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dracoqueen22a/n: Good evening! Here are two fills out of seven with many more to come. These came to me surprisingly quick, I'm quite proud. Enjoy!
For jenn-oddballpunk
Prompt: something short and sweet with TFP Ratch and Jazz
Fandom: Transformers Prime. Warnings: mildly nsfw
For Fuzipenguin
Prompt: Any 'verse. Sideswipe/Jazz. “Come on now honey, bring it on bring it on, yeah/Just remember me when you're good to go”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: sticky, NSFW, mentions of twincest
Jazz flattened himself on the berth, vents spinning madly as he panted. He lay, arms and legs asprawl, not caring that his components were exposed, slick valve twitching and spike half-pressurized. His cooling fans whirred at max, vibrating the berth.
And Sideswipe laughed as he crawled over Jazz on hands and knees, his optics burning bright with enthusiasm.
“Done already?” he asked, leaning down to drag his glossa up the length of Jazz's chestplate, teasing the seam.
His armor jittered but didn't part. “Of course I'm not!” Jazz retorted, planting a grin on his face. “I could go all night!” Just as soon as he could move.
Well, maybe sooner. Jazz was pretty sure he was laying in a wet spot. Then again, at this point, the whole berth was a wet spot.
“But, you know, that's just not practical,” Jazz said, even as Sideswipe's talented mouth found a headlight and licked at the glass, teasing around the rim of it. Jazz swallowed down a moan. “Because Sunny'll be back soon and you know how he gets.”
Sideswipe chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” His denta scraped over the curve of Jazz's headlight and Jazz's engine weakly revved. His spike twitched. “But he's busy. Not comin' back tonight. Found him another berth. I'm all yours.”
Jazz looked down, watching Sideswipe's mouth work wonders, tracking the bob and sway of the red mech's erect spike. He swore that thing never depressurized. Sideswipe had, what, four overloads already? He was insatiable! How Sunstreaker put up with it, Jazz didn't know.
Maybe that was the real cause of Sunstreaker's foul temper. He was constantly sore. Despite himself, Jazz giggled.
Yes, he giggled.
Sideswipe paused in his ministrations and peered down at Jazz. “What's so funny?”
Jazz forced his frame into motion, arching his backstrut in a manner he knew Sideswipe found alluring. More lubricant and transfluid dripped from his valve, worsening the wet spot. Oh, well. They could always recharge on the floor.
“Sunstreaker,” Jazz said.
Sideswipe blinked. “I don't follow. Sunny is many things, but a comedic genius, he is not.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jazz gave Sideswipe a wicked grin. “He didn't find another berth because you chased him out of yours, did he?”
Sideswipe tossed him a shrewd look and then snorted. He bent back to the task at hand, or well, mouth. “You got that backwards,” he said, words muffled as his lips traveled back down, grazing over Jazz's ventrum before wisping over his interface panel.
Jazz bucked his hips upward, spreading his thighs further. Just when he thought he didn't possibly have the energy within him, there Sideswipe went, tucking his arms under Jazz's thighs, tilting his hips up, and diving right in.
Jazz moaned, that slippery glossa lapping at his components, slurping up the mess between his legs. Sideswipe ate him like he was the finest grade of energon and all Jazz could do was whimper, reaching up to grab the berth pillow and hold on tight. His anterior node throbbed at the nibble of denta. His spike rose back to attention, though there was little transfluid left to weep.
“B-backward?” Jazz repeated, struggling to hold his focus.
“Yeah.” Sideswipe slurped at the tip of his spike and then dropped Jazz's legs, crawling back upright to straddle Jazz's array. “He wears me out. S'why I kicked him toward Tracks.”
Well, that could either go very well or very badly. Jazz made a mental note to call Ironhide, maybe have him on the lookout, but then Sideswipe reached between his legs, grabbed Jazz's spike, aimed it toward his valve, and sunk down in one easy push. Sideswipe moaned, his valve squeezing down on Jazz's spike and Jazz gasped, bucking up into the red twin.
“Primus, that feels good,” he moaned, bracing his hands on Jazz's ventrum. He ground down, circling his hips and all Jazz could do was curl toward him, grab his hips, and hold on for the ride.
It boggled him. Left him speechless. Sideswipe could go all night and he'd had to send Sunstreaker out for relief? How was that even possible?
“Wow,” Jazz said.
