[No 1 Crush] Let It Flow 05

Part Five – Washing Up

It took all Sideswipe possessed to hide how grossed out he was.

Not with Sunstreaker. No, never with Sunstreaker. But the room smelled of waste, and while most of it was on Sunny, a bit was on Ratchet, and the rest was on Sideswipe, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

His palm smacked the washrack controls, lukewarm solvent spattering his chestplate as a result. Sideswipe swallowed down a sigh of relief as the almost flowery scent of the cleanser started to chase away that of the pungent waste.

He really, sincerely hoped this was one of those kinks Sunstreaker wanted rarely, rather than a daily, weekly or frag, even monthly.

Please.

Sideswipe tilted his face under the solvent spray and let it streak down his faceplate, his intake, and beneath the surface of his armor. He hummed as it started to wash away the sticky residue of waste. At this point, he didn’t even know who it belonged to anymore.

Did it honestly matter?

“You look like you could use some help.”

“Mind if we lend a hand?”

That was all the warning Sideswipe had before hands descended on him, pulling him out of the solvent spray. His back hit a very warm, voluptuous bumper – had to be Ratchet – even as Sunstreaker stepped between him and the solvent spray.

“Aw, I wanna get clean,” Sideswipe said, trying for his most winning pout. He hoped none of his disgust showed on his face.

Sunstreaker grinned at him, the corner of his mouth curving into a devilish smirk that did things to Sideswipe’s spark. “And we just want to help,” he purred as he reached up to detach the sprayer from the hook.

One of Ratchet’s hands splayed over Sideswipe’s belly, tugging him more firmly into Ratchet’s embrace. “You’re pretty filthy,” Ratchet murmured into his audial, ex-vents ghosting across it. His hand slid further down, fingers seeking the tip of Sideswipe’s depressurized spike. “We could help.”

Sideswipe shivered. His glossa swept over his lips. There was promise in Ratchet’s voice, enough to help shove aside the lingering distaste.

Sunstreaker detached the sprayer and flicked his thumb over the switch, shifting the head to something with a firmer spray. That roguish curve to his lips only widened as he turned toward Sideswipe with predatory intent.

Steam filled the space between them.

“Okay,” Sideswipe said, and flashed his twin his most charming grin. “Since you’re both so insistent and all.”

Ratchet chuckled. “We can be, given enough incentive.”

His other hand crept around Sideswipe’s midsection and slid down, ghosting past his awakening spike to Sideswipe’s uncovered valve. Talented medic fingers circled his anterior node before dipping lower, slipping a single digit into Sideswipe’s valve.

His backstrut arched. He leaned hard against Ratchet, array tingling.

“Better?” Ratchet asked.

“Much,” Sideswipe sighed.

Even more so when he felt the warm patter of solvent back against his frame. It splashed against his chestplate before moving down, cleanser draining in rivulets down his armor.

The spray continued on, but it skipped over his array and focused on his thighs and legs, rinsing both clear of the varied fluids spattered on them. Ratchet’s hands continued to tease, tugging on his spike, slowly fingering him.

The smell of cleanser gradually replaced that of waste, until Sideswipe’s vents pulled in nothing but the solvent and his own growing need. It was much, much better, and he quickly found himself relaxing in Ratchet’s embrace, his knees growing wobbly.

The solvent spray abandoned him, and Sideswipe shivered as cool air seeped in where the cleanser had been. But that didn’t last long as Sunstreaker cupped his jaw and nuzzled him, his faceplate dripping with solvent, and smelling only of Sunstreaker.

Ah. Perfect. See. This was why he loved his twin.

Sideswipe nuzzled back, his lips seeking out a kiss that Sunstreaker kept avoiding. Sideswipe pouted.

“Kiss me,” he said, his hands grasping at his brother’s hips and waist, trying to tug him closer.

“No. I’m still gross,” Sunstreaker said, but it was with a warm laugh. He brushed their nasal ridges together. “Kiss Ratchet instead.”

Mmm. That didn’t sound half-bad.

Sunstreaker turned his head to the side, toward Ratchet behind him, and Sideswipe purred as Ratchet’s lips brushed his. Ratchet’s glossa flicked out, teasing the seam of his lips. Sideswipe sighed into the kiss.

Ratchet tasted like mid-grade and energon goodies. Ooo, but someone had been sneaking treats on the clock again.

Sideswipe loved the mental image of Ratchet bent over his desk, working on paperwork, one hand sneaking into that side drawer where he kept a bin of goodies. The messy ones that weren’t good for you at all.

Ratchet slid a second finger into Sideswipe’s valve, curling them just right to tap over a node cluster, and Sideswipe shivered. He moaned into the kiss, hips rolling into Ratchet’s fingers, as the warm solvent pattered over his frame again.

