[Bay] Incentives
Jul. 22nd, 2014 10:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Just a little prelude to pronz that I worked up for a rare-pair challenge. Don't mind me as I drop this off and scuttle away to work on flash fic prompts. :D
Title: Incentives
Characters: RatchetxOptimus
Universe: Bayverse, post-2007 film
Rating: M
Warnings: tactile
Description: Ratchet has Optimus right where he wants him.
For the tf-rare-pairing lotto challenge prompt of Bayverse, RatchetxOptimus, intricate berth plots
It takes some finagling and much wheedling on Ratchet's part to convince Optimus to step away from diplomatic negotiations and power down for a much-needed defrag. Optimus can't be ordered as much as he is persuaded, especially when error messages pop up too quick to be ignored and glitches make him slip between several Earth languages.
Fortunately, Ratchet is a better orator than he is a medic and he's a fragging good medic. There's a reason Ironhide's still alive and he owes it all to Ratchet, scars notwithstanding. The scars in question being Ironhide's fault because he doesn't know how to be still when Ratchet's performing emergency welds on the battlefield.
But that's neither here nor there.
Because getting Optimus to the berth takes a few promises of Ratchet's own. And it's such an onerous task, joining Optimus in the makeshift warehouse they call shelter, letting his hands roam over elegant armor as Optimus vents heat beneath him. Even better that Ratchet's not here to repair the physical, but simply enjoy.
And there's a lot to enjoy about Optimus Prime.
“I will not go quietly,” Optimus promises as his hands bury themselves in Ratchet's substructure. Metal makes a skreel of noise across barely padded pavement as he shifts beneath Ratchet. “I am not the only one in need of recharge.”
Ratchet draws static with his fingertips, painting arcs of blue with Optimus' field. “Then I suppose you'll have to convince me it's worth my time.”
Large hands hook on plating as fingers slide beneath, teasing the subsurface where sensors alight with stimulation. Optimus' engine rumbles, vibrating his frame, the ground, the corrugated walls of their shelter, and by proxy, Ratchet.
“Shall I take that as a challenge?” Optimus purrs, his vocals the perfect timbre to resonate in Ratchet's chassis even as they caress Ratchet's audials.
He shivers, frame becoming a restless motion atop Optimus'. His knees scrape yellow streaks of paint on the concrete, missing the padding entirely. It would be uncomfortable had Ratchet not spent centuries living in the midst of war. Right now, a padded piece of concrete was a fragging luxury.
“It depends on your terms,” Ratchet says, meaning to be stern, but it escapes on a pant, a desperate suck of cooler air into his vents. Not that there's much cooler air to be found.
Optimus is blasting heat, dumping it so fast that it's raising the ambient temperature in the warehouse. He seems calm on the outside, amused even, but Ratchet's sensors are telling him otherwise. Beneath the surface, Optimus is a storm begging to be unleashed.
“First to fall obeys the other for, hmm, two megacycles,” Optimus offers.
“Two!” Ratchet's outrage echoes in the warehouse, probably audible to all beyond it. Poor humans.
Two megacycles is a fragging long time! But... and Ratchet pauses to consider this. If he were to outlast Optimus, well, he could have Optimus on his back and motionless for some much needed maintenance. For full recharge. For... for everything Optimus has been putting off for the last dozen centuries! The possibilities are endless!
Why, Ratchet could even perform a full systems check if he wanted.
Optimus chuckles at his outrage. “Do you doubt yourself?” he teases.
“Oh, no,” Ratchet all but snarls, nearly filled with glee at the opportunity, his caresses doubling in earnest now. Before, this had been meant for recharge alone, now there is much, much more at stake. “I'll have you on a medberth yet!”
Optimus cycles his optics at him, a brief moment of silence swelling in the aftermath of Ratchet's declaration, before he abruptly laughs and rises upward. Ratchet's heavy, built to haul and carry, but it's an effortless motion that sends him tipping sideways. In a blink, he's pinned beneath his leader, half on and half off the spongy padding, heat pouring over his frame in a wave.
“I offer obedience and all you can consider is my physical wellbeing?” Optimus presses their helms together, his engine rumbling with amusement. “Medic, you are an odd one.”
Indignation wars with arousal. Ratchet puts forth a token resistance, but he's thoroughly pinned, his hands caught in a vise-like grip, Optimus' much longer lower frame keeping Ratchet's in check. The weight of Optimus' field, his heat, is a tangible presence, surrounding Ratchet with the evidence of power.
Damn Optimus for cheating!
Ratchet wants to roar outrage but what comes out is a hungry moan. A bleating plea for more and harder and yes, sir. He bucks up against Optimus with limited motion, static electricity crackling out from his frame to snap against Optimus' own.
“Cheater!” Ratchet accuses, plating twitching with restless need.
Optimus smirks at him, his helm nuzzling against Ratchet's own. “Do you forfeit?”
“Frag that!”
Optimus' laugh vibrates against his armor. “Then let the games begin.”