“I know.” Sideswipe flashed him a grin and grabbed his own spike, dragging a long pull down it. “So now there's nothing stopping us.”
Jazz moaned, tilting his helm back. He honestly didn't know if it was from excitement or not. Maybe both because being interfaced to exhaustion was hardly a bad thing. Sideswipe could do things that left him quaking in pleasure. And there was one more benefit. Jazz was going to recharge like a rock.
He squeezed Sideswipe's hips, braced his pedes on the berth, and thrust upward. “Bring it,” Jazz said.
Sideswipe smirked.
a/n: Five more to come~ Just gotta get edited, title some of this (do my re-edits and rewrites for The Art of Self-Destruction) and things will be on their way. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
For jenn-oddballpunk
Prompt: something short and sweet with TFP Ratch and Jazz
Fandom: Transformers Prime. Warnings: mildly nsfw
Ratchet grumbled as he poked at the crushed device with a microwelder. Was there even any point in fixing this? Could he fix this?
He heard the door to his tiny medbay open. “I'm busy,” Ratchet snapped, not bothering to check who it was. It could be Optimus and he wouldn't give a frag. “Go away.”
“Oh, dear. Dare I ask?”
Ratchet put the device down, giving it a poke. It half-rolled, a few loose components flaking off with chiming noises. A screw leapt across the table, onto the floor, and rolled under a nearby cabinet.
“I am surrounded by morons,” Ratchet said, recognizing the voice as the one mech he didn't want to toss out on his aft. “Clumsy, useless, morons.”
Jazz chuckled as he swung into view and hopped up onto the counter next to the crushed device, four large furrows evidence of the massive hand that had been the cause of the damage.
“Who was it this time?”
“Bulkhead,” Ratchet growled. “It's always Bulkhead. He should have stayed with the Wreckers. Where he belongs. It's what he's good at.”
“Wrecking stuff?” Jazz asked with a cheeky grin.
Ratchet rolled his optics and set down his welder. No. There was no point in saving this. Into the scrap pile it would go.
“You think you're so clever,” he grumbled, moving to brush past the data mech turned saboteur.
“I'm also cute.” Jazz snagged him as he passed, legs curling around Ratchet's hips and dragging him close. “Don't you agree, Doc?”
Ratchet sighed through his vents and turned into Jazz's embrace, recognizing the soft pulse of affection for what it was. “What do you want, Jazz?”
Hands draped over his shoulders, Jazz tipped their helms together. “Is a bit of attention from my favorite medic a bit too much to ask?”
“Favorite? Who else are you letting poke at your systems, specialized as they are?”
“Ooo. Is that jealousy, I hear?” Jazz's legs tightened, drawing him close enough that he could feel the heat at the apex of Jazz's thighs.
So. He'd come in here hot and revved to go. Ratchet shouldn't be so surprised. It was often the case with Jazz. He'd pop in and pop out and sometimes, it would be orns before Ratchet heard from him again. Jazz did not ascribe to anything like a schedule.
Ratchet rested his hands on Jazz's hips, giving them a thoughtful squeeze. “It's pointless to be jealous when it comes to you.”
“Aw, but Ratch, you know you're the only one for me.” Jazz purred, tipping Ratchet's helm up with a nudge, only to steal a kiss.
One Ratchet gave with equal fervor. He had not yet learned how to say no to Jazz and frankly, he didn't want to. The snarky saboteur was a much needed gift in the middle of all this war nonsense.
Jazz wriggled against him, interface panel scraping enticingly against Ratchet's own, and what was left of his anger melted away. Who cared about the device? He had an armful of eager mech right now and no patients on the docket.
“All right,” Ratchet said, breaking off the kiss. “You've made your point. My time is yours until some idiot comes in here carrying his own leg.”
Jazz laughed, one hand tickling at the edge of Ratchet's helm, teasing the sensitive cables beneath. “I have the feeling someone's already done that.”
“Long story.”
A very, very long story that Ratchet didn't care to repeat because the story wasn't important. Jazz was. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity.
“You'll have to tell me later.” Jazz's right pede scraped down the back of Ratchet's left leg, a teasing burr of metal on metal that spiked heat through Ratchet's lines. “Maybe during round three.”
“Optimistic, aren't you?”
