Ratchet shivered as Sideswipe’s grin widened, no less salacious for the transfluid striping his face and the obvious puffiness to his lips.
Sideswipe rose to his pedes and looked Ratchet over. Two fingers tapped his lips as he tilted his head.
“How about,” he purred with a flick of his glossa over his lips, though it still came out ringed in static. His vocalizer probably needed a hard reboot. “You lay on the floor for me.”
“We do have a berth,” Ratchet pointed out with a grunt. But he leveraged himself out of the chair and sank to his knees on the floor.
“But it’s more fun this way.” Sideswipe wiggled a finger at him. “On your back, Ratch. I have an idea.”
I have an idea.
That was pretty much how it always started.
I have an idea. I saw something on the internet. I read a book. I saw it in a magazine. And nine times out of ten, Sideswipe found it through the humans.
Ratchet really needed to look into getting some kind of Safe Search feature. One that Sideswipe couldn’t hack his way around.
Nevertheless, he obeyed. Because Sideswipe’s ideas always led to overloads, even if they did start out undignified.
Ratchet stretched out on the floor, knees drawn up for comfort, and folded his arms behind his head. “There. Happy?”
Sideswipe winked. “Always.”
He straddled Ratchet’s frame, but facing Ratchet’s pedes rather than his head, and planted his aft on Ratchet’s belly. And what a fine aft it was. Ratchet couldn’t help but touch it, slide his fingers over the curves, especially when Sideswipe wriggled it at him.
Sideswipe scooted backward until his aft planted on Ratchet’s windshield. His panels were already open, Ratchet noticed, and Sideswipe left a streak of lubricant as he moved.
They’d both need a wash after this.
Ratchet licked his lips. He had half an inkling of what Sideswipe wanted from him. His hands cradled Sideswipe’s hips.
Until Sideswipe bent forward and ex-vented wetly over Ratchet’s half-pressurized spike. It twitched beneath the damp heat, and Ratchet had to swallow down a startled noise.
“Mm,” Sideswipe said with another wriggle of his hips. “What do ya say, Ratch? Wanna eat me out while I suck you off again?”
Eat? There he went again with that fragging human vernacular.
Ratchet rolled his optics, hooked his fingers on Sideswipe’s hips, and jerked him back. Metal slid on metal. Sideswipe’s knees hit the floor as his thighs framed Ratchet’s head, his uncovered valve blinking at Ratchet in greeting. His spike bobbed free, the tip of it rubbing on Ratchet’s windshield.
“Do what you want,” Ratchet said as he stroked his hands across the planes of Sideswipe’s aft. His mouth watered at the sight of Sideswipe’s array, plush and inviting, dewy with lubricant and the anterior node already swollen and bright.
Sideswipe chuckled. “I always do,” he purred and flattened on top of Ratchet, curling his arms around the tops of Ratchet’s thighs. His lips found the head of Ratchet’s spike, planting a messy wet kiss upon it. “Wanna make it a challenge?”
Ratchet groaned and pulled Sideswipe the last precious inches and directly onto Ratchet’s lips. He nuzzled Sideswipe’s valve, breathing in the rich scent of lubrication and arousal, before licking down the length of it, ending with a flick to Sideswipe’s anterior node.
Sideswipe made a strangled sound, his hips dancing down onto Ratchet’s face. “I’ll take it that’s a no,” he said before he took his revenge, sucking Ratchet into his mouth, his glossa prodding at Ratchet’s transfluid slit.
Arousal tightened in Ratchet’s belly. He moaned against Sideswipe’s valve, pedes pressing hard against the ground as he struggled not to thrust up. The tip of Sideswipe’s glossa played with the channel opening, far too broad to breach it, but just enough to tease. Damn if Sideswipe didn’t know all the tricks to make him scream.
But Ratchet knew a few, too.
He traced the rim of Sideswipe’s valve with his glossa, touching upon each sensor individually. He lapped gently at the plush rim, and let his bottom denta scrape against Sideswipe’s anterior node.
The red warrior shivered above him. His hips rolled down, riding the motions of Ratchet’s lips and glossa. He moaned and redoubled his efforts on Ratchet’s spike. Not that it mattered. His valve fluttered against Ratchet’s lips, lubricant pulsing out near-faster than Ratchet could swallow.
He’d been riding the hard edge of overload since Ratchet first decided to let Sideswipe attempt (and apparently succeed) at deep intake penetration.
Sideswipe’s biolights were pulsing in rapid succession. His hips kept juttering forward, his spike leaving eager streaks on Ratchet’s windshield. Ratchet could hear the shift-twitch of his internal calipers as they clutched on nothing. Sideswipe’s engine raced, revving to the beat of Ratchet’s glossa as it lapped at him again and again.
