Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Out of the many worlds Galvatron had valiantly conquered in the last decacycle, Netritimorpha made his most handsome backdrop. Against the sickly yellows and browns of the planet, Galvatron was all the more regal and otherworldly. The towering forest canopy left his Lord’s frame a patchwork of blinding silver, shining violet, and deep midnight shadow; all freckled with the starlight shimmer of illuminated dew. 

Cyclonus focused his optics in to watch a drop fatten and roll. It arced across the sparking prongs of Galvatron's crown, tracked through the creases of his furrowed optical brow, traced the sharp planes of his nose, before it was obscured by steam. The angry heat pouring from his Lord’s frame made plumes of vapor rise from each and every seam. His overbright optics cut through the mist like smoldering embers. 

Galvatron growled harshly as he batted the offending fog from his vision. 

“Cyclonus!”

Cyclonus startled, taking in a sharp breath of the dank, metallic air.

“Yes, Mighty One?” Cyclonus responded blandly to mask his embarrassment. He pointedly ignored Scourge’s snide jab as he strode to his Lord’s side.

“Tell Zarak he has 3—“ Galvatron gripped the prongs of his helm hard enough to dent as a painful spark cracked through the charged particles littering the air, “no, a joor to fix the long range sensors.”

“Mighty Galvatron, we are still well within the original time estimate. Recalibration for such a volatile atmosphere cannot be rushed—“

“Without proper motivation,” Galvatron hissed. “A joor! Or I will teach him what happens to mechs who waste my time personally.”

“Yes, Lord Galvatron.” Cyclonus watched the comm’s transmission rate carefully, unsure if comms could be delivered through the soupy atmosphere. 

As a full astro-second ticked by, then another, he shifted his pedes impatiently. He grimaced as they sunk further into the filthy organic detritus that littered the planet. The sticky substance worked itself into engine-warm seams and promptly burned. 

When the comm delivered, Cyclonus needed no directions to find the scouting party. Galvatron's impassioned speech echoed clearly off wet bark and lichen. 

“— I’d say I was disappointed with their performance if they were anything but brainless soldiers. No, Sixshot, I am disappointed in you,” Galvatron sneered as he planted an accusatory punch to his chest plate. “We’ve been here for 2 joors and your ‘navigation skills’ haven’t found a single lifeform that isn't rooted into the ground, much less the energon. Was it simply luck that brought you into Decepticon space?!”

Sixshot sucked in a breath to argue, but quickly thought better of it. His pauldrons drooped as continued following Galvatron’s lead… as he had been the last 2 joors. Scourge hid a wide smirk behind clawed servos, shoulders shaking as he stifled a chuckle.

Galvatron whipped his helm around at the sound. 

“Does our failure amuse you, Scourge?” Galvatron’s voice was dangerously quiet. Scourge froze.

“Speak!” Galvatron roared as he aimed his fusion cannon.

“No, Gal– Lord Galvatron, sir,” Scourge stammered.

“No?” Galvatron let out a hearty laugh. “We’ll see how funny it is when you’re running flights without rations. You and your sweeps.”

Galvatron’s glare sharpened. He took a sudden stride forward. Scourge took one step back before he remembered himself and stilled again. He flinched when Galvatron rested a servo on his pauldron. 

“Look,” Galvatron sneered into the distance behind Scourge’s helm. He used his grip to turn Scourge toward what had caught his attention. “Natives.”

Cyclonus, Scourge, and Sixshot peered blindly into the mist. Galvatron growled and pointed to a spot in the treeline. 

The interference on Cyclonus’ long range sensors made it difficult, but he was able to discern three masses moving toward them. As they grew closer, he could make out basic details of their build. They were two-wheeled vehicles, similar to the Junkions; only that they were smaller, rounder, and neater. Two round sidecars bobbed along their chassis as they wove their way through the thick vegetation.

They hid as the vehicles moved into optic range. Cyclonus could hear high pitched laughter as one bounded over the body of another. It transformed midair to brush its companion as it passed ahead. The other made an indignant yelp before transforming to catch the instigators’ greave. The third struggled to keep up even in its vehicle mode.

