavy stress, rememberin' it now, n' usin' my own tactics against me. Ya're getting good fast."

Barricade just can't help but preen slightly at the praise. He can't deny that Jazz is a sly fragger, and if the Decepticon thinks that Barricade did well, that something he will be proud of.

"So, can ya forgive me for not bein' able ta intervene earlier? I sure didn' want that ta happen ta ya, but ya hafta understand that tha others would've done so much worse things to ya. If ya still don' believe me, I could send some footage of what they've done before, but ya might not wanna watch it before ya goin' ta recharge..."

Barricade's spark starts to spin wildly. Morbid curiosity has him wanting that footage, but does he really want to see other Autobots being tortured? 

"I think I'll pass this time." He finally says. "And I guess I forgive you."

Jazz grins at him. "Great! Now that we made up, we should kiss." The Decepticon says adamantly.

"What?" Barricade sputters.

"Tha humans say that ya should kiss n' make up. We made up, so now we need ta kiss."

Ah, the logic....

The Saleen still allows Jazz to press his lip-plates against Barricade's, slowly answering when the Decepticon deepens the kiss. Their glossas slide langorously against each other with an intimate familiarity and Barricade melts into the kiss that somehow seems to set things right between them again.

When they break apart, Jazz smiles at him, not the usual sly smirk, but something that seems more open and genuine, and it makes Barricade's spark do a quicker spin.

"I'm gonna give ya a lesson in fightin' some day. Can't have ya out there, lacking tha' knowledge of a few good, dirty tricks." Jazz says.

"Sounds good." 

It's an invitation to meet up again, but without making it about interfacing, and Barricade appreciates the gesture. And learning to fight from Jazz seems like a really good offer.

"Gotta go now. But ya stay safe, ya hear me?"

"I hear you. And right back at you." 

Jazz gets up and transforms, running down the road quickly. Barricade stays and watches the Con go until he can't see him anymore. The Solstice runs with his lights turned off, and he's so stealthy, Barricade probably wouldn't be able to pick him up with his other sensors either if he didn't know that he was out there.

When Jazz has disappeared, Barricade stands and transforms, driving in the opposite direction, back to base. 

A cube, a shower and some more recharge sounds very tempting after this emotionally tumultuous day.

Chapter Text

Barricade looks down at the rebooting Sniper sprawled on his berth, looks at the valve drooling transfluid and lubricants and a wicked idea waves it's proverbial arms to get his attention. He can't stop a smirk from tugging at his intake.

The Saleen reaches under the berth and quickly pulls his box of toys out, grabbing the butterfly vibrator before pushing the box back into hiding. He gently wipes at Crosshairs' array, cleaning the mess away, and the Paratrooper starts to stir. Blue optics flicker online at the same moment as Barricade's sensitive sensor suites pick up on potential disaster heading their way out in the hallway.

He makes a quick last wipe and throws the rags away, magnetizing the vibrator in place across the Sniper's anterior node.

"Quick! Prowl is coming! Look... unfucked." He hisses.

Crosshairs slams his panel shut and scrambles to sit, grabs a magazine and makes himself look occupied, while Barricade crouches in front of the TV, rummaging through the storage with movies just in time before the door swings open and Prowl walks in.

The Praxian looks back and forth between the young soldiers, but there's no visible traces of any foul play.

"We have rescheduled today's lesson, I sent you both notes, but you have not opened the files." He says calmly.

"I haven't seen it. I'm sorry, Prowl." Barricade says contritely. He has been... elsewhere occupied, and hasn't checked his inbox.

"Adress me as 'Officer' when we are on duty." Prowl says stiffly, clearly disappointed in Barricade.

The Saleen chooses to not point out that he technically isn't on duty until that lesson starts. No point in making Prowl more annoyed.

"Come along, both of you. We are waiting for you. Everyone else is already there." Prowl says flatly.

They both hurry to follow him, Barricade opening the memo he had failed to notice while they walk through the hallway.

::Hide is goin' te teach this together with Prowl! Ye think ye'll be spanked for bein' late again?:: Crosshairs snarks over comms, reading the memo at the same time as Barricade does.

::Maybe.:: Barricade admits, not giving Crosshairs the satisfaction of making him flustered. And he wouldn't really mind.

::Did ye se somethin' strange when ye wiped me down? My node feels weird. Like it's pressing against my panel or somethin'.:: Crosshairs asks, doing an odd little sidestep and a wiggle to try to get things straightened out without opening his panel in the middle of the hallway.

::Maybe it's swollen form all the playing it has been subjected to lately?:: Barricade asks, struggling not to smirk.

::Maybe? It feels like it doesn't fit be'ind my plate. An' it sort of tickles when I walk.:: Crosshairs does another little squirm as he walks, earning a glance from Prowl.

Barricade tamps down on the urge to grin madly. This is going to be so fun.

::Well, you don't have to walk in class, luckily. But you better try to not wiggle around too much. Prowl's getting suspicious.::

Crosshairs makes a face, but forces himself to walk normally. Barricade can hardly keep his digits away from the remote. Just a little nudge, a quick little vibration, just to see Crosshairs' reaction... He doesn't do it though. It'll be even more fun to wait untill the Sniper has settled into the drone of the class.

Barricade can't help but think about the time when Jazz made him go get coolant, the moment when he finally resigned to overloading in the hallway and then was denied the release. Oh, this is going to be so fun indeed.

The look Ironhide locks on Barricade when they walk into the classroom momentarily distracts the Saleen. The Weapons specialist crosses his arms and stares at Barricade, slowly raising an unimpressed optical ridge, and Barricade almost whimpers, his valve going slick inside his panel.

::Bad little Bot...:: Ironhide sing songs over comms, then he hums a rumbling chuckle that sends Barricades valve into a seizure, and the Saleen is just about ready to bend over the desk, audience be damned. Actually, the thought of someone watching makes it even more arousing.

But as tantalizing as that thought is, he follows Crosshairs to the table, taking their usual seats in the back of the room. Ironhide starts the class, and both Barricade and Crosshairs listen carefully, both of them well aware of how important it is to know the things he teaches. Their incident with the Cons is the reason why the Topkick is teaching more now, it was a nasty wakeup call for everyone how unprepared the rookie recruits are to handling the realities of this war. 

But eventually, the reigns are handed over to Prowl and Barricade just can't stop himself from sighing. Tactics are important of course, he recognizes that, but he can't help but think that they should have these classes for those who aspire to get into tactics. It would make the learning curve steeper, as everyone in class would be highly motivated, and most importantly, he wouldn't have to waste time sitting through these classes as Prowl drones on about high level tactics. But it gives him a very good opportuity to have some fun. He presses the button on the remote.

Beside him, Crosshairs suddenly sits up straight, optics bright. Barricade turns slowly to him, feigning ignorance, raising an optical ridge in silent question. Crosshairs looks like a deer caught in the headlights before shaking his helm almost imperceptibly and looking back to where Prowl is drawing something on the whiteboard. Barricade turns back too, acting as if disinterested, but trains his sensors on the Sniper, and keeps one optic on him.

It doesn't take long before Crosshairs shifts around, trying to ease the pressure of the little vibrator against his node. His face is a little flushed, and his vents are coming faster, but he's trying really hard to not show what's going on. Barricade is surprised that the Paratrooper hasn't commed him to ask if it's his doing, but that makes it even better. Crosshairs has no idea about the toys Barricade has, so maybe he's embarrased to say something about getting all revved up in class.

Barricade shuts the vibrator off, and Crosshairs slumps a little in relief, taking a deep but shaky vent. The Sniper moves around, and Barricade can imagine how wet the inside of his panel has to be by now. He almost can't contain the smirk threatening to crack his face, but he manages by focusing on the drawings Prowl is making, his uncle talking about how many scenarios must be calculated. His optics unintentionally slip to Ironhide, the massive mech sitting in a chair, arms crossed, back stretched as he leans heavily on the backrest. The Weapons specialist is looking intently at Barricade, and a movement catches the Saleen's optics.

The servo almost hidden under Ironhide's arm, the one on the opposite side from Prowl and hidden from view for almost everyone, is moving. The other young soldiers are probably occupied by watching Prowl, but Barricade stares, almost gaping, when Ironhide curls his digits and rubs his thumb in the air in what can only be a lewd gesture to indicate fingering Barricade's inside node while thumbing his anterior one. 

The Interceptor squirms, valve clenching. Ironhide smirks and starts to pump his digits, and Barricade wants to growl in frustration as the big tease stops the movements and looks away, as if nothing just passed between them. Barricade does the only thing he can do at this point. He jams the button on the remote, setting the vibrations to the second level. Beside him, Crosshairs' hips jerk.

The Sniper sinks deeper in his seat and spreads his legs, probably trying to get the pressure from the vibrator to lessen, to make the vibrations weaker, but Barricade knows that it is futile. The Paratrooper seems to come to the same conclusion, since after a few aborted twitches with his hips, he straightens again. His vents are definitely harder now, and Barricade can hear his cooling fans tick up a notch. He's lucky that the Sniper's systems are so quiet, or this wouldn't work this well.

By the whiteboard, Prowl doesn't pay any attention to them,  absorbed  in his calculations and none the wiser, but Barricade sees the way Ironhide's optics linger on them, as if he's suspecting some sort of foul play. Barricade distracts him with licking his lip-plates slowly, meaningfully, and Ironhide arches an optical ridge before letting his gaze sweep the rest of the classroom.

Barricade lowers the vibrations again when he recognize the signs of Crosshairs' imminent overload, intending to keep the Sniper on the edge. He'll be so tender and juicy and ready when class is finally over, Barricade will probably be able to get him to do anything he wants.

Crosshairs is stiff beside him, struggling not to squirm, biting his lip-plates and glossa to keep those desperate little noises that escapes him low enough to go undetected. The Sniper glances at Barricade, optics bright and needy, but Barricade manages to keep a straight face. The Saleen is just about to set the vibration one step higher when Prowl's voice makes him startle.

"Crosshairs!" His uncle barks.

He accidentally pushes the vibrations to the highest setting before promptly dropping the remote deep into his subspace pocket. 

Everyone's optics are on them and Barricade can't start digging around for the remote without it looking suspicious. Beside him, Crosshairs keens quietly, grinding his denta as his charge skyrockets.

"Answer me. Are you paying attention at all?!" Prowl asks, voice hard.

"I...ah...I.." It's mostly a breathy moan, and Crosshairs servos clench as he curls over the edge of the table. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Crosshairs shouts when he finally overloads.

Everyone stares at them. Barricade sits stiffly next to a flushing Crosshairs. Ironhide arches an optical ridge again in question to Barricade, a smirk pulling at the corners of his intake. The Saleen shrugs.

"Uhm... sorry, Sir. I was payin' attention. Jus' go' a kink." Crosshairs' optics brighten in alarm. "A kinked wire, Sir!" He adds, mortification thick in his field.

Barricade can see Ironhide stifling a laugh, but Prowl's thunderous expression keeps Barricade's own mirth at bay. He didn't intend for this to happen.

"I'll pay attention." Crosshairs mumbles through clenched denta.

"See to it that you do." Prowl says coldly.

Some of the other soldier's optics linger on them when Prowl returns to his drawings. That's when Barricade realizes why Crosshairs hasn't commed him. He has his communications system set to bounce everyone except the officers.

The Saleen opens the line, and yeah, he has twenty missed calls, all from Crosshairs. He doesn't even have time to feel bad before the Sniper pings him again.

::Is this yer doin'?:: Crosshairs almost wails.


::Make it stop! Please, no more.:: The Sniper whines.

It's still going. Barricade didn't shut it off when Crosshairs overloaded, and he completely forgot that when the attention slipped from them. He immediately rummages through his subspace, relieved to find the remote before anyone notices. Crosshairs slumps when he finally stops the vibrator.

::Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to make you overload. And I dropped the remote and totally forgot that it was still on when Prowl was staring and yelling.::

:: Fuckin' bastard.:: Crosshairs grumbles.

:: I really am sorry.::

::My panel is leaking. How 'm I supposed te wipe the seat without anyone noticin'?::

Barricade knows that feeling, and just thinking about that time when Ironhide fucked him right before class makes Barricade squirm in his seat, feeling his own valve go wet.

::I'll take care of it. Hide will help us, I think.::

Crosshairs groans quietly, shifting in his seat.

::Yeah, 'cause I really want Hide te know 'bout this.:: He comms, field embarrassed.

::Afraid he'll spank you too?:: Barricade teases.

::No, tha's no' what I meant. I creamed my panel in class. Im so we', my panel is leakin' lubricant. Can't we jus' wait until everyone leaves an jus' wipe down without anyone findin' out?::

::Yeah, no. I don't think Hide is going to leave until we do...::

Crosshairs makes a groan of misery over their comm link, field resigned.

::Just trust me on this; he's not going to think much of it. Might even lick you clean if you want.:: Barricade says absentmindedly, admiring the sturdy officer.

Beside him Crosshairs stifles a snort, but then he whips his helm around to Barricade, optics bright. ::Holy shit! Tha's what ye did everytime ye got detention, wasn' it?!::

Barricade can't help but smirk. ::Not always exactly that, but one thing or another that Prowl wouldn't approve of...::

::Ye're so fraggin' kinky!:: Crosshairs snickers.

::And you like that.::

::I do.::

::So, should I tell Hide that you're dripping and need help cleaning up? Or are you afraid he's going to punish us bad little Bots?:: Barricade leers.

::Ha! I ain't afraid of a li'l spankin'!:: Crosshairs comms cockily, but his field is laced with embarrassed arousal.

Very interesting.

::Hey, Daddy. Crosshairs creamed his panel. There'll be snail trails all over the chair, so he needs to stay and clean up. ::Barricade comms Ironhide. ::He's such a bad little Bot...:: He adds with a meaningful intonation.

::And I guess you had nothing to do with that, hm?:: Ironhide chuckles amusedly.

::No, Daddy.:: Barricade tries to sound innocent but fails.

::Bad little Bots, both of you. I'll deal with you after class.:: Ironhide comms them both at once.

Crosshairs stares down at the table, embarrassed and nervous and aroused in a confused blend. Barricade pushes his field out with reassurance, glancing at Ironhide. The big mech is watching them, arms crossed, and Barricade just can't wait to get those big servos on his plating. His valve clenches in anticipation, even if he knows that he's not going to be able to sit comfortably tonight.

