Chapter Text
Soundwave was warm. He was not usually warm, unless the Cassettes decided it was sleepover pile night, which happened quite often, but there was something wrong. There was no hint of rust or sea weed in his olfactory units, just a delicate sweet scent that evoked cleanliness and peace. The berth under him was soft and comfortable.
He could not hear the familiar hum of the ocean surrounding them, nor the never-ending creaking and hissing of the ship. There was music instead, a relaxing wordless melody repeating in a cozy loop, and two engines purring around him.
And there were two frames pressed against his, too large to be Cassettes, too small to be any of his occasional berth-mates. The cuddling was a dead giveaway that it could not be any of them anyway. The fields that intertwined with his were another, and the sheer desire and lust in them made Soundwave dizzy for a moment – no, not just desire. Desire aimed at him in particular. Not just lust, but something softer, possessive and yet delicate. Waiting. Patient. Just like the servos brushing his thighs and shoulders.
Visual feed was back online. He looked up, to see an orange ceiling. The Ark. He was on the Ark, and not in one of the cells in their brig, no, that was a private habsuite. He turned his helm, still dizzy, and looked at his berth-mates.
Prowl. Jazz.
Memory files slammed back to the front of his processor queue, demanding attention. Megatron's plan, the Prime, the Autobots' behavior. Right. Right, that had happened. Soundwave could not afford to tell Megatron I told you so and he knew he was never getting apologies, but maybe next time their leader would think twice about ignoring him, a small part of him still hoped. He tried not to think about how many times he had the same hope.
“What's making you sad, sweetspark?” Jazz asked, and the Autobot raised himself on an elbow to look at him. “Want me to kiss it away?”
Soundwave tried to move his arms so he could shove the other Mech away, and found out he could not. His servos were raised above his helm and tied to the head of the berth with something soft and unyielding. He pulled at it, with no result. His legs were tied too, the same soft substance wrapped around his ankle joints. He had some more wiggle room there, but it was still not breaking.
“That is just for practical reasons,” Prowl informed him, sitting on the berth. “Until we convince you this is for your own good. Though I have to admit, you look incredibly beautiful like that. It shows off this lovely chest so much better,” and the other Mech's digits demonstrated the point brushing over the glass compartment in his chest. A digit stopped on one of the hinges and pressed deeper for a moment.
Soundwave stifled an undignified sound and was very glad that his frame had a face-mask.
“Hey, no need to be shy with us, sweetie. We want to hear you,” Jazz encouraged him from somewhere on the other side, before leaning down to – to – to lick at his neck cables. Just a small flicker of his glotta, but in the right spot to travel straight to Soundwave's pleasure routines.
No. No, he was not falling for a few touches, no matter how sensitive is plating was getting and how much his systems seemed to like it.
“Autobots: stop molesting me,” he ordered, trying once again to free his arms. Both of those were futile attempts.
“Is that what you think we are doing?” Prowl asked, tilting his helm. His digits were scratching the border of the chest cover, an idle movement that managed to make Soundwave's plating tingle with interest. “We are just expressing our interest.”
“Soundwave: not interested.”
Jazz hummed against his neck cables, the sound traveling in his frame like a wave tailored to his very own sensors, and one of his servos pressed into Soundwave's thigh in a possessive squeeze. A traitorous port popped open on his side.
“Forgive me if I do not believe that,” Prowl chuckled, and his other servo moved down to Soundwave's other thigh, squeezing too. The port on his other side opened.
Soundwave blamed the Decepticons for over-saturating his work environment with lust since that mess of a plan had started. Anyone would be repressed if they had to listen – and see and feel and even smell – that much. And the two Autobots seemed to know his weak spots too well, and it was not like Soundwave was a sparkless machine, no matter what someone had said. He could hardly be expected not to react.
On both sides, digits started playing around the edges of his open ports. Soundwave squirmed under the Bots' hungry stares, and he saw the pink flickering in them.
The virus. It was just the stupid virus making them act like that, he had to remember that. It was not about wanting him, it was just that cursed virus forcing the two of them to crave a Decepticon. He was just a warm frame in the right place with the right faction symbol. His frame cooled down a bit at the thought.