Their frames appeared largely Cybertronian in physiology– if not for the bloated form of their servos. Delicate digits had been replaced by the overly large, bulbous masses that formed their sidecars. The Netritimorphians paid them no mind as they bobbled and swayed unnaturally behind their movements. It was as if those poor substitutions actively resisted commands by their owners.

Scourge grunted in disgust. Cyclonus scoffed in agreement. He could not imagine the purpose of such an inhibiting feature. 

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves,” Galvatron grinned balefully.

Chapter Text

Galvatron's plan had been going smoothly. They had threatened the Netritimorphans, convinced them to take them to their settlement, and began liberating their measly energon stores. Within the joor, they were nearly ready to return to the ship’s landing site.

Until the autobots arrived. 

Cyclonus twisted gracefully between the blaster fire to tackle Ultra Magnus. The two grappled, leaving a wide enough gap in the autobot battle line for Sixshot to squeeze through. With the enemies’ backs turned, he had a moment to summon his shadow clones and begin firing.

Galvatron had acted similarly. He had thrown himself into the fray, drawing fire to allow his limited soldiers their best fighting chance. He exchanged blows with Springer, Hardhead, Chromedome, the Prime himself; all with the manic glee and brilliance of a warrior king. 

As Cyclonus lost himself in the revel of battle, Galvatron lost interest in the dwindling autobot forces. He turned instead to their pathetic spectators.

Most understood the danger. One stubborn Netritimorphan refused to flee. Armed with a large stone, it took its shot.

Which harmlessly bounced off Galvatron’s thick armor.

“I admire your tenacity,” Galvatron hummed. “It’s a pity it will not save you.”

The small creature let out a yelp as it was seized. Its soft, bulky servos dolled out a useless volley of padded strikes. Galvatron let out a loud cackle as he ripped the offending servo from its housing.

Well, tried to. 

Instead of the bare circuitry and gushing energon expected from such an attack, the structure simply tore away to reveal a proper servo nestled underneath. Galvatron took it in stride, discarding the limp membrane and taking its owner’s wrist in a denting grip. 

“A pathetic waste of Cybertronian hardware,” Galvatron growled, baring his denta. The creature shook, then screamed as Galvatron easily hoisted its meager form into the air. “No matter, I’ll show you what servos are for.”

Galvatron smiled wickedly as he watched it squirm. The hollow sound of armor thrashing against armor was nearly drowned out by its incessant howling. As it scrambled for purchase, its exposed servo pressed against the lower half of Galvatron’s chestplate.

Cyclonus whipped around at the sickening sound of metal tearing and internal components sparking as they were exposed to air. Even through the pungent, metallic haze; the sweet scent of spilt energon was unmistakable.

He watched in horror as Galvatron’s proud form slumped, optics dim and jaw slackened.

Cyclonus felt his transformation cog surge in his chest before he was consciously aware that he’d activated his thrusters. 

“Galvatron!” Cyclonus called as he grabbed his Lord by the rembraces and pulled him from the blaster fire. 

The wings adorning his forearms scraped through the foliage as he dove into the treeline. Cyclonus endured the scratches to curl protectively around Galvatron’s limp form. The acrid scent of burning leaves punctuated the air as his still-smoking heels gouged through the ground cover and into the dirt. Cyclonus slowly sunk to his poleyns, keeping his movement controlled to prevent further damaging his Lord. 

“Cyclonus…” Galvatron panted shallowly against Cyclonus’ armor. Cyclonus helplessly pulled him closer, wincing at the stinging steam pouring from his vents. Galvatron’s armor was scalding, Cyclonus realized belatedly as he adjusted his digits.

Galvatron’s helm lolled against Cyclonus’ pauldron as he struggled to hold it upright. Cyclonus shifted to guide him, earning him a tired shove. Awkward, scraping breems passed before Galvatron peeled himself off of Cyclonus enough to face him.

Galvatron’s half lidded expression would’ve been obscured by the haze rising from his seams if not for the unnatural overbrightness of his optics. He sucked another ragged breath between his teeth. Cyclonus watched the plume of steam rise from his lips. He barely resisted the urge to wipe away the tracks of coolant and energon marring the sides of his Lord’s faceplate. It was difficult to see him in such a state.