Prowl is wrapping up, handing out data sticks they're going to study before next class, and assigns evening shifts for those who are going to patrol later. There's a brief exchange over comm between Prowl an Ironhide, Prowl glancing at the two young soldiers with a disapproving gleam in his optics before nodding once and striding out of the classroom.

As soon as the door is closed, they both rise to their pedes, Crosshairs opening his panel, a small tide of lubricant welling out. He pulls the vibrator away from his node, and hands it to Barricade, the Interceptor subspacing it. Ironhide looks down at the slick mess running down Crosshairs legs, the Sniper flushing furiously. 

"I... 'as anyone go' a cloth?" Crosshairs mumbles.

Ironhide slowly pulls one from subspace, sinking to his knees in front of Crosshairs, keeping optic contact, smirking wickedly. The Paratrooper whimpers and his field flares with mortified arousal. 


"Have you got one more? I could clean the seat..." Barricade says.

Ironhide hands him another cloth, and the Interceptor busies himself with cleaning up, tension coiling in his belly for what's going to happen. 

Ironhide starts to carefully wipe the Sniper's legs. Crosshairs stands there awkwardly, as if uncertain what to do, and lets the Weapons specialist clean him. His vents hitch when his array is wiped, and he stops a twitch of his hips, an aroused whine leaving his vocalizer.

"You have been exceptionally bad, the both of you." Ironhide says when he's finished and stands up.

"But it wasn' my fault! I didn' mean te..." Crosshairs starts defending himself nervously.

"Be quiet. You were as late as Barricade to class, this disruptive behavior not withstanding."

Crosshairs intake shuts with an audible click of denta, and he stares at the floor.

"I have no choice but to punish you both." Ironhide rumbles with finality, but his field pushes reassurance at them.

Then he grabs them both by the upper arms and drags them out of the classroom and down the hallway towards his quarters. Barricade's valve is quickly going slick, pulsing in time with his spark rotations in anticipation as that unyielding grip around his arm tightens. Crosshairs is digging his heels in, trying to stop, but Ironhide easily pulls the Sniper along.

"Please, Hide! I'm sorry! I didn' mean te be late." The Corvette whines, getting apprehensive.

"I'm sure you didn't." Ironhide says simply, not taking more notice.

They're both dragged inside and then the door is shut and locked, and Barricade immediately slips into his role, impatient.

"I'm sorry, Daddy!" He says contritely, staring at the floor.

"I know you are. And you'll be even more sorry when I'm done with you." 

Ironhide takes a seat on the berth and grabs Barricade, easily throwing the Interceptor over his thighs. This time Barricade knows what's going to happen when Ironhide starts to unlatch the plating on his aft, and he can feel lubricant drooling from his valve. Crosshairs fidgets, field cloying with embarrassment and apprehension.

"You will sit on the chair and wait for your turn." Ironhide tells the Sniper.

Crosshairs scrambles to obey, watching the other two with brigth optics. His field tells on him; he's curious, and aroused, and nervous, but there's nothing there that indicates that he doesn't want to be there.

"The safeword is still Simmons. Just say it, and I'll stop immediately." Ironhide murmurs to Barricade.

"Yes, Daddy." The Saleen almost mewls.

A digit slides through the slit of his valve, and Barricade's hips buck.

"My, you really are a very naughty little Bot. Walking around all soaking wet and aroused like this..." Ironhide chuckles and Barricade squirms embarrassedly. "Didn't I tell you to not be late again?" Ironhide rumbles.

A flattened servo lands with a loud clang on Barricade's aft. The Interceptor whimpers at the sting.

"I'm sorry, Daddy! I..."

Another hard slap, and Barricade chokes on what he was going to say. It's followed up with another slap, his protoform heating up for every hit.

"I hadn't read the memo! I..." He whimpers when the next hit makes him feelt like his aft is on fire.

"You should've. That's no excuse. You need to check your messages." Ironhide growls, slapping him even harder.

Barricade sobs, his aft burning. He starts to struggle, tries to get free, and his flailing makes him catch a glimpse of Crosshairs. The Sniper's face is flushed and he's slowly stroking his spike, as if not sure if he really should be turned on by what he sees.

Barricade sobs harder. It's embarrassing to have Crosshairs see him like that, and that turns him on even more. His protoform is getting so sore, and every slap hurts more than the last, but Barricade sure doesn't want to call the safeword. He's a bad little bot, he deserves this.

"And you were playing inappropriate games in class. So very naughty, little Bot. You do realize that you deserve this, don't you." Ironhide rumbles.

Barricade hears himself begging and whimpering, and he's trying to get away, but Ironhide keeps up the rhythm, making Barricade's aft feel like it's going to self combust.

"I deserve it, Daddy! I was so bad! I'm sorry!" He wails, finally going limp, giving in.

Ironhide doesn't stop, and for a few slaps, Barricade actually is thinking about calling the safeword, but before he does it, Ironhide stops. The Weapons specialist helps him up, soothing Barricade's sore protoform with his servo. 

"I am sorry." Barricade mumbles, leaning in when Ironhide wraps his arms around the Interceptor.

"I know, darling. You can lay on the berth while I deal with the other bad little Bot." 

Barricade crawls onto the berth, stretching out on his front, watching the clearly nervous Corvette squirm in his seat. Crosshairs is still holding his spike, but right now, he looks pretty awkward about it, as if caught indulging himself with a very embarrassing kink or something. Which is probably exactly how he feels. He knows about Barricade's little kink for being spanked, but realizing that he likes to watch is probably something he needs to process for himself.

Ironhide crosses his arms and stares at the Paratrooper.

"Didn't you get enough when you overloaded in class?" There's a hint of amusement in his field, belying the sternness of his voice.

Crosshairs lets go of his spike as if it burned him, and the component retracts into it's sheath, the cover sliding in place.

"Come here." Ironhide orders.

The Sniper obeys, coming to stand in front of the Topkick, field thick with apprehension. He looks very uncertain now. Ironhide grabs him and easily folds Crosshairs over his thighs, pushing the coat flaps to the side.

"If you've had enough and want me to stop, just say 'Simmons' and I'll stop immediately. Ok with that?" Ironhide says as he's unlatching plating on Crosshairs' aft.


"What's the safeword?"


"Good little Bot. You do know how to pay attention after all." Ironhide croons.

Then he raises his servo and lets it fall to land on Crosshairs' bare aft. The Sniper whimpers, frame jerking, optics going bright with surprise. Barricade feels his valve clench, and his spike pressurizes. It's so hot to watch. The Saleen starts to grind against the matress, the weaping head of his spike making the covers wet and sticky, but he doesn't care. Crosshairs is whimpering, faceplates scrunched up, and Barricade teeks when the Sniper gives in and accepts the punishment, hears when the pleading stops and the excuses are falling from his lover's lips, and it sounds so sweet, because Barricade really wants them both right then.

Ironhide helps the Sniper to stand, to rearrange his plating, and then he pulls him in for a hug, field full of approval and pride, and Barricade can see how eagerly Crosshairs is sucking that praise up. Then the Sniper crawls onto the berth too, stretching out next to Barricade.

"I... I'm 'orny." Crosshairs mumbles embarrassedly.

Barricade rolls over to his side to show his rock hard spike.

"So am I. That was so hot." Barricade smirks at Crosshairs. "Hey, Daddy? Can I suck Crosshairs' spike?" Barricade asks cheekily.

"Of course."

Crosshairs starts to roll over to lay on his back, but jerks back to his side when he realizes how sore his aft is. He whines in frustration.

"Kneel, so you don't have to sit on your aft." Barricade says, more used to deal with that.

The Sniper does, letting his aft hover just above the berth, supported by his pedes, and Barricade crawls forward to eagerly suck Crosshairs spike into his intake. He hears the Sniper groan, and Ironhide's fans picking up speed.

::Does he know that I fuck you?:: Ironhide comms Barricade.

::No.:: Barricade answers, half wishing that he could just come out and confess everything he does with them both and just be done with it. But he can't, because if Ironhide finds out about their lacks of seals, they still might get in trouble, and he still doesn't want Crosshairs to know that he takes it in the aft.

::Primus damn it, I want to get inside you right now, you little vixen.:: Ironhide groans, sliding his digits through Barricade's wet folds.

Oh, how Barricade wants that, wants to have them both. Maybe even ride Crosshairs while Ironhide slides into him from behind....

His hips buck to rub his array against the Weapons specialist's digits, and he mewls, the vibrations making Crosshairs' hips jerk.

"You dare trying something new, little Bot?" Ironhide says challengingly.

"Mhm." Barricade mumbles around the cock in his mouth, eager for anything.

Then he squeaks when Ironhide grabs him, easily lifting him to rearrange his frame. He winds up across the corner of the berth, helm faling back over the edge, aft hanging in the air, suspended by Ironhide's grip on his thighs.

"You can still have his intake, but you need to pull out if he urges you." Ironhide says to Crosshairs, and Barricade feels his arousal flare even more when the Topkick decides what the Sniper can do to Barricade without asking him. He eagerly opens his intake. Crosshairs mouth hangs open for long seconds, but then he smirks at Barricade, and climbs down from the berth to kneel on the floor.

The Corvette pushes into Barricade's intake with a slow roll of his hips, and Barricade grabs on to Crosshairs pelvic plating to be able to steer just a little. It slides in deep so easily in this position and he can feel the head of Crosshairs spike teasing the back of his intake. Then he mewls when Ironhide leans in to lick at his valve, glossa teasing his anterior node. Barricade crosses his legs behind the Topkick's neck, trying to grind against his face, desperate for more, and Ironhide chuckles in amusement at his wanton antics.

Crosshairs is fucking his mouth slowly, careful to stop when Barricade's servos on his hips is held firm to stop deeper penetration, Ironhide is licking and lapping, digits sliding into Barricade's valve to tease that sweet spot just so, and the Mustang's charge is ramping up quickly. He reaches down to grab his spike, still hard and weeping pre-transfluid over his ventral plating. It's slick with fluid, and he grabs it firmly, stroking with long slides of his servo, twisting as he goes. It doesn't take many strokes before he overloads, moaning around Crosshairs spike, back arching. It brings the Sniper over as well, and he pulls out, ropes of hot transfluid landing on Barricade's face and chest-plates.

The Interceptor feels relaxed and limp, and he allows Ironhide to turn him over on his side, push him further onto the berth where he can lay without falling off it. Crosshairs tips forward, coming to lay on his front next to Barricade, looking equally spent.

"I guess you are good little Bots after all." Ironhide murmurs as he starts wiping Barricade's sticky frame.

"Do you want us to suck your spike?" Barricade asks tiredly.

"No, it's fine. You mechs rest for a while. I have a meeting I have to go to."

Barricade hums disappointedly, even though he's thankful for the chance at resting a little.

::I want you in the washracks later, though. Want to fuck you real good.:: Ironhide comms Barricade.


::I'll comm you.::


Barricade crawls closer to Crosshairs, throwing an arm across the Sniper to pull him flush to his frame.

"Did you like it, sweetspark?" Barricade murmurs.

"Mhm. Not sure I'll enjoy sittin' down tomorrow, though..."

Ironhide chuckles, standing just inside the door.

"I'll enjoy watching both of you squirm though, knowing that you're so much naughtier than anyone thinks."

Barricade feels Crosshairs field flush with embarrassment, but in a good way, and strokes the Paratrooper's back-struts, stopping before reaching his sore aft.

"But you're very good little Bots too. Sometimes."

Barricade preens at the praise, and watches Ironhide leave. The Interceptor briefly thinks about asking Crosshairs to spike him, but one look at the Sniper makes him abandon that thought.

Crosshairs is already asleep.

Barricade settles in against the warm frame of his lover, content to rest for a while. Ironhide will give it to him really good later, after all.






"Nice move, li'l Bot." Jazz grunts.

Barricade doesn't let the compliment throw him off his game, he continues the roll he started, and throws the Decepticon off of him.

It doesn't do him much good; Jazz still manages to snag his ankle and stops him from crawling away. The Con slithers up on top of him and pins his wrist-struts against the ground with one servo, the other sliding down Barricade's side.

It's the first time Jazz has touched him like that since they made up. So far, the Con has kept it all professional, has focused on teaching Barricade to fight, and to fight dirty, to win. The Saleen holds his vents, frame stiff where he's splayed out on his front on the dusty ground. Jazz nudges his knees apart, and Barricade can feel how hot the Decepticon's interface plate is when he grinds against the Interceptors aft.

"Ya're gettin' really good at fightin'. I think ya'd hold your own against quite a few Cons by now." Jazz murmurs against his neck-cables.

"But not against you." Barricade grumbles, because he always loses, and because his traitorous valve is going wet by being held down like this, by this particular Decepticon.

He doesn't want to be attracted to the bastard, but he can't stop either.

Jazz sniffs loudly, raising his helm as if he's scenting the air.

"No, but ya like losin' ta me. Don't ya?" There's a smirk in Jazz's voice.

Barricade bucks, trying to free himself. It does nothing to dislodge the smug Con on top of him, easily following Barricade's movements.

"Hell no!" The Interceptor snarls, trying to free his wrists from that vice like grip. Why, oh why, does his valve have to start throbbing by this, by the hot plate grinding against his aft, this feeling of being powerless to do anything to stop this?

Jazz hums a chuckle, a sound that is pure sin, and Barricade stifles a whimper, fights to not spread his legs more and push his aft up to offer himself to the Decepticon.

A glossa slides over the base of his shoulder-wing, and it's a startling pleasure that catches him off guard. His panel opens.

Cool air brushes his heated and wet array, and Barricade gasps as his valve clenches around nothing.

"Oh, no, ya really don' like this at all." Jazz mocks him, grinding against Barricade again. "Kinky li'l Bot, ya like ta be restrained, doncha? Ta pretend ta be unwilling when ya're anythin' but."

Jazz seems to have drawn the conclusion that Barricade would rather not have the Decepticon find out, and he's right, because the Saleen isn't quite comfortable with it himself. The Saleen snarls wordlessly to cover his embarrassment, but still he hears Jazz pull something from his subspace. Then his servos are magnacuffed together.

"Took these back when ya Bots 'caught' me. Didn' realize that they would come in handy like this, though." 

Digits slip into Barricade's valve, and he fights down the urge to arch his back to give better access. Jazz forces his legs further apart, and it makes him arch further anyway, taking away his option not to. The Decepticon slides his thumb through Barricade's wet slit, gathering lubricant, before pushing into his port. He can't stifle a gasp when Jazz wiggles it, digits still pumping into his valve.

