Chapter 7: Needs
Sentinel wasn’t sure when he had crawled back into his berth and fallen into recharge, but he woke to find the ship in movement. Laying on his berth on his back, staring at the ceiling as a cube glowed on his nightstand, he did not know if this was a good thing or not. He did not know if he should find comfort in escaping that Earth or not.
Placing his hands over his face, Sentinel tried to drown out the light of the energon cube at this berth side. The twins must have come into his room and placed it there and for some reason … it bothered him. He did not want anyone in his room or near his berth when he was at his weakest, recharging.
Also, he didn’t need someone seeing him dreaming. He didn’t need anyone guessing his nightmares.
Lying there a moment more, knowing he couldn’t press his over-rested form back into recharge, he slowly sat up with a grunt. Sitting in his room in the complete darkness, Sentinel glared at the cube for a moment. He was hungry. His tank was lower than he usual allowed it to be, but for some reason he
just didn’t care. Perhaps, it was because his insides were still squirming about what had happened with Optimus.
It had been a blessing that Jazz was so adamant to obey Alpha Trion’s request or otherwise … he would have to face Optimus again and explain what his break down had meant.
Placing a hand over his optics, the young mech tried to forget what he said to Optimus. There was no doubt in his mind that Optimus would dwell on those words of his until the end of time, always wondering and in silent moments perhaps he would even ask himself what they meant. Yeah, it might take Optimus ten vorns before he got another opportunity to ask Sentinel face to face what those words meant, but there was no doubt in Sentinel’s mind that Ultra Magnus would give Optimus recognition for getting all the shards and defeating Cons. Optimus would earn his title back, in time. Besides, Magnus always seemed to have a liking for Optimus. In fact, the only way to keep Optimus away indefinitely was if Ultra Magnus was never allowed to be the Magnus ever
again.
Sentinel softly cursed himself in the dark confines of his room.
How could he think that?! Had the Con fucked him and not Optimus because he was sure there was more and more Con in him the longer this charade dragged out. He beat a mech’s helm in, was placing lie upon lie on himself, hid evidence, ignored a medic’s direct command, attacked a fellow officer, and now he was thinking of ways to make sure Ultra would never rule again!
Maybe Soundwave did get in his head.
Thinking that hiding in the dark wasn’t the best way to calm his mind, Sentinel murmured, “Lights, fifty percent.”
Then, the world seeming a little brighter, he looked at the cube again.
And ignored it.
…
The mega-cycles passed after that, the twins at a distance and Jazz always watching him out of the corner of his visor as if waiting for him to snap. Waiting for him to hit someone else. He wouldn’t do that, of course. His revenge, though minor, had been stale and unfulfilling. Hitting Optimus did not undo what had been done and telling Optimus the truth would not undo the actions either.
He felt hollow inside though he always felt hungry.
Not that he was in the mood to intake anything.
Lately, Jazz had been giving him medical grade because his paint looked so dull and his optics to dim … Even though he hated the pit-forsaken things. Those cubes were vile and slimy, full of peta-flesh metals and raw energon chips. It made him want to gag whenever one was placed in front of him, like right now.
Sentinel cringed as Jazz walked up to his control deck consul and placed a nasty looking pink and blue oily looking cube next to him.
The two twins chuckled slightly in the background (a slight normalcy he was glad for) as the larger bot glared at the ninja-bot. “I’m not drinking that. You have given me like one of those every mega-cycle. No… no more. I’d rather deactivate then taste that-that sludge.”
Jazz gave his superior a
look, before he motioned towards Sentinel’s form. “And you might just deactivate, SP. Your paint looks so dull … an’ as the ship’s medic, I get to tell you what to intake.”
Sighing like a sparklet, Sentinel slowly reaching for the cube, fingers daring to touch it but not quiet doing so. Watching the superior do this for about ten nano-clicks, Jazz decided that since Sentinel was just sitting there, it was time they discussed a much more important issue about the blue mech’s health. A recent health concern that he had noticed.
Turning his attention to the rest of their crew, Jazz spoke to the twins, “Oy … You two get those dancing legs drumming, I need someone to check the engine room and to stop giggling at SP. You’re just encouraging him.”
The two twins were quickly to their feet and saluting their superior, both murmuring, “Yes sir, Mr. Jazz sir!”
