“You’re sure you want to do this?”
Sideswipe’s ventilations hitched. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, and he dropped to his knees, licking his lips. “Come on, Ratch. I promise it’s gonna be good.”
Ratchet rolled his optics. “That’s not my concern. You pushing yourself too far in an endless pursuit of the perfect pleasure high is what worries me.”
“I won’t get hurt. You won’t let me get hurt. I know you won’t.” His rush of words betrayed his eagerness, his desire. He couldn’t admit aloud how long he’d been thinking about this, about trying it.
Ratchet rested his hands on Sideswipe’s head, tilting him up so that he had to look into Ratchet’s optics. “I won’t let you get hurt. But I can’t stop you from hurting yourself.”
Sideswipe put his hands on Ratchet’s thighs, sliding them toward Ratchet’s panel, which was scorching beneath his fingertips. Objections aside, it was clear Ratchet wanted to try this. His field buzzed against Sideswipe’s, his optics bright with need. He was never good at saying ‘no’ when there was pleasure to be had.
“I won’t,” Sideswipe promised. He licked his lips again, oral cavity damp with lubricant. He was so ready for this. “So are you sure you can do this, or should I get Sunny to let me do it instead?”
“I can do it, brat.” Ratchet swept his thumbs over Sideswipe’s cheeks and then sat back on the chair, spreading his legs further so that Sideswipe could fit between them. “Besides, Sunstreaker lets you get away with too much.”
“You both do,” Sideswipe teased. He nudged forward on his knees, hands sliding until they curled around Ratchet’s hips.
He rubbed his right cheek against Ratchet’s heated panel. He inhaled greedily, tasting Ratchet’s arousal with his chemoreceptors. He licked the hot metal and moaned as his oral fluid sizzled. His lines tingled. His own components throbbed. Oh, Primus.
Ratchet made a strangled sound above him. His hands twitched where they rested on his own thighs.
“You…” Ratchet paused, rebooted his vocalizer. “You have my comm. And you’re going to use it.”
“I’m going to use it,” Sideswipe murmured. He pressed a kiss to Ratchet’s panel and felt the soft metal dome beneath his lips. “Now let your spike free before it punches through your panel.”
Ratchet’s cooling fans rattled to life. “It’s not that hard,” he muttered, but he obeyed and his spike surged free.
Sideswipe quickly caught it in his mouth, sucking immediately on the head. He moaned as the taste of Ratchet filled his mouth, something undefinable but still distinctly Ratchet. Older metals, and standard polish, and lubricant. It slid over his glossa, pre-transfluid sticky-sweet as it trickled down his intake.
Ratchet made another noise. His hands scrubbed his thighs. “You’re going to kill me.”
Sideswipe smirked around the spike in his mouth and took Ratchet deeper. He sucked and licked at Ratchet’s spike, feeling every throb of Ratchet’s spark pulse, swallowing trickle after trickle of pre-fluid. He trembled from excitement, so ready to do this.
He trusted Ratchet.
A red hand landed on his head. The weight was warm, present.
“You ready, brat?” Ratchet asked, his ventilations huffed.
Sideswipe rolled his optics to look up at Ratchet and winked. He scraped his denta gently against Ratchet’s spike, knowing how much Ratchet loved it.
Ratchet shuddered, his hips rolling incrementally forward. Ratchet licked his lips, fingers tightening around Sideswipe’s head.
“Gonna die just like this,” Ratchet muttered, half in jest, before his other hand found Sideswipe’s head.
Both were there now, like unforgiving weights or restraints. Ratchet shifted again, legs spreading a few more inches. He rolled his hips, pushing deeper into Sideswipe’s mouth. The head of his spike briefly greeted the back of Sideswipe’s intake.
Sideswipe, too, shifted, rising a little higher on his knees. His hands pressed hard to Ratchet’s backstrut, fingers hooking on transformation seams. Sideswipe moaned, the vibrations rattling against Ratchet’s spike.