"Mhm, so eager, n' such a bad li'l Bot, liking a li'l bit of this, a li'l bit o' that..." Jazz purrs into Barricade's audial.

"No, I don't! Get off me." He snarls, but the hitch in his voice doesn't exactly make him sound convincing.

"D'ya really want tha'? I'll stop at any second if ya say 'Starscream'." Jazz murmurs.

It's most unwelcome, to be confronted with his own kinks like this, to be called out on being a perverted little slut who's turned on by having a Con holding him down and fingering him everywhere, but that safeword forces Barricade to really think about what he wants. It was so much easier to just protest, to pretend that he doesn't want this, that it is outside his power to control what Jazz will do to him, but now he's handed that power back. He can scream 'no', and 'stop' all he wants, pretending to be the prude and unwilling Autobot, because they will both know that in reality, he wants it. If he really wants it to stop, he would just utter that word, but he doesn't.

"Frag you!" He snarls, buying himself some time for deciding what he wants.

Jazz's chuckle is hardly more than a sinful hum, but it makes Barricade's valve pulse with need.

"No, ya bad li'l Bot, I'm gonna be tha one who frags you."

"I'm not some little slut you can just have however you want." Barricade grinds out, trying to stifle the whine that wants to break free from his vocalizer.

"A slut." Jazz purrs. "A greedy little minx, rocking back to get more in both your cunt and in your ass."

Barricade whimpers embarrassedly, and inspite of himself, he does rock back. Why did he give the Con a hint about his penchant for feeling easy? Or was it his way of manipulating Jazz into fulfilling his perversions without having to voice them?

"Hmh, imagine tha'; Prowl's nephew being an easy little slut, gettin' all revved up by bein' tied up and used by a Con."

Barricade's engine whines and he squirms under the Solstice, trying halfsparkedly to free himself, uncertain if he really wants to succeed.

"What would they say, huh?" Jazz lets his digits slide out of Barricade, and this time the Interceptor does arch his back to follow. "Wha' would tha other Bots say if they saw ya now? All wet, n' horny, n' desperate for getting Decepticon cock anywhere..." Jazz hisses.

"I'm not desperate! And I don't just take anything you offer.Barricade protests. He just really wants to be fragged into the ground right now, but he's not desperate.



"I wanna stick my spike in your ass. Frag your tight li'l port, n' I wanna cum all over your aft." Jazz purrs, and Barricade can't help himself; he arches his back and gasps at the thought.

"Have you got any lube...?" Barricades trails off. He didn't bring any, because he wasn't expecting this.

Jazz barks a laugh, but it's mirthful and not at all derisive.

"No, ya wouldn' take it anywhere right now..."

Barricade flushes. The bastard was just baiting him, and he fell right for it, proving the point that he really is an easy little slut. It revs him up even more.

"Relax li'l Bot, I want your valve." Jazz says, nipping at his neck-cables.

"I'm not fragging a filthy Con!" Barricade hisses, annoyed with the smug bastard.

"No, tha Con is gonna frag you." Jazz snickers.

The head of the Solstice's spike nudges against the lips of Barricade's valve, and the Interceptor squirms, trying to prove himself unwilling to both the Con and to himself. It's rather futile.

"Leave me alone, Con!" He grinds out when Jazz pins his wrists more firmly.

"All ya hafta do is say tha magic word..." Jazz sing songs teasingly.

"Damn you!" Barricade's voice hitches when Jazz's spike slides into the Saleen's valve in one smooth thrust.

Jazz doesn't answer, and Barricade is thankful for that, pleasure warring with embarrassment for liking to fraternize with the enemy, for liking to be called a slut and being held down and fragged.

The Decepticon reaches around to tease Barricade's node, and the Mustang pushes his aft up to meet the thrusts, to get that spike hilted, the sounds leaving him downright wanton and indecent. He's such a willing little minx.

Then Barricade's charge reaches the cusp and he falls over, frame stiffening, servos still pinned to the ground and he wails loudly, mortified with how loud he is. Above him, Jazz grunts, hips stuttering, pelvic plating clanging against Barricade's aft, before the mech suddenly pulls out, blowing his load on the plating of Barricade's aft.

"That's such a good look on ya." He says as he drags a digit through the cum to smear it even more.

Barricade feels spent and doesn't try to move, even as the Con is drawing things in the sticky fluid clinging to the Saleen's plating. Then Jazz stretches out next to him on the ground, staring up at the sky. The Saleen glances at the Decepticon. Jazz is laying on his back, one leg slightly bent, servos behind his helm, and the position shows off his frame, pale moonlight reflecting off the silver planes of his plating. Barricade can't deny that the mech is very attractive, even if he sometimes is infuriating. At least the Solstice doesn't seem to mind that he's a dirty little pervert.

His thoughts are interrupted when Jazz rolls over to his side, propping his helm up on his servo. His visor flicker in a multitude of colors when it sweeps Barricade's sprawled form, lingering on the Interrogator's aft.

"I really like this view. Makes me wanna drag ya back ta our base n' tie ya to ma berth. I could have ya anyway I want, whenever I want."

Barricade stiffens. Surely the mech is kidding?! But Jazz isn't smirking, like he usually is when he's teasing Barricade. The Decepticon can be so very hard to read sometimes.

"I think people would come looking for me..." Barricade says, because that feels like the most neutral way to decline. And he is not considering it. Nope.

"Of course they would! Daddy would barge in, guns a blazin', ready to rescue his li'l Bot. Pray tell, would he celebrate findin' out your lack of seal with plowin' ya into tha berth? Or would he still wanna stick it up your ass?

The Saleen squirms, embarrassed by how much Jazz knows, and flustered by the question. What would Ironhide do? The 'barging in, guns a blazing'-part is very tantalizing. He would rescue Barricade from the bad Con, and help him clean up, and then they'd frag, and Barricade would fall asleep in Ironhide's berth.

If the Topkick would still want him even after finding out that he has interfaced with a Con. The thought is like a cold shower, because it brings him back to reality, where he is still cuffed, stretched out with his panel open next to a Decepticon who seems to know everything that happens at the Autobot base. Why hasn't he spoken to high command about that?

"What's it to you?" Barricade sneers. "Uncuff me now. Please."

Something hard crosses Jazz's faceplates, something that looks utterly dangerous, but it's gone again in the reset of an optic.

"Oh, nothin' much. I'm jus' too curious. But ya know, it's kind of hypocritical, tha way interfacin' is prohibited, n' ya're supposed ta remain sealed, n 'still he has no problem with sticking his cock up your ass, or havin' ya suck it. Like, don' go have someone take your valve, but he can use ya any other way he wants, like ya're his li'l toy-Bot." Jazz sounds surprisingly derisive. "Maybe I should leave ya cuffed? Let ya explain why ya're all sticky, wearin' my cuffs..."

"That's none of your concern!" Barricade says indignantly. He slams his panel shut and curses the damn cuffs. Sure, he could make to leave, but it loses some of the effect with making a grand exit when he has to ask again to be uncuffed first. The Mustang sits up, at least feeling a little less vulnerable by not being sprawled on the ground.

"I'm jus' worried that he uses ya. Tricks ya inta doin' stuff. Ya know, ya don' hafta frag him all tha time." Jazz says, frowning.

Barricade barks a laugh. "Look who's talking! And for your information, he has never made me do anything. I always get a say in what we do, mostly it's my idea to begin with, and he takes really good care of me. I really like what we do." At least Ironhide never explicitly said that Barricade should remain sealed, right? It's just that Barricade doesn't want to risk that Prowl finds out. And it's not like Jazz doesn't treat him like a toy...

Jazz's frown turns into an annoyed scowl, and for long moments, Barricade can't understand why consensual sex, and Barricade not being taken advantage off would make Jazz more irritated. Then it hits him.

"You're jealous!" He smirks at the Con who suddenly seems startled.

"What?! No! I'm not!" Jazz tries, but Barricade sees right through the hasty denial.

"No? So this has nothing to do with the fact that someone has access to fucking me whenever, while you have not? That Daddy can pound me through the berth every single night, while you're left scrounging for scraps the few times I'm patrolling by myself..." 

Jazz's visor brighten in obvious surprise at Barricade's boldness, and the Interceptor smirks victoriously.

"Do you watch? Do you jerk off, wishing it was you who was pelvic plating deep in me? Do you stand in the washracks in the Con base, fucking your own servo, pretending that you are the one banging me against the wall?

"Watch it, kid..." Jazz growls.

Barricade's grin widens, because he has finally, finally managed to get the Decepticon off balance. "Or what, you're going to spank me? I already have a Daddy who does that. But I think he would spank you too, you bad little Con."

Jazz's engine revs, and the Solstice gets even more flustered. Interesting.

"Would you enjoy that? Would you like the big, bad Weapons specialist to bend you over his lap and spank you until you couldn't sit for a day or two? Like a bad little Con like you deserves?"

It's visible, the way Jazz struggles to stifle the whine his engine makes, but it is also a futile effort. The Decepticon's engine hums with heightened idle.

"I-I... no! I don' want no filthy Bot to put his servos on me..." Jazz stutters heatedly, but the way his cooling fans speed up gives him away.

"I think you should uncuff me now. And give me a rag to clean up before I go home. Or I'm telling my Daddy."

Jazz glares at the young Bot, but he slowly reaches for the cuffs and disengage them, before pulling a rag from subspace. Barricade looks at the cloth he's handed and makes a face.

"You know, if you're going to keep stealing my rags, you should steal the washed ones." Then he grins at Jazz. "Or do you sniff this when you jerk off? Perv."

Jazz seems to finally be at a loss for words when Barricade stands up and starts to wipe away the transfluid on his plating. There's dust stuck in it now, and it isn't easy to wipe it away, so Barricade decides to hit the washracks really quickly when he gets back. He throws the rag to Jazz.

"Here. You can use that when you jerk off."

Jazz sticks his glossa out, but doesn't answer, and Barricade turns his back on the Solstice, transforming to drive back to base.

Chapter Text

Crosshairs has dragged him to the landing strip, and they have taken seats on the ground, lounging casually. Or at least they're trying to not look like excited younglings. There's an in-rotation of new soldiers today. They won't be the most inexperienced anymore. And since they're the only ones who have been taken prisoners — however temporary that might've been, not to mention how unscathed they were — by the Cons, they'll be top dogs. At least that's what they have decided about the pecking order themselves.

The space bridge opens, and soldiers are starting to walk through, a bunch of mechs who are Bluestreaks age, or even younger.

::Bet they're all virgins too.:: Crosshairs snickers over their private comm.

Barricade snorts. ::I'm not taking that bet, I think you're right.:: 

He studies the mechs as they look around, taking in the planet that is so different from their home world, and the Saleen remembers what it was like, to be freshly baked out of the academy, thinking he would be able to handle anything. He's so much more experienced now, in so many ways.

"Wow." Crosshairs sounds almost breathless, slapping Barricade across his bumper with the back of his servo.

Barricade follows his line of sight and looks closer at the blue mech. 

"'e's so fuckin' ho'!" 

There's a pang of an emotion Barricade can't put a name on at first, but he doesn't like it. "Isn't he a little old for your tastes? I thought you weren't into that." He almost sneers, instantly disliking the mech, who is admittedly very attractive.

Crosshairs is too preoccupied with ogling the Autobot to notice the venom in Barricade's voice. "I don' think 'e's older than Hide, an if someone is tha' ho', I don' care. I'm gonna try ta get te make out with 'im." Crosshairs says, still staring at the mech.

Barricade grinds his denta, really hating the picture of Crosshairs sucking face with the Bot that pops into his helm. Then he stops for a second, analyzing what he's feeling. Oh, Primus, he's jealous isn't he? And he has no right, considering he's the one who does stuff behind Crosshairs back constantly. At least the Sniper is honest enough to say it straight up. And he just said that he was going to make out with the mech. Barricade does so much more. The jealousy turns to guilt, and it's equally unpalatable. He checks the roster instead, busying himself with trying to figure out who the mech is.

"I think he's the one designated 'Drift'. He's the only one not fresh out of the academy." Then something slightly worrying comes to mind. "I think I heard a rumour about one of the arriving mechs being an ex-Con. It has to be him, the other's are too young to have had time to be with the Cons and defect." And the others all look like innocent little newbuilds.

"Really? I wonder if 'is optics can be turned red..." Crosshairs muses out loud.

Barricade snorts. " You'd like that, you perv? Even after... you know..." It's a stupid question. He sure doesn't have anything against a red visor staring hungrily at his frame. His valve goes slick instantly at the thought.

"Maybe? I mean, if I can trust 'im, an' if we even get tha' far..."

Prowl has greeted all the new mechs and are leading them back into one of the hangars, to get them settled in, and assign quarters. Barricade stands up, the show over, and Crosshairs follows him, one last glance at Drift as he disappears into the hangar.

"I wonder where Sideswipe is. I thought he'd be here, plotting pranks for all the noobs." Barricade muses.

"Ye're right. Let's go see if we can find 'im."

It's as good a plan as anything, because Barricade doesn't want to think more about what Crosshairs wants to do with Drift, or his own guilt. Ironhide is supposed to be in briefing with Prowl. They could go find Sideswipe, and then maybe he can do something to get Crosshairs' mind off the new mech... 

Sideswipe shares quarters with Sunstreaker, and it isn't very far. Without second thoughts, Crosshairs opens the door and steps inside, Barricade running into the Sniper when he stops just inside the door. He peeks around the green mech, about to grumble something about the Paratrooper's lack of brake lights in root mode, but it gets stuck in his vocalizer.

Well, it does look like the Twins took the advice of getting ideas from porn. And Smokescreen isn't complaining.

Barricade steps around Crosshairs, and he just can't stop himself from smirking, even if he manages to stifle the cackle threatening to break free when he looks at the debauchery. Well, at least one of Prowl's little angels has fallen.

Sunstreaker is sitting on the edge of the bed, Smokescreen sucking his spike, servo around the base to make up for his inability to take the entire thing.

Sideswipe is kneeling behind the Praxian, slowly thrusting into him, optics offline, grinding his denta. 

::What the frag?! I though' 'e was s'posed te remain sealed?!:: Crosshairs comms him.

::Yep, and he might still be.:: Barricade smirks when the Paratrooper glances at him. ::Look closer, he's not taking it in the valve...::

::Dude! Yer cousin is takin' it in the port! Such a fucking slut!:: The Sniper cackles.

Smokescreen is mewling with every thrust, but his face-plates scrunch up slightly, and he doesn't seem that close, more uncomfortably aroused and not stimulated enough. They need a little education.