“Lord Galvatron,” Cyclonus swallowed thickly, eyes darting across his Lord’s tired features, “Are you—“

Galvatron let out a manic laugh as he bullied Cyclonus into the wet dirt. Cyclonus blinked, feeling himself instinctively lax against the rough treatment.

“Mighty One?” 

Galvatron’s wicked grin faded. His expression went ominously stiff, charge sparking across his crown, before his faceplate slackened to lid his dimming optics. He stared down at Cyclonus with an expression he could not recognize. That startled him more than the unexpected pinning.

Then Galvatron dipped down to kiss him.

Cyclonus froze. His concern over Galvatron’s strange behavior and his desire to please him battled to dictate his next action. Neither won. He laid there, overclocked and guilty, as Galvatron’s overheated glossa laved impatiently over his closed lips. 

“Cyclonus,” Galvatron groaned against him, voice gravely and low and longing. Cyclonus’ lips tingled pleasantly. Shame overwhelmed him as his frame responded involuntarily, vents and paneling fluffing open to accommodate his rising temperature. Galvatron growled, pleased, and jammed his digits into seams to stroke Cyclonus’ protoform. 

“Galvatron,” Cyclonus managed to stutter out against the sudden onslaught of pleasure, “You— You’re not—“

Cyclonus’ thoughts grew hazy and distant as Galvatron timed his touch of the delicate wiring of his vambrace mounted aileron with a bite against his neck plating. He gasped as Galvatron forced the seam there wider to expose his internals. He bit back a whine as Galvatron began licking. His glossa wriggled through delicate bundles of sensory cabling before lapping over his main energon line. A full-frame shiver rattled Cyclonus’ plating as Galvatron’s pleasured hums played over the sensitive tubing.

“Cyclonus,” Galvatron panted again; muted by his internals. Cyclonus swallowed. Galvatron chased the movement with his derma.

“Cyclonus,” Galvatron breathed against the underside of his chin. He felt sparks singe his plating as Galvatron’s crown sparked again. Cyclonus had come to understand that as Galvatron’s rational thought fighting to dominate his processor. For a moment, Cyclonus imagined the sort of treatment he would receive if Galvatron’s impulsive side won out. The idea of gnashing teeth and harsh claws littering his body with welts, gashes, marks— claims— was frighteningly arousing. 

Warm digits warmed further as they wandered unhurried, but persistent, against Cyclonus’ plating. Condensation followed the path of his servos against Cyclonus’ chestplate. Galvatron lingered on the Decepticon brand there, tracing the indents of the pattern. 

“My Cyclonus. Mine to command. So loyal, so proud to be mine,” Galvatron babbled as he raised his head to meet Cyclonus’ startled gaze. Cyclonus shivered as digits trailed down to caress the orange glass decorating his waist. “Want you to— Let me— no, use me. Take me. Make me yours.”

Galvatron pressed their derma together again. This time, Cyclonus couldn’t help but press back. He burrowed his faceplate closer as they kissed, smelling energon, plasma, wet earth, and something distinctly masculine, wild, and Galvatron. He angled himself as he parted his derma to tangle their glossa. Galvatron groaned into the kiss, armor warming enough that Cyclonus’ sensors could register the scorching pain of it again. His engine and Galvatron’s fuel cell thrummed in time, rattling each other’s plating where they touched. 

Cyclonus touched him then. He strained to reach over Galvatron’s broad shoulders and pull them closer together. He felt feverish as his servos scrambled to touch every inch of hot armor, to chase the charge arching across plating and cables and Galvatron’s powerful plasma canon, to feel the frantic beat of his Master’s fuel pump as energon raced to every overcharged system. Their shared charge swam headily across Cyclonus’ sensors.

“Galvatron!” Cyclonus broke their kiss to hiccup, breathless and pitchy and involuntarily, as Galvatron’s digits rubbed teasingly against his interface equipment housing. The sound earned Cyclonus a laugh, melting him further into the leaf litter. Galvatron’s digits stroked soothingly down his inner cuisses before pressing hard against the panel again. Cyclonus moaned.