And then the two were gone, the door to the command bridge sliding shut and leaving the ninja-bot with his superior. The air immediately changed and both of them knew it as that visor turned in Sentinel’s direction.
Sentinel was the first to speak, still not willing to touch that dreadful cube of medical grade. “The engine’s reading are fine, Jazz. So tell me, what do you want to speak to me alone about? It’s obvious that you want to speak about something. And I already agreed with you mega-cycles ago that I would speak to someone about my
mental health when we got back to Cybertron.”
The last few cycles in space had calmed the blue bot somewhat and he wanted to keep calm or else he might give away his paranoia. Jazz had a way of asking the
right questions.
Sighing, the smaller bot leaned against the consul so that Sentinel had to look at him, the usually care free bot appearing to be older than usual. He almost reminded Sentinel of a commanding tactician in Ultra’s cabinet called Sideswipe, from the ancient war. In fact, stoic was surprisingly well worn on Jazz. It made him look his age, older then Sentinel, and far wiser to the universe then most would guess.
Shaking his head at Sentinel’s presumption, the mech carried a professional tone. “No, SP, that is not what I wanted to talk about. You dig … I just noticed that you’re shifting a lot. Are you okay?”
Sentinel tried not to twitch or fidget in his seat. He just couldn’t help it though. His valve was wet all the time lately down there, twitching and pulsing away. He didn’t know if that was normal for newly popped valves once they adjusted from their first fragging, but he honestly had no intention of telling Jazz and risk giving away his secret.
“Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sentinel then turned his attention to the maps before him, pretending not to care that Jazz seemed to be glaring into his very spark.
“Well, for one, you were recently tortured and had some kind of flashback. Normal mechs just don’t shrug that off,” said the ninja-bot, frowning deeply. “All bots have to deal with the stress in some way.”
Sentinel’s fingers twitched but he kept his attention on the star charts, grumbling, “I’m not going to write poetry or look at oil-splotches, Jazz. If that is what you’re asking?”
“I’m not askin’ you to,” said Jazz, seeming slightly frustrated before he signed and grumbled, “Look, SP, I’ll get to the point. I wanted to be a little more casual about this, but your jackin’ my calm mind so I’ll get to the point.”
The ninja-bot then said something that would have made Sentinel run out of the room in complete embarrassment.
“I saw your seat the last two days … Your leaking lubing fluids, aren’t you?” asked Jazz as the team’s medic more than the smooth talker he was known for on Cybertron.
Sentinel was obviously to flabbergast too reply, his facial features filling with horror.
Jazz, noticing how Sentinel quickly placed a hand over his cod piece and quickly shifted his legs as if hiding something, quickly put his hands up as if swearing to a peace treating, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You’re a young mech … Your body will do things that are ... Ugh, natural. It’s just that one of the twin’s noticed yesterday and I really don’t want to have that conversation with them quiet yet about urges or …lubing valves.”
Sentinel, completely mortified at this point, actual brought his hands up and covered his face, almost begging, “Jazz … I understand …. Please stop.”
Feeling terrible, his reason not at all to mortify his superior, the ninja-bot tried to correctly correlate his point, “No, no, no! You don’t have to be ashamed, SP. I’ve heard that that is how … some bodies deal with stress. Some mech’s get a glitch, some get odd idiocracies, other’s write poetry and some mech’s bodies try to get rid of the stress … physically.”
Sentinel actual whined behind his hands, feeling like it was the first time his spike had went hard behind his cod and his parents had noticed a clicking sound at the table.
“Please stop talking Jazz …”
“But SP what I’m trying to say is … is… is…”
Jazz, a mech rarely one who lost his words, made Sentinel remove his hands to look at the other with the most pathetic expression imaginable, the Prime grumbling, “Just say it … It can’t be worse than whatever you have already said.”
Sighing, the ninja-bot softly said, “If you need … assistance … I can help you relieve the stress.”
Sentinel gained a horrified expression again though Jazz continued to blabber on.
“Not that I’m sexually attracted to you, not that you aren’t good looking SP, but what I mean to say is that many soldiers look for comfort in the ranks to deal with stress and if you can’t deal with it yourself … You are no lesser of a mech for asking for some help,” added Jazz, truthfully sincere despite how awkward the whole thing had been.
Optics tired, his valve pulsing, Sentinel’s shoulder’s sagged.
