A/N: Sticky, hints of angst. Something based off of a Live-Action Role-Play my girlfriend and I did/are doing.

Time measurements: nanoklik = nanosecond; astrosecond = self-explanatory; cycle = 1 minute; breem = 8 minutes.

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"Wasp?"

It was a whisper, and I honestly didn't expect him to answer. I knew he could pass it off as having failed to hear me, and would. So, after only a few astroseconds of silence, I tried again.

"Wasp?"

Still no answer. But I was determined.

"Wasp? Hey, buddy, are you awake?"

Finally, a reaction. "I'm not your buddy," he said coldly, close-by on my left.

"Right, er… Sorry. But you're awake, right?"

I knew as soon as I asked that he'd scoff at me, and he did. A rough, static-filled sound from his vocal processor, the loudest thing to have come from either of us so far.

"No, I'm talking to you in my sleep," he snapped. "I can answer all your questions accurately because you're just so predictable that I was able to program the answers to them, in order, into my hard drive."

Now I was annoyed. He didn't need to be sarcastic like that; I knew it was a stupid question and would have done well with one of his usual insults.

But, just to be sure it wasn't the truth, I sat up on my elbow and faced him. He was lying next to me on my left, though he was at the edge of the berth—as far away from me as he could be without sleeping on the floor. I leaned closer, trying to look at his optics, but he sensed me. He tensed and half-rolled, glaring up at me.

I froze. My optics widened. My intakes hitched. All in surprise, of course.

"What do you want, Bumblebee?" he growled, his gaze pinning me in place. "It's bad enough we have to share a berth, I don't need you looming over me." He looked away, releasing me from his silent hold, muttering something about "stupid camp" and being "better prepared."

I didn't answer his question. What had happened to me? It was just Wasp. Same old afthole. So why was I rendered speechless and motionless by his glare?

He tore into my musings, voice more Wasp-ish than ever. "Are you going to answer me or keep staring at me like some malfunction?"

I blinked, recalling in an instant what I'd been wanting to ask. Nighttime was the only opportunity I had; he avoided me all day, every day. But, because Bulkhead was so big, he took up three berths on his own. The Autoboot Camp apparently wasn't used to having such massive recruits, and there was a shortage—had been for a whole lunar cycle. (My guess was that getting a spare berth wasn't their first priority.) That whole time, Wasp and I were forced to share a berth. Sentinel told us it was because of our similar (small) size, and I thought it made sense. Wasp had objected, but only until Sentinel threatened to fix the problem by kicking him out. He'd resigned himself to his fate after that.

"What--?"

I interrupted him, answering his question before he could ask it again. "Why do you hate me?"

He stopped and stared at me. The glare had vanished from his optics for a moment, and I realized he'd been caught off-guard.

Not for long, though. "Because you're a slag head," he responded, putting venom into his words. It stung, but I persisted.

"No one else hates me," I said, fighting to keep myself from rising to the challenge. It was after curfew; a fight between us would mean a world of trouble. "Just you. Why?"

He glowered at me, then blurted in a semi-hushed voice, "You're an idiot! You get everyone into trouble by trying to show off! You never listen to advice, and you think you're hot slag!"

I frowned. My elbow hurt from my weight pressing it into the hard berth, but I ignored it. This was a more important matter.

"But I haven't done anything bad enough for you to hate me," I said softly, looking down at him.

He blinked, then chose to avoid my gaze. And my statement. "Why are you being so serious? It's not like you." He cast a glance back at me, genuinely curious.

I sighed and finally decided to consent to my elbow's increasing screams of protest. As I lay back down next to him, I felt him shift away, but pretended not to notice. Instead, I told him what had been bugging me for several solar cycles.

"I've only wanted to be your friend," I said, still making sure to keep my voice low so I wouldn't wake anyone out of recharge. When he didn't comment, I pushed on, "I thought you were…cool. But also like me. Same height, same build, same ability." He scoffed and started to interrupt me, but I spoke over him. "I thought we could get along. But all you've ever done is scorn me."

I turned my helm and looked at him. He appeared utterly perplexed, and I found out why when he told me, "I didn't know you knew the word 'scorn'."

I glared at him, finally getting angry, and he offered up some of the answers I'd been craving.