Sideswipe trembled above him. Ratchet smirked against his valve. He slid one hand over Sideswipe’s aft and shifted it so that his thumb could rub against the base of Sideswipe’s valve, teasing the sensitive mesh. Ratchet focused his attention on Sideswipe’s nub, drawing it between his lips and giving it a suck.
Sideswipe outright moaned. His hands tightened on Ratchet’s thighs, the vocalization vibrating around Ratchet’s spike. He sucked at the head, glossa lashing the transfluid slit. Warmth flooded Ratchet’s array, but lucky him, he was nowhere near overload.
Meanwhile, Sideswipe’s thighs trembled. His field rose and fell in steady waves, bursts of bright need. His mouth stalled around Ratchet’s spike, as he rolled his array against Ratchet’s mouth, searching for that overload.
It was time for Ratchet’s secret weapon.
“Next time,” Ratchet sent over the comm as he teased the nub with his denta and soothed the scrapes with his glossa, “We’ll let Sunstreaker watch. And once I’m done making you drink my transfluid, Sunstreaker will get his turn.”
Sideswipe whimpered. He swallowed, making Ratchet’s spike bob in his mouth. “That’s… that’s not fair,” he replied.
More lubricant trickled out of his valve, sweet as it slid over Ratchet’s glossa.
“Yes, it is,” Ratchet replied, his thumb pushing a firmer pattern at the edge of Sideswipe’s valve as his glossa tasted the inside of his rim. “Because when it’s Sunstreaker’s turn, it’ll still be me making sure you keep him deep. I’ll make sure you swallow him and every last drop.”
Sideswipe’s engine roared, vibrating both of their frames. His hips danced atop Ratchet, until he had to throw his arm across the base of Sideswipe’s aft to keep him in place. Sideswipe gasped, Ratchet’s spike falling from his mouth as he buried his face in Ratchet’s armor.
“Ratchet,” he whined, hips struggling to buck, his anterior node flashing faster and faster, his valve rim flexing and throbbing.
He was almost there. He just needed another push.
“You’ll swallow him dry, and it’ll be my turn again,” Ratchet growled into the comm, his denta putting a pinching pressure on Sideswipe’s node. “We’ll just pass you back and forth between us, until our tanks run dry, and there’s nothing in yours but our transfluid.”
Ratchet latched onto Sideswipe’s node and sucked, his thumb slipping into the clenching depths of Sideswipe’s valve.
The red menace howled, his hands pawing at Ratchet’s thighs, his hips, his armor. His knees snapped against the floor. He made stuttered thrusts against Ratchet’s windshield as his valve rode Ratchet’s mouth. Lubricant pulsed out to the tune of Sideswipe’s keening as he overloaded, his field whipping through the room in a frenzy of need.
Transfluid spattered on Ratchet’s windshield. Lubricant soaked his lips, his nasal ridge, his cheeks. Sideswipe made the sweetest sounds, the metal of Ratchet’s thigh armor creaking beneath his grip. His aft bobbed and swayed in Ratchet’s view, so enticing.
Ratchet eased him through the final tremors, until Sideswipe collapsed on top of him, his frame twitching the last thrums of his release. He made happy moaning noises, nuzzling Ratchet’s spike as he did.
Ratchet let his head sink back against the floor, hands moving to pat the red menace’s aft. His own frame thrummed, a gentle arousal lingering, but nothing that needed immediate attention.
“That… that…” Sideswipe stuttered and rubbed his face against Ratchet’s groin again. “When did you learn to talk like that?”
Ratchet chuckled. “I’ve always known. You think you have the monopoly on kink, brat?”
“No. I think the humans do,” Sideswipe retorted.
Well. He probably had a point there.
Ratchet grinned and stroked Sideswipe’s aft again, admiring the soaked valve still on display for him. Biolights glowed dimly. Lubricant glistened around the damp components. He was so lovely.
“Why do I always miss the fun parts?”
Ratchet blinked and tilted his head back, looking up to see Sunstreaker standing there in the entry of the berthroom, hands folded over his chestplate. He arched one orbital ridge at them.
“I would have expected this from Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker continued with a tilt of his head. “But I thought you knew better, Ratchet.”
Ratchet huffed a ventilation. He patted a quick staccato on Sideswipe’s aft. “You gonna stand there all night, or join us?”
“Yeah,” Sideswipe said. He shifted so he could look over his shoulder, like the devil he was. “You gonna get down here with us or not?”
Sunstreaker stared at them both, optics lingering on Sideswipe’s array and Ratchet’s lubricant-wet face.
“Maybe I will,” Sunstreaker said with a slow curve of his lips. “Convince me.”