For once, it wasn’t Wheeljack’s fault.
Ratchet should have taken a decom shower like everyone told him to. But since when had Ratchet listened to anyone honestly? Darn medic was the stubbornest person in the universe, even more than Ironhide and Optimus, both of which he’d ignored as well.
And now here Wheeljack was, with a very amorous mate trying to crawl under his plating, with the kind of grabby hands that would make an octopus jealous.
Pity it took an alien aphrodisiac to make Ratchet this darn affectionate.
“Come on, Jackie, frag me,” Ratchet whined, pawing at his interface array, his expression so open and hungry that it made him look centuries younger and ten times adorable and Wheeljack felt all of his resolve crumble.
“Dunno if that’s such a good idea, Ratch,” Wheeljack replied, and yet his fingers found their way to his mate’s seams and sensitive spots, making Ratchet shiver and tremble as he kept climbing right into Wheeljack’s lap.
“I say it is,” Ratchet huffed and slung his arms over Wheeljack’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. His ample windshield was not nearly enough for an appropriate distance. “What? I’m not attractive to you anymore? Am I too old and cranky?” He accompanied the demand with a roll of his hips that should have been illegal, his wet valve leaving a sticky streak over Wheeljack’s abdomen and pelvis.
Wheeljack gripped his hips. “Aw, Ratch. That’s not fair.” His engine revved, interface array pinging him for release. He had a willing mate in his arms, what more did he want?
Quiet you, Wheeljack thought at his array. He didn’t have to act like a ‘face starved idiot.
Ratchet’s knees dug into Wheeljack’s hips as he rocked against Wheeljack more urgently. “Then frag me already. Primus!” He ex-vented a burst of scorching heat, his frame trembling, his spike poking at Wheeljack’s belly. “My lines are itching and my circuits are burning and I’m so fragging empty that it hurts.”
Wheeljack’s spark throbbed. His hands smoothed up Ratchet’s sides, down his back, cupping his hips and aft again. His processor hesitated, but his spike had no such compunction, punching through his blocks to free itself, the wet head of it brushing over Ratchet’s inner thigh. Drips of hot lubricant landed on his unit, and Wheeljack groaned, tripping in his battle against Ratchet’s inelegant seduction.
“Fine,” Wheeljack bit out as he shifted just enough that he could rock his spikehead against Ratchet’s rim. “But for the record, it wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Noted,” Ratchet gasped and dropped down, swallowing Wheeljack’s spike in one smooth motion, his valve hot and gripping and hungry as he took Wheeljack to the hilt.
Wheeljack’s engine screeched, his backstrut arching as Ratchet proceeded to ride his spike like there was no tomorrow, like salvation could only be found in a thick, throbbing spike piercing his valve.
There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. No one was in control here. Not Wheeljack. Not Ratchet. Nothing but whatever alien compound had slithered into Ratchet’s coding.
All Wheeljack could do was hold on for the ride, and enjoy the sight of his mate blissed out on pleasure for once, making all of these yummy, sexy noises and bearing the energy of a mech who hadn’t worked three shifts back to back after pulling more sparks from Unicron’s hold.
Damn it. After this, they were going on vacation whether Ratchet liked it or not.
Just as soon as Wheeljack survived this.
But oh, what a way to go.