The medic muttered a curse under his intake. He tugged on Sideswipe’s head, inching him further forward, his spikehead pressing a little harder against Sideswipe’s intake.
Sideswipe swallowed. He felt oral fluid leak out around his lips. He cycled a ventilation and focused. He could do this. He wanted to do this. The idea of Ratchet taking him so thoroughly, claiming him, it made heat shoot through his frame like a flash fire.
He experimentally tried to lift his head, but Ratchet’s hands were firm. They didn’t move. They kept him pinned, and then they pushed ever so slightly. They pushed and Sideswipe relaxed, relented. He shifted, tilted, rose higher, and the last third of Ratchet’s spike slid into Sideswipe’s intake.
Sensors went haywire. Sideswipe moaned as his frame tried to reject the foreign object, but Ratchet’s hands kept him from moving backward. His intake rippled, seizing, tight around the head of Ratchet’s spike. He produced more oral lubricant. Capacity warnings screeched at him.
Ratchet’s ventilations blasted heat. His engine roared. He made another sound, another muttered curse, but it was noise to Sideswipe’s audials. He shook beneath Sideswipe, his spike throbbing mercilessly.
“Just… just a little bit more. Okay, Sides?” Ratchet asked as his fingers flexed.
Sideswipe worked his intake. Again and again. His fingers tugged harder on Ratchet’s transformation seams. All he could taste was Ratchet. All he could see and smell was Ratchet.
“Do it,” he transmitted, both to prove that he was fine, and to prove that he would if he needed.
Ratchet groaned. His thighs shook, his frame radiated heat. He cycled a ventilation, another, and then he pushed one last time.
Sideswipe whined as the last inch sank into his mouth, and he could taste Ratchet’s root with his lips. He diverted his oral ventilations as his intake was blocked by Ratchet’s throbbing spike, which seemed much larger as it pulsed within his mouth.
Sideswipe’s intake rippled, trying to reject the intruder, but Ratchet’s hands were firm. Ratchet kept him there as he panted above Sideswipe. His field was open, static heat and need.
Oral lubricant soaked the space around Ratchet’s array. All Sideswipe could see was Ratchet’s armor, all he could feel was Ratchet in his mouth, down his intake. All he could hear was Ratchet’s moans, his gasps, his sighs of pleasure. Ratchet trembled in the effort to hold himself back, when it was clear all he wanted to do was thrust, take Sideswipe’s mouth as though it belonged to him.
More warnings cropped up. Sideswipe dismissed them. His own array pulsed need at him. His spike swelled within the housing; his valve slickened, lubricant pooling at his panel. His hips twitched, and he had to keep his grip on Ratchet to stop from reaching down and stroking himself.
Ratchet held him firmly. His hips moved, so incrementally it was barely registered. He pulled back just enough to gain some room to move, before he slid back down Sideswipe’s intake again. His spike rubbed along Sideswipe’s glossa as all Sideswipe could do was kneel there and let Ratchet use him.
He tried to suck, to tease, to lash Ratchet’s spike with his glossa. But there was little room to work with Ratchet’s spike deep down his intake, pushing past sensor after sensor that kept telling Sideswipe of a foreign body.
His ventilations quickened. He moaned around Ratchet’s spike, his vocalizer little more than static. He could tell Ratchet was already close, that he’d been riding the hard edge of overload from the moment he rooted himself in Sideswipe’s mouth.
“Do it,” Sideswipe said over the comm again. “Come on, Ratch. Frag me harder. Make me take it.”
Ratchet growled. His hands tightened. His hips jerked a little harsher, rubbing Sideswipe’s intake with a bit more force. His spike swelled and static crept out of his array, snapping at Sideswipe’s lips and nasal ridge.
It didn’t hurt. Sideswipe knew it wouldn’t. It wasn’t comfortable. His intake kept trying to reject Ratchet. It rippled and convulsed. His tank squeezed as though threatening to purge. His ventilations became faster and faster.