"Sideswipe, if you flick his node, he might actually overload too." Barricade says.

Crosshairs cackles when the three mechs throw themselves in different directions, suddenly aware of their audience. Spikes are manually forced behind plating, panels are slammed shut, and Smokescreen looks like he's about to start crying.

"Never heard of knocking, you fucking assholes?!" Sunstreaker snarls.

"Looks more like ye're the ones who are fuckin' assholes." Crosshairs snickers.

Sideswipe sneers at them, but Smokescreen is the one who says something.

"Please don't tell Prowl." His voice hitches. "I-I'm still sealed..."

Crosshairs snorts. "Yeah, ye are, 'cause ye took cock every other way ye could instead."

Barricade is suddenly glad that he hasn't gotten around to tell Crosshairs all the details of what he does with Ironhide, because it's pretty obvious that the Sniper holds some contempt for what Smokescreen allowed the twins to do. Would he think Barricade was too slutty too if he knew?

"You're the one who talked about the human porn!" Sideswipe growls.

"Yeah, I was thinkin' 'bout 'and jobs, an' oral!"

::I think we should be careful with the slut shaming, considering what we do in our spare time.:: Barricade comms, because it kind of hits a little too close. He has fucked more mechs, in more ways than any of them, after all.

::Yeah, yeah, but we don' do tha'.::

::But we're unsealed, so if they get pissy and this comes out, we're far worse off anyway.:: Barricade hisses.

::True. Frag!:: Crosshairs grunts.

"We won't tell." Barricade says to Smokescreen, and the Praxian visibly slumps in relief.

"We'll leave ye li'l sluts alone te continue yer fuck-fest." Crosshairs smirks at them, tugging at Barricade to get him to follow him.

Sunstreaker flips them off as they turn to leave, and Barricade laughs at the scowling Lamborghini.

"And for fucks sake, use lube!" He yells as a parting shot, just before the door slams shut.

Crosshairs cackles wildly. "Tha' was awesome!"

It sort of was. He finally has something to hold over his insufferable cousin's helm. And it was kind of arousing to watch for those seconds before they were discovered.

"There's a supply closet over there. Want to have some fun?" Barricade says with obvious intent, biting his bottom lip.

Crosshairs cocks an optical ridge. "Ye know I like 'avin' fun."

A quick look around to check that nobot is watching, and then they fumble around in the dark. Something tips over and Barricade starts to giggle, giddy with nerves.

"Schh. Le's no' get caught right now." Crosshairs hisses.

"Then you better fuck me fast." Barricade purrs, the night setting of his optics booting.

He drags the Sniper behind a shelf to give them at least a few seconds to make themselves look not guilty, should someone come in, and then he pulls Crosshairs in close, wrapping his arms around the taller Bot. He opens his panel, and it's such a relief for his swollen valve-lips. Crosshairs reaches between their frames, digits sliding slickly through Barricade's folds, and leans in for a kiss, pushing Barricade's back against the wall. Two digits slip inside easily, and the Corvette groans into his mouth before he breaks the kiss.

"Primus, ye're so fuckin' ready!" He mumbles against Barricade's mouth.

"Yeah, I am, so please fuck me." The Saleen whines.

The Sniper cups Barricade's aft, lifting him easily, and Barricade reaches down to line him up. Crosshairs slides in to the hilt in one hard thrust, and the Mustang moans.

"Schh. Wouldn' want anyone te 'ear us!" Crosshairs hisses.

Barricade stifles the next mewl, and reaches between them to touch his node to speed things up, to keep pace with Crosshairs rushed thrusting. They better be done before someone comes in here. The situation is wildly arousing, hits that need for thrills he has, and his charge is climbing rapidly. Crosshairs fucks him hard and fast, grunting with every powerful thrust.

Then Barricade falls over the edge, grinding against Crosshairs, the Sniper's hips stuttering when he follows Barricade. They cling to each other for long seconds as they come down from their overloads, Crosshairs nudging Barricade's cheek with his nasal ridge to get the Interceptor to turn his helm, meeting him in a slow kiss.

"Tha' was awesome." The Corvette murmurs as he lets Barricade down.

"Mhm, really awesome. Do you have a cloth?"


Barricade stares down at his legs, lubricant and transfluid dribbling out of his valve to slowly run down his thighs. Well, that'll be awkward to wear walking down the hallway.

"Here." Crosshairs finds a mop and hands him.

The Interrogator can't help but laugh.

"Gross!" He still takes it and tries to wipe at his plating. It smears the thick fluids more than it gets him clean, but it'll have to do. 

He checks the hallway with his sensors before he opens the door to peek outside. When he finds it empty, they both leave, hurrying for the washracks. Behind him, Crosshairs giggles.

"We betta no' meet Prowl, ye sticky li'l Bot."

"Shut up! I'll tell him it's yours!"


"Whatever. Last one to be wet owes the other a blowjob!" Barricade hisses while he speeds up.

"Oi, tha's cheatin'!" Crosshairs shouts, but still he tries to catch up.





It's kind of familiar by now, the way he gets to one of their meeting spots to find it empty. Well, Barricade knows that it isn't empty, Jazz is always there. But it seems empty, just like every other time. The Saleen does a halfsparked attempt at locating the mech, but he doesn't put much effort into it. He probably would find the quirky Con if he really put all those fine sensors to good use, but the truth is that he doesn't really want to find him. It's much more thrilling to be the prey.

Instead he walks around aimlessly, frame tense in anticipation, audials cranked up to the highest sensitivity. The Interceptor hears every scrape of rodents running along the framework of the building, every wing flap of birds landing in their nests, every whine of the wind as it passes through the broken windows...

Something clatters behind him, and he swivels around, braced for an attack, but there's nobody there. Curiosity gets the better of him as he scans the area and sees something a few yards away, something that reads as having been in contact with a Cybertronian. Barricade walks over to it, looks at the small steel cylinder. There's etchings on it, glyphs hardly visible. He bends over to poke at it, turn it to get a better view. It rolls to display the entire message.

Gotcha! Open up, li'l Bot... 

Servos grab his hips, and he yelps when something bumps against his aft.

"I never get tired of seein' ya like this, bendin' over for me." Jazz says, a smirk audible in his voice.

"I bet you don't." Barricade snickers. Horny bastard.

His arm is grabbed and twisted up on his back, a way of being restrained he is used to by now, and he goes easily, doesn't even think of how he's allowing a Decepticon to handle him like that. Jazz walks him into the next room, but then he stops in the middle of the floor. Barricade glances over his shoulder when he hears the sound of Jazz rummaging through a subspace pocket. The Decepticon takes out cuffs and locks Barricade's wrists together, then he grabs a chain hanging from the ceiling. It's attached to the cuffs, then the Solstice steps back.

"What are you doing?" Barricade asks with a confused frown. This is new.

"Jus' arrangin' ya tha way I like ya." Jazz says with a smirk, pulling at a piece of chain hanging where he stands.

It clinks through a series of pulleys, and Barricade is straining to see what's going on when his arms are pulled back and up, forcing him to bend forward. His hips are at a ninety degree angle, arms stretched toward the ceiling in a way that makes his shoulders mildly uncomfortable.

"Mhm, jus' look at that." Jazz purrs as he locks the chain in place with a hook under something that looks like a railroad track in the floor.

The Decepticon grabs something on the floor and comes over to Barricade, servo stroking the Saleen's aft as he kneels next to the Interceptor. A cuff is locked around his ankle, then Jazz nudges his pedes.

"Spread 'em."

Barricade slowly widens his stance, even though he is slightly uncomfortable with this new game. It's one thing to roll around on the ground, wrestling and being overpowered like that, because then he could always tell himself that he isn't completely helpless. Now he effectively is. A cuff is locked in place around his other ankle and he stares down at the bar keeping his pedes spread. Completely helpless.

"Open." Jazz commands, dragging a digit along Barricade's interface panel. "If ya ever holler 'Starscream', I'll stop." The Solstice adds in a low, soft voice.

Should he really trust a Decepticon like that? But there's something very arousing about being at the mercy of someone else, to completely hand over control. He slides his panels away, revealing both his array and his port.

Jazz hums appreciatively, then he comes around to stand in front of Barricade. The silver mech is holding a servoful of things, but Barricade can't make out what it is, bunched up as they are.

"I feel like tha honing of your battle skills has plateaued. Ya ain't gettin' better. Tonight, I'll provide ya with some new incentive, see if that motivates ya."

Barricade doesn't understand, and he's about to say as much, but he's flabbergasted when Jazz holds a ball in front of his intake, the straps attached to it obviously for keeping it in place.

"Open up, li'l Bot..."

Slowly, he does, uncertain what will come of this. Jazz gently places the thing in his mouth, doesn't just shove it in there, then the straps are fastened around his helm.

"Good Bot." Jazz croons, petting his helm.

One part of Barricade want to snarl, and snap at the bastard. An even bigger part, one that he's embarrassed of, wants to press into that touch, wants to preen. He isn't allowed to linger on that, because Jazz walks around him, stopping out of sight behind Barricade. There's the sound of a bottle snapping open, a sound he knows well by now, and a chill of anticipation travels down his spine, sending a heavy heat to his array. He can't ask Jazz what he's going to do, not with the gag in his intake. Sure, he could comm the Decepticon, he has the connection saved, but there's something tantalizing about not knowing.

Something slides against his node before it dips between his puffy valve-lips, and if Barricade wasn't balancing rather precariously, he'd rock back against whatever it is. The movement is aborted though, as he feels himself losing his balance. Jazz catches it anyway.

"Eager aren't ya?" The Decepticon holds whatever it is that's just about to enter Barricade still, and the Interceptor whines in frustration. "Ya li'l slut..."

The word is left hanging in the air between them, Jazz's apprehension about saying it tangible. It's like a lash, and still it sends a heaviness to his valve, makes his calipers clench to pull the thing into him. 

The Saleen wants to protest, but the gag stops him, and doing it over comms just doesn't have the same effect. Or does he really want to protest? He's so ready, wants to be fucked so bad, he wouldn't really mind if his lovers lined up to take their turns... He really is a little slut.

Barricade manages to rock back, to get the thing to slip inside, and the entire atmosphere around them relaxes. His arousal probably bled into his field, and it's utterly embarrassing that he likes to be called things like that.

The thing in his valve is seated, and Jazz leaves it there, lets go of it without any more stimulation. So frustrating. Barricade growls in frustration, and it earns him a chuckle. Jazz's digits toy with his node, and the Interceptor tries to rock back against them.

"Steady now. I'm jus' preparin' our li'l time together." Jazz purrs.

Something presses against his ass, but Barricade doesn't think much of it. It isn't like he hasn't taken it there before, and Jazz was his first, and the Solstice knows what Barricade does with Ironhide. It pops inside easily, well lubed as it is, pressing against that sweet spot, and his hips jerk to no avail as the things inside him just stays where they are, following his movements, not stimulating the spots he wants rubbed anymore than with a frustrating pressure that's nowhere near enough.

"Now, this is a look I really like on ya." Jazz whispers.

The Decepticon steps back, staring at Barricade's aft, before slowly circling the tied up and stuffed full Interceptor. Probably taking pictures, or recording. The thought should be appalling, all this incriminating evidence against him in the servos of a Con, but it isn't. It's arousing.

"So, I have," Jazz says, feigning to look at a watch around his wrist, "time ta fuck ya twice before I hafta go." A servo comes down to cup Barricade's chin, lifting his helm to make him meet Jazz's optics. "Here's tha deal: since ya ain't payin' attention, aren't takin' things seriously at tha moment, I'm gonna give ya some incentive ta actually catch me when I'm sneakin' up on ya. I just plugged all your holes. A plug comes out ta let me fuck ya, ergo, one stays in when we go home. I'll take it out the next time we meet up. If ya catch me."

It should be outrageous, should make him rebel, but something about being at someone else's mercy like that makes his engine rev. Besides, he can always do something else than get spike if he gets horny. Barricade nods his agreement. 

The grin that spreads across Jazz's face-plates is absolutely feral. "Lovely. So how d'ya wanna start?"

It'll be left until next time they can meet up. The gag is kind of obvious to wear, so that has to go. He can't say anything though, and even if he could comm Jazz, that somehow feels like cheating.

"Right, ya can't speak," the way Jazz says it implies that he hadn't actually forgot, "I'll give ya suggestions, n' ya shake your head 'no', or nod 'yes' ta answer, 'k?"

Barricade nods his agreement.

"I'd like that li'l hungry valve of yours, is that what ya want?"

Oh, Primus, does he want it?! But he needs to be smart about this and get rid of the plugs that will cause the most inconvenience. He shakes his helm, 'no'. Jazz looks amused, and he pressurizes his spike, stroking it with slow movements, smearing the pre-transfluid that's weeping from it.

"Ya sure ya don' want this li'l thing in your valve?"

Barricade whines, because he really do want it, but still he shakes his helm. The gag has to go first, because he doesn't trust himself to make the right decision for the second fuck if he starts with something else.

"Hmh. How 'bout that intake of yours then? Care ta suck this for me?"

Barricade nods vigorously, and it earns him a chuckle. Jazz steps up to him, close enough that his spike rubs against Barricade's face while the Decepticon unbuckles the straps and removes the gag. He subspaces the gag and reaches down to grab the base of his spike and holds it out to the Interceptor. Barricade can't move much, but he stretches his neck, and sticks his glossa out, and manages to lick the head of the spike.

"So very eager." Jazz groans, placing one servo on the back of Barricade's helm before thrusting forward, making his spike slip into the Saleen's intake.

Jazz holds him with a firm grip, thrusting slowly, and it's so arousing to be dominated like that, to be completely at Jazz's mercy, used as the Con sees fit. Barricade whines in frustration. He's so charged, he's stuffed full, and yet he can't get stimulation on any of his nodes. His hips twitch, but it's futile, and he can't do anything except allowing Jazz to frag his intake and wait for the mech to decide that the little slut he's fucking deserves something too.

The Decepticon overloads with a grunt, holding still inside Barricade's intake, and the Interceptor swallows as quickly as he can, not that easy in the awkward position. Some of the transfluid dribbles down his chin, dripping down to stain the floor when Jazz pulls out.

"Such a good li'l Autoslut. Now, d'ya wanna stand like this, or should I let ya down? Are ya gonna be good for me if I let ya down?"

As arousing as it is to be immobilized like this, presented for Jazz's pleasure, Barricade's arms and shoulders are starting to protest against the awkward position.