"I don't hate you," he said softly, looking away. He stared at the ceiling. "I always just thought you were an idiot. Still do," he added, and I rolled my optics so as to avoid punching him.

"I'd be fine if you'd be nice to me," I mumbled. He said nothing. I didn't push it anymore; it was a gift from Primus that we'd even made it so long without yelling at each other. Or getting into a fistfight.

However, after a breem and a half, I was growing restless. Would he relent to my unasked request? I didn't count on a friendship anymore, but something other than hostility would be much appreciated.

I managed to make it the rest of the second breem before I asked, "Will you be nice to me?"

Silence. Great, we were going to play this game again.

"Wasp?" More silence, and I sighed. "Will you—"

I was cut off by his form suddenly looming over me. His optics glared down into my own shocked ones. He laid his servo on my chassis, and I shivered. What was he getting at?

"You want me to be nice to you?" he growled, and dragged his fingertips over my left windshield.

His meaning was clear, but apparently mine hadn't been. "No!" I cried, before clamping a servo over my own mouth. "No," I repeated, this time whispered through slightly parted fingers. My other servo grabbed his, halting his motions. "This is not what I meant!"

He smirked down at me. Amazing how that horn-mouthpiece-thing didn't take away from his expression at all. I could see his mouth; clearly make out the tip of one fanged dental peeking out from behind his upper lip. It made me shiver.

"You think I didn't notice the way your systems locked up when I looked at you?" he asked. His faceplates were suddenly much closer to mine. One of us was giving off heat, and I hoped desperately that it wasn't me.

"I was surprised!" I insisted. Really, I'd never felt an attraction to Wasp. I'd thought he was cool, and wanted to be his friend, but nothing more.

His expression became cold again. I shivered once more, realizing too late that I was going to be stuck accepting his advances. Already his fingers were worming out of mine to trace light patterns on my chassis.

"You wanted me to be nice to you," he repeated, staring at me. I stared back, helpless. "It's this or nothing. Take it or leave it."

A foolish hope welled in my Spark. If I let him do this, could we be friends? Would he stop hating me? Worth a shot, I decided, though I didn't really believe it. And hey, it wasn't like it was going to hurt.

Slowly, I relaxed. I couldn't stop staring at him, even after he'd smirked in victory and looked away from me. His fingers were nimble, teasing me, dipping into seams and tickling wires I'd never been able to reach. He was obviously experienced, but somehow still clumsy. As if he knew where to touch, but had never really done it before.

I lost my train of thought when he brushed an extra-sensitive bundle of wires. Oh, it felt good to have another bot pleasuring me again. Self-overload could only sustain a mech for so long.

It wasn't long before I shuttered my optics, and an even shorter time before I offlined them. In less than a breem, Wasp's servos had my cooling fans switching on, my body trembling beneath his touch.

"Wasp," I groaned, arching up when I felt his glossa on my chassis, tracing patterns, mapping me out. He licked my windshields, their frames, and my insignia. Then he brought himself up and set to work on the cords my neck. I stifled a cry by biting my bottom lip, hard. He licked, sucked, nipped, all up and down, searching, probing, until finally, he found what he was looking for: A small sensor node buried amongst some of the cords and wires. At my gasp and arch, he groaned softly and latched onto that spot, relentlessly pulling little whimpers and moans from me. I writhed beneath him, servos scrabbling at the green armor so like my own.

"Wasp, please," I whispered. Somehow, I'd managed to keep it in my processor that we had to be quiet.

He pulled back and looked at me. His optics were darkened with lust, and his own cooling fans were running. I could smell lubricant from both of our ports, and by the careful way he moved, I guessed that, like mine, his cord was straining against his codpiece.

For several astroseconds, we just stared at each other, struggling to keep our bodies in check. Then I whimpered out "please" again, and the spell was broken. All of his restraint, his desire to tease, shattered. I saw it happen in his optics. He gave a soft snarl and nodded before attacking my body with his mouth again. I don't know how, but that mouthpiece never once got in his way.

I felt his fingers on my hips, digging into more seams, teasing. Yet his haste was noticeable. He worked frantically, pushing and prodding until he found my most sensitive spots, then attacking them rather roughly. Soon I was arching helplessly off the berth, craving the removal against my pelvic armor. My own fingers grabbed at the metal, intending to shed it off, but he stopped me. I growled softly and lifted my head, frustrated and needy, but the look in his eyes had me complying. I pulled my servos away.

