The Lost Light’s corridors were a blur as rodimus tugged you toward his quarters, his servo hot around yours. His optics burned brighter than the ship’s emergency lights, a telltale sign of the heat cycle gripping his systems. You’d invited him to every event, but he’d dodged them all with that trademark grin and flimsy excuses. Now, though, there was no escaping the charge between you.

His quarters’ door hissed open, revealing the chaos of a captain who lived like a rock star, scattered data pads, a half finished model of the Lost Light, and a berth that looked like it had hosted one too many late night brainstorming sessions. The door barely closed before Rodimus spun you against the wall, his frame radiating heat that made your frame shiver.

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asked, voice rough, optics flickering with a mix of need and restraint. His servos hovered over your shoulders, trembling as if his spark was screaming at him to move faster. “This heat thing… it’s got me wound up tight. I might not be gentle.”

You smirked, stepping closer, your servo brushing the flame painted edges of his chest. “I can handle you, Captain. Question is, can you handle me?”

His cooling fans roared to life, a loud hum that drowned out the ship’s ambient drone. “Oh, you’re so scrapped,” he said, his grin pure cocky, playful, but with an edge of desperation. He leaned in, dermas crashing into yours, the kiss all fire and hunger, his panel brushing against your waist as he pressed closer.

You stumbled together toward the berth, knocking over a stack of holo posters, probably his latest attempt at a “heroic” self portrait. He pulled you down with him, the soft surface creaking under your combined weight. His optics locked onto yours, bright and wild, as he hovered above, one servo tracing the curve of your frame. But you weren’t about to let him take the lead that easily.

Your digit found the seam of his interface panel, the one shielding his most sensitive genitals. You traced its edges slowly, deliberately, circling with a feather light touch that made his frame shudder. a low groan escaped him, his optics dimming for a split second as his systems preheated. “Primus, you’re mean,” he gasped, but the way he leaned into your touch said he loved every second of it.