"Let me down."

Jazz clicks his vocalizer, looking kind of displeased. "I'd say that's a demand. I think ya need ta ask your Master nicely..."

"Can you please let me down?" Barricade asks, putting on the sweetest face he can muster. 

Apparently it isn't enough for Jazz, he won't let the Saleen get away with not adressing him as Master. Barricade bristles slightly, but he'd rather not give in and use the safe word. That would be like losing.

"Master. Would you please let me down, Master?" He mumbles.

"That's better."

Jazz release the cuffs, and as Barricade slowly stretches to stand, working out the kinks in his shoulders while the Decepticon kneels to release the cuffs around his ankles too. He takes a few steps around to work his legs as well, and the toys inside him feels a little weird, but not uncomfortable. Jazz takes a seat on a shipping crate and pats his thigh.

"C'mere n' straddle me, li'l mech."

Barricade does so with enthusiasm. Sure, Jazz needs some time before he can pressurize his spike again, but if he's lucky, the mech will do other things while he rests.

Jazz looks down between them and Barricade feels his valve clench around the toy in anticipation. Look at how bad he is, being stuffed with toys, all willing and easy for a Decepticon.

The Solstice reaches between them, grabs the toy in Barricade's valve and wiggles it, hitting a few nodes inside, and Barricade tries to grind down on it. Jazz lets go of it and grabs the one in his port instead, repeating the motion, and Barricade's reaction is the same. If only Jazz would grab them both and continue, and maybe touch his anterior node too... Or just fuck him. Maybe he can manage to arouse the Decepticon once again?

Barricade puts one servo on Jazz's shoulder, leaning back to stick his bumper out as he slides a servo down his chest-plates, down his ventral plating, all the way to his array, putting on as good a show as he can.

"I'm so ready for you, Con!" He mewls, rubbing his anterior node with deft digits.

Jazz's visor is feral when he stares down at where Barricade is toying with himself, and the Saleen catches how Jazz's spike twitches.

"Yeah, ya are. Pray tell, where d'ya want it now? Pussy or ass?"

Barricade thinks about it, because whatever he chooses now will impact what happens until the next time he sees Jazz. If he doesn't cheat and take the toy out.

"Remember that it stays in until ya manage ta catch me. Ya can't take it out yourself, because it needs me ta unlock it. Unless ya go ta someone ta have it hacked open."

Does the mech read his mind? And if it really doesn't come out, that changes everything. He can't help himself: he reaches down and tries to pull the thing in his valve out. It's impossible. The toy's magnet is too strong for him to just pull it out. 

"Ehm... Maintenance?" He asks embarrassedly, thinking about what happens if he keeps the one in his port.

"I'll come by ta remove it for ya, n' when ya're done, I'll put it back in."

Barricade feels himself flush. Nope, that's not going to happen. So his valve will be effectively sealed then. That shouldn't be so hard, he hasn't needed to touch it up until recently, after all, and he has other methods to get off.

"So, have ya decided? I'm gettin' horny again..." Jazz leers.

"Port?" Barricade says, suddenly feeling shy about wanting it in the ass again.

"With pleasure. Hop off and bend over tha crate."

Barricade does so quickly, eager to finally get rid of his charge.  He lays his upper body flat against it, and plants his pedes widely, offering himself to the Decepticon. Jazz tugs at the toy, and after an initial resistance, it pops out. He hears how the Solstice slicks his cock with lubricant, and then it presses against his opening. Barricade rocks back, the head of the spike slipping into him easily, and he moans. Jazz reaches around him to touch his node, and Barricade's charge is skyrocketing when Jazz slides deeper and deeper until hilted. The Decepticon grinds his pelvic plating against Barricade's aft, and the movement stimulates nodes inside him.

"I'm so close!" The Saleen pants, embarrassed about how quickly he got this charged.

Jazz starts to thrust, easing up on the stimulation of Barricade's node to the Saleen's frustration, and he tries to buck his hips to steal it instead.

"That desperate, l'il mech? That revved up by bein' tied up n' used?"

"Yes!" Barricade hisses, "it's embarrassing, and it turns me on!"

The Decepticon chuckles, but then he presses his digit against Barricade's anterior node. It doesn't take more than a second, then The Mustang wails in unadulterated pleasure, hips jerking in time with the clenching of his valve, his port. It pulls Jazz with him, the Solstice's spike pulsing rhythmically when he holds himself hilted.

When Jazz pulls out, Barricade stays bent over the crate, too spent to move, and he allows Jazz to wipe him down. Then something magnetize in front of his valve.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He protests lamely.

"Makin' sure ya really are motivated ta make me take this out n' fuck ya tha next time we meet up. Now ya can't pressurize your spike, ya can't toy with your node, n' your valve is plugged." 

Barricade stands up from his prone position, not amused.

"What?! No! That's not fair, Jazz!"

"I think it is. Ya ain't gettin better at hand ta hand combat, because ya want me ta pin ya down n' frag ya. It's fun n' all, up until someone who wants ya for questioning, or as a bargaining chip runs across ya. Or maybe just someone else who's horny for ya. Someone ya don' wanna face, who doesn't give a damn about what ya want. This way, I know that ya will put your best into catchin' me, and I can see what ya need ta improve on. Then we can face again."

Barricade sulks in silence, because the blasted Con is right. He has been sloppy about their sessions. That doesn't mean that he'll enjoy an undisclosed amount of time in celibacy...

"Fine." He pouts. And if it's unbearable, maybe Crosshairs could help him hack it?

"Good li'l mech. Now off ya go. A couple of my faction brothers are comin', n' somethin' tells me that ya don' wanna meet 'em." Jazz says, patting Barricade's aft.

The Saleen slams his panels shut and hurries out, the things behind it making it feel strangely tight. Nope, he does not want to meet a bunch of cons.






It's unbearable. He can't reach to play with himself, the toy in his valve stretching him enough to tease his inside nodes in a way that sends heat to his array, and no way to get rid of the charge. In a fit of desperation, he grabs a mirror, sits on his berth, legs spread wide, and he tries to get the things to come off. It's impossible. What's even worse is that there's Decepticon insignias on the toys, so the brief idea that he should just open his rear panel and let Ironhide frag him is discarded again. It's too much of a risk if he accidentally pops more panels. And he can't ask for help hacking the devices either, because that would raise questions.

It leads to other problems too. 

Snuggled up with Crosshairs, watching a movie, the Sniper's servos start to roam his frame, the kisses up his neck-cables heating up to eager mouthing. His entire frame is screaming yes, but Barricade can't do it. He stiffens under the touches, stills his own servos that have been toying with the Paratrooper's plating.

"I... I don't feel like it tonight." He mumbles.

Crosshairs looks up at him, disappointment written on his face-plates. It's the ninth day in a row Barricade declines, and the Interceptor knows that it is starting to be suspicious.

"Again? Ye'll tell me if somethin' is wrong, right?"

"Yeah, nothing is wrong, I just... I don't feel up to it."

Crosshairs looks sceptical, and for good reason. Whenever has Barricade not wanted to frag at least a couple of times a day?

"Barricade, have ye," the Sniper hesitates, his field cold with a worried sadness, "have ye met someone new?"

"No, I..." technically, he hasn't met someone new, but that isn't enough to quell his bad conscience. He has been cheating all along, there's no other way to see it. "It's an old fling, we had broken it off, but we did some stuff again. Sorry."

Crosshairs looks angry, and that's actually better than if he'd been sad. The Sniper sits up.

"Ye were supposed te tell me! So ye're what, goin' exclusive now? Is it someone Prowl would approve of?"

"I know! I'm sorry, it just happened, and I didn't mean to keep it a secret, but I was so confused. But I feel so bad about it, and that's why I'm telling you now."

"Yeah, whatever. I think I should go."

"I'd like you to stay." Barricade almost pleads.

"Well, I don' want to. I need te be alone, te think 'bout this."

With that, Crosshairs leaves, and Barricade curls up on his berth, wishing the Sniper would come back. He doesn't though, and eventually the Interceptor falls into recharge. The first light of dawn is filtering in through the small window when he wakes up, and restless, he heads for the washracks, needing to clean up before anyone else gets there, to make sure nobody notices the devices in him. Not that mechs usually stare at his array, but he can't be too careful.

He freezes on the spot right inside the door though, feeling like he just got a cold shower.

Drift is standing in one of the stalls, leaning his back against the wall, optics offline. Crosshairs is kneeling in front of him, the ex-Con's servo having a firm grip around the back of his helm, and the bobbing motion he's doing makes it abundantly clear what he's doing. Barricade turns and flees, the scene etched into his memory, and a bitter taste in his intake.

He has no right being jealous.

But he can't stop the feelings either. And he can't go crying to Ironhide about it, because he's still Crosshairs' mentor, and it's Barricade's fraternization with a Decepticon that brought this on, and it's all just so messed up.

It's a good thing that he has the day off, because the Saleen returns to his berth, pulls the comforter up over his helm, and he stays there for the rest of the day.






His libido dies down for a while, and he doesn't comm Jazz for a couple of weeks, because he just doesn't care that he has those things on his frame, in spite of it making it harder to clean up. It's what started this mess in the first place, and in hindsight it doesn't feel worth the price of losing his lover and best friend. He still snuggles with Ironhide, but he can't do more than that. The Topkick doesn't say anything about it, just provides sturdy arms to curl up in. The Weapons specialist probably knows that something is wrong between him and Crosshairs, but he doesn't try to meddle, he's just quietly supportive.

But eventually, Barricade is getting past it enough to start to need again, the thing inside him still teasing his nodes, and so he comms Jazz. It goes to voicemail, the first time he has ever encountered that, but he leaves a cryptic - at least he hopes it's cryptic - "it's time", then he can't do anything but wait.

It takes three days, but then he gets coordinates sent to him, and a time to meet up there. Barricade sneaks away from his patrol run, because he's on duty when it happens. Still paired with Crosshairs, he's running alone. They split their areas these days, Crosshairs rather running alone than with Barricade. The Interceptor keeps his comm open, to not seems suspicious if someone contacts him, but he expects no interference. Crosshairs would probably rather get caught by the Cons than comm him.

It's a junk yard this time, and Barricade engages all his sensors and cranks them up, moves as quietly as he can, and repeatedly scans the area. He knows that Jazz is extremely stealthy, but this time he's determined to find him, and to take the Con down.

He has almost circled the entire lot when his sensors ping an alert, and he freezes on the spot, doing another scan. It's faint, but it is definitely a sign of a Cybertronian. He creeps around the pile of junk, keeping his systems as silent as possible, and there, between the fence and the stack of crushed cars, the moonlight glints off of silver plating that is too well polished to be a wreck. Spark spinning wildly with anticipation, he creeps closer. There's no chance that Jazz hasn't spotted him, but he pretends to not have noticed the Con.

Until he almost has passed the mech. Barricade transforms and turns to pounce on the Decepticon. Jazz is poised to jump him, or perhaps flee the scene for a game of chase, but the Interceptor lands on top of him, and they grapple, rolling around on the ground with loud sounds of metal against metal, fans spinning.

Jazz is still a better fighter, but Barricade is kind of desperate, so it's surprisingly even. Or maybe Jazz is holding back slightly to give Barricade a chance? Either way, it takes the Decepticon quite some time, and a good effort to pin the Saleen underneath him. He straddles the younger Bot, pinning his arms.

"Good work!" Jazz pants.

Barricade whines. Is he not going to be allowed to get rid of the toy inside him now that he lost? He's so charged.

"Please, take it out! I really tried..." He begs, spreading his legs and popping his panel.

"I know ya did, n' I'm not gonna leave ya like this, babe." Jazz croons, leaning in to catch Barricade's intake in a quick kiss.

The Decepticon scoots back, staring down at Barricade's plugged array with a predatory grin before he reaches down to unlock the toys, subspacing them when he has removed them. The cool night air caresses Barricade's sensitive parts, finally free, and he tries to buck up to get Jazz to touch him.

"Eager, li'l Bot?" Jazz chuckles.

"Yes! Please, Jazz, take me!" Barricade mewls.

Jazz slips his digits into the Interceptors wet valve, curling them to press against that spot that makes Barricade's entire legs tingle. He can't move much with a Decepticon sitting on his legs, but he damn well tries.

"Don't tease! I've been waiting long enough." He growls as threateningly as he can with a mech fingering him.

"So impatient."

Jazz still heeds Barricade's threat, and nudges the Mustang's knees further apart, before he grabs Barricade's hips and drags his chassis into the Decepticon's lap. Barricade arches his back to give him a better angle, impatient to finally get a cock inside him. Jazz pressurizes straight into him with a groan.

"So fuckin' wet n' ready for me. We should play this game more often."

"Then I don't want to wait this long for us to do this." Barricade grinds out, the deep penetration sending a thrill down his back-strut.

Jazz's only answer is thrusting harder, thumbing Barricade's anterior node, and the Interceptor arches his back even more. It feels so good to finally get some real stimulation, not just the inadequate pressure of the toy to stimulate him enough to make him frustrated but not enough to bring him over, and he's racing towards the edge quickly. 

"Wait! I want to change position." He says.

Jazz leers at him, and lets go of his hips, indulging the Autobot. Barricade turns over to stand on all fours, and Jazz drags his digits through his slick folds.

"Good choice. I like this view." Jazz says, grabbing his hips again, sliding in to the hilt.

Barricade's overload is imminent when Jazz suddenly stops. The Saleen growl in frustration, needing that release.

"Fuck! We've got incoming. I think he already spotted us." Jazz hisses.


"Nitro Zeus is headin' this way, n' he just commed me, very curious about what we're doing here. Either I pretend ta be usin' ya against your will, or ya play tha part of tha slutty li'l Bot, wantin' ta fraternize with tha enemy ta spite your uncle."

Barricade's processor goes into overdrive. "Nitro Zeus? Is he one of the Cons who... The big one, with one optic?" One of those who caught him and Crosshairs.


The Interceptor squirms, trying to free himself from Jazz's grasp. He just wants to run, to get home, before this sordid affair of his becomes public knowledge.

"No, li'l Bot, ya ain't goin' anywhere. If ya try ta run now, he will catch ya, n' I will look weak to let a li'l thing like ya slip away from me." Jazz purrs. "Now, I know that ya really like ta have an audience, n' I know ya like ta be roughly handled, n' I'm absolutely certain that ya enjoy bein' called a li'l slut. Ya jus' be yourself, n' this'll be fine. It'll be fun, even." Jazz says, picking up his thrusting into Barricade's still charged valve.