***
a/n: I've got a few more prompts that have whetted my interest (yay! another excuse to write SunnyxTracks) so you might see a few more little smutlets popping up. I'll do my best. I'm also working on the flash fic prompts as we speak. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)
Title: Incentives
Characters: RatchetxOptimus
Universe: Bayverse, post-2007 film
Rating: M
Warnings: tactile
Description: Ratchet has Optimus right where he wants him.
For the tf-rare-pairing lotto challenge prompt of Bayverse, RatchetxOptimus, intricate berth plots
It takes some finagling and much wheedling on Ratchet's part to convince Optimus to step away from diplomatic negotiations and power down for a much-needed defrag. Optimus can't be ordered as much as he is persuaded, especially when error messages pop up too quick to be ignored and glitches make him slip between several Earth languages.
Fortunately, Ratchet is a better orator than he is a medic and he's a fragging good medic. There's a reason Ironhide's still alive and he owes it all to Ratchet, scars notwithstanding. The scars in question being Ironhide's fault because he doesn't know how to be still when Ratchet's performing emergency welds on the battlefield.
But that's neither here nor there.
Because getting Optimus to the berth takes a few promises of Ratchet's own. And it's such an onerous task, joining Optimus in the makeshift warehouse they call shelter, letting his hands roam over elegant armor as Optimus vents heat beneath him. Even better that Ratchet's not here to repair the physical, but simply enjoy.
And there's a lot to enjoy about Optimus Prime.
“I will not go quietly,” Optimus promises as his hands bury themselves in Ratchet's substructure. Metal makes a skreel of noise across barely padded pavement as he shifts beneath Ratchet. “I am not the only one in need of recharge.”
Ratchet draws static with his fingertips, painting arcs of blue with Optimus' field. “Then I suppose you'll have to convince me it's worth my time.”
Large hands hook on plating as fingers slide beneath, teasing the subsurface where sensors alight with stimulation. Optimus' engine rumbles, vibrating his frame, the ground, the corrugated walls of their shelter, and by proxy, Ratchet.
“Shall I take that as a challenge?” Optimus purrs, his vocals the perfect timbre to resonate in Ratchet's chassis even as they caress Ratchet's audials.
He shivers, frame becoming a restless motion atop Optimus'. His knees scrape yellow streaks of paint on the concrete, missing the padding entirely. It would be uncomfortable had Ratchet not spent centuries living in the midst of war. Right now, a padded piece of concrete was a fragging luxury.
“It depends on your terms,” Ratchet says, meaning to be stern, but it escapes on a pant, a desperate suck of cooler air into his vents. Not that there's much cooler air to be found.
Optimus is blasting heat, dumping it so fast that it's raising the ambient temperature in the warehouse. He seems calm on the outside, amused even, but Ratchet's sensors are telling him otherwise. Beneath the surface, Optimus is a storm begging to be unleashed.
“First to fall obeys the other for, hmm, two megacycles,” Optimus offers.
“Two!” Ratchet's outrage echoes in the warehouse, probably audible to all beyond it. Poor humans.
Two megacycles is a fragging long time! But... and Ratchet pauses to consider this. If he were to outlast Optimus, well, he could have Optimus on his back and motionless for some much needed maintenance. For full recharge. For... for everything Optimus has been putting off for the last dozen centuries! The possibilities are endless!
Why, Ratchet could even perform a full systems check if he wanted.
Optimus chuckles at his outrage. “Do you doubt yourself?” he teases.
“Oh, no,” Ratchet all but snarls, nearly filled with glee at the opportunity, his caresses doubling in earnest now. Before, this had been meant for recharge alone, now there is much, much more at stake. “I'll have you on a medberth yet!”
Optimus cycles his optics at him, a brief moment of silence swelling in the aftermath of Ratchet's declaration, before he abruptly laughs and rises upward. Ratchet's heavy, built to haul and carry, but it's an effortless motion that sends him tipping sideways. In a blink, he's pinned beneath his leader, half on and half off the spongy padding, heat pouring over his frame in a wave.
“I offer obedience and all you can consider is my physical wellbeing?” Optimus presses their helms together, his engine rumbling with amusement. “Medic, you are an odd one.”
Indignation wars with arousal. Ratchet puts forth a token resistance, but he's thoroughly pinned, his hands caught in a vise-like grip, Optimus' much longer lower frame keeping Ratchet's in check. The weight of Optimus' field, his heat, is a tangible presence, surrounding Ratchet with the evidence of power.
Damn Optimus for cheating!
Ratchet wants to roar outrage but what comes out is a hungry moan. A bleating plea for more and harder and yes, sir. He bucks up against Optimus with limited motion, static electricity crackling out from his frame to snap against Optimus' own.
“Cheater!” Ratchet accuses, plating twitching with restless need.
Optimus smirks at him, his helm nuzzling against Ratchet's own. “Do you forfeit?”
“Frag that!”
Optimus' laugh vibrates against his armor. “Then let the games begin.”
a/n: I've got a few more prompts that have whetted my interest (yay! another excuse to write SunnyxTracks) so you might see a few more little smutlets popping up. I'll do my best. I'm also working on the flash fic prompts as we speak. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)