Galvatron licked enticingly across his collar as he prodded for the release. Cyclonus groaned as the panels popped open without conscious command. 

He shivered unpleasantly when Galvatron suddenly ceased his attentions. The damp air settled icily over his exposed plating as overwarm armor pulled far, too far, from his own. He attempted to pull his Lord back down, but his overcharged digits slipped uselessly from the round curves of his pauldrons. His arms fell heavily to his sides.

After a few cold, lonely moments, Cyclonus dazedly pulled himself onto his vambraces to see what was occupying his Lord.

Galvatron smiled down at him predatorily, gaze volleying between his optics and his exposed ports, as he pulled clumsily for the latch of his chestplating. Cyclonus felt his faceplates warm as he realized this is likely where Galvatron’s largest data exchange cables were housed. His unchecked expression earned him another amused hum, making him color further. 

He was content to lay back and watch Galvatron bare himself until he caught a strange glint from the corner of his optic.

Cyclonus pushed himself up further, looking between his sprawled cuisses at his Master. 

Galvatron snarled and struggled, chestplate heaving, as Cyclonus used his unicronian strength to pull them further apart. He hefted Galvatron’s slouching form upright to get a better look.

A small, hooked structure jutted awkwardly from Galvatron’s side. Cyclonus balked at the energon welling readily at the wound’s edge. He watched with mounting dread as thick rivulets pulsed down Galvatron’s abdomen in time with his racing fuel pump.

Cyclonus felt incredibly foolish, if not treacherous. Not only had he attributed Galvatron’s behavior to— to anything but energon loss, delirium from pain, a malfunction; he had reveled in his Lord’s debasement. 

“Galvatron, you are injured,” Cyclonus stated stiffly, steeling himself against an emotional outburst. Galvatron despised hysterics.

“Nevermind that,” Galvatron snapped as he smacked Cyclonus’ servos away and pushed him back toward the ground. 

“You are malfunctioning,” Cyclonus reasoned weakly, earning him a warning growl, “you’re not in your right mind.” 

Cyclonus could not think of anything but the ghastly wound, even as he felt Galvatron’s charge arcing across his plating. He was quick to pull them apart. When Galvatron reached for him again, Cyclonus rolled them over and pinned Galvatron into the dirt.

Instead of punishing such an act of insubordination, Galvatron gasped and fell limp. Cyclonus stared down at him with wide optics. Experimentally, he pressed Galvatron’s vambraces down harder, feeling the ground give and crumble under the pressure. A full body shiver wracked Galvatron’s frame as he whined. Cyclonus marveled at the desperate edge so seldom heard from his Lord.

Cyclonus knew better than to question an ideal opportunity. 

“Forgive me, my Lord,” Cyclonus spoke softly as he closed the gap between them, “I was merely startled—“

“Enough talk!” Galvatron took no time crashing into Cyclonus’ derma. Cyclonus kissed back just as fervently, ignoring the acrid taste in his mouth.

He adjusted his servos, pulling both of Galvatron’s wrists into a forceful grip that had his plasma cell purring. His free servo fell to caress the back of Galvatron’s neck plating. Cyclonus almost missed Galvatron’s soft moan over the clatter of his shivering plating as he traced a digit over the housing of his medical port. Charge surged, jumping to meet his plating even before the port sprung open. 

“My Cyclonus,” Galvatron crooned. Cyclonus swallowed thickly, hiding his faceplate against Galvatron’s collar. 

His digit circled the rim, feeling the molten sting of it. Galvatron whimpered, angling himself so that Cyclonus could rub more easily. Cyclonus refrained, wasting little time releasing his diagnostic cable from his wrist and plugging in. 

Galvatron sighed at the feeling of nervous, probing impulses spreading across his central processor. He groaned at the first too-light input into his pleasure center. Cyclonus made a choked noise, not expecting the feeling to feed back into his own processor. Cyclonus did not stop there; however. Cyclonus ignored the sensation of foreign confusion tingling in the back of his mind as he continued probing. Before Galvatron had a chance to reorient himself, Cyclonus had already put in the sequence necessary to shut off his conscious mind.