“I've been known to be inspirational.” Jazz rocked his hips again, his visor deepening to a needy blue. “Course there are better ways to shut me up, if you know what I mean.”
Ratchet rolled his optics but he knew how to take a hint. He kissed Jazz again, delighting in the little moan the kiss produced. Jazz's squirming increased in urgency.
Ratchet, after all, deserved a break.
He heard the door to his tiny medbay open. “I'm busy,” Ratchet snapped, not bothering to check who it was. It could be Optimus and he wouldn't give a frag. “Go away.”
“Oh, dear. Dare I ask?”
Ratchet put the device down, giving it a poke. It half-rolled, a few loose components flaking off with chiming noises. A screw leapt across the table, onto the floor, and rolled under a nearby cabinet.
“I am surrounded by morons,” Ratchet said, recognizing the voice as the one mech he didn't want to toss out on his aft. “Clumsy, useless, morons.”
Jazz chuckled as he swung into view and hopped up onto the counter next to the crushed device, four large furrows evidence of the massive hand that had been the cause of the damage.
“Who was it this time?”
“Bulkhead,” Ratchet growled. “It's always Bulkhead. He should have stayed with the Wreckers. Where he belongs. It's what he's good at.”
“Wrecking stuff?” Jazz asked with a cheeky grin.
Ratchet rolled his optics and set down his welder. No. There was no point in saving this. Into the scrap pile it would go.
“You think you're so clever,” he grumbled, moving to brush past the data mech turned saboteur.
“I'm also cute.” Jazz snagged him as he passed, legs curling around Ratchet's hips and dragging him close. “Don't you agree, Doc?”
Ratchet sighed through his vents and turned into Jazz's embrace, recognizing the soft pulse of affection for what it was. “What do you want, Jazz?”
Hands draped over his shoulders, Jazz tipped their helms together. “Is a bit of attention from my favorite medic a bit too much to ask?”
“Favorite? Who else are you letting poke at your systems, specialized as they are?”
“Ooo. Is that jealousy, I hear?” Jazz's legs tightened, drawing him close enough that he could feel the heat at the apex of Jazz's thighs.
So. He'd come in here hot and revved to go. Ratchet shouldn't be so surprised. It was often the case with Jazz. He'd pop in and pop out and sometimes, it would be orns before Ratchet heard from him again. Jazz did not ascribe to anything like a schedule.
Ratchet rested his hands on Jazz's hips, giving them a thoughtful squeeze. “It's pointless to be jealous when it comes to you.”
“Aw, but Ratch, you know you're the only one for me.” Jazz purred, tipping Ratchet's helm up with a nudge, only to steal a kiss.
One Ratchet gave with equal fervor. He had not yet learned how to say no to Jazz and frankly, he didn't want to. The snarky saboteur was a much needed gift in the middle of all this war nonsense.
Jazz wriggled against him, interface panel scraping enticingly against Ratchet's own, and what was left of his anger melted away. Who cared about the device? He had an armful of eager mech right now and no patients on the docket.
“All right,” Ratchet said, breaking off the kiss. “You've made your point. My time is yours until some idiot comes in here carrying his own leg.”
Jazz laughed, one hand tickling at the edge of Ratchet's helm, teasing the sensitive cables beneath. “I have the feeling someone's already done that.”
“Long story.”
A very, very long story that Ratchet didn't care to repeat because the story wasn't important. Jazz was. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity.
“You'll have to tell me later.” Jazz's right pede scraped down the back of Ratchet's left leg, a teasing burr of metal on metal that spiked heat through Ratchet's lines. “Maybe during round three.”
“Optimistic, aren't you?”
“I've been known to be inspirational.” Jazz rocked his hips again, his visor deepening to a needy blue. “Course there are better ways to shut me up, if you know what I mean.”
Ratchet rolled his optics but he knew how to take a hint. He kissed Jazz again, delighting in the little moan the kiss produced. Jazz's squirming increased in urgency.
Ratchet, after all, deserved a break.
For Fuzipenguin
Prompt: Any 'verse. Sideswipe/Jazz. “Come on now honey, bring it on bring it on, yeah/Just remember me when you're good to go”
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: sticky, NSFW, mentions of twincest
Jazz flattened himself on the berth, vents spinning madly as he panted. He lay, arms and legs asprawl, not caring that his components were exposed, slick valve twitching and spike half-pressurized. His cooling fans whirred at max, vibrating the berth.
