[Bay] Electric Slide - SideswipexRatchet
Mar. 9th, 2013 01:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: I originally wrote this is a ficlet for fuzipenguin having a bad day. I pulled it up recently and ideas for expanding it hit me out of nowhere. So have more pronz. :) This is definitely NSFW. And self-beta'ed.
Title: Electric Slide
Universe: Bayverse, post-2007, pre-RotF
Characters: SideswipexRatchet
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bondage, d/s overtones, electricity-play, sticky, painplay, PWP
Description: Sideswipe couldn't help himself. Indulging Ratchet would never get old.
“A little birdie tells me that you had an... interesting encounter in Sam's backyard.”
Ratchet stared back at him, indomitable. “I don't know what you're talking about.” His energy field, however, told a different story. It rippled outward, dosed with a mix of guilt and satisfaction.
Sideswipe smirked and circled around Ratchet, admiring his work. Ratchet's arms had been bound above him, wrapped in a thick segment of chain looped over the crossbeams above. He was on his knees, frame stretched out to accommodate the chains, plating lifted away to reveal tantalizing glimpses of protoform, bare joints, and cable-webbed struts. In the dim of the cheap lights, even the chartreuse paint looked inviting.
Sideswipe's engine revved. “Oh, you don't?” he asked, one hand sliding across Ratchet's back, feeling the strain in his trembling frame. Charge lightly snapped across his digits, teasing the inner mechanisms. “I seem to recall the mention of some power lines.”
His mate's energy field flared outward, betraying his interest. “Not ringing a bell,” Ratchet retorted, but oh, he couldn't hide the desire coiling in that field. Nor the way it reached out for Sideswipe, begging without words.
Sideswipe's smirk widened as he circled back around. Ratchet's optics were bright, but half-shuttered from desire. Cooling fans clicked on with an audible whirr.
“Liar,” Sideswipe purred. He leaned forward, nuzzling against Ratchet's jaw, the soft scrape of metal on metal resonating across their faces. “I think you remember. And I think you're hoping for a repeat.”
Ratchet's engine rumbled, the vibrations carrying through his frame. “You don't have the bearings.”
Primus, shouldn't he know better by now? Sideswipe leaned back, not failing to notice the way Ratchet arched toward him, wanting their fields to intermingle, for the pleasure to dance like lightning through his circuits.
Sideswipe didn't have to look to know that Ratchet's valve cover had snapped open; the sweet tang of lubricant was thick in the air. It was an invitation that Sideswipe fully intended to accept later.
“Don't I?” Sideswipe chuckled and reached into his subspace, pulling out a stout, narrow rod. A single flick of his fingers activated the electrical current, which snapped and fizzled in the open air. “What do you think?”
A growl escaped Ratchet's vocalizer, but it petered off into a moan when Sideswipe waved the energon rod close to Ratchet's plating. Just enough that curls of charge snapped against Ratchet's armor. A teasing tingle, neither painful nor pleasurable, but nonetheless made Ratchet jerk in his bonds, the chains rattling.
Sideswipe's glossa slid over his lipplate, spike swelling in its housing, though he cycled a ventilation to keep himself in control. For once. Anticipation throbbed heavily through his systems.
“I think you want it,” Sideswipe said, his vocals a deep purr certain to resonate in the best kinds of ways through Ratchet's spark chamber. “In fact, I think you're going to beg for it.”
“Fragging tease,” Ratchet snarled, but his ventilations were sharp and quick. He was shaking, energy field coiled with restrained need.
Sideswipe stepped forward, a bare foot between them, the electric rod hissing and spitting with charge. “You know that's not what I want to hear, Ratch.”
The chains jerked, a deep groan echoing outward, pulled from the depths of Ratchet's chassis. He looked up at Sideswipe, need making his optics dark and desperate. He was on the raggedy edge and Sideswipe had barely touched him. Frag, that was hot!
He pressed closer, their plating microns apart, and Sidewipe reached down, curling a hand around Ratchet's helm. The medic's anxious energy field tingled against his own.
“Say it, Ratch,” Sideswipe all but crooned, his spark whirling with anticipation.
He could see Ratchet's hands tighten into his fists. He could feel the way Ratchet was shaking, the slow, slow slide into that place, where need and want were allowed and all he had to do was ask.
A noise, something Sideswipe would name a whine were this any other mech, pulled itself from Ratchet's vocalizer. “... Do it,” he said, static lacing each syllable, but Sideswipe did not miss the way Ratchet's helm pressed into his hand, beautiful in his surrender, as always. “Please.”
His fingers stroked Ratchet's helm. “It will be my pleasure.”
