"…Shit. This is bad. This is very, very bad…"

Er…yeah, um, this is the Autobot Vice Commander's private log. Um, very private. Seriously, don't listen, I'll cut your interface off, I'm not kidding. Ugh, if Red Alert or someone finds out about this, I'm seriously screwed…

"Ugh! Come on, Jetfire, pull yourself together, man!"

As of late, um…as of…six orns ago to date…Optimus Prime—the Autobot commander—and me, we, uh, we started…doing some stuff.

Jetfire stared morosely at the thick silvery transfluid splattered across the wall, dropping his limp spike from his hand and placing both on his hips, sighing loudly. The cleaner from the spigot watered down the 'remnants' of his 'adventure,' but his seed still clung stubbornly to the smooth metal.

"Go on—scat," he muttered, poking it hesitantly with one finger, jerking back in disgust when the stuff showed some resistance. "Oh, this is so gross…"

At first it was mostly a sex thing—er, well, maybe it's still just a sex thing. But, lately, uh…and this is embarrassing to admit…I don't come as hard when I don't do it with Optimus. And it's not like it's a closed relationship, he doesn't really care what I do, I don't think, but the other night I had this femme and I barely came at all. I wasn't even aroused, hardly. I thought that, you know, maybe I just preferred guys, so I tried a mech too, but…

"Primus, are you still in here?"

Jetfire turned, putting on his best pouting face as Optimus Prime stepped cautiously into the wash rack. "I'm having some trouble, Boss."

Prime arched one optic ridge, dismissively surveying Jetfire's transfluid splattered on his wall. "Erm, doesn't look like it to me."

"Yeah, yeah," Jetfire huffed, tenderly cleaning his limp spike as the cleaner rained down against him. "Shut up, okay?"

"…Jetfire, if you wanted to go again, you could have just told me."

"Eh, no, wasn't that," Jetfire replied, shaking his head. "I was just feeling a little restless after last night, you know, but my Jetfire Jr. has totally calmed down, so it's all good."

…Seems like Optimus is the only one who'll do it for me anymore.

Jetfire stiffened when thick hands clasped around his hips, but couldn't muster the strength to resist when he was pulled backwards and into the hard, hot body waiting for him. He was forced forward and against the wall with a few heavy footsteps, biting his lower lip when he felt something hard rub up against his bare aft. Sinfully talented hands were wandering down his hips to gently brush at his quickly rising spike.

"Sure about that?" Optimus breathed softly, nipping the back of his lover's neck, and Jetfire resisted the urge to moan out loud.

"Yep, yessir, absolutely," he gasped out, his nervous tick—his tendency to repeat himself incessantly—reared its damn head at Optimus's ministrations. "Definitely all good, don't need any more tending to, thanks, all clear down there—ugh! Primus, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Optimus smirked, rotating his hips and thrusting again, shoving himself up to the hilt in Jetfire's rear port. The flier fairly howled, both large hands smacking against the wall in an effort to either brace himself or push away—only the former seemed to work in the slightest, and even then, he felt himself sagging quickly as he was touched, fondled, and thoroughly taken from behind.

"A little…warning…next time…" he groaned out at last, shuttering his optics and dropping his forehead against the wet wall, gasping softly in time with each thrust. It was no use backing out now—he could feel Optimus's entire length hardening like a rock, and his own spike was reacting powerfully to their coupling. Optimus mercifully dropped down a hand to accommodate Jetfire Jr., gripping the hard spike and pumping gently.

"You love it," he chuckled softly, speaking low and directly into Jetfire's very attentive audio. "You yearn for it. Why else would you be working yourself off with your face pressed into my towel?"

Jetfire stiffened momentarily before issuing an irritated growl, shoving his aft back out of time with Optimus's hips to throw the elder off rhythm. The flier had been hoping desperately that his commander wouldn't notice the towel he'd not-so-subtly kicked into the corner when Optimus came in. Jetfire felt guilty about it—it was a little needy and self-serving, even for him—but he always overloaded much more powerfully when he could actually smell his lover. As long as that smell—musky, like diesel, faintly spicy—was in his noseplates, he could vividly see and feel Optimus right there with him—much as he was now.

"Oh, for the love of…" Jetfire hissed out when one large hand trapped both of his behind his back. "Seriously, Optimus?"

"You were in control all last night," Optimus defended, biting Jetfire's shoulder briefly to stifle an excited groan. It wouldn't do to let his cocky lover know how riled up he was.

…Oh, shit. Cocky? Damn awful choice of words…

Jetfire smirked faintly when Optimus gasped softly behind him, the thrusts coming a little faster and less evenly. "You're hard," the flier murmured almost lazily, optics drifting closed once more as he felt his overload approaching. There was a warm tingling in his lower abdomen, joined shortly afterwards by the muscle cables in his lower back tightening, his pedes shifting automatically and trying to find better purchase on the slippery floor…

"You're harder," Optimus replied lamely, lightening his service of Jetfire's rod to teasing strokes before oblingingly going back to hard pumping motions at Jetfire's pleading whimper. "You want to come, Jet?"