I was drowning in sensation. Pleasure, frustration, need, twinges of pain. He nipped his way up my left thigh, ignored the apex, and back down my right one. The whole process seemed to take eons, because he stopped to lick and suck lightly at every little bite mark, soothing away any kind of pain. As soon I'd relaxed in pleasure, he moved on, nipping again.

The constant back-and-forth of it all had me so on edge my whole frame was shaking. I heard a slight rattling from my armor. The buzzing of my circuitry was loud in my ears. I was half-afraid, half-excited that we were going to wake up one of our fellow cadets.

Then, suddenly, his mouth was on my codpiece, pressed between my legs, and I no longer gave a slag.

"Wasp!" I cried, my voice trailing off into a whimper when he pulled away. I was shaking worse than ever, and so desperate for release I could almost feel fluid collecting in the corners of my optics.

"Be quiet," he commanded. I almost told him to slag off. Almost. But then his fingers hooked into the seams of my pelvic armor, unlatching it, and I decided to hold my glossa.

Though our cooling fans were practically screaming, our intakes heaving, we both managed to keep ourselves hushed. My vocal processor had offlined itself (at his command, apparently) and I propped myself up on my elbow again, watching him. I lifted my hips the minimal amount to allow him to slide my codpiece off, feeling my faceplates heat up. A wave of scent rushed up at me; I was all but dripping from my port. In the dim lighting, I could see the self-satisfied smirk on Wasp's face. Once again, I fought back the urge to punch him.

Now that we'd advanced to the next step, you'd think he'd be quick and get it over with. It was obvious how badly I needed it. But no, the stupid little malfunction hadn't finished teasing me yet.

I watched as he brushed just the very tips of his fingers up the length of my port, then the length of my cord. It shivered almost violently, pushing my hips down and lifting them up at the same time. It was a silent plea, but a clear one: Touch me, somewhere, anywhere I don't care. Just do it.

Slowly, he lifted his optics to mine. We stared at each other again, though his fingers didn't stop their light, maddening touches. Then he shifted, and I thought for a moment that he was reaching down to remove his own pelvic armor. I experienced a moment of sudden fear and doubt; he was going to interface all the way with me?

I hadn't realized I'd tensed until it bled out of me when he settled himself between my legs. He hadn't been reaching down to undo his pelvic armor; he'd been reaching down to steady himself as he got comfortable.

Once more he looked up to meet my gaze. I could still make out his smirk.

Then suddenly my cord was encased in the warmth of his servo, and his mouth had disappeared. My elbow slid out from under me, forcing me to lie flat on my back. Wave after wave of sensation washed through me, and I was glad my voice capacitor had offlined itself.

Oh, Primus, his glossa was a wonderful thing. He was creating delicious swirling patterns around my port, lapping up any leaking lubrication, and still managing to tease me. The servo on my cord remained still, wrapped around the base. No matter how much I bucked and writhed, it wouldn't move.

I was sure my processor was going to split. He was too good; he knew just where to touch, what to do to make me feel the most pleasure. But, at the same time, he was slagging determined to keep me from overloading. His touches were not intended to give me that much pleasure. He was enjoying his power over me, his ability to keep me on edge.

When I couldn't take it anymore, felt like I was going to shake myself apart with all my trembling, I forced my vocal processor back online. There was a bit of soft static is it rebooted and some involuntary whimpers slipped free of my hold on it.

Then, as softly as I could manage, with as much raw desire as I could put into it, I said, "Wasp, please. I can't take anymore. I…need it."

He stilled for a moment, then lifted his head. I lifted mine, too, knowing that he was looking at me. Our optics met once again, but not for long. He assessed the look etched into my faceplates, the dimness of my optics, the physical heaving of my chassis as my intakes frantically tried to pull in enough air for my fans to cycle.

Then, with a curt nod, he dipped back down. This time, however, he didn't tease me. No, this time, he shoved his whole glossa into my port. At the same time, he tightened his grip on my cord, and pulled his servo up. The effect was enough to make me slam my helm into the berth, offline my vocal processor to keep from screaming, and arch my whole back strut while pushing my hips down.