He felt it then, the way Ratchet's energy field stroked out, seeking and confirming, before lying flat against his frame. Quiescent and trembling. Submission.
Sideswipe caressed Ratchet's helm one last time and removed his hand, circling around to his mate's back. “I'll start light,” he said, careful to keep his tone soft and rhythmic, certain to draw Ratchet into the right headspace. “I'll let it build. Just the way you want it.”
A soft moan escaped Ratchet's vocalizer. His arms twitched against the restraints, testing but not rejecting them.
The scent of charged ions filled the air. Sideswipe twitched the rod, letting it spit and crackle, the sound teasing Ratchet's audials. He watched as Ratchet's plating lifted and flexed, giving glimpses of his substructure, all the best places to caress.
Sideswipe's spark started to throb. This was intensely erotic and he hadn't even done anything yet. Just the sight of Ratchet on his knees, submitting willingly when he was usually so stubborn and unyielding, was enough to make his spike pressurize. He held back with a control few knew him capable of.
He twitched the rod again and then inched it closer to the appealing lines of Ratchet's back. Closer and closer, until the snaps of charge leapt from the end of the rod to crackle over Ratchet's armor. A moan echoed in the dim, lit by the electrical sparks.
Ratchet's knees scraped against the ground as he pushed himself backward, closer to the charged rod. Lust surged in his energy field, a desire so intense it pushed through Sideswipe as well.
“I almost don't know where to begin,” Sideswipe murmured, watching Ratchet's shoulders flex. “Every inch of you is begging for it.”
“Just do it,” Ratchet said. Gone was the angry growl, replaced by a needy demand.
Sideswipe grinned. “You're always so impatient,” he said, but he obliged.
A flick of his wrist and the rod pressed against Ratchet's back, right along his backstrut, charge spilling out on its lightest setting. Ratchet moaned, arching away from the rod and toward it all at once.
Sideswipe could imagine what his mate was feeling, even without opening the bond. The sweet burn of electrical fire tingling across his circuits. The pain mingling with the pleasure. The desperate wish for more, pushing his frame to the limits and beyond. Playing with fire, as it were.
Without lifting the rod, Sideswipe dragged it across Ratchet's back, letting it catch on the edge of plating and skip across his armor. Charge pinged and danced, burrowing beneath Ratchet's plating and into his substructure, lighting the dim with blue fire.
Ratchet's helm tipped back, mouth open in a panting moan. “Sides...”
Sideswipe licked his lipplates, spark pulsing hard in his chassis. “More?” he asked, dragging the rod down, teasing at the gap in Ratchet's hip plating, narrow though it might be. “Stronger?”
“Yes,” Ratchet hissed, helm lolling across his shoulders, the chains rattling, cables tightening and clenching. His energy field rose up and out, swirling in the narrow confines of the storehouse.
Sideswipe flicked the switch, powering up the rod another degree, stronger electricity pulsing from the tip. It wasn't enough to permanently damage, but it would fry some of the weaker, more delicate circuits. Easily fixed by self-repair, of course, because Sideswipe would never abide by permanent damage, no matter what Ratchet might beg for in the heat of the moment.
“Good?” Sideswipe asked.
A soft moan was his answer.
He dragged the tip of the rod up Ratchet's backstrut, skipping across armor plates, over the ridge of his shoulder and the length of his right arm, pausing at the delicate wrist joint before tracing his steps. It swept over Ratchet's upper back before climbing his left arm, teasing that wrist joint as well.
“More?” Sideswipe asked.
“Yes,” Ratchet moaned, helm dipping, fingers twitching.
The electrified tip spat and crackled its way down Ratchet's side, pausing at the pelvic array, nosing between two overlapping plates. Sideswipe could see the charge tunneling against Ratchet's substructure, lighting up circuits along the way.
Ratchet keened, writhing in the chains, his arousal so sharp in his energy field that Sideswipe swore he could taste it. Or maybe that was the charged ions in the air, he couldn't be sure.
Sideswipe's spark leapt and his spike fully pressurized, panel snicking aside before he could control himself.
“Primus, that's hot,” he murmured, unable to take his optics off the sight, watching Ratchet twitch and flex, knees scraping against the floor.
Sideswipe's free hand dropped to his interface array. He palmed his spike but didn't dare stroke it. Not yet. So he traced his fingers around the edges, lightly dragged them over the sensitive plating, played with the transfluid seeping from the tip. He shuddered.
“I'm going to frag you so hard,” Sideswipe promised, letting the electrified rod dip lower, tracing down and up the length of Ratchet's legs.