Sunstreaker’s thumb swept over his cheek lovingly. His field stroked Sideswipe’s, blooming with affection and gratitude.

Ratchet rubbed their nasal ridges together. He squeezed Sideswipe’s spike. “What say you sit down, hm?”

“Old mech,” Sideswipe teased, though he had to admit, his knees were wobbling. “Can’t stand for too long.”

“Something like that.” Ratchet pecked him on the lips again before he started to sink, drawing Sideswipe down with him. “You just stay where I want you.”

“Mmm. Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Ratchet sank to his knees and pulled Sideswipe into his lap, his back pressed to Ratchet’s chestplate. His thighs splayed wide over Ratchet’s, his entire array on display, with one of Ratchet’s arms encircling his waist. The other draped across his right thigh so that Ratchet’s hand could continue to squeeze and stroke his spike.

Sideswipe reached up and back, hooking his hands together behind Ratchet’s neck. He knew it was the right choice when Sunstreaker looked down at them, optics dark and heated.

Sideswipe grinned. Yep. He didn’t need wasteplay to attract his twin. He was a sexy Lamborghini all on his own. Especially spread out like this, all of him on inviting display, his limbs stretched, his transformations seams gaping, his cables shining beneath.

The solvent spray returned, hitting the inside of his thigh, close enough he could feel the drizzle of it against his valve folds. Sideswipe shivered again, arching back against Ratchet. He looked up at his twin, Sunstreaker staring back at him with concentration and desire in his optics. His glossa flicked over his lips, his fingers firmly wrapped around the showerhead.

“Gonna help me get clean?” Sideswipe challenged, artfully arching his backstrut. His thighs trembled where they braced over Ratchet’s.

Ratchet snorted a laugh. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he said, but his hand kept stroking Sideswipe’s spike anyway. He used long, squeezing pulls, root to tip, root to tip, one digit tapping down over Sideswipe’s caudal spike node.

The solvent spray inched closer. The lightest intensity brushed over Sideswipe’s valve, pecking at his anterior node. He rumbled a moan, frame shivering.

“I did make a mess,” Sunstreaker purred as he lowered himself to his knees and shuffled forward, until the showerhead cord stretched taut, and he was bracketed by both Ratchet’s and Sideswipe’s thighs. “I suppose it’s my responsibility to clean it up.”

Sideswipe trembled with anticipation. He sucked in a heavy ventilation, hips canted toward Sunstreaker. Ratchet pressed a kiss against the curve of his jaw, lips tickling as they dipped toward the side of Sideswipe’s intake.

Sunstreaker flicked his thumb, and the solvent stream narrowed, increasing its intensity. It made a dull droning noise as it rained down on Sideswipe’s inner thigh armor. He worked his intake, ventilations stuttering, valve pulsing excitedly, as the spray moved closer.

Closer and closer.

He moaned, optics flickering. He arched harder against Ratchet, his spike throbbing in Ratchet’s fingers.

The shower spray made a pass over his array, briefly splashing against his anterior node before it was gone again. Sideswipe gasped, his thighs trembling. His valve pulsed.

“Sunny!”

“Don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker murmured, but it lacked heat. His gaze was dark and heavy on Sideswipe. “You want it?”

Sideswipe chewed on his bottom lip. “You know I do.”

“Mmm. I’m not sure I believe him,” Ratchet purred as his denta made teasing nips to Sideswipe’s neck cables. “He doesn’t sound desperate enough.” His hand paused on Sideswipe’s spike, holding him firmly, but not stroking him at all.

Sideswipe rattled an ex-vent. “You’re both mean.” He writhed in Ratchet’s hold, trying to twist his frame back toward the spray of the nozzle. It remained tantalizingly out of reach, only the distant drizzle of it touching his valve, where it sizzled upon contact. “And after I played nice and everything.”

Sunstreaker chuckled. “You think that means you deserve a reward?”

“I don’t know. A few minutes of good behavior for once?” Ratchet’s hand gave a long, firm pull, ending with a pinch to the tip of Sideswipe’s spike. His hips jerked. “What do you think that’s worth?”

Sunstreaker’s free hand rested on Sideswipe’s knee, fingers curling around to tickle under the joint. “Maybe just a little,” he murmured.

Sideswipe wheezed. “Please.” He offered his best impression of a Bluestreak plea.

It must have worked. The spray inched back toward his valve.

He whined, canting his hips toward it, ventilations stuttering. Heat splattered against his inner thigh, his hip joint, his valve lip and finally, it roared into his valve opening. Sideswipe whimpered as it splashed up into his valve, all bubbling wet heat washing over his nodes.