“Ooooops. Someone's thinking bad thoughts again, mmmm?” Jazz hummed, peeking up to watch him. “What's eating you, dear?”
He was really not used to partners who could pick up on his reactions like that. And they should not have been able to, not with their processors over-written to prioritized their interface systems. They should – they should not have waited.
“Soundwave: was brought back to the Ark. Why?”
“We could have taken you in that desert when we caught you. I will not deny that you were very appealing,” Prowl chuckled, one of his servos tracing circles on Soundwave's thighs. “But we both agreed you deserved much better. Trust me, waiting was excruciating.”
“Yeah, says the Bot who once made me wait for three weeks,” Jazz grumbled, then he grinned, “Should do that again sooner or later.”
Soundwave ran a quick conversion between Earth and Cybertronian units, and then shuffled the results down his thought threads. Not a priority, no, not even if the idea had some merits. He had never had a partner who would be willing to try something so long, he could not even imagine approaching one of his fellow Decepticons with the idea. It required a level of implicit trust that – that made his spark flutter just a little, so it was time to lock down that thread for good.
Digits were still playing with his side ports, but they had slowed down. It was maddening.
“Other Autobots: did not wait.”
Prowl rolled his optics.
“I will admit that our soldiers were over-enthusiastic, and Optimus did not set up a good example at all. I am sure he will apologize for that. Still, I want to assure you that every single Decepticon was brought to the Ark safe and sound, and they are now under excellent care.”
Soundwave debated if he should ask, but he had to.
“Cassettes: captured too?”
“I would not call it captured. We do not want to treat you as prisoners, you can see that, right?”
Right. Definitely not what the Autobots normally did to prisoners. This was much worse.
“Come on, Sounders, your Cassettes are all here, fine and good. On my spy honor and all that. And they're enjoying themselves. Like you should be doing,” Jazz suggested.
Soundwave unfortunately believed him, since he knew his Cassettes. He still attempted a glare.
The smaller Autobot just giggled and then moved, a swift gravity-defying wiggle that ended up with him straddling Soundwave's waist, one leg on either side, frame rubbing against his sensors with deadly precision. Then Jazz leaned forward to nuzzle against Soundwave's face-mask, his chest pressed against the other.
Soundwave could not see Prowl anymore with Jazz's helm and chest on the way, but he could feel the other Mech shifting position. A moment later, there was a gust of air against his open port, and then something – something softer than a digit, brushing against it. He realized that the Autobot was trailing soft kisses around his port and down his side, sensors alighting with each brush of those derma and each soft vent.
Soundwave's charge was rising up faster than ever, and his field was pulsating with a need that almost matched the other two.
“You're just perfect, babe,” Jazz whispered against his audials. His servos came up to cup Soundwave's helm and then trailed down. Two digits pinched one of his neck cables, and Soundwave yelped.
He was not proud of it, but he did not have time to compose himself, because a moment later dentae brushed against his thigh, and one of his cables was loose.
“Just like that,” came Prowl's voice, and he could feel the sound vibrate on his plating. “Just open up for us. Let us love you like you deserve, dear.”
Then his glossa was licking the cable, just a little, just enough to make it uncoil. Dentae brushed against the connector and tugged it out, delicate and firm. Soundwave let out another little yelp, his charge rising up. His frame temperature was rising.
Jazz shifted, and his visor switched to a mirror.
“Should look at yourself, sweetspark. You are so beautiful.”
And Soundwave could see himself now. His face-mask glistening with oral lubricant from Jazz's kisses. His own visor glowing with charge. The way his helm had tilted without his input to allow the other Mech's better access to his neck cables and -
“Autobots: should stop wasting time,” he croaked.
“Is it a waste of time to tell you how amazing you are?”
Prowl had moved to Soundwave's other side now, and once again he was trailing kisses on his side, around his port, down to his thighs and up to his chest. Jazz slid down too, taking the other Mech's place, a servo moving to play with Soundwave's exposed connector, still light and almost exploratory, the other rubbing the open port. Their field were alight in a common expression of love and warmth, in such harmony that you could not tell where one began and the other stopped.