With a silent growl, I dimly noted that he'd been planning that. The fragger had been waiting for me to beg for it, and he'd known all along what he was going to do once I did.

I had enough time to swear to myself I'd get him back before he pulled his glossa out, then shoved it back in, repeating the tug upwards on my cord as he did. All thought was wiped from my processor. I was reduced to a quivering heap of scrap metal, arching and bucking and writhing into his touches.

Slowly, I felt that familiar heat building in the area of my interface units and Spark. It pulsed faster and faster, flooding me with warmth, keeping almost in time with Wasp's glossa-thrusts and jerking of his servo. As he worked me higher and higher, it became a frantic pounding over every one of my sensors. Then just before I toppled over the edge, he stilled and pulled away. Just enough so that he was no longer touching me in any way.

I beat my fisted servos on the berth and brought my optics online once again to glare down at him. I was feeling almost murderous by this point. Only one more thrust-jerk, and I'd have overloaded.

He just lay there, settled between my legs, ignoring the heat rising from me in waves, the smoke beginning to curl up from my circuits. He gave me a fake smile and rested his chin on the palm of his right servo. As if neither of us was almost overheating. As if we were friends, having a pleasant chat.

I started to force my vocal processor back online. I had every intention of demanding that he finish what he started before I kicked his skid plates into the next millennia.

But he made a motion for me to keep quiet and began to move himself closer to my interfacing units once more. So I decided to oblige, not wanting to risk angering him enough to really leave me on the brink.

As I watched, he shifted most of his weight onto his left elbow. He moved his right arm, but I couldn't see what he was doing. It was only when I felt a finger press into the opening of my port that I pieced it together. Rather hurriedly, I offlined my optics and laid back down, trembling, waiting.

I thought I heard him chuckle, but the next astrosecond he was pushing his finger into me, and nothing mattered anymore.

My world dissolved into a haze of pleasure, silent whimpers, and automatic bucks and grinds. He pumped his digit in and out slowly, increasing speed every three or four thrusts, all the while searching for the spot I knew he would inevitably find. His other servo was lightly pumping up and down the shaft of my cord, always flawlessly in time with his finger. I'd never experienced this kind of pleasure before, and I didn't think I could ever again interface without it.

Just as I was working back towards that peak, Wasp found what he was looking for. Deep inside me, a bundle of sensors wrapped up in a few thin wires. The "sweet spot" every bot has, though its position varies between us.

I released a silent scream and arched myself up. One brush against it had me careening to the edge of overload again. He held me there, still thrusting his finger in and out. But now he was moving slowly, and carefully avoiding my sweet spot. He increased the speed and tightness of the jerks on my cord. The combined pleasure made sure I stayed on edge, though the way it was so erratic kept me from finding release. My squirming became more and more desperate, my body showing Wasp how badly I needed it.

I sensed his gaze on me, and, desperate to convey my need, I onlined my optics one last time and looked down at him. He was sitting up on his knees, but his mouth… Oh, Primus, his mouth was hovering right over the tip of my cord. My intakes stuttered for a moment in the equivalent of a gasp, and a violent shiver racked my frame. I felt the beginning pulses of my overload beat through my systems.

Silently and slowly, keeping his gaze locked on mine, he took me into his mouth. All of me. I didn't even bother to wonder where he'd learned to do that, just appreciated that he'd applied his skills on me.

"Wasp," I mouthed, forgetting that my vocal processor was still offline.

He smirked. Around my cord. I don't know how, and I don't really care, 'cause it was slagging hot. Another pulse of my overload shot through me, stronger than before. Maybe he sensed it, maybe he was finally ready to let me find my release. Either way, he did the most amazing thing, something that made me overload harder than I ever had before.

He sucked his way back up the shaft of my cord, hard, and, at the same nanoklik he reached the tip, he thrust his finger into my port, striking my sweet spot dead-on with enough force to make my whole body jerk up the berth a little.