Sideswipe’s backstrut arched. His armor creaked as his hips pumped, riding the pressure of the solvent spray, his spike working into Ratchet’s fist.

Primus, it felt fragging amazing. A drumming pressure on his sensitive dermal mesh, a tickling tease to his internal nodes, an arrhythmic brush over his anterior and caudal nubs.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” he begged, hips working, rolling into and over the fierce spray.

Sunstreaker’s hand slid down his thigh, toward Sideswipe’s valve. He tracked it tangentially, caught between the pressure of the solvent and Ratchet’s hand on his spike, now stroking him firmly, squeezing with each upward pull.

The spray angled, striking deeper within Sideswipe. He groaned, his valve clenching down on nothing, calipers fluttering madly. Heat gathered in his array, blossoming into an inferno.

“Now you’re feeling it,” Ratchet growled into his audial. His arm tightened around Sideswipe’s waist. “Gonna overload for us?”

“He damn sure is,” Sunstreaker said fiercely.

Sideswipe nearly shrieked as Sunstreaker’s free hand found his anterior node, his thumb applying a firm pressure to it. Sideswipe’s hips danced, his thighs trying to snap together, but hooked as they were on Ratchet’s legs, he couldn’t. All he could do was sit there and tremble, his valve lips quivering, his nodes pulsing.

The spray moved closer, deeper still. He swore he felt it drumming on his ceiling node. His ventilations came in sharper, faster bursts. All he could feel was heat, brimming from his frame, echoing from Ratchet behind him.

Sunstreaker pressed even closer, his lips brushing over the curve of Sideswipe’s jaw, mouth still out of reach.

Sideswipe whined, trying to capture Sunstreaker’s lips, but his brother was still having none of it. Instead, Sunstreaker’s thumb worked circles on Sideswipe’s anterior node, rubbing him into a fine frenzy.

“Come on, Sides,” Ratchet murmured as his denta left teasing imprints on Sideswipe’s cables, the brief ignition of pain swept away in an onslaught of pleasure.

He squeezed Sideswipe’s spike, pulling from root to tip and back again, hands skimming over every nodule on Sideswipe’s spike. Fingers drew bursts of charge to the dermal surface, making Sideswipe jerk and writhe.

“Do it,” Sunstreaker growled against his jaw, his lips skimming a charged path toward Sideswipe’s audial. “Overload. Now.”

Sunstreaker’s hand twitched. The sprayer shifted just so, and ahhh, there it was. Sideswipe jerked, thrashing in Ratchet’s grip, as the full force of the spray washed over his ceiling node and sent his valve into spasms.

His mouth opened in a cry, one glitched with static, as overload stormed through his systems, laying waste to his restraint, and claiming his frame in the name of ecstasy. His vents hissed steam, his hands clenched tightly, and he writhed in Ratchet’s grip.

And finally Sunstreaker’s mouth fell over his, lips hot and wet and tasting faintly of solvent. Had he actually rinsed his mouth out?

No matter.

Sideswipe moaned into the kiss, greedily nipping at his brother’s lips, as both Sunstreaker’s and Ratchet’s hands extended his overload. Their fingers were so gentle on his nodes, on his array, until the spray moved away, one last pass over Sideswipe’s caudal valve node making him jerk.

“Oh, Primus,” he moaned into Sunstreaker’s mouth, struggling to draw oral ventilations. “That was a good one.”

“Sure sounded like it,” Ratchet purred, nuzzling against the side of his head. His hand gentled around Sideswipe’s spike, less arousing and more soothing. “Feel better now?”

“Much.” Sideswipe popped a kiss on Sunstreaker’s lips before turning his head to peck Ratchet’s cheek as well. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Sunstreaker leaned back and pushed himself to his feet, armor creaking as he did so. “Now we can all get clean without you jittering at the back of my processor.”

“Hey!” Sideswipe unlatched his arms from behind Ratchet’s head, hissing a ventilation as his shoulders protested the strain. “I wasn’t that bad.”

Ratchet’s hands landed on his hips, steadying him, as he tried to get his feet beneath him. “Yes, you were.”

“You were.” Sunstreaker took Sideswipe by the elbow and hauled him to his feet with seemingly no trouble at all. “But thank you for trying.”

Sideswipe jostled him with an elbow. “Anything for you, bro.” He smiled, though it was crooked.

“You two gonna stop being sappy and help an old mech to his feet?” Ratchet grumbled sourly, though his field pulsed with warm affection for the both of them.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared a look. Then they turned as one to offer a hand to Ratchet, grinning down at him.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed. A trill of suspicion floated into his field, but it was whisked away by that warm affection.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Love you, too.”

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