He prodded the tip into the dip of Ratchet's knees, plating there thinner to account for the flexibility of the joints. It had to sting, lighting all of the sensory nodes there with contradictory data.
“Do you want that?” Sideswipe asked and he slid the rod back up, tracing it over Ratchet's aftplating and tapping it on the inside of Ratchet's thigh.
Lubricant glistened on the ground beneath Ratchet. It dripped down his thighs, betraying the force of his arousal.
“Well?” Sideswipe prompted when his question was not answered.
He tapped the rod against Ratchet's aft, a light swat meant to get attention.
“Do you want my spike?”
Ratchet jerked, his vocalizer clicking and clicking before words finally emerged. “Yes,” he said, static following the last syllable.
“I thought so.”
Sideswipe flicked off the current, ignoring Ratchet's whine of protest, and nudged the thin tip between Ratchet's legs. He prodded at the mouth of Ratchet's valve, unsurprised when it came back glistening with lubricant.
“You're dripping,” Sideswipe observed. “You must be on the edge. Heat building inside of you, spike eager to taste the charge.”
Ratchet's hips did a little dance.
Sideswipe skated back around to Ratchet's front. He wanted to see his mate's expressions, and Ratchet did not disappoint. His optics were half-shuttered, mouth parted, lust etched into the mobile features of his faceplate.
The rod returned to the edge of Ratchet's valve, tracing the contours, teasing the outermost nodes. Ratchet knees shifted, hips pressing down.
“More?” Sideswipe asked.
Ratchet's optics unshuttered, helm tilting up to meet Sideswipe's gaze. “Yes.”
He flicked the switch, leaving the rod on its lowest setting, and watched as Ratchet writhed. His hips dipped and swayed to the sensation of charge crackling over his valve, dancing over his nodes, spilling into the lubricant-drenched mechanisms.
He traced the valve's rim over and over, in repeated circles, his free hand gripping his spike, trying to hold back his own building overload. Restraint no longer applied to Ratchet. He moaned, loudly and freely, lubricant plopping to the concrete beneath him.
Sideswipe cycled a ventilation, optics wide, unwilling to miss a single instant.
Ratchet was shaking, armor plates rattling, heat rising off his frame in palpable waves.
“You're close, aren't you?” Sideswipe murmured. “So close you can taste it. Sweet ozone and charge on your glossa.”
Ratchet's glossa flicked out, moistening his lipplates, catching a bead of condensation. “S-Sides...”
He leaned forward, nudging his helm against Ratchet's, close enough to feel the medic's ex-vents. “Did you say something?” He let the rod fall away, spitting electricity into the air.
Ratchet moaned, wordless.
“Well?” Sideswipe prompted, nipping at Ratchet's audial, feeling the pulse of arousal and need in his mate's energy field. “Did you want something?” He tapped the end of the rod on Ratchet's inner thigh.
Ratchet jerked, tugging on the chains. “Sideswipe, please.”
The plea in his tone was enough to make Sideswipe moan himself. To hear the irascible medic so desperate inspired lust in itself.
He dragged his mouth to Ratchet's, brushing over his lipplates. “Say it again. Tell me you want me.”
Ratchet surged forward, the chains rattling, his frame scraping against Sideswipe's. “Now,” he rasped, vocalizer spilling static. “Now, please, Sideswipe. Frag me.”
“Primus.” The words traveled straight from his audials to his spike. “Slag, that's hot.” Sideswipe sucked in a ventilation, flicking off the rod and tossing it to the side.
Ratchet groaned, protesting the loss, but Sideswipe wasn't done. No way in the Pit was he done.
“You are the hottest thing, I swear to Primus,” Sideswipe mumbled, free hand grasping Ratchet's hip as he maneuvered himself.
His spike throbbed, lust pulsing through his lines, and he dropped to his knees in front of Ratchet. Both hands grabbed the medic's hips now, yanking Ratchet toward him, positioning the dripping valve over his spike.
Ratchet shook, optics bright and blazing. “Do it,” he said. “Please, Sideswipe. Spike me. Now.”
Control, already shaky, abandoned Sideswipe in an instant. He groaned and thrust upward, the head of his spike skating around the rim of Ratchet's valve before he plunged into the drenched depths.
They moaned in tandem. Sideswipe cursed subvocally, Ratchet's valve grasping at his spike, trying to pull him deeper. He was so slick, so hot.
Ratchet's cry spiraled into the dim of the storehouse.
Sideswipe's fingers tightened on Ratchet's hips, pulling him down for each jarring thrust upward. He could already feel the overload crackling in Ratchet's valve, building with each thrust, and his own wasn't far behind. Ratchet was a writhing force of nature above him, lust bombarding Sideswipe from all directions.