"Is he going to want to join in?" Barricade mumbles, confusingly aroused by the prospect of another Decepticon watching him being a needy little slut.

"Would ya like that? Bein' fragged by two Cons at once? Hmh? Bein' used like tha li'l horny tramp ya are, takin' two big cocks. I bet I can get him ta join us."

Barricade's valve clenches at the thought, in spite of his apprehension. He didn't mean it like that, he was afraid that Nitro Zeus would take him against his will, but the way Jazz says it... Maybe he isn't so unwilling?

"I'll keep ya safe li'l Bot. Nitro isn't really into hurtin' others, he's jus' a li'l rough n' inconsiderate. I'll make sure it's good for ya..." Jazz croons.

Should he really? But there's something tantalizing about the thought of two mechs having their way with him. Jazz said that he will keep him safe, and he saw what happened to Dreadbot when he didn't please Jazz. Nitro Zeus seemed to have a healthy respect for Jazz back then. He's such a bad little Bot, even considering it. But Nitro Zeus does look good, and it isn't like Barricade could get a proper threesome with any of the Autobots. He can't even get a spike in his valve, now that Crosshairs is avoiding him.

"He can join us. I'll play unwilling, he can't know that I do this regularly."

"Good answer." Jazz purrs, pounding into Barricade. "Ya're turnin' into a sly li'l con-artist."

The flier comes in fast and transforms before he touches down with a heavy thud. 

"Hey, my mech!" Jazz greets him jovially when the big mech approaches them, thrusting into Barricade without faltering.

"Hello, Sir. This looks...interesting." The Con's voice is a deep rumble.

"Silly li'l thing thought he could take me on by himself. He ain't complaining though. Look at how wet he is! Needy li'l slut..." Jazz pulls out and wipes his digits over Barricade's array, holding up his servo to show the flier.

Barricade takes the opportunity to fall forward and roll away, as if trying to get away. Jazz loses his grip on the Saleen's hip, and Barricade scrabbles backwards. Jazz's servo shoots out, movement quick as any viper, and he snags the Interceptor's ankle-strut, pulling him closer again.

"No, please don't...!" Barricade whines, glancing nervously at the big Con, watching with a very bright optic.

"Shut it. Ya know ya like it." Jazz says, pulling Barricade into his lap.

"Got room for one more?" Nitro Zeus asks, voice thick with arousal, thick spike already bobbing, fully pressurized.

The Cons are all so shameless. It's kind of hot.

"Yeah, he isn't that tight..." Jazz snickers, slipping three digits into Barricade's valve. "Not anymore, at least."

"Shut up!" Barricade says embarrassedly, because there is a mech he doesn't know there. 

The degrading comment turns him on, and it's mortifying to know that Nitro Zeus will know, and that turns him on even more. He closes his legs, Jazz's fingers still inside him. Nitro Zeus bends down to grab his knees, easily prying his legs apart. The Flier kneels between his legs, staring at where Jazz is fingering Barricade's soaked valve.

"Isn't this Prowl's kid? I thought Praxies weren't supposed to frag before they bonded." Nitro Zeus rumbles.

"His nephew, I think. They're not. I took his seal." Jazz says, and his voice is smug.

Nitro Zeus cackles a laugh, reaching forward to play with Barricade's node. The Saleen bucks, already charged and the touch, along with the vulnerable position makes him race towards the edge very quickly. He mewls, squirming in Jazz's lap, completely unable to get away, the big Con's optic flicking up to meet Barricade's.

He overloads, arching his back, and it feels so good, the charge pent up by weeks of abstinence finally released.

"I bet he won't tell Prowler. What's he supposed ta say, that he's unsealed now, and that he overloaded for a couple of Cons?" Jazz purrs.

Barricade lets his helm fall back against Jazz's shoulder, spent, but feigning defeat.

The Flier chuckles. "He sure seems to enjoy himself."

"No, stop it." Barricade whines halfsparkedly.

"Aaw, but ya jus' came! Now it's our turn." Jazz says.

The Mustang squirms, as if trying to get away, but it's futile. In his chest, his spark is spinning wildly, but not from fear. It's anticipation. Nitro Zeus' cock is still fully pressurized, thick and ridged, looking very enticing. He's being such a bad little Bot, craving cock so much, he's fucking two Decepticons at once. The thought makes his valve clench, something that doesn't elude the Flier kneeling between his spread legs.

"Both at once?" Nitro Zeus rumbles, and that voice does things to Barricade, deep and commanding as it is.

Jazz cackles. "I wonder if we'll fit. He's looser now, but not that loose..."

The Flier shrugs. "Then stick it up his port instead. I'll take his valve." 

He pulls something from his subspace, and then he reaches down between them. Barricade sees the bottle of spray lube just before the nozzle slips into him and he's slicked up. A digit prods his opening, slipping inside easily with the slick, and Barricade's spark spins so fast, he thinks it might explode. It's actually happening. He's about to be fucked by two mechs at once, something he has fantasized about for so long now.

""Are you really a virgin here? Was awfully easy to get inside. Are you an aft slut? Letting the other Bots frag you back here instead of taking your seal?"

Barricade's spark hiccups. "N-no! I don't!" He squeaks, mortified, because he doesn't want this Con to know, and still being called out on being a little hussy turns him on.

"I think you are, bending over to let them have at you." Nitro Zeus purrs, slowly pumping his finger in Barricade's aft.

Jazz's digits are still working his valve, and the Mustang can't help himself when Jazz curls his digits: he mewls, hips bucking. Nitro Zeus rumbles a slow laugh that's dripping with sin.

"Little Bot is enjoying himself more than he pretends. Lift him, Boss. I'll line you up."

Jazz does, grabs the backs of his knees, and Barricade feels when the head of the Solstice's spike grazes his port, then Jazz slowly drops him until he's fully seated. Barricade pants, but it isn't from discomfort. His valve winks emptily as Jazz leans back on his elbow, pulling Barricade back to lean against the Solstice's front. Then Nitro Zeus climbs on top of Barricade, thick cock nudging it's way into his valve with surprising gentleness. Then the Flier starts to move, long, slow thrusts into Barricade, rocking him every time he bottoms out to make him move along Jazz's cock. He has two spikes inside him. The mere thought has him racing towards the edge. He moans out loud, then he flicks his optics to Nitro Zeus in mortification. The Flier is leering knowingly.

"Don't worry, kid. We won't tell how much you enjoyed this. If we don't have to. Like if you accuse us of raping you. You're not going to tell the Bots, are you? Because I have a few recordings that would contradict your statement."

Barricade shakes his helm. No he's definitely not going to tell anyone.

"Good little Bot."

Jazz reaches down to flick Barricade's node, and it's just a matter of seconds before the Saleen overloads so hard, his vocalizer crackles with static. It pulls Nitro Zeus with him, the Jet growling as he spills inside the Autobot. Barricade's frame goes limp, and Nitro Zeus pulls out, cupping the Mustang's aft. He lifts him almost all the way off of Jazz's spike, then he drops him, using him as a cock sleeve to get Jazz off. It's kind of arousing to be used like that. Barricade grabs Nitro Zeus' upper arms to steady himself when the Flier increase the pace, and the big Con grins at the little Autobot.

"Knew you'd enjoy it, little slut."

He hears Jazz groan underneath him when the Solstice overloads, feels the warmth of transfluid in his aft, but Nitro Zeus doesn't stop until Jazz puts his servos on Barricade's hips to still him. The big Con helps Barricade to stand, a servo splayed on his aft to steady him, and to cop a feel.

"Now run home ta your Daddy, n' fail ta mention this." Jazz orders him, a smirk evident in his voice.

Nitro Zeus barks a laugh, and Barricade glares at both of them before he transforms and speeds back towards the base. His shift is over soon, and if he's late coming back, there will be questions. He stops behind a rocky outcropping before he's back, wiping away the evidence of what he has done, and then he sits down to wait for Crosshairs. They may not be talking at the moment, and they may be patrolling separately, but they haven't told anyone that they do. Outwardly, they still act as if they patrol together.

The Corvette pulls up, idling in his alt mode, and Barricade transforms to alt mode too. He had hoped that Crosshairs would want to talk, they usually stopped here to make out before going back to base before, but apparently, he still doesn't want to talk to Barricade.

Tonight it can't get Barricade down. He has had his first threesome, and he really enjoyed it. And now he has interfaced with four mechs in total. He's such a slut. His frame starts to heat up, and Barricade makes a decision. He's going to jerk off in the shower, just as unashamed as the Cons he was fucked by tonight.

Chapter Text

He always greets Crosshairs in the hallway, because he still wants them to be friends. At first, he gets a sneer in return, but pretty quickly, he gets a grunted 'ello, and then it starts to turn into real greetings.

It feels so good. They still need to talk, to clear the air, but Barricade is convinced that it's a good start like this. He really misses his friend, even if things may be different between them now. 

They talk a little in the rec room, nothing meaningful, but still moving in the right direction on the road to being on speaking terms again. Not that he knows how he's going to explain stuff, considering that he's sleeping with a Con. Two Cons? Or should he leave out the unplanned threesome? It was a one-time deal. Probably? 

The Interceptor thinks about it, but he doesn't find a solution, other than keeping the identity of his lover secret. Without lying, preferably. He doesn't want to fuck things up worse with Crosshairs.

When there's a quiet knock on his door one night, he is not prepared.

"Come in." He calls out, too lazy to get up to open.

It's Crosshairs. The Sniper hesitates to enter, standing in the doorway, and they're both quiet for long moments, just looking at each other, uncertain what to say or do. Crosshairs clearly is uncertain if his presence is wanted or not, and Barricade's spark is spinning at crazy speeds as he wonders if this is good or bad.

"Can I come in?" Crosshairs breaks the silence.


Barricade scoots over to leave room on the berth for Crosshairs to take a seat if he wants to, and the Corvette closes the door behind him, perching awkwardly on the edge of Barricade's berth.

"So," Barricade starts, but he has to stop to steel himself for what's to come, "what brings you here at this hour?"

"I-I, I didn' want te be alone," Crosshairs stammers, clearly upset, "an' I miss ye!"

Barricade puts a servo on Crosshairs shoulder, wanting to comfort his friend, but he doesn't know what touches Crosshairs will think is alright.

"I miss you too." His voice hitches.

The Saleen holds his arms out in invitation, and Crosshairs leans against him, allowing himself to fall into the embrace.

"Drift's an asshole." Crosshairs blurts.

How the hell should he answer that? Crosshairs thought he was an asshole not too long ago, so a smart remark is probably not the way to go. 

"What did he do? Should I punch him?" He'd rather do that than discuss Drift right now, but if the ex-Con has fucked up, then listening to Crosshairs is probably the best thing he can do for his friend.

"No, I just..." the Sniper's field flares with embarrassment, "so, we were makin' out, an' 'e was playin' with my node, an' then 'e..." Crosshairs trails off, overly focused on fiddling with a plate on Barricade's arm.

"What did he do, Crosshairs?" Barricade coaxes, worried for his friend. He sure knows that Cons are sometimes inclined to take liberties, and why should an ex-Con be any different?

"'e stuck a digit up my port." Crosshairs mumbles.

Barricade almost rolls his optics. Seriously? That's it? He would've told Drift that Crosshairs wanted cock in his ass if this was all it took to get his friend back. Maybe. The Mustang doesn't dare thinking about the Sniper as his lover yet, because they still haven't worked anything out.

"Didn' even ask, an' when I pulled away, asking wha' in the pit 'e was doin', 'e said 'e was tired of blowjobs, tha' 'e wanned a real fuck, an' since I don't give up my valve... I think we broke up? I dunno, I jus' left." Crosshairs curls closer to him, clearly wanting comfort.

"Do you still want him?" Barricade asks, spark spinning with nerves.

"I don' know. Maybe? I think so."

Frag. It's not that he doesn't want to share Crosshairs — he can't own the Sniper, no matter how much he'd like that, especially not considering his own relationships on the side — but he doesn't want to see his friend hurt either, or pushed into something he isn't ready for. But rules are made to be broken, and boundaries are there to be crossed...

"So why don't you just fuck him?" The words taste bad, even if knows that he's a hypocrite for it.

Crosshairs leans back to stare at the Saleen, an incredulous frown on his faceplates.

"I mean, if you really want him, and he wants you, then why not?"

"I don' want 'im te know that I've lost my seal!" Crosshairs hisses as if it was apparent.

"Do you think he will care? I mean, if he really wants you, and he says that he wants to fuck, then he can't care all that much about you remaining sealed." It's hard to believe that an ex-Con of that age would still be a virgin. Or care about seals anyway, except possibly for the bragging rights for taking one. Which could be a problem, he realizes with a chill. Jazz already has bragged to Nitro Zeus, so how that happened isn't very secret anymore.

"I jus' don' want anyone else te know. Ye have te understand tha'. It's no' like ye tell everyone about yer lack of seal." Crosshairs sounds peeved off.

"Fair point. But you like him, don't you trust him not to tell?" Kind of like what they had before, where being together in secret was better than not at all. "He's an ex-Con, and something tells me that they're a little more liberated and casual around this whole interfacing business." Understatement of the year.

"I... 'm jus' cautious. Wha' if we break up, and 'e tells on me as vengeance? It's no' like ye even trust Ironhide enough te tell 'im, and ye know 'im pretty well. If Drift tattles, they jus' have te get me checked by Ratchet, and I'll be known as the base slut. An' 'e is an ex-Con, so trusting him before I get to know him more seems... I don' know. Naive?"

It's kind of a valid concern — even though Crosshairs is nowhere near as slutty as he is — and not trusting Drift seems kind of smart. It brings his thoughts to his own threesome with two Decepticons, and while he has a hard time stifling the reflexive satisfied smirk at the though of his lates conquest, Barricade still knows that it would be disastrous if someone found out, and the smirk turns into a grimace when he thinks more of it. It's not like he trusts Nitro Zeus, but at least the flier is not living on their base, so the gossip has to travel much farther to reach Autobot audials.

"Why not try your port then?" Barricade muses absentmindedly — still thinking about his little adventure, the risk of it getting discovered keeping his processor from falling face flat into the gutter.

"Are ye kiddin'? I'm no' takin' it up the ass!"

"You should try everything at least three times..." Barricade leers when he quotes one of Jazz's favorite lines to get him to push his own boundaries.

"No! 'ell no!"