My helm once more slammed against the berth, but the pain was drowned in the boiling sea of completely pure pleasure raging through my body. I smelled smoke and felt my systems overheat, and though that should have offlined my processor, my overload seemed able to keep me conscious. I screamed silently over and over again, my body shaking and jerking, bucking up into the mouth still sucking the length of my cord. Wasp let me thrust into his mouth, timing it with the curling of his finger. He rubbed my sweet spot again and again, prolonging my pleasure, drawing out my bliss as I released mech fluid into his mouth and all over his servo.

As my overload began to ebb, my Spark's pulses no longer frantic in its chamber, Wasp pulled away. He paused to clean the mess I'd made of myself, and then settled next to me on the berth. I brought my optics back online and looked over at him. With a frown, I noticed he was once again perched on the very edge, as far away from me as possible. He was facing me, though, which I considered an improvement.

I gave myself time to recover. It was a wonder I hadn't offlined. My joints were still smoking, as if angry at me for not following the laws of physics. I shook my helm, cycling deep intakes. The air around us was heated.

When I'd recovered enough to sit up and face Wasp, I saw that his optics were offlined. If it weren't for the way his cooling fans were still struggling, his intakes irregular, I would have thought he'd fallen into recharge. As it was, he looked like he was trying to fool me into thinking he had. I frowned again and edged closer.

I reached out to touch him, but before I'd even made contact, he said, "Don't."

I looked at him in surprise. His optics were online, and he was glaring at me, though he had a haunted look that I'd never seen before. I brushed it off as something along the lines of him being traumatized by bringing me to overload.

"What?" I asked. I rested my servo on his arm, and he flinched. Barely, but I noticed.

"Don't," he repeated, more firmly. "Don't touch me. I'm fine."

I shuttered my optics a few times, wondering if something in my processor had short-circuited. He scoffed at the look on my face and offlined his optics again.

"But...why?" I asked. I left my hand where it was, though my fingers where tracing light, somewhat awkward patterns over his arm.

He pulled away from me, causing me to frown once more. "Because I'm fine," he said. There was an edge to his voice, but I couldn't place what exactly it was. "I don't need you to overload me."

I glared at him, offended, not caring that he couldn't see me. "I want to overload you."

He tensed, then brought his optics online and looked at me. He wore that same perplexed expression as earlier. "You...?"

"Want to overload you, yeah," I said, relaxing a bit. The glare melted from my face, replaced by what I knew was a soft look. He remained tense and silent, staring at me as if my Autobot insignia had suddenly become a Decepticon one. "What, is that a problem?" I couldn't keep the attitude out of my voice.

It seemed that very attitude brought him back to his senses. He sneered at me, propping himself on his elbow. At the same time, he brought himself away from the edge of the berth. Good, that meant he was going to let me touch him.

"Not a problem, no," he said, then narrowed his optics. "But don't think you'll be sticking your cord in me."

I quickly shuttered my own optics again, surprised. Then I shook my helm, smiling a little. "I hadn't planned to."

If he was surprised by this, he succesfully hid it behind his usual aloof mask. He just stared at me, waiting, and I felt my faceplates heat up. To buy a little time, I grabbed my codpiece and shoved it back on, making sure all the clasps were done up properly.

He scoffed, that rough, static-filled sound again. I looked at him, and he gave me an exasperated glare.

"If you're going to touch me," he said, "do it. Otherwise I'm going into recharge."

I frowned once again. His fans had indeed stopped working so hard, and his intakes were regular again. He could go into recharge if he wanted to.

Determined to make him feel the same pleasure he'd brought to me, I nodded and kneeled over him. He looked away from me, seeming uncomfortable. I cursed myself for being so awkward, and then threw away all nervousness. I didn't want to seem afraid. I'd done this before, and besides, our bodies had to be at least similar. So maybe some of the things he'd done to me would have the same effect when turned around and given back.

Smirking a little, I laid my servo on his chassis. He shivered, almost imperceptibly, and offlined his optics. I felt bolder, knowing that he wasn't going to watch my every move, and trailed my fingers down to the V-shaped stripe on the lower half of his chassis. Lightly, with one fingertip, I traced its shape, admiring his body as I did. It was less bulky than mine, though not by much. The darker shade of his paint made him seem slimmer, and that V said he was aerodynamic. We had almost the exact same alt form, born of our similar builds.

I was brought out of my thoughts by him shifting. One glance told me his optics were still offline, and his mouth was open slightly. His intakes had become a little ragged, but he was making a valiant effort to hide it.