“Next time,” Sideswipe gasped, spike throbbing as Ratchet's valve clenched down on him. “I'll turn it up. I'll push that rod up into your valve, let you feel the current from the inside out.”
Ratchet moaned, helm dipping forward, hips surging to meet each thrust. Desire spiked, the clang of metal on metal growing louder.
“You'll beg for more,” Sideswipe continued, tipping his helm forward and letting it slide against Ratchet's chestplate. “And then I'll make you show me your spark. I'll take that, too. Make you overload so hard I can taste it. You'll be feeling it for weeks.”
A whimper rose up and rattled in Ratchet's chassis.
“You'll be sore and aching,” Sideswipe promised, heat a rapid cascade through his circuits. He groaned, trying to hold back, but the clutching of Ratchet's valve could not be ignored. “But you'll come back and I'll give you more. However many times you want.”
He tightened his grip and slammed up hard, spike sliding along Ratchet's valve sensors, feeling the charge crest with an eager crackle.
“Overload for me,” Sideswipe urged, feeling Ratchet tremble against him. “Now, Ratch. Do it.” He circled his hips, grinding against Ratchet's interface array. “Do it.”
Ratchet jerked, entire frame seizing as the overload took him. His ventilations hitched, valve spiraling down, and Sideswipe moaned, his fingers tightening enough to dent. He wanted to hold out, wanted more, but frag it!
Overload swept over him, transfluid jetting into Ratchet's valve. His processor blanked, vision fritzing static. He clung to Ratchet as the tremors shook his frame, pleasure pouring over him in a dizzying wave.
“Primus,” Sideswipe huffed, cooling fans whirring frantically. Condensation beaded on his frame, sliding down his armor. “You're going to send me into spark failure some day.”
Ratchet sluggishly stirred against him. “You're the fragging tease,” he rasped, before the tell-tale clicks of a vocalizer reboot filled the air between them. “It's your own fault.”
Sideswipe laughed tiredly, nuzzling against Ratchet's chestplate. “You started it.” He unpeeled his fingers from Ratchet's hips, wincing at the dents left behind. They'd self-repair with time, but until then, they were pretty noticeable.
“Who tied up who?” Ratchet demanded.
“Who gave me permission?” Sideswipe retorted, and leaned upward, stealing Ratchet's mouth for a quick kiss.
Ratchet's valve cycled weakly around his spike.
“Mmm. What's this?” Sideswipe said against Ratchet's mouth. “Eager for round two so soon?”
The chains rattled as Ratchet tugged on them. “After the way you fried my circuits?” He ground a few gears together in disgruntlement.
“You asked for it,” Sideswipe said and pulled back, dragging his palms up and down Ratchet's sides. “Might get that rod again, if you want it.” He grinned.
Ratchet groaned, a sound of defeat. “I'm going to fragging kill Ironhide for telling you about that.”
“It's not his fault you're a kinky fragger,” Sideswipe retorted and circled his hips, his spike stirring for a second round. He couldn't help himself. His mate was the sexiest mech in the universe.
“No, it's yours for indulging me.” Ratchet's plating lifted, flaring wide open to help expel heat.
Sideswipe's hands traveled further up, stroking the length of Ratchet's arms. “Ratch, you know I'll give you anything you ask me.” His fingers plucked pleasurable lines of static on his mate's armor. “So. Round two. Chains on or off?”
“Who's the insatiable one now?”
“Still you.” Sideswipe's grin widened, a purr rumbling through his frame. “On or off, Ratch?”
His mate shifted atop him, settling more comfortably, his valve rippling along Sideswipe's half-pressurized spike. “On,” he grunted.
“Thought so.” Sideswipe's mouth wandered back toward Ratchet's, brushing their lipplates together. “Good thing you're not on shift for awhile. I plan on keeping you here all night.”
“Someone will come looking,” Ratchet said, but it wasn't a no, Sideswipe noted.
He grinned, lightly pumping his spike into Ratchet's valve, just to draw a nice charge. “Let them come,” Sideswipe purred.
He didn't mind a little exhibitionism and previous experience assured him that Ratchet didn't either.
They were a kinky pair of fraggers, all right. But Sideswipe wouldn't have it any other way.
***
a/n: Anyone know the actual name for this kink, the electrical play?
Got another fic shipped off to the beta as we speak. Some more pronz about halfway done. Still chugging away at the Hot Rod/Tracks and I'm almost done with WWE: Thundercracker. I've finished Lennox. I'm picking up Prime next and then Skywarp. Getting things done. Huzzah!
