It was the little Prime’s favorite game to play.
He ran. He pretended he was scared. That he was just a little lost Autobot who accidentally crossed paths with a big, bad Decepticon.
He ran. But for a mech with a speedster altmode, he was slow. He tripped and fell. He blabbered false bravado. He all but begged to be caught.
Fortunately, Deadlock liked to play, too. He enjoyed the chase, the hunt. He took his time, until he finally cornered his prey in a gully, surrounded on all sides by sheer rock faces.
He slopped through mud and pounced, slamming the little Prime into the mire. It splashed around them, dirtying the bright frame. He wrenched one of Rodimus’ hands behind his back, left the other scrabbling about in the dirt. He twisted Rodimus’ arm up, pressing his hand right below his spoiler. He laughed as Rodimus hissed.
Deadlock ground against that crimson aft, the skreel of metal and metal loud in the air.
He smelled arousal before he felt it. He smirked as he bit at the little Prime’s finials.
“Poor little Autobot,” he crooned.
Rodimus wriggled, but didn’t try very hard. His knees slipped and slid in the muck. He spat out accidental mouthfuls of mud. He was leaking, too. Lubricant seeped around his panel seams, streaking over Deadlock armor. Rodimus was scorching hot, his cooling fans spinning so fast as to vibrate his frame.
He wanted it bad.
Deadlock chuckled. “Make me.” He released his spike without any ceremony, rutting it against Rodimus’ still-sealed array. “Knock, knock, little Prime. Let me in.”
Rodimus moaned. His free hand clawed at the mud, trying to shove his upper frame out of the mire, but he made no move for either of his weapons.
Bah. Amateur. He hardly put up a fight anymore.
Deadlock licked the back of Rodimus’ neck. Just for that vulnerable feeling to creep down the Autobot’s spinal strut. “I ain’t got all day,” he growled as he ground harder against Rodimus’ panel and lubricant teased his spikehead.
Rodimus’ engine roared. “Damn ‘Con!”
“And yet you want my spike.” Deadlock grazed his denta along the back of Rodimus’ neck. He snarled, “Open!” and bit down hard, sinking his denta into sensitive cables.
Rodimus keened. His panel snapped open, and Deadlock plunged inside of him, moaning as he was greedily swallowed by an eager, wet, and inviting valve.
Rodimus bucked up, thrashing, moaning, his field a wild fury of need and desire, and maybe shame on there on the distant edges. Pah. Autobots and their shame.
Rodimus was clearly enjoying himself. Having fun. They both liked to play this game.
And Deadlock, especially, played to win.