Smirking, I leaned down, letting my mouth hover just above the stripe that was apparently so sensitive. My servos wandered over the rest of his chassis, dipping into seams, teasing wires and cords found there. It wasn't long before he was shifting regularly, and I recognized it as his way of squirming. His intakes were a little more labored.

Suddenly, I touched my glossa to his stripe. He gave a quiet moan that went straight to my interfacing units and arched up. I smirked again and slowly traced the shape with my glossa, feeling him tremble beneath me. He didn't make any kind of noise again, and I knew he was holding back. I wanted to turn him into the same quivering mess I'd been, so I redoubled my efforts. Now I placed light kisses and managed to suck a little, licking the same spot I'd sucked. My fingers continued to dip into every little crevice they could find, searching for any kind of weak spot.

I became so absorbed in my work that it was a bit of a shock when my servos did finally find a sensitive spot. It was up on his shoulder, just beneath the edge of his armor, nestled between two particularly thick cords. A little bundle of wires that made him tremble and arch up a little. He even whimpered, though it sounded like he'd tried as hard as he could to hold it back.

Proud of myself, I teased it with my fingers. His intakes hitched a few times, becoming more irregular each time, and his cooling fans began to work harder. I kissed and licked my way up his chassis, pausing to give special attention to his insignia. He groaned softly, and his servo came up to grip the back of my helm. My intakes hitched in surprise, but I wasn't objecting.

Slowly, I made my way to the spot still trapped between my finger and thumb. The closer I got, the slower I moved, spending more and more time on one spot of his armor before moving on to the next. I wanted to touch him with my left servo, but that was busy holding me up so that I wasn't laying on him.

Wasp growled in annoyance and gave my helm a little push towards where my servo was. I chuckled softly and he growled again. Deciding not to press it, I leaned up and replaced my fingers with my mouth and glossa. It took me an astrosecond or two to find the spot again, but when I did, I was rewarded with another groan and arch. His fingers gripped the back of my helm tighter, then moved up and began to play with the little horns. I shivered, my intakes hitching, and I knew without looking that he was smirking. He tweaked the sensitive metal, pulling another shiver from me, and it was my turn to growl.

Sitting up, I glared down at him. His hand fell away from my helm, but his optics remained offline.

"Why are you touching me?" I demanded.

"I'm a bad bottom," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder. "I can't just take it."

"Well learn to," I growled. "This is about you. I had my turn."

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He looked surprised and even a little embarrassed. I took it as him agreeing.

Getting an idea, I placed both servos on his chassis, hoisted myself up, and straddled his hips. His intakes hitched, whether in surprise or pleasure or both, I don't know. But his servos flew to my thighs and gripped them tightly, so I figured he wasn't really complaining.

Leaning down, I pressed my chassis to his and buried my faceplates in his shoulder again. I quickly relocated the sensor node, and set to work sucking and licking it. My servos, meanwhile, busied themselves with once more mapping out his body, searching for more sensitive spots. I found a few, one on his left wrist joint, the other on his right side, halfway between his chassis and hip.

Beneath me, he became more and more unrestrained, squirming openly and arching up. I abandoned the sensor node in his shoulder and began attacking his neck. Now I was nipping, growing a little rougher in my own heightened arousal. I felt my cord once again straining against my codpiece, and was glad I'd replaced it; if Wasp knew I was getting off on this as much as I was, he would have insisted on touching me back. Somehow, I knew that as surely I as knew my own name.

One particular pinch of the node in his side, however, had him bucking up. The angle of this pressed the hot metal of his codpiece, right over his cord, into the rapidly heating metal of my own pelvic armor. I groaned and shifted so that my covered port was over his covered cord, and pushed down. The result was a hitched intake and soft, needy groan. He bucked up to meet me, and I gave him the same reaction, just without the needy bit. I was in this for him now, not for me.

But try as I might to focus on his pleasure, we still slipped into a dance of bucking and grinding that soon had us both worked up enough that our chassis were physically heaving with the effort to take in enough air to keep ourselves cool. I'd already overheated once tonight, and was rapidly working back up to that temperature. I felt an aching deep inside of me that had nothing to do with hot components, and decided it was time to stop our dance.