Also, I finally picked what fic is speaking to me most for SciFiBigBang. It's not Critical Mass or Castle of Glass, but in fact a fic prompt that someone gave me a while back and now I've got ideas. *grins*
Feedback is welcome!
Title: Electric Slide
Universe: Bayverse, post-2007, pre-RotF
Characters: SideswipexRatchet
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bondage, d/s overtones, electricity-play, sticky, painplay, PWP
Description: Sideswipe couldn't help himself. Indulging Ratchet would never get old.
“A little birdie tells me that you had an... interesting encounter in Sam's backyard.”
Ratchet stared back at him, indomitable. “I don't know what you're talking about.” His energy field, however, told a different story. It rippled outward, dosed with a mix of guilt and satisfaction.
Sideswipe smirked and circled around Ratchet, admiring his work. Ratchet's arms had been bound above him, wrapped in a thick segment of chain looped over the crossbeams above. He was on his knees, frame stretched out to accommodate the chains, plating lifted away to reveal tantalizing glimpses of protoform, bare joints, and cable-webbed struts. In the dim of the cheap lights, even the chartreuse paint looked inviting.
Sideswipe's engine revved. “Oh, you don't?” he asked, one hand sliding across Ratchet's back, feeling the strain in his trembling frame. Charge lightly snapped across his digits, teasing the inner mechanisms. “I seem to recall the mention of some power lines.”
His mate's energy field flared outward, betraying his interest. “Not ringing a bell,” Ratchet retorted, but oh, he couldn't hide the desire coiling in that field. Nor the way it reached out for Sideswipe, begging without words.
Sideswipe's smirk widened as he circled back around. Ratchet's optics were bright, but half-shuttered from desire. Cooling fans clicked on with an audible whirr.
“Liar,” Sideswipe purred. He leaned forward, nuzzling against Ratchet's jaw, the soft scrape of metal on metal resonating across their faces. “I think you remember. And I think you're hoping for a repeat.”
Ratchet's engine rumbled, the vibrations carrying through his frame. “You don't have the bearings.”
Primus, shouldn't he know better by now? Sideswipe leaned back, not failing to notice the way Ratchet arched toward him, wanting their fields to intermingle, for the pleasure to dance like lightning through his circuits.
Sideswipe didn't have to look to know that Ratchet's valve cover had snapped open; the sweet tang of lubricant was thick in the air. It was an invitation that Sideswipe fully intended to accept later.
“Don't I?” Sideswipe chuckled and reached into his subspace, pulling out a stout, narrow rod. A single flick of his fingers activated the electrical current, which snapped and fizzled in the open air. “What do you think?”
A growl escaped Ratchet's vocalizer, but it petered off into a moan when Sideswipe waved the energon rod close to Ratchet's plating. Just enough that curls of charge snapped against Ratchet's armor. A teasing tingle, neither painful nor pleasurable, but nonetheless made Ratchet jerk in his bonds, the chains rattling.
Sideswipe's glossa slid over his lipplate, spike swelling in its housing, though he cycled a ventilation to keep himself in control. For once. Anticipation throbbed heavily through his systems.
“I think you want it,” Sideswipe said, his vocals a deep purr certain to resonate in the best kinds of ways through Ratchet's spark chamber. “In fact, I think you're going to beg for it.”
“Fragging tease,” Ratchet snarled, but his ventilations were sharp and quick. He was shaking, energy field coiled with restrained need.
Sideswipe stepped forward, a bare foot between them, the electric rod hissing and spitting with charge. “You know that's not what I want to hear, Ratch.”
The chains jerked, a deep groan echoing outward, pulled from the depths of Ratchet's chassis. He looked up at Sideswipe, need making his optics dark and desperate. He was on the raggedy edge and Sideswipe had barely touched him. Frag, that was hot!
He pressed closer, their plating microns apart, and Sidewipe reached down, curling a hand around Ratchet's helm. The medic's anxious energy field tingled against his own.
“Say it, Ratch,” Sideswipe all but crooned, his spark whirling with anticipation.
He could see Ratchet's hands tighten into his fists. He could feel the way Ratchet was shaking, the slow, slow slide into that place, where need and want were allowed and all he had to do was ask.
A noise, something Sideswipe would name a whine were this any other mech, pulled itself from Ratchet's vocalizer. “... Do it,” he said, static lacing each syllable, but Sideswipe did not miss the way Ratchet's helm pressed into his hand, beautiful in his surrender, as always. “Please.”
His fingers stroked Ratchet's helm. “It will be my pleasure.”
He felt it then, the way Ratchet's energy field stroked out, seeking and confirming, before lying flat against his frame. Quiescent and trembling. Submission.