And Sideswipe laughed as he crawled over Jazz on hands and knees, his optics burning bright with enthusiasm.
“Done already?” he asked, leaning down to drag his glossa up the length of Jazz's chestplate, teasing the seam.
His armor jittered but didn't part. “Of course I'm not!” Jazz retorted, planting a grin on his face. “I could go all night!” Just as soon as he could move.
Well, maybe sooner. Jazz was pretty sure he was laying in a wet spot. Then again, at this point, the whole berth was a wet spot.
“But, you know, that's just not practical,” Jazz said, even as Sideswipe's talented mouth found a headlight and licked at the glass, teasing around the rim of it. Jazz swallowed down a moan. “Because Sunny'll be back soon and you know how he gets.”
Sideswipe chuckled. “Yeah, I know.” His denta scraped over the curve of Jazz's headlight and Jazz's engine weakly revved. His spike twitched. “But he's busy. Not comin' back tonight. Found him another berth. I'm all yours.”
Jazz looked down, watching Sideswipe's mouth work wonders, tracking the bob and sway of the red mech's erect spike. He swore that thing never depressurized. Sideswipe had, what, four overloads already? He was insatiable! How Sunstreaker put up with it, Jazz didn't know.
Maybe that was the real cause of Sunstreaker's foul temper. He was constantly sore. Despite himself, Jazz giggled.
Yes, he giggled.
Sideswipe paused in his ministrations and peered down at Jazz. “What's so funny?”
Jazz forced his frame into motion, arching his backstrut in a manner he knew Sideswipe found alluring. More lubricant and transfluid dripped from his valve, worsening the wet spot. Oh, well. They could always recharge on the floor.
“Sunstreaker,” Jazz said.
Sideswipe blinked. “I don't follow. Sunny is many things, but a comedic genius, he is not.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jazz gave Sideswipe a wicked grin. “He didn't find another berth because you chased him out of yours, did he?”
Sideswipe tossed him a shrewd look and then snorted. He bent back to the task at hand, or well, mouth. “You got that backwards,” he said, words muffled as his lips traveled back down, grazing over Jazz's ventrum before wisping over his interface panel.
Jazz bucked his hips upward, spreading his thighs further. Just when he thought he didn't possibly have the energy within him, there Sideswipe went, tucking his arms under Jazz's thighs, tilting his hips up, and diving right in.
Jazz moaned, that slippery glossa lapping at his components, slurping up the mess between his legs. Sideswipe ate him like he was the finest grade of energon and all Jazz could do was whimper, reaching up to grab the berth pillow and hold on tight. His anterior node throbbed at the nibble of denta. His spike rose back to attention, though there was little transfluid left to weep.
“B-backward?” Jazz repeated, struggling to hold his focus.
“Yeah.” Sideswipe slurped at the tip of his spike and then dropped Jazz's legs, crawling back upright to straddle Jazz's array. “He wears me out. S'why I kicked him toward Tracks.”
Well, that could either go very well or very badly. Jazz made a mental note to call Ironhide, maybe have him on the lookout, but then Sideswipe reached between his legs, grabbed Jazz's spike, aimed it toward his valve, and sunk down in one easy push. Sideswipe moaned, his valve squeezing down on Jazz's spike and Jazz gasped, bucking up into the red twin.
“Primus, that feels good,” he moaned, bracing his hands on Jazz's ventrum. He ground down, circling his hips and all Jazz could do was curl toward him, grab his hips, and hold on for the ride.
It boggled him. Left him speechless. Sideswipe could go all night and he'd had to send Sunstreaker out for relief? How was that even possible?
“Wow,” Jazz said.
“I know.” Sideswipe flashed him a grin and grabbed his own spike, dragging a long pull down it. “So now there's nothing stopping us.”
Jazz moaned, tilting his helm back. He honestly didn't know if it was from excitement or not. Maybe both because being interfaced to exhaustion was hardly a bad thing. Sideswipe could do things that left him quaking in pleasure. And there was one more benefit. Jazz was going to recharge like a rock.
He squeezed Sideswipe's hips, braced his pedes on the berth, and thrust upward. “Bring it,” Jazz said.
Sideswipe smirked.
a/n: Five more to come~ Just gotta get edited, title some of this (do my re-edits and rewrites for The Art of Self-Destruction) and things will be on their way. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