As I slipped off of him, I heard him groan at the loss. I shivered, but ignored the pulsing of the sensor nodes beneath my pelvic armor, and instead kissed my way down his body until I was settled between his legs. I tapped his codpiece, smirking when he arched up slightly. I could have sworn I heard him actually whimper as I continued to tease him, dipping my fingers into the seams of his pelvic armor. Slowly, one by one, I undid the clasps that held his armor in place. Out of the corner of my optic, I saw Wasp bring one servo up to cover his faceplates, and wondered if he was honestly embarrassed.

I didn't give voice to my thoughts, though, instead returning my attention to the task at hand. All the clasps were open, and I slipped my fingers beneath his armor. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his hips, and I pulled it off, setting it next to him. Then I gasped, staring at his interfacing units.

His cord was completely out, with mech fluid already leaking from the tip. His port was lubricated enough that I probably could have taken him right then, without any preparation. The thought had me biting back a groan and fighting with myself to keep my restraint in check. He'd made it clear he didn't want me to link up with him, so I wasn't going to ask for it.

Instead, I settled myself down on my midsection, touching him lightly. I was still intent on teasing him, but I was also afraid of breaking him. He looked oddly vulnerable without his pelvic armor, and the way his servo still covered his face, I had a feeling he felt the same way.

I wanted to make him forget any kind of uneasiness, so I dipped my helm and slowly traced around his port with the tip of my glossa. I heard his intakes hitch several times, and he pressed his hips down, clearly eager for more. One of his servos came down to the back of my helm, trying to press me closer, but I grabbed it and pinned it down.

He gave a soft cry and wrenched it back as if I'd dripped acid on it. Afraid I'd hurt him or something, I dipped the tip of my glossa into his port, still teasing him, but giving more pleasure than before. The tension he'd gathered in a nanoklik slowly bled out as he relaxed into the sensations I was causing in him.

When I felt I'd made up for any harm I'd done, I went back to cleaning up his lubrication, just as he'd done to me. The fingers of my left servo traced light patterns up and down his cord. I relished in the feeling of Wasp bucking and writhing and nearly overheating beneath me.

Then I heard something that nearly shattered the frail control I had on myself. As he bucked into my hand and mouth, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the hard berth, Wasp moaned, "Bumblebee…!"

I shivered violently. It took all of my will power to not sit up, remove my codpiece, and slam into him. He sounded so slagging hot when he opened up and moaned like that. I wanted to hear it again and again.

My left servo wrapped around his cord tightly, but not enough to hurt. He bucked and moaned again, wordlessly. That wouldn't do; I wanted to hear my designation fall from his lips. So I did the same thing he'd done to me: I shoved the full length of my glossa into his port at the same nanoklik that I jerked my servo up his cord. He gave a stifled cry; it sounded like he'd shoved his fist into his mouth.

Over and over again, I repeated that act, feeling him slowly tense. I could taste his overload coming, because his lubrication obtained a kind of sweet, oily flavor. More mech fluid dribbled from the tip of his cord. I pulled him to the edge of overload and held him there. Just before he crashed over, I pulled away. I got the effect I'd been seeking.

"Bumblebee!" he cried out softly, frustrated. He onlined his optics and glared at me. I have him the same fake smile he'd given me, and waited for his systems to calm down. He reached down and stared trying to touch himself, but I gently grabbed his servos and stopped him. Whether it was the look in my optics or the fact that he wanted to avoid a confrontation, he obeyed my silent request and pulled away.

When his trembling became less noticeable, I propped myself on my left elbow, again like he'd done. The first finger of my right servo touched the edge of his port, and he jumped, as if surprised. He looked down at me, a little apprehensively, but didn't stop me, so I slowly slipped my finger in. I positioned myself so I was on my knees, but sitting back far enough to be able to comfortably bend over and suck on his cord. I think he knew I planned to do that, because he bucked up into my hand, whimpering softly, eager for it. But I wasn't ready to give him that much pleasure just yet.

Instead, I focused on finding his sweet spot. I prodded and rubbed, feeling my way around his port. I worked from the deepest point I could reach and forward, slowly pulling my finger out as I searched. I knew I'd find it eventually; bots can't hide their reaction, and every bot has one.