Soundwave's other side cable uncoiled under Prowl's care, and a kiss landed on it, longer this time. It felt like a reward. It felt intimate.
He was not going to last much longer.
“Soundwave: just a frame to satisfy you,” he snapped, trying to remind himself of that obvious fact, despite the charge, despite the need, despite the way their words landed in his processor and sent his reward center in a loop of pleasure. He would not yield. Not so easily.
Then they both stopped, and looked at him. Once again the center of their undivided attention, Soundwave shrank back against the berth, his charged up frame lamenting the loss of their touches. There was something dark in their fields now, a possessive streak, almost revengeful. It wrapped around Soundwave's own field like tendrils. He squirmed again. It was not unpleasant, not at all.
“Just a frame, he says,” Jazz muttered. “Was it your frame that hacked into our computers so many times, no matter how hard we made security, babe? Or was it your brilliant, brilliant processor? Was it the reason I had to run away from a mission again and again with just the plating on my back, or was it your delicious ruthlessness?”
Soundwave's processor lapped in those words and sent them straight to pleasure. He could feel the charge rising again, and even more when Jazz's servos came back, roaming over his frame in gentle caresses.
“Was it your frame that saved the Decepticons just in the nick of time when a battle went wrong, or was it your quick thinking and experience? Why would your Cassettes be so loyal to you, if not for your own loyalty back to them, your care, your love?” Prowl continued, his servos joining the others in dragging slow, careful touches all over Soundwave's frame. The Decepticon leaned into them, and into the words. He could hear them in his spark.
“We can see it from the other side of a battlefield. We can admire your genius in every new communication code, every counter-espionage measure, every time your army does the impossible with scarce resources. You have no idea how many times we discussed your incredible, awesome exploits – how many times we wished we could have you for us.”
“Prowl: means for the Autobots?” Soundwave squeaked, and cringed for a moment at the undignified sound, but the two Mechs did not seem to care.
They were smiling at him, now, and that thing in their fields was lighter but still possessive, still surrounding him with want and need and ours.
“Heh, sure, that would be a boon,” Jazz chuckled. “But, you know. Also. For us.”
Sometimes during their conversation, Soundwave noticed just now, Jazz had opened one of his own ports, right on his neck. It was a vulnerable position, so close to his helm and processor. Nobody in their sane mind would offer that port to an enemy, or a stranger. It was a show of trust. It was sending tingles of excitement and amazement through his systems.
Jazz's servo lifted one of Soundwave's cables, holding the connector gently, like a crystal.
“May I?” he asked softly.
Soundwave nodded.
Jazz plugged it in, and suddenly Soundwave's charge was flowing towards the connection point, rushing to complete the circuit, with a speed that left his processor spinning.
Power surged through their linked frames and met his match on the other side. Jazz's charge was like him – energetic and wild, unpredictable in its pattern and yet harmonious, like a melody that changed every time you wanted to write it down.
“Sounders. Sweetie. You are pure symphony,” the Mech groaned, flopping down on his side, careful to keep the cable untangled between them. Charge sizzled where their plating was touching.
Soundwave collected what was left of his thoughts, and turned to the other side. Prowl was waiting, patient, looking at them with a warm smile. Not a hint of jealousy in his field, no competitiveness or wish they could hurry up for his turn. It was so obvious he wanted them – both of them, and their joy. It was refreshing. It was enough.
It was, just maybe, not enough, Soundwave decided with sudden clarity.
“Prowl: should join in,” he offered instead, wiggling his side just enough to make the free cable move a bit. He was not sure it looked inviting – he had never bothered much with that – but the look the Autobot sent him, and the sudden flare of open desire in his field, suggested that it had worked.
Prowl leaned forward, a port popping over just under his chest. Close to his spark. Soundwave was already moaning before the connector clicked in.
And then the charge oscillated and undulated inside him and flowed towards the new connection, and Prowl's energy was a steady rhythm, clean and deep but never dull, sophisticated and harmonious.
Soundwave dropped down on the berth. Charge passed through the connection and through plating, and servos were grabbing him, touching him, playing with his seams everywhere until he did not know where the feelings came from. Fields so entwined they were pulsing like one, wave upon wave of pleasure, a never-ending crescendo that fed on itself in a loop, higher, stronger, more -
“One last trick, sweetie?” Jazz's voice was crackling too, barely audible over all of their fans activated at once.