Sideswipe caressed Ratchet's helm one last time and removed his hand, circling around to his mate's back. “I'll start light,” he said, careful to keep his tone soft and rhythmic, certain to draw Ratchet into the right headspace. “I'll let it build. Just the way you want it.”
A soft moan escaped Ratchet's vocalizer. His arms twitched against the restraints, testing but not rejecting them.
The scent of charged ions filled the air. Sideswipe twitched the rod, letting it spit and crackle, the sound teasing Ratchet's audials. He watched as Ratchet's plating lifted and flexed, giving glimpses of his substructure, all the best places to caress.
Sideswipe's spark started to throb. This was intensely erotic and he hadn't even done anything yet. Just the sight of Ratchet on his knees, submitting willingly when he was usually so stubborn and unyielding, was enough to make his spike pressurize. He held back with a control few knew him capable of.
He twitched the rod again and then inched it closer to the appealing lines of Ratchet's back. Closer and closer, until the snaps of charge leapt from the end of the rod to crackle over Ratchet's armor. A moan echoed in the dim, lit by the electrical sparks.
Ratchet's knees scraped against the ground as he pushed himself backward, closer to the charged rod. Lust surged in his energy field, a desire so intense it pushed through Sideswipe as well.
“I almost don't know where to begin,” Sideswipe murmured, watching Ratchet's shoulders flex. “Every inch of you is begging for it.”
“Just do it,” Ratchet said. Gone was the angry growl, replaced by a needy demand.
Sideswipe grinned. “You're always so impatient,” he said, but he obliged.
A flick of his wrist and the rod pressed against Ratchet's back, right along his backstrut, charge spilling out on its lightest setting. Ratchet moaned, arching away from the rod and toward it all at once.
Sideswipe could imagine what his mate was feeling, even without opening the bond. The sweet burn of electrical fire tingling across his circuits. The pain mingling with the pleasure. The desperate wish for more, pushing his frame to the limits and beyond. Playing with fire, as it were.
Without lifting the rod, Sideswipe dragged it across Ratchet's back, letting it catch on the edge of plating and skip across his armor. Charge pinged and danced, burrowing beneath Ratchet's plating and into his substructure, lighting the dim with blue fire.
Ratchet's helm tipped back, mouth open in a panting moan. “Sides...”
Sideswipe licked his lipplates, spark pulsing hard in his chassis. “More?” he asked, dragging the rod down, teasing at the gap in Ratchet's hip plating, narrow though it might be. “Stronger?”
“Yes,” Ratchet hissed, helm lolling across his shoulders, the chains rattling, cables tightening and clenching. His energy field rose up and out, swirling in the narrow confines of the storehouse.
Sideswipe flicked the switch, powering up the rod another degree, stronger electricity pulsing from the tip. It wasn't enough to permanently damage, but it would fry some of the weaker, more delicate circuits. Easily fixed by self-repair, of course, because Sideswipe would never abide by permanent damage, no matter what Ratchet might beg for in the heat of the moment.
“Good?” Sideswipe asked.
A soft moan was his answer.
He dragged the tip of the rod up Ratchet's backstrut, skipping across armor plates, over the ridge of his shoulder and the length of his right arm, pausing at the delicate wrist joint before tracing his steps. It swept over Ratchet's upper back before climbing his left arm, teasing that wrist joint as well.
“More?” Sideswipe asked.
“Yes,” Ratchet moaned, helm dipping, fingers twitching.
The electrified tip spat and crackled its way down Ratchet's side, pausing at the pelvic array, nosing between two overlapping plates. Sideswipe could see the charge tunneling against Ratchet's substructure, lighting up circuits along the way.
Ratchet keened, writhing in the chains, his arousal so sharp in his energy field that Sideswipe swore he could taste it. Or maybe that was the charged ions in the air, he couldn't be sure.
Sideswipe's spark leapt and his spike fully pressurized, panel snicking aside before he could control himself.
“Primus, that's hot,” he murmured, unable to take his optics off the sight, watching Ratchet twitch and flex, knees scraping against the floor.
Sideswipe's free hand dropped to his interface array. He palmed his spike but didn't dare stroke it. Not yet. So he traced his fingers around the edges, lightly dragged them over the sensitive plating, played with the transfluid seeping from the tip. He shuddered.
“I'm going to frag you so hard,” Sideswipe promised, letting the electrified rod dip lower, tracing down and up the length of Ratchet's legs.
He prodded the tip into the dip of Ratchet's knees, plating there thinner to account for the flexibility of the joints. It had to sting, lighting all of the sensory nodes there with contradictory data.