When I did finally find it, I was rewarded with an unrestrained cry that threatened to wake the entire platoon. Wasp arched his back strut, pushing his hips down into my finger. He was desperate for more, and seeing him that way almost made me overload.

With my finger halfway in, I rubbed continuously, but lightly, still determined to tease. His sweet spot was located on the roof of his port, nestled amongst several cords of varying thickness. It was a small sensor node, well hidden, and that was probably why it was so sensitive.

Slowly, his quivering became more and more pronounced. I could smell that sweetness in his lubricants now, and decided that it was time. He'd been on edge long enough, and I really didn't think I could hold myself back much longer.

So, leaning forward, I positioned his cord at my lips. I looked up at him, but he was so absorbed in the throes of his pleasure that he hadn't noticed. I wanted to have the same effect he'd had, so I whispered his name. My lips brushed the tip of his cord as I did so, and with a great shiver, he onlined his optics and looked down at me.

"Bumblebee," he groaned, a pleading look in his gaze that I never thought I'd see. I waited. After several astroseconds, he managed to whisper, "please."

Smirking, I nodded and took him into my mouth. I'd never been able to fit the whole length in, but I took in as much as I could. At the same time, I pressed my fingertip hard against his sweet spot and rubbed it. He stuffed his servo into his mouth and offlined his optics, letting his head fall back on the berth. I smirked around his cord—oh, so I could do it, too—enjoying how similar we were.

Shuttering my optics so I could focus on the task at hand, I sucked and licked around the length of his shaft, bobbing my helm up and down. The whole time I rubbed relentlessly against his sweet spot, feeling and listening as he drew closer and closer to overload. I considered pulling away at the last moment again, but then he gave a strangled cry that sounded suspiciously like "Yes, please!" and I decided against it. In fact, I redoubled my efforts, sucking harder, faster, keeping it somewhat in time with my rubbing on his sweet spot.

After only another thirty astroseconds, he overloaded. I assume his vocal processor finally offlined itself, because he was silent, but if the way his body jerked and trembled was anything to go by, it was pretty intense. He released several spurts of his mech fluid into my mouth, and I felt his port lubricate all over my servo. His fluid tasted much like his port, just a little less sweet. I swallowed it all, listening to his intakes stutter and heave.

I waited until the worst of his jerking and trembling had stopped before I pulled away. He gave a soft whimper when I released him from my mouth and pulled my finger out. It reminded me of my own buzzing circuitry, my renewed need for release.

With a soft curse, I threw myself onto the berth next to him and unclasped my own codpiece. With hurried fingers I pulled it off, then wrapped my servo around my cord. I brought myself to overload with just a few tight-gripped jerks. My fluid released all over my midsection, but I didn't care. I was too busy reeling from everything that had happened.

"Holy slag," I whispered. I looked to my left and was startled to see Wasp staring at me. He hadn't even moved to replace his pelvic armor yet. He was just…staring.

"…Wasp?" I ventured, tentative. His optics shuttered and focused. He'd been in a daze, apparently.

And then, shockingly, I saw him smile. A true smile. It was only there for a few nanokliks, but still. Then he sat up and replaced his armor, ignoring the fact that his port was a sticky mess. I replaced my own, cleaned my midsection with a servo, and then we lay together in silence.

I was just starting to drift into recharge a few cycles later when I heard him say softly, "Thanks."

I onlined my optics and shuttered them a few times, driving away the dregs of unconsciousness. Then I looked over to Wasp. His own optics were online, but focused rather determinedly on the ceiling.

"Uhh…you're welcome?" I said, phrasing it as a question because I really didn't know what he was thanking me for.

He glanced at me, and I felt a slight heat emanate from his faceplates. He was blushing. I shuttered my optics again. Was I dreaming?

"You…" He hesitated, a look of doubt coming to his features. Then he pressed on, as if he felt the need to get it off his Spark. "You're the first bot…to ever…use your glossa or mouth on me."

I stared at him, surprised. That explained why he'd reacted so strongly, something I hadn't really thought much of at the time.

"Why I am the first?" I asked before I could stop myself.

His only response was to roll so that his back faced me. He didn't scoot to the very edge of the berth, and I smiled. I knew I wasn't going to get an answer tonight, but that was okay. I was happy.