Soundwave activated the visual feed he had not consciously switched off, and moaned again, unable to form words. Jazz half-scrambled over him, grabbed a slick black cord – Prowl's cable – and connected it to another port on his side.
The three-way connection snapped complete faster than lightning, bigger than life. The crescendo of pleasure peaked, and every system Soundwave had – everything he was – was set ablaze in a sublime, roaring overload.
**
Soundwave's systems rebooted in a pleasant daze, and for a moment he was just there, floating, then he became aware of his surrounding. The soft, comfortable berth under him, the two fields overlapping his, satisfied and happy, two engines purring, two frames surrounding his. He realized his arms were untied now.
So. That actually happened. Now time to lock it in the deepest part of his memory banks and do damage control.
“Soundwave: should leave,” he whispered, trying to get up. The charming glow of the best overload sequence he had never even known he could experiment was fading.
With the Autobots occupied, maybe he could still save something out of that embarrassing situation. Maybe some of the Decepticons had managed to escape the Autobots' sudden ambush, or to slip away in the confusion. They could re-group and figure out a way to rescue their comrades and their commander later.
“I think you should stay here instead,” came Prowl's voice from his side, and two servos dragged him back down on the berth.
“Yeah, don't worry about anything. It's still cuddle time,” Jazz added, climbing Soundwave's frame to lie on top of him in a very effective pose that stopped him from moving and made all his sensors tingle in the most pleasant way. A relaxing humming sound, like a melody, came from the smaller Mech's frame.
Cuddle time was a known concept in the Autobots' approach to interface, but not something Soundwave was very familiar with. He frowned, a bit confused. The virus that had infected the Autobots was supposed to make them crave interface, not everything else that they added around it. Logically, cuddle time should not have been included. They should either be ready for another round – Soundwave's systems pinged up some interest at the idea, but he resolutely canceled the notices – or lost in the daze of their over-written processors, waiting to submit to his instructions.
He tried to test that theory.
“Autobot Jazz: will remove himself from Soundwave's frame now.”
That got him the very same results that he usually received from the Cassettes when they decided to use him as a perch. Zero attempts at removing himself, a brilliant lazy grin, and:
“Awwwww, but I like it here.”
It was not that Soundwave's frame did not like him there either, but it was also not how that virus was supposed to work.
“You are thinking too much,” Prowl commented, raising his helm to look at Soundwave. Clever blue optics stared into his visor, and then the Autobot SIC leaned forward to kiss his face-mask.
That was definitely unexpected. Soundwave took a moment to collect himself and keep his fans from activating on his own. That would be just embarrassing.
“Autobots: are acting weird,” he blurted out.
“We both know you and your Cassettes spied us long enough to know this is very normal for us.”
“Situation: not normal. Soundwave: not an Autobot.”
“Maybe we want it to become a normal situation, then. We have time to figure it out.”
It was weird to hear that from the usually stoic tactician, and even weirder to have it directed at him, in such a soft voice, and with a hint of a smile on those face-plates that Soundwave would not mind getting closer again -
Wait, no. Focus. It was just the virus, and if it had somehow warped their processors into more than lust, into this – this softness – he had to investigate it. He let down his firewalls and extended a tendril of his power, just enough to skim the surface of their thoughts. He was too tired to do more, anyway.
He only found an unwavering, unnatural certainty of how much they wanted him there, and a wave of dizziness came over him. This was wrong. This was so wrong.
“Sounders, sweet babe, tell us what's wrong, please?”
“Autobots: do not really want Soundwave. Autobots: should hate him for what happened.”
It was pathetic. It was ridiculous. It was why he had wanted to stay back and just do his work, because that night had been everything he wanted and it had been fake and -
Jazz leaned back on Soundwave's chest, a servo lazily drawing non sense shapes on his compartment.
“Soundwave. Dearest. Sweetspark. Lover. You do realize that we know about that virus, right?”
Soundwave jolted. He was unable to do more than wiggle in place, with Prowl still cuddled around his side, legs imprisoning his in a soft, yet unmovable hold.