“Do you want that?” Sideswipe asked and he slid the rod back up, tracing it over Ratchet's aftplating and tapping it on the inside of Ratchet's thigh.
Lubricant glistened on the ground beneath Ratchet. It dripped down his thighs, betraying the force of his arousal.
“Well?” Sideswipe prompted when his question was not answered.
He tapped the rod against Ratchet's aft, a light swat meant to get attention.
“Do you want my spike?”
Ratchet jerked, his vocalizer clicking and clicking before words finally emerged. “Yes,” he said, static following the last syllable.
“I thought so.”
Sideswipe flicked off the current, ignoring Ratchet's whine of protest, and nudged the thin tip between Ratchet's legs. He prodded at the mouth of Ratchet's valve, unsurprised when it came back glistening with lubricant.
“You're dripping,” Sideswipe observed. “You must be on the edge. Heat building inside of you, spike eager to taste the charge.”
Ratchet's hips did a little dance.
Sideswipe skated back around to Ratchet's front. He wanted to see his mate's expressions, and Ratchet did not disappoint. His optics were half-shuttered, mouth parted, lust etched into the mobile features of his faceplate.
The rod returned to the edge of Ratchet's valve, tracing the contours, teasing the outermost nodes. Ratchet knees shifted, hips pressing down.
“More?” Sideswipe asked.
Ratchet's optics unshuttered, helm tilting up to meet Sideswipe's gaze. “Yes.”
He flicked the switch, leaving the rod on its lowest setting, and watched as Ratchet writhed. His hips dipped and swayed to the sensation of charge crackling over his valve, dancing over his nodes, spilling into the lubricant-drenched mechanisms.
He traced the valve's rim over and over, in repeated circles, his free hand gripping his spike, trying to hold back his own building overload. Restraint no longer applied to Ratchet. He moaned, loudly and freely, lubricant plopping to the concrete beneath him.
Sideswipe cycled a ventilation, optics wide, unwilling to miss a single instant.
Ratchet was shaking, armor plates rattling, heat rising off his frame in palpable waves.
“You're close, aren't you?” Sideswipe murmured. “So close you can taste it. Sweet ozone and charge on your glossa.”
Ratchet's glossa flicked out, moistening his lipplates, catching a bead of condensation. “S-Sides...”
He leaned forward, nudging his helm against Ratchet's, close enough to feel the medic's ex-vents. “Did you say something?” He let the rod fall away, spitting electricity into the air.
Ratchet moaned, wordless.
“Well?” Sideswipe prompted, nipping at Ratchet's audial, feeling the pulse of arousal and need in his mate's energy field. “Did you want something?” He tapped the end of the rod on Ratchet's inner thigh.
Ratchet jerked, tugging on the chains. “Sideswipe, please.”
The plea in his tone was enough to make Sideswipe moan himself. To hear the irascible medic so desperate inspired lust in itself.
He dragged his mouth to Ratchet's, brushing over his lipplates. “Say it again. Tell me you want me.”
Ratchet surged forward, the chains rattling, his frame scraping against Sideswipe's. “Now,” he rasped, vocalizer spilling static. “Now, please, Sideswipe. Frag me.”
“Primus.” The words traveled straight from his audials to his spike. “Slag, that's hot.” Sideswipe sucked in a ventilation, flicking off the rod and tossing it to the side.
Ratchet groaned, protesting the loss, but Sideswipe wasn't done. No way in the Pit was he done.
“You are the hottest thing, I swear to Primus,” Sideswipe mumbled, free hand grasping Ratchet's hip as he maneuvered himself.
His spike throbbed, lust pulsing through his lines, and he dropped to his knees in front of Ratchet. Both hands grabbed the medic's hips now, yanking Ratchet toward him, positioning the dripping valve over his spike.
Ratchet shook, optics bright and blazing. “Do it,” he said. “Please, Sideswipe. Spike me. Now.”
Control, already shaky, abandoned Sideswipe in an instant. He groaned and thrust upward, the head of his spike skating around the rim of Ratchet's valve before he plunged into the drenched depths.
They moaned in tandem. Sideswipe cursed subvocally, Ratchet's valve grasping at his spike, trying to pull him deeper. He was so slick, so hot.
Ratchet's cry spiraled into the dim of the storehouse.
Sideswipe's fingers tightened on Ratchet's hips, pulling him down for each jarring thrust upward. He could already feel the overload crackling in Ratchet's valve, building with each thrust, and his own wasn't far behind. Ratchet was a writhing force of nature above him, lust bombarding Sideswipe from all directions.
“Next time,” Sideswipe gasped, spike throbbing as Ratchet's valve clenched down on him. “I'll turn it up. I'll push that rod up into your valve, let you feel the current from the inside out.”