He had ignored it long enough, his valve’s strange twitches for attention the farther and farther they got from Earth, but Jazz did have a point. It could just be a natural reaction to stress or … to being just popped. Either way, the longer he ignored it, the more he was going to gather lube in his valve.
Nodding his head, the superior relented, “I-I … will deal with it myself for now Jazz. I’m … going to take a break.”
Then rising, twitching when he did notice a slight wet spot where he had been sitting, Sentinel almost moaned in mortification but Jazz was quick to interfere with those thoughts. Placing the cube in Sentinel’s hands, Jazz added in his usual perky tones, “Don’t worry about that SP. Just take your cube and some
rest. Take as
long as you need.”
Nodding, Sentinel basically ran out of the room, though as the doors shut he did hear the ninja-bot murmur, “Man, that was ten shades of awkward.”
…
Cube on his night stand, next to a normal cube, Sentinel sat alone in his room a few cycles later. His optics were so dim that his form seemed to be little more than a corpse. He was so still and … barren. Staring at his hands, he tried to press feelings of hope and success to the surface. He shouldn’t be this upset. So his he had to jack off. It wasn’t a big deal. He was finally going to be Magnus. Jazz had told him about the communication that had occurred a few mega-cycles earlier. And in a few more mega-cycles he would be home and he would be a hero. He would protect the people of Cybertron from the villains that hailed from the stars… organics to Cons.
He would show everyone that he was worth just as much love as Optimus.
Optimus, who had been adored when they were in the Academy and strangely enough was still adored by Ultra Magnus enough that his title as Prime had not been stripped.
It was a bitterness that Sentinel could never let lie and rest. It was because of Optimus that Elita was dead. True, he knew that he should have had enough sense not to go to that spider planet, but he was young and Optimus was the group leader, he should have put his foot down and said no.
But… truthfully, the real reason he couldn’t stand Optimus… before the rape… was because he hadn’t been allowed to go down after her in the spider caves.
He would have.
He still wanted to look for her lifeless husk in his darkest moments.
Like right now he couldn’t think about that though with his spark twitching and his valve swallowing, wet with lube. He pressed his thighs together, feeling a tightness, a want for something between his thighs though at the same time he knew he should feel sick with himself. He should never want anyone between his legs again. He should never want anyone, especially a mech, to touch or ever look at him
there. And yet, the tightness just grew more demanding and the pressing of his thighs together just made his valve ripple with even more want.
Fighting with himself, hating how his mind kept thinking of how it wanted something between his thighs especially someone with thin hips and pouty lips, Sentinel almost puked when he realized what his mind was playing at. Cursing himself, the mech slowly laid back onto his berth and slowly opened his legs.
Pressing all thoughts of arousing figures to the back of his mind, he decided to do this the old fashion way and arose himself by touching the equipment.
With weary fingers he slowly reached down to his cod piece and somehow Sentinel managed to hold back a sob. He didn’t want to ever touch his valve again but he didn’t know how else to stall the growing ache between his legs, and he couldn’t keep leaking! So the only thing to do was to take Jazz’s advice and release some of his system’s tension. It was just tense and sore from its first popping. It just needed some attention and that was normal … right?
Oh frag, what would he know? He hadn’t paid much attention to those medial lectures about mech poppings. He had decided at a young age that femmes were the only way to go. They were the only ones that could make his spike react those first steller cycles when his spark was maturing. Those had been the days … His first few frags had been messy and awkward but the femmes … It had been their first times as well.
The whimpers they made when he broke their seals and the way they would clutch at his armor and whimper at first as he stretched them, even now days the thought of those young femmes could make his circuits frizzle and his spike go hard.
But not anymore.
He hadn’t even been able to get his spike to come out of its casing since the incident. Not that he had much want for sexual endeavors but he had to do something! But the harder he tried to think of ways to get his spike to rise, a part of him even digging into some old adult vids he kept under his berth, the more he was certain it wasn’t going to pop up.
He was slowly growing desperate for
anything that would make him
hard and not
wet.
But he just kept getting wetter and wetter, his valve twitching in the cool air. He had been wet for mega-cycles it felt like, and he just couldn’t deny it anymore. Jazz had to be right. It was just stress. He just had to relieve himself and he didn’t have to think of Optimus and his soft touches and how gentle he was considering.