“Autobots: know? How?”
“Red Alert? Ratchet? Me? The Matrix being a snitch to Optimus? Pick your choice, babe,” Jazz snickered.
“Autobots: could have stopped it any time you wanted?”
“Not really, and not in time before you acted. But there was enough wiggle space to shuffle it around, keep our processors clear even if our priority trees were scrambled. We are still us. Anything we did and said tonight was us. Just – us without a limit on getting what he wanted,” Prowl explained.
Soundwave considered the implications. Remove their self-imposed limits just once, and the Autobots had immediately defeated their enemies in one strike. The Decepticons never had a chance.
“Other Decepticons -”
“Getting taken care of. Very well. My amazing Prowler here even organized a rooster to make sure none of them was left behind.”
“It was the only time I had volunteers for triple shifts. And from the few intelligible parts in the reports I got so far, nobody in your army is complaining,” Prowl added. “I am getting more complaints from the Autobots about why we did not do it earlier.”
“Megatron: obsessed with your Prime. Obsession: might make him – difficult.”
The two black and white Mechs looked at each other and then snorted at once.
“Sounders, my lovely Mech, it takes a carefully coordinated effort from the entire high command and a rotation of volunteers just to make Optimus tired. The Matrix is just that much of a cheat code. Megatron's the one who's in over his helm taking him on alone. Pretty sure he'll not make trouble for a while.”
Soundwave did not really know how to feel about any of that. He was sure that was not what Megatron had in mind when he had started that plan, but on the other servo, he was getting exactly what he had asked for. One thought, dark and bitter, blossomed in his processor and then self-replicated to take over all his threads.
“Decepticons: lost the war then. Autobots: are just going to keep us here. Use us for your pleasure. That: was what we planned for you. Payback: only fair,” he admitted.
Two fields pressed against his, engulfing him in warmth and comfort. Servos roamed his plating. The dark thoughts started slipping away in a haze of pleasurable feelings.
“If you think that we went through all that trouble to praise your incredible processor and skills just to content us with your, admittedly delicious, frame, we might be doing something wrong,” Prowl announced. “We can not wait to work together.”
“Might take a break or two if you keep being so attractive, not gonna lie,” Jazz whispered. “But that's how we do things here.”
“Unfortunately true.”
“Oh, now don't act like it's never you starting it -”
Soundwave forced his processor to focus back on what was important – which was not how good he felt right now.
“Work together?”
“One thing you are right about, we are not planning to give up on you. Any of you. My calculations show that the best way to do there is sign a peace treaty and offer the Decepticons enough incentive to stick around.”
Soundwave was pretty sure that he just had a lot of incentive, but he would not say no to another round or two. If the other Decepticons were being treated like that, the peace treaty would be summarized as yes please.
“Query: what kind of incentive?”
“Resources. Energon. Safety. We can discuss everything else when we can walk again, but your representative already agreed with a first draft.”
For the second time, Soundwave's systems jolted to attention.
“Query: our representative?” he repeated, confused.
“Mmmm, you might know her. Smartest and most sensible Decepticon. Slipped inside the Ark and pointed out a way to make everyone happy.”
“Also, she informed us that you were planning to not take advantage of the situation and just keep over-working yourself. That was quite gentlemanly, as the humans would say, but not acceptable.”
Soundwave groaned and set up a reminder to reprimand Ravage. Or to buy her treats. He was not sure which one.
“Megatron: might refuse the treaty out of spite.”
“Nah, we'll wait until OP has softened him up. A few Earth days should be enough. I don't think he needs full processor power to input an approval on a data-pad.”
Soundwave snorted.
“Megatron: barely skims them most of the time. Requests for input: ignored.”
“We would not do that to you. You can request any input you want, any time.”
Soundwave stared at Prowl for a moment.
“Prowl: just made a sexual joke?”
“More like an offer. If you still want it to be one.”
Soundwave considered the idea, and then he shrugged. The Autobots were offering more than fair conditions, apparently, and if it was good enough for Ravage it was good enough for him. He could think about a plan later. Maybe.
“Soundwave's input: just shut up and frag me again already.”
The two Autobots did not waste any time on that.