Ratchet moaned, helm dipping forward, hips surging to meet each thrust. Desire spiked, the clang of metal on metal growing louder.
“You'll beg for more,” Sideswipe continued, tipping his helm forward and letting it slide against Ratchet's chestplate. “And then I'll make you show me your spark. I'll take that, too. Make you overload so hard I can taste it. You'll be feeling it for weeks.”
A whimper rose up and rattled in Ratchet's chassis.
“You'll be sore and aching,” Sideswipe promised, heat a rapid cascade through his circuits. He groaned, trying to hold back, but the clutching of Ratchet's valve could not be ignored. “But you'll come back and I'll give you more. However many times you want.”
He tightened his grip and slammed up hard, spike sliding along Ratchet's valve sensors, feeling the charge crest with an eager crackle.
“Overload for me,” Sideswipe urged, feeling Ratchet tremble against him. “Now, Ratch. Do it.” He circled his hips, grinding against Ratchet's interface array. “Do it.”
Ratchet jerked, entire frame seizing as the overload took him. His ventilations hitched, valve spiraling down, and Sideswipe moaned, his fingers tightening enough to dent. He wanted to hold out, wanted more, but frag it!
Overload swept over him, transfluid jetting into Ratchet's valve. His processor blanked, vision fritzing static. He clung to Ratchet as the tremors shook his frame, pleasure pouring over him in a dizzying wave.
“Primus,” Sideswipe huffed, cooling fans whirring frantically. Condensation beaded on his frame, sliding down his armor. “You're going to send me into spark failure some day.”
Ratchet sluggishly stirred against him. “You're the fragging tease,” he rasped, before the tell-tale clicks of a vocalizer reboot filled the air between them. “It's your own fault.”
Sideswipe laughed tiredly, nuzzling against Ratchet's chestplate. “You started it.” He unpeeled his fingers from Ratchet's hips, wincing at the dents left behind. They'd self-repair with time, but until then, they were pretty noticeable.
“Who tied up who?” Ratchet demanded.
“Who gave me permission?” Sideswipe retorted, and leaned upward, stealing Ratchet's mouth for a quick kiss.
Ratchet's valve cycled weakly around his spike.
“Mmm. What's this?” Sideswipe said against Ratchet's mouth. “Eager for round two so soon?”
The chains rattled as Ratchet tugged on them. “After the way you fried my circuits?” He ground a few gears together in disgruntlement.
“You asked for it,” Sideswipe said and pulled back, dragging his palms up and down Ratchet's sides. “Might get that rod again, if you want it.” He grinned.
Ratchet groaned, a sound of defeat. “I'm going to fragging kill Ironhide for telling you about that.”
“It's not his fault you're a kinky fragger,” Sideswipe retorted and circled his hips, his spike stirring for a second round. He couldn't help himself. His mate was the sexiest mech in the universe.
“No, it's yours for indulging me.” Ratchet's plating lifted, flaring wide open to help expel heat.
Sideswipe's hands traveled further up, stroking the length of Ratchet's arms. “Ratch, you know I'll give you anything you ask me.” His fingers plucked pleasurable lines of static on his mate's armor. “So. Round two. Chains on or off?”
“Who's the insatiable one now?”
“Still you.” Sideswipe's grin widened, a purr rumbling through his frame. “On or off, Ratch?”
His mate shifted atop him, settling more comfortably, his valve rippling along Sideswipe's half-pressurized spike. “On,” he grunted.
“Thought so.” Sideswipe's mouth wandered back toward Ratchet's, brushing their lipplates together. “Good thing you're not on shift for awhile. I plan on keeping you here all night.”
“Someone will come looking,” Ratchet said, but it wasn't a no, Sideswipe noted.
He grinned, lightly pumping his spike into Ratchet's valve, just to draw a nice charge. “Let them come,” Sideswipe purred.
He didn't mind a little exhibitionism and previous experience assured him that Ratchet didn't either.
They were a kinky pair of fraggers, all right. But Sideswipe wouldn't have it any other way.
a/n: Anyone know the actual name for this kink, the electrical play?
Got another fic shipped off to the beta as we speak. Some more pronz about halfway done. Still chugging away at the Hot Rod/Tracks and I'm almost done with WWE: Thundercracker. I've finished Lennox. I'm picking up Prime next and then Skywarp. Getting things done. Huzzah!
Also, I finally picked what fic is speaking to me most for SciFiBigBang. It's not Critical Mass or Castle of Glass, but in fact a fic prompt that someone gave me a while back and now I've got ideas. *grins*
Feedback is welcome!