And yet, as he pressed his fingers into his valve, two fingers quickly becoming three as he buckled against his hand, flashes of that loveless night kept occurring. Even as he bided Optimus’ imagined touches and kisses away, his fingers pressing deeper into his wetness to sooth his inner walls, he could still hear Optimus’ vents panting against his heating metal. Even as his hand moved erratically, his hips bucking in sickening want and need, he could still feel Optimus’ hand pressing at the seams in his thigh. And, when his orgasm finally came, fluid dripping onto his berth, he found himself whimpering out none other than Optimus’ name.
Then, completely sick with himself and yet bodily fulfilled, Sentinel quickly fell into recharge dreaming of none other than Optimus’ golden spark.
…
Meanwhile… across the galaxy, there was another young bot who was suffering bodily troubles as well, and it kept poking at the inside of his cod piece. Optimus twitched and resisted the urge to bring his hand down and cover his cod piece. He felt the instinctive urge to hide the reaction, but then again he knew that that would just bring more attention to his neither regions. Shifting on his legs, Optimus pretended to pay attention to the video feeds in front of him as he looked for Decepticon activity.
But … he was just getting harder and harder under his cod piece and he had no idea why!
The last few days had been this way. The first time it had happened, he hadn’t thought much of it and had taken care of it with a quick hand job. That had been the day Sentinel had woken from Soundwave’s attack. He had started getting hard whenever he saw Sentinel and he had merely dismissed it as a normal reaction for his age. Technically, he was in a good age group to start reproducing.
Sometimes … reactions would occur. It was
natural and it made sure their equipment was up to par and functioning.
At least that was what he had told Bumblebee when the youth had started having reactions since coming to Earth. Personally, part of him wondered if it was because of Sari especially with her new form. He had no idea how far Sari would upgrade and if one day she would have a compete alt mode that would allow her to blend into Cybertron, but regardless Bumblebee would probably one day try to have a physical relationship with her. Personally, he wondered if her form would one day allow her to have intimate relations with a mech, but she was still a youngling so it mattered little right now.
Shaking his head, the fire truck tried to ease such thoughts from his head. He didn’t need to know if the child had the right equipment to be with a Cybertronian. It didn’t even matter! He didn’t even know how such thoughts entered his head though he had an idea it had something to do with the persistent tool under his cod piece.
Gritting his teeth, wishing he had some kind of kill switch to the natural reaction, Optimus struggled to ignore the perverted thoughts popping up in his circuits. What was wrong with him? His spark had matured years ago, back in his academy days. But this tightness in his spark and equipment was growing more and more frequent that it was starting to becoming troublesome … especially with the dreams.
There was a femme or maybe it was a mech, the place was draped in shadows, and they would cry out as he pressed into their valve, kissing their helm and down their neck and … it-it was very erotic and Optimus would admit he wasn’t used to those types of dreams. Not even when his spark was maturing did he have dreams like that.
Frag, what was wrong with him?
Maybe he should talk to Ratchet.
“Ratchet is napping somewhere on 4
th street,” said a calm, cool voice.
Optimus almost squeaked when he realized that Prowl had been standing next to him. It wasn’t uncommon for Prowl to do so but he had a feeling the ninja-bot had been standing there for a while.
“P-Prowl … what are you. I mean … why does it matter where Ratchet decided to collect parking violations?” said Optimus as he tried to gather himself.
Prowl, who was staring at the screen with the cool expressionlessness that seemed such a norm to him, murmured back, “Well, I figured you were thinking some type of deep thought and when you have deep thoughts you generally consort with Ratchet about them given his wisdom.”
Optimus blinked his optics off and on at Prowl’s words, asking, “How did you know?”
Prowl stared at his leader for a moment with almost a sarcastic glance before he pointed to the screen and murmured, “I figured that you must have had some type of deep thoughts since you haven’t noticed that the Angry Archer is terrorizing down town.”
Optics becoming wide, a blush setting itself on his metallic cheeks, Optimus turned his head to the screens.
“Frag … I need to get my head on straight,” grumbled Optimus as he rose to his feet and clicked on his comm. link. “Autobots, we have an emergency!”
Optimus, despite knowing that this was going to be one of those days, was thankful that there wasn’t a tightness under his cod piece anymore … though he had a feeling that later tonight he would dream of the same mech and his deep lustrous moaning and in the morning he would have to jack off … again.