"Well, if you really don't want to do one or the other, you should stick with that, and not allow him to persuade you. If he really wants you, then he'll wait for you to be ready. And everything is so much better if you do it because you want to do it, so don't let him push you, or threaten you with ultimatums." He remembers the difference between the times he was goaded into trying stuff, and the times he suggested it himself because he wanted it, how much better it was when he wasn't hesitant about something.

"Tha' does sound reasonable. I wouldn' want te get someone te do something they wound up not enjoying because the weren't ready. I mean, then it wouldn' 'appen again, would it?"

"Exactly!" And if he's lucky, Drift will be an impatient aft and ditch Crosshairs if the Sniper doesn't give in. Not that he has any right to demand the Corvette to be exclusive, but still... Crosshairs can have someone who's not Drift. He'd be okay with that. Anyone but Drift. Or Bumblebee.

They lapse into a long silence, and while Barricade knows that they have a lot to hash out, he isn't keen on dragging up the conversation, not when he finally has Crosshairs back in his arms. The Sniper is warm and familiar against his frame, and it's such a relief, brings him comfort, and he doesn't want to break the moment, even if he knows that he eventually will have to do it. What is he even going to say? The Sniper presses in closer, throwing his leg over Barricade's thighs and settles with his helm on Barricade's shoulder.

"Are ye still seein' the other mech?" 

"I...ah... it's complicated. We're not serious, or exclusive, or anything like that."

"Anyone I know?" Crosshairs fishes for information.

"Maybe aquainted?" He's the Con who stabbed you when we were captured. "It's kind of illicit, so we need to keep it secret."

Crosshairs snorts. "Like we don' need te keep what we do secret? Or 'ow 'bout yer forbidden playtimes with an Officer?"

"Yeah, but this would be much worse if it was discovered." Like, treason worse, for fucks sake, what are you doing, Barricade?!

"Is it Prowl?"

"What?! Eew! No, definitely not my uncle!"

"Cousin-facin' is frowned upon, but it's still legal..."

"I need processor-bleach now..." Barricade groans. "No, it's not Bluestreak or Smokescreen."

"Ooh, ye're doin' the Prime!" Crosshairs almost shouts in his excitement.

"How would that be so bad? I mean, yeah, he's the Prime, but still... I don't think there's any rules against it?" He has never heard of vows of chastity for the Prime. On the other servo, he hadn't even heard of interfacing not so long ago, so...

"I be' all the uptight Bots would be very disappointed if the spiritual leader was doin' a young — though, admittedly very ho' — Praxian, even if i' wasn't illegal. It would set a bad example for li'l sluts. Like us."

"I guess you're right. It's not the Prime, though."

"Pity. Prime is kind of ho'."

"He really is."

"I wonder if 'e's proportionate? That'd be a, wha', like 6 break horsepower spike?"

Barricade cackles a laugh. "Yeah, and he'd certainly know how to use it. Bending naughty little Bots over his desk, slowly sliding that thick pole into the slick and hot little valve of the strumpet. Make sure the little Sniper he's fucking is so full, it tickles the back of his intake."

Crosshairs' fans kicks on. "And 'e'd set this slow pace of long strokes, careful no' te 'urt the li'l slut while still fillin' 'im good an' proper." The Sniper squirms, and Barricade feels Crosshairs' hot plate rubbing against his thigh. "Fuck, I'm 'orny now." The Corvette groans, digits momentarily teasing the plating on Barricade's abdomen before his servo slips lower, pressing against the Saleen's interface plate.

"Are you sure?" Barricade asks — not because he doesn't want to fuck the Sniper, but they still haven't really worked through their issues.

"Make-up sex. I'm very sure." Crosshairs purrs, nipping at Barricade's neck-cables.

The Saleen's panel pops open, and Crosshairs digits slip through his wet folds, easily sliding into his valve.

"So wet, but I want yer spike. I 'aven't gotten any since last time we shagged." Crosshairs crawls off of him, leaning on his elbows and knees on the berth instead,  flipping his coat to the side before wiggling his aft. "I really wan' a cock in my pussy right now." 

Well, he isn't going to say no to that...

He kneels behind Crosshairs, sliding the head of his spike through the Sniper's slick folds. "You want to be fucked, you little slut? Sulked around and kept away for so long, yet her you are, begging for some spike."

"Oh, yes, Barricade, I'm sorry! Fuck me until I know who I belong te!"

He pushes inside in one smooth thrust, and Crosshairs shudders with pleasure. Barricade grabs his hips hard enough to put dents in the plating, because there's something so very arousing about the way their fields mingle with long familiarity, as if this fuck is setting everything right between them. He can tell that Crosshairs is close already, and he starts thrusting, bottoming out every time, chasing his overload. It doesn't take many thrusts before Crosshairs comes undone, releasing all the pent up need. The Sniper wails into the pillow, and it brings Barricade over. He pushes in deep, feeling the way the Corvette's pulsing valve milks his spike of every drop of transfluid. He tips forward, completely spent, and then he pulls Crosshairs with him when he falls on his side on the berth, spike still buried inside his lover, arms around the Paratrooper's midriff.

"Fuck, I needed tha'. I messed ye so much." Crosshairs mumbles dopily.

"Me too. Hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you. And not just the fucking, I've missed hanging out with you, and cuddling in berth, and everything, really."

"Can I stay 'ere tonight?"

"Yes. I'd really like that."

They settle in, Barricade spooning Crosshairs, and they're both in contented recharge before the Saleen's spike has even depressurized.






When Barricade wakes up the next morning it's to find Crosshairs studying him with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Good morning." He grins at the Sniper, trying not to show that he's apprehensive. What if Crosshairs is regretting what they did last night? They haven't really talked things through.

"Mornin'." Crosshairs leans in for a kiss, their glossas battling each other for long moments before they break apart. "Ye know, I started thinkin' — 'cause my processor wouldn' let it go — who could possibly be tha' off limits te fuck."

Barricade waits apprehensively for Crosshairs to continue.

"Ye admitted tha' i's an old flame, an' ye said tha' ye only 'ad slept with one mech before we got tegether: the mech who took yer seal, an older mech. It isn' Optimus, or Prowl, an I already know that ye don't do it with Hide. The only reason I can come up with tha' would warrant tha' much secrecy, is it's someone who already 'as a conjux. An' as far as I know, Ratchet is divorced, Hound is ridiculously in love with Mirage an' would never... . Tha' only leaves one option."

Barricade doesn't know any more of the resident Autobots who are conjuxed, and he couldn't put them in trouble by lying and accusing them of sleeping with him anyway, not even to Crosshairs.

"Tha' it isn't a Bot ye're doin'. Are ye fraggin' a Con, Cade?"


He works his intake, stalling, because he doesn't know what to say. Will the truth drive Crosshairs away again? But lying landed him in this mess in the first place, and he's so tired of lying. If Crosshairs doesn't believe his lies, the Paratrooper might still go to someone with his concerns, and Barricade will be so deep in slag, he'd better sign up for swimming lessons asap.


So many emotions pass over Crosshairs' face-plates, Barricade can't keep up. "Fuckin' 'ell, Cade! This is so fraggin' bad!" Crosshairs hisses. "Tha's treason! 'ow deep in are ye with the mech? Are ye a steady thing? Fuck!"

"I-I... It's not a one-time thing, but I don't know! He came across me that time when I was gone so long, when my beacon 'malfunctioned', and he tricked me into 'facing and took my seal, and I couldn't tell anyone, because he said it was bad that I did it with a Con, especially since I overloaded, and then I learned that I shouldn't face at all, and I just couldn't say anything. Then he showed up at other occasions, and he was so persuasive, and I didn't know how to get rid of him, but part of me didn't want to, because he's so damned good at fucking, and it's so exciting yo do something so forbidden." He confesses in a rush, and it feels so good to finally be able to tell someone. "I broke it off after we were taken prisoner, but then he showed up again and... uhm made me allow him to explain himself, and I could see his reasoning, and why he did things the way he did. We didn't interface for quite some time anyway then, he just trained me to fight better, but then we did it again..."

Barricade trails off, and Crosshairs doesn't say anything, seemingly pondering the hot mess his lover has landed in.

"So, ye said that I may be acquainted with 'im... Was 'e there when we were captured?" Crosshairs says slowly.

Barricade doesn't answer at first, and when he finally does, his voice is small and weak. "Yes. He took over the interrogation, and hacked, and stabbed you." He mumbles, staring at Crosshairs throat, not daring to meet the Sniper's optics.

"What the actual fuck?!" Crosshairs snarls, sitting up abruptly. "Ye're fucking Jazz?! Of all Primus damned mechs on this fragging planet, ye're fucking Jazz?! Ye know tha' Hide thinks he's more than jus' a grunt, right?"

"Yeah, I know." Just let him sink through the floor now, please. "I didn't mean to the first times, and I didn't know who he was, and then I was in denial. I broke it off after he did that to you, though! Told him to fuck off and leave me alone! And he did, for some time. But then he showed up, and threatened to send footage of what I have done with him to Prowl if I didn't listen, and he did have some very good points..."

"So ye forgave 'im, and started fucking 'im again?" Crosshairs grinds out.

"It wasn't like that! I forgave him, and I let him start to train me to fight better — fight dirty, Decepticon style — to give me a chance to get through this war alive. I honestly believe him when he says that we could've been in so much worse trouble than what he did to us, and that we're not properly prepared for going into battle. I mean, frag, I didn't even know what interfacing is, and the interrogation techniques I've learnt is like kindergarten compared to the shit the Cons do. We could've been so screwed."

"Yeah, but even if 'e trained ye, ye didn' 'ave te sleep with 'im again."

"That's what messed me up. I felt so bad for doing it, but he's so damned good at finding my buttons and pushing them, and I was kind of off balance, and he's hot, and actually quite likeable when you get to know him. I'm sorry, I didn't want to keep it a secret, but I had no fucking idea how to tell you." He's been an asshole, and he knows it, and apologizing is the best he can do. Barricade tries to convey through his field just how sorry he is.

"I guess I can understand why ye didn' tell me. I's no' like ye were bangin' someone at base, and jus' didn' want me te find out. But still... Cade, this is so messed up. It's treason. Ye've fucked a Con. Ye're still fuckin' a Con."

It would be so easy to leave one small detail out, but he just can't do it.

"I've fucked two Cons, actually. Nitro Zeus caught us fucking, and we pretended that I wasn't willing, and he joined in and fucked me too. And I liked pretending that I was unwilling, and that they still had their way with me anyway." Barricade admits in a strained voice.

Crosshairs is completely silent, intake hanging open, and Barricade feels his face-plates flush.

"I guess fraggin' the Prime would've been the less illicit way te go..." The Sniper says flatly.

"I suppose. Cross, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't know how to even begin to tell you."

The Corvette plunks down next to him again, staring at the ceiling as he considers all the revelations.

"Well fuck me, but I think I understand why. I don' like tha' ye didn' tell me the truth, but I understand, an' I forgive ye. But this is huge. We need te deal with this, somehow. Nobody can know."

"I know. I'm glad you know now, though."

Crosshairs makes a non-committal noise, and rolls over to throw his arm across Barricade's chest. A comfortable silence settles, and Barricade just can't believe how lucky he is that Crosshairs forgave him. And it feels so much better now that he has gotten it off his chest.

"So... You and Drift?" He finally asks, curious about what they have done, and if Crosshairs will go back to the ex-Con.

"I don' know. We're no' close yet. 'e's kind of... guarded? Doesn' exactly talk about 'imself, or share stuff."

Sounds like a typical Decepticon then.

"But you sucked his cock..." Barricade says saucily to get Crosshairs to share. "What else did you do?" He cocks an optical ridge and smirks, because he doesn't want to seem like he's prying out of spite. And not knowing may be worse than actually knowing. He doesn't own Crosshairs.

"I did, and I jerked 'im off, and 'e played with my node. An' tha's all we did. I get tense an' shy when I'm with 'im, overthink it, and jus' focus on keepin' 'im from noticin' my lack of seal, so it 'asn't been spectacular."

Well, that doesn't sound like fun at all. "You know, Cons really don't care much about seals. If you tell him, I don't think he will judge you."

"I still don' want 'im te know. Because, then 'e can't tell someone if 'e's mad at me."

Barricade nods, fully understanding where Crosshairs is coming from. Jazz easily extorted him into compliance by threatening to reveal what he had done. "Good sized cock?" He still asks, because it brings some levity to the situation.

Crosshairs shrugs. "No' tha' impressive. About yer size, so proportionally smaller. Nothin' fancy." The Sniper strokes up Barricade's arm, toying with his plating. "So, what're the Cons like?" Crosshairs whispers conspiratorially, clearly hungry for details.

"Pervy and unashamed. Jazz was the one who taught me how to suck spike, and he licked my valve, and fingered me. He took my seal, and made me overload the first time, and made me curious about it, and encouraged me to explore pleasure. And then you made me cream my panel in the rec room, and Prowl caught me masturbating, but he made sure I didn't get discouraged."

"Hmh." Crosshairs slides his servo down Barricade's ventral plating to settle it over the Interceptor's panel. "Sounds like I should thank 'im for making ye a li'l nympho."

Suddenly Barricade remembers that time when Jazz knocked Crosshairs out. "I bet he'd suggest a threesome if you did. He did before." The Sniper's optics brighten in surprise and his intake falls open. "You know that time we went racing, and you 'fell into reboot'? Jazz had booby trapped the road, and he fragged me while you were out. I was so inexperienced, and he was talking about how good it would be if I sucked your cock while he fucked me. And I was so turned on by that." Barricade confesses.

"My processor is going to melt soon." Crosshairs groans, not making it clear if it is the sheer number of confessions, or if he thinks they are hot enough to cause the damage.

"Ok, so to wrap it up: Nitro Zeus has a really big, thick, gloriously ridged spike, and he's completely shameless too, and I really enjoy to be used, and overpowered, and tied up, and called a little slut, and stuff like that." Barricade rattles off in a rush, embarrassed but still wanting to say it. He lets his feelings about it seep into his field to make Crosshairs understand why he hasn't said anything before.

The Sniper hugs him closer, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Prowl would 'ave a seizure if 'e realized wha' a li'l heathen ye've turned into."

Suddenly Barricade remembers something else, and he rolls away from Crosshairs, reaching under his berth to pull out his secret box. "Con culture is so different from ours. I mean, I didn't know about facing at all, had never even heard of it. After that time in the rec room — you know, when we saw human porn for the first time, and I'm pretty sure he was the one to set the TV up for that malfunction — this is what Jazz had dropped off for me." He sits up, and so does Crosshairs, staring with bright optics when Barricade opens the box.

