If you’d told Ultra Magnus earlier in his life that he’d be doing… this in his office, he’d probably have given you a fine and a swift kick in the aft.

This was taboo. Completely unprofessional. Downright demoral.

sensational.

Maybe the galactic councilmen were right. The crew had changed him just as much as he’d changed them. They’d made Ultra Magnus just a bit less strict. A bit more flexible. allowing his conjunx here during working hours to do obscene things to him under his massive desk.

Tasked with one simple goal: complete his paperwork.

Easier said than done. His large fingers twitched to be on the back of your helm, pushing down or helping with guiding you.

They stay planted right where they were though. He was determined to stay focused during and get his work done. To exercise extreme will of the mind over the body.