"Man, I'm not playing this game with you. Frag me harder already."

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that," Optimus growled, shoving himself up as far as he could go into Jetfire's rear port and holding himself stationary there, also halting the hand on Jetfire's spike. "Do you want to come or not?"

"…Yes, sir…"

"Do you want to come?"

"Yes, sir!"

Jetfire released a very un-masculine yelp when he was abruptly dropped to the floor, lifted off of Optimus's spike, and spun around so he found himself straddling Optimus's hips, the larger mech now on his back and splayed out comfortably on the floor of his private wash racks.

"Work for it," Optimus smirked, folding his hands beneath his head, mirthful cobalt optics beckoning Jetfire onward. "Go on, then, soldier. You said you wanted to come, did you not?"

"…Bastard," Jetfire growled, finding his voice at last, using one hand to adjust Optimus's raging erection before carefully impaling himself upon it, back arching on instinct as the thick length filled him to near pain. He allowed himself a moment to readjust before moving cautiously, riding Optimus's spike up and down while the other mech went slack beneath him, moaning softly.

"Oh, gods," Jetfire groaned, shuttering his optics and tipping his head back, bracing his hands on Prime's thighs while he worked his aft and hips up and down. "Primus, right there…shit, that's good…"

"Can I take that as a compliment?" Optimus mumbled, hands edging down to ghost over Jetfire's knee joints, traveling sensually up to stroke his thighs.

"Hey, just because—ungh—I know where to—ahh—take a spike—hnn—doesn't make you any better than…any better than…shit, I…ugh…I'm gonna…."

"Already?" Optimus teased softly, but a shudder tore through him when Jetfire arched, grinding his bared interface against Optimus's upper crotch, wild gasps tearing past his mouthplates as he thrust harder into his leader.

"Shut up," Jetfire muttered, keening and arching hard when Optimus's hand wrapped around his quivering rod. "Oh, Primus, Optimus—!"

The flier came with a heated cry, tipping his head back, voice lowering to an ecstatic sob as his overload wracked his impaled body. Transfluid erupted from his rod in several powerful spurts, leaving the writhing mech beneath him covered with the stuff. Optimus clamped both hands around his lover's waist, hissing and pumping his hips upward into Jetfire's aft, a heavy cry tearing through him as he hit his overload, bringing Jetfire back up on his high at the feel of hot transfluid within him. Optimus would have very much liked to stay there forever, tingling with the wonderful last vestiges of overload with Jetfire-smart, witty, cocky, loveable Jetfire-straddling his hips, moaning like that, moving that way...

Jetfire recovered with a soft, shuddering sigh, clenching his aft and arching his back as he pulled off of his lover's spike, gathering the other's slack body in his arms, laughing quietly when Optimus weakly ground their relaxing erections together.

"Stupid mech, always going for more than you can handle," Jetfire murmured, picking up the now-soaked towel from the corner and tenderly cleaning away the evidence of their escapade from Optimus's cooling body, turning off the cleanser spigot with a single mental command to the computer. Optimus stirred faintly, only to fall limp again when Jetfire's warm mouth smothered his in a searing kiss, Jetfire teased his lover lips open with soft licks and nips, his glossa exploring the smooth plane of the other's denta before delving inward to find Optimus's own. Their glossa met gently, passionately, and Jetfire was surprised by the hand wrapping around his helm, Optimus pulling him in to deepen the kiss.

Jetfire found himself relaxing, lowering his sated commander to the floor, kissing him warmly, noseplates and lips and glossa brushing with infinite tenderness. It was a miraculous thing, having a lover who warmed his spark as well as his body—so miraculous, in fact, that Jetfire was quickly letting himself forget that it was scandalous, not allowed, wrong…but so, so right…

They were reluctant to pull away, Jetfire leaving soft parting kisses and bites against Optimus's jaw and throat, traveling down to the base of his neck and junction of his shoulder to mark him gently, glossa soothing away the sting.

"Optimus…"

"Mnn?"

Jetfire paused, hesitant, wiling away the moments by licking the seam of Prime's chestplates, captivated by the haunting blue light flickering between the gaps of his armor. "This isn't, uh, just a sex thing, right?"

A silence followed, and Jetfire ducked his head again, embarrassed, busying himself with mouthing against that deliciously warm throat. His spark flared almost painfully when he felt a strong hand rest tenderly against the back of his helm, and then Optimus was lifting his chin, pulling in his vice commander for another heated kiss.

"No…" he murmured softly between lip locks, savoring the taste of the white mech pressed so intimately against him. "It doesn't…have to be…"

Eh, well, what can I say, everyone is always going on about his magnetic personality and all that crap, and he's pretty damn good in the berth besides, so if I come hard anyway when I'm with him, I might as well make the most of it…this is Autobot vice commander Jetfire, signing off…