"I remember this." Crosshairs says slowly, pulling out the butterfly vibrator.

"Yeah, sorry about that... I didn't mean for it to go as it did."

"Ye do realize that ye owe me now." Crosshairs smirks, fiddling with the little vibrating egg.

"I guess I do..."

"Oh, yeah. Ye'll be wearing this tonight, in the rec room. Get ye all hot an' bothered, an' juicy, an' needy, until ye beg te be spiked by everyone." Crosshais smirks. "Ye slut." He adds slightly hesitantly.

Oh, he can totally see it; sitting in a puddle of his own lubricant until Crosshairs finally deigns to bend him over the table. Ironhide would come by of course, and take his turn when the Sniper is finished, and everyone would be lining up to use him. Jazz would know, of course, and bring Nitro... except that's not possible, so who else? Ratchet? He's kind of fuckable... Prime? "You need Primus, you hedonistic little slut," he'd say, "here, I'll fill you to the brim with holiness."

"What are ye grinning at?" Crosshairs asks, but Barricade's arousal has probably seeped into his field, because the Sniper is grinning too.

"An interesting fantasy. Ok, you've got yourself a deal. If you spike me senseless afterwards."

"Deal. Now, explain all these things, because I don' know what they're all for." Crosshairs lifts the curved vibrator and turns it in his servos.

"Better yet; I'll show you. You're free today, right?"


"Good. I don't have anything to do until tonight."






Barricade knew that it would eventually happen again. That Crosshairs would wind up with Drift. They'd gotten ahold of some high grade and were all pleasantly buzzed, and the drunker the Sniper got, the more friendly  — and handsy —with the other Speedster he got, before following the ex-Con to his hab suite. It wasn't like Barricade could say anything about it, and now that they had talked about it all — and fucked a lot — he felt better about it. It still left him alone, running a low charge. Retiring for the night, set on using his toys, Barricade left the Twins and Smokescreen to whatever pleasures they were going to have, and went back to his own room.

"Well, hello there." Jazz purrs from his spot on the berth, impeccable timing as ever.

"Hi." Barricade finds himself only mildly surprised by the Decepticon's presence. "Are you alone?"

Jazz barks a surprised laugh. "Isn't that enough? Ya think I should've invited a friend? Greedy li'l slut. Now geddover here. I need that tight valve of yours 'round my spike."

"I guess I'll have to make do with you." Barricade says, trying to stifle a grin and failing spectacularly. He does obey though, straddling the Decepticon's hips.

"Sorry ta disappoint ya. Nitro would never fit to crawl through those vents. And he can never shut up, so he'd be discovered three yards in."

Barricade makes a non-committal noise, teasing the Solstice's headlight, earning a groan. He opens his panel, valve already going slick, biolights pulsing softly. He feels bold, and slips his digits into himself. "A pity. Just look at how ready I am, how much cock I need, little slut that I am." He mewls wantonly.

Jazz's engine whines, and his panel flies open, spike pressurizing immediately, but Barricade scoots back to straddle his thighs instead, keeping out of reach to tease the Con. He has been having fantasies, and while Jazz isn't oblivious to his predilections, it's one thing to just go along with Jazz's games, and something entirely different to ask for it .

"What if a scoundrel Con caught me? Took me prisoner, and had his wicked way with me when I was chained up and helpless?" Barricade muses out loud.

A slow grin quirks Jazz's lip-plates. "What indeed?" Then he easily flips them, grabbing Barricade's wrist-struts in one servo, picking his cuffs from subspace as he straddles the Interceptor. "And ya couldn' even call for help, because tha aroused crackling of your vocalizer would give away how much ya enjoyed it." With Barricade's arms secured to the headboard, the Solstice starts to secure his ankles to the foot of the berth. 

Barricade squirms for show, but it's ridiculous how quickly he's soaking through the bedding with his lubricant. He's at Jazz's mercy, the Con can do anything he wants.

And apparently, the Solstice really wants to dig through Barricade's toy box. Barricade lifts his helm to look over Jazz's shoulder, befuddled and curious, but the Decepticon catches it, and turns back to his little captive.

"No peeking." He chides, pulling a rag from his subspace.

"Hey, what are you...?" Barricade starts to protest when the rag is placed over his optics and Jazz starts to tie it behind his helm.

"Sh, li'l Bot. The big, bad Con is gonna interrogate ya a li'l."

"Interrogate?! What the fuck are you..." 

A disrupter is magnetized to his voice box, and Barricade's protests fall silent. His spark has picked up pace nervously now that he's blindfolded and silent, and really helpless.

"Remember that ya can comm me tha safe word, same as usual, if ya get uncomfortable." Jazz says soothingly. Something presses against his valve-lips, and then the little vibrating egg slips into him. "There. I'm gonna watch a movie n' let ya stew for a while. I think ya'll be really juicy in, oh, I dunno. Say a coupl'a hours?" 

The egg starts to vibrate. Barricade hears Jazz rummaging through the box of data sticks with movies, and then the berth dips as the Con takes a seat. The vibrations pick up, and his hips buck of their own accord. Two fucking hours of this?!

Jazz's servo starts to stroke his abdominal plating — soothingly, not getting near any sensitive spots, not dipping between cables. It's infuriating. It's so fucking hot. He's splayed out there, tied up and ready to use, and Jazz has just dismissed him, as if he can't be bothered at the moment. Really showing that he has control, while Barricade has none, and that's so fragging hot, he'd be whimpering if he wasn't silenced. The vibrations change, set to a different program, slowly increasing in strength, just to taper off, and then the cycle repeats itself, and Barricade's charge is slowly being driven higher and higher. His fans kick up another notch to cool his heating frame, and he's getting increasingly desperate for release.

He could comm Jazz. Could say the safe word and plead for the Decepticon to fuck him. But the Saleen is too stubborn for that, it would be a defeat. As long as he holds out, he has not surrendered. Thinking about the time as it snails by does nothing to mellow his charge, and after half an hour, he's writhing in his restraints, even though trying to find friction is futile. He just can't stop himself.

Barricade's valve starts to clench when he finally finds himself on the cusp, about to fall over, and he holds his vents, stills his frame to not show Jazz how close he is, but then the vibrations stop. If he could, he'd scream in frustration.

"Ah-ah. No overloadin' yet." Jazz chides him, waiting for the Interceptor's frame to slacken from where he has tensed up in anticipation.

Barricade slumps as his charge tapers down, leaving his valve feeling swollen and aching in an uncomfortable way. The egg starts to vibrate again, on the lowest setting, and he whines silently when his valve clenches around it, wanting more than just the sleek little orb. Jazz servo slips downs between his legs, flat palming his array, just settling it again swollen valve-lips in what isn't clearly a taunt or a promise, and Barricade tries to grind against it. 

It's futile. Jazz increases the pressure, but follows his movements, making it another point of frustrating teasing without an actual way to finish. From what the Mustang can gather with his proximity sensors, the Decepticon is thoroughly engrossed in the movie, not paying much attention to his squirming lover waiting, oh, so impatiently to be properly fucked. Bastard.

It seems like an eternity before the credits come on, and Jazz finally returns his attention to Barricade. The vocal inhibitor is removed, but the blindfold is left on.

"Ready ta answer my questions now li'l Bot? Ya'll be handsomely rewarded if ya do."

"Frag yourself, Con." Barricade hisses, and he doesn't need to fake his annoyance.

"Hmh. Maybe we should watch another movie..." Jazz muses.

"No, wait!" Barricade blurts before he can stop himself.

"So ya're ready ta cooperate?"

"Yes, yes. I'll cooperate."

"Good answer. How many mechs have fucked ya?" Jazz asks, pulling the little egg out of Barricade's valve.

It's hard to say if that's a punishment or a reward.

"Four." He really is a little hussy.

"How many have had your valve?" Jazz punctuates the question by slipping a single digit into him.

"Three." He wishes all of them had.

"Ass?" A ghost of a touch by the tip of a digit.


"Intake?" Jazz grazes his anterior node with his thumb, and Barricade bucks to get more of that glorious touch.


"Quite tha li'l slut here, I'd say. So, what would ya say if I told ya I have a coupl'a mechs waiting, lined up ta fuck ya now?"

The choked mewl that leaves his vocalizer is as uncontrollable as it is indecent. "Yes, please! I'm so wet and ready, and I need..." He trails off, spreading his legs as wide as he can — considering he's tied up.

Jazz chuckles. "Sorry, ya hafta make do with me. No friends invited this time." Something thick and blunt nudges Barricade's entrance, and he tries to grind down on it. "So eager. Do ya know how far your Daddy would take tha dominance thing?"

"I, uhm, how do you mean?" It's hard to concentrate when so desperate, and he doesn't fully understand the question.

"Punishment, restraints, things lika tha'."

"He likes to spank me, and hold me down and stuff, I guess..."

"So, would he do something like, oh, say, when I left a toy inside ya, or tie ya up? Would he control ya, and make ya obey?"

"I don't know. Maybe? He does do some... stuff. Telling me what I can and can't do at a certain time, rewarding good behavior. Punishing bad." The thick dildo slides into Barricade's valve, and he makes a choked noise of relief, even if Jazz just holds it still inside him.

"I must say I enjoy this interrogation. Do ya trust him?"

"Yes." Barricade hisses without hesitation, lost in the sensation of finally having his valve filled.

"And tha Sniper? Is he as slutty as you are?"

"I-I... no. He wants to be, I think, or at least to try someone else, but he doesn't want anyone to know that he's unsealed, and he doesn't take it in the ass." The weirdness of talking about that is slightly disruptive, but not enough to put a damper on his charge, just to slow it down.

"So, he's curious, but shy. Unlike you, who likes takin' different cocks, n' cock everywhere, ya li'l minx." Jazz purrs, slowly circling Barricade's anterior node with his thumb.

"Yes, I'm a little slut." Barricade hisses, his valve clenching around the toy inside him.

"Yeah, ya are, but a very talented little slut. Show me your skills with your glossa."

The tip of a digit prods his lip-plates and Barricade obeys the urging, opening his intake to let it slip inside. He sucks, curling his glossa around it, and licks it as enticingly as he can, using all the tricks he knows to hopefully please Jazz enough to keep him doing those things to his array. Or to fuck his damned processor into reboot.

"So ya would really enjoy if a bunch o' mechs tag teamed ya? When one was finished, tha next would take over, fillin' ya over, n' over...?" Jazz murmurs in his audial, and it's so easy to picture it happening when his optics are covered.

"Y-yes!" He mumbles around the digit in his intake.

"Maybe something could be arranged..." Jazz purrs, his deep voice pure sin.

Barricade arches his back, once again closing in on the edge of overload, but Jazz stops stroking his node, the toy slipping out of his valve. Barricade keens unhappily.

"Please! I'll do anything!"

"I know ya would. But ya don' hafta. Ya've answered my questions truthfully. Good li'l Autoslut." Jazz croons as he crawls on top of the prone Interceptor.

Then he finally doesn't have to wait anymore. Jazz's familiar spike slips into his dripping valve, filling him and sliding over every hypersensitive node inside him. A powerful servo grabs his hip, tilting for a better angle, and then Jazz thrusts into him with quick, hard thrusts. Barricade cries out in unadulterated pleasure.

"Sh, li'l Bot! Ya don' want anyone ta come in here, wonderin' what's goin' on, do ya? Or do I hafta put that inhibitor back on?"


Barricade bites down on his lip-plate to try to stop himself from getting loud, shuddering with pleasure every time Jazz bottoms out inside him. The Decepticon returns his thumb to Barricade's anterior node, flicking it back and forth, and it doesn't take long for the Saleen to come undone. He writhes what little he can in his restraints, thrashing feebly on the berth, too far gone to even notice Jazz's quiet groan, or how the Solstice hunches forward over him when he overloads.

He reboots to find that the blindfold has been removed, and he has been wiped down, but he's still tied up. Jazz is stretched out next to him, helm on Barricade's chest-plates.

"Are you going to leave me tied up here? I thought the plan for that was to tie me to your berth."

Jazz cackles a laugh. "Temptin', but someone would find out way too quickly. I was jus' too tired ta move much for a while. If ya follow me home, I would tie ya ta my berth, though." He sits up and undoes the cuffs. Barricade stretches his arms and moves his shoulders while the Decepticon removes the restraints around his ankles. 

The Interceptor grabs a couple of cubes of high grade he has hoarded under his berth and gives Jazz one of them. The Con opens it, sniffing it suspiciously. Barricade snorts, grabbing it back and taking a small sip. "Look. Not poisoned!" He says, handing it back.

"No, that wasn't why I..." Jazz hurriedly says, sounding apologetic. "I was jus' surprised that it's high grade."

"What, you think I'm too pure and innocent for that?" Barricade is amused by the prospect, and demonstratively takes a deep swig.

Jazz chuckles. "I dunno. But high grade isn' always easy ta come by, n' this isn't some cheap crap."

"Not being an underground organization makes shipping stuff much easier, so a drum of it here and there isn't impossible to pull of, if we're just careful enough."

"Now, that is some downright Decepticon behavior right there. I approve!" Jazz snickers, sipping his energon. "We're hard-pressed 'nough ta just get ahold of enough energon at times."

That was a prospect Barricade had never considered before. "I have a few cubes of regular and a couple of high grade. You can take them."

"Ya don' hafta..."

"But I want to! I've stashed them here just so I don't have to get up to get a snack, and that's just because I'm lazy, nothing else. I don't want to let anyone starve, Con or not."

"Ya know, if all Bots reasoned like that, we might not be at war at all..."

"Yeah, yeah, here," Barricade says, digging under the berth to pull out the cubes, "put them in your subspace so you don't forget them."

Jazz tilts his helm as he stares at them, as if he can't believe his visor, but then he does as Barricade tells him, and they disappear into his subspace. "Thank ya. I really mean that."

"You're welcome." The Interceptor leans back against the headboard. "Do you want to stay for a while?" He asks hesitantly, not wanting Jazz to go yet, but feeling like he's crossing a line.

"I'm not goin' anywhere right now. I'm way too comfortable here." 

Jazz wriggles deeper into the bedding, helm propped up on his servo, sipping his high grade. The Decepticon starts another movie, and as soon as Barricade has finished his high grade, he scoots down to stretch out next to Jazz, his back against the Solstices front.

The Interceptor falls into recharge not long after that, and he doesn't reboot until the door flies open, letting the early morning light filter through.