It was the best kind of torture.
Because Ratchet groaned his name. Ratchet’s hands shook. He blasted heat down on Sideswipe. His spike twitched and throbbed and swelled. More pre-fluid seeped down Sideswipe’s intake, and he tried to swallow, but all it did was drip down, down, down toward his convulsing tank.
Sideswipe loved every minute of it. He loved feeling so claimed, so wanted, so taken. He loved knowing that he had dissolved Ratchet into wordless noises, into struggling to maintain control. He loved knowing that he was the one on his knees, but Ratchet was at his mercy.
“S-Sides….” Ratchet broke off into another groan. He hunched forward, his hands inadvertently pushing Sideswipe harder against his groin.
Sideswipe moaned as his face pressed to Ratchet’s plating. His nasal ridge mashed against Ratchet’s groin. His intake contracted and once again, Sideswipe dismissed the warnings.
He pressed hard against Ratchet’s back and leveraged his weight against his knees, shoving himself forward. His lips smushed against Ratchet’s charged cables, feeling the bite of them against the dermal metal.
Ratchet’s sucked in a sharp ventilation. He growled, deep and low. His hips jerked as his spike twitched in Sideswipe’s mouth. His hands pulled, though there was no way for Sideswipe to possibly take him deeper.
“I’m gonna… Sides, I’m gonna–” Ratchet’s warning cut off on a cry as he tossed his head back and overloaded, his spike pulsing as it spilled wave after wave of transfluid down Sideswipe’s intake.
He felt the splatter of it against sensitive internal components. His intake flexed, trying to reject the intruder. Sideswipe’s ventilations coughed in secondary warning, but he held on as Ratchet’s pleasure crashed over him.
Even better when Ratchet pushed him away at the last moment, his spike ripping free of Sideswipe’s mouth. His hands remained, gripping Sideswipe’s head, keeping him aimed so that the last few spurts of transfluid striped Sideswipe’s face. One ropey strand crossed his lips, and Sideswipe licked them, shivering as he finally got to taste Ratchet’s transfluid.
“Oh, Primus.” Ratchet sagged forward, his hands sliding from Sideswipe’s head to his shoulders. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Sideswipe grinned. “But what a way to go, yeah?” he said, or tried to anyway. His vocalizer spat a little more static, his intake angrily sending several messages.
He grimaced and rubbed at his intake. It didn’t hurt, not any kind of real pain, but it did twinge a bit.
Sideswipe shook his head, not that it mattered since Ratchet’s scan hit him seconds later, as he knew it would.
“Just a little bruised,” Ratchet said as he straightened, his cooling fans still whirring, though his spike had depressurized.
Sideswipe’s mouth filled with lubricant at the sight of it. He wouldn’t mind another go-round, maybe this time start from the beginning, teasing Ratchet slowly to pressurization before taking him deep again.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Ratchet asked as one hand lifted, fingers tracing around Sideswipe’s face, though careful to avoid the splatters of lubricant.
Sideswipe preened. “Of course I am.” His other hand dropped to his panels, where a bare touch had them springing aside, spike surging free and a flood of lubricant slicking his thighs. “Wanna return the favor?”
“You know that I do.” Ratchet’s finger swept up a cooling glob of transfluid and painted it across Sideswipe’s lips. “But since this is your game, you’re going to have to tell me how you want to play it?”
Sideswipe grinned, glossa flicking over his lips to clean them. “Sunny’s gonna be mad he missed this,” he said as he stroked his spike, his other hand moving to his valve as he pushed his knees further apart. He toyed with his node, a shiver racing down his spinal strut.
Ratchet chuckled. “Then we’ll just have to make it up to him.” His finger continued to trace over Sideswipe’s lips, his optics darkening with lust all over again. “So tell me, Sideswipe, how do you want me?”
Sideswipe’s ventilations stuttered.
Oh, if he could count the ways.