[IDW] Walking the Wire 11/12
Sep. 23rd, 2018 06:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Walking the Wire 11/12
Universe: IDW MTMTE Season Two, Hot to Trot sequel, Between the Lines series
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Rung, Ravage, Bluestreak, Perceptor
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, BDSM themes, Bondage, Dom/Sub Themes, BDSM Education, Trust Issues, Angst, Vampires/Energy Eaters, mentions of torture, canon-typical violence, the LL always finds trouble
Description: What Megatron and Ratchet are to each other is a matter up for debate, one that gets a little tangled when the Lost Light stumbles into an unexpected complication.
Commission for Larry Draws
Chapter Eleven
Ratchet loitered outside the office Ultra Magnus had claimed for himself for five minutes before he gathered the courage to press the chime.
The door opened immediately. Ratchet eased inside, found Ultra Magnus crouched behind a desk much too small, bent over a stack of datapads and frowning at them. He didn’t look up. Probably didn’t get much visitors here.
Ratchet didn’t ask if Ultra Magnus was busy. He knew the answer to that.
“I’d like to turn myself in for disciplinary action,” Ratchet said as he dropped heavily into the chair opposite Ultra Magnus, fiddling with it for a moment to make it adapt a shape best suited to his frame.
Ultra Magnus stilled and lifted his head. “Beg your pardon?”
“Disciplinary action. Me.” Ratchet rolled his shoulders and tried to effect an air of ease. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. “I’m making it easy for you.”
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. He set down his stylus. “Alright,” he said, cautiously. “Might I ask why?”
Ratchet smoothed a hand around his mouth. He cycled a steadying ventilation. It was a good thing Ultra Magnus was already seated.
“For not only starting and continuing a relationship with Megatron, but also revealing the true nature of fool’s energon to him,” Ratchet said. “To start.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him. For a long moment, he said nothing. His field tentatively touched Ratchet’s, as though trying to feel out the truth, before it retracted.
Ultra Magnus laced his fingers together and folded them on top of the desk. “Rodimus owes me his undivided attention for a week,” he said at length.
It was Ratchet’s turn to blink. “What?”
Ultra Magnus’ expression remained unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Ratchet, I may be blind when it comes to many things, and my ability to read a social situation is passable at best, but I have noticed the growing relationship between yourself and Megatron. So this comes as no surprise to me.”
He paused, lips pursing into a frown, and cycled a heavy ventilation. “Though you taking it upon yourself to put the crew in danger by revealing the truth about the fool’s energon is troublesome.”
Ratchet, for his part, gaped. “You knew?”
Ultra Magnus nodded slowly. “I know now. I suspected before.” His lips formed a grim line. “Rodimus, of course, thought I was losing my processor. He actually suggested I have First Aid run a scan. Thus the wager.”
Ratchet searched for words, and couldn’t think of a blessed one. He didn’t know which was worse. That he and Megatron were apparently not as discreet as he’d thought. That Ultra Magnus tacitly approved of their relationship. Or that Magnus had taken the stick out of his aft long enough to make a wager with Rodimus.
One he’d apparently won.
“I think I shall relish the ‘I told you so’ for many months to come,” Ultra Magnus added with an air of fond amusement.
Ratchet coughed in his intake and gathered his wits back around him. “Should I consider that approval then?”
“Approve is not the word I’d use.” Ultra Magnus’ shoulder stacks twitched, armor fluffing and resettling around his frame. “But in terms of disciplinary action, I cannot honestly conceive of a punishment to suit your transgression. I’d strip you of your rank, but you’ve already passed it to First Aid. Supposedly.”
Ratchet couldn’t decide if Magnus’ frank tone was eerie or a relief. He felt as though he’d slid into some sidealong dimension where nothing made sense anymore. Including the fact he actually wanted to try a relationship with Megatron.
He shifted, the chair shifting with him. “Then I’m not going to be punished?”
A cable in Ultra Magnus’ jaw twitched. “Ratchet, the very purpose of punishment is to deter someone from repeating an action in the future. And while beginning a relationship with Megatron is perhaps in poor taste, there’s no rule against it.”
Poor taste? Primus, Ratchet couldn’t tell if that meant the idea of it made Ultra Magnus’ nauseous, or if he disapproved but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Or if it was some thin reference to the fact Megatron was who he was and no one should desire a relationship with him, least of all Ratchet.
It was surreal.
Ratchet stared at Ultra Magnus.
The former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord cycled a ventilation. “However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for your actions.”
“Consequences for fragging Megatron?” Ratchet arched an orbital ridge. “I thought the never-ending guilt-trip was it.”
Ultra Magnus rubbed his forehead. “Consequences for putting the Lost Light in danger,” he corrected. He frowned, deep and stubborn. “You’ve taken the leash off someone who is capable of great and terrible things.”
There it was. The guilt he’d mentioned. It clawed up out of his tank, took root in his spark, and knobbed up his intake. It threatened his ventilations, reminded him of his own selfishness.
“You don’t think he’s sincere?” Ratchet asked. Because clearly his own judgment was compromised and had been for quite some time.
“I think he’s played at peace before.” Ultra Magnus unfolded his hands and leaned back. He reached for a datapad, fiddling with the attached stylus. “I’m cautious,” he said, his tone as careful as the word he’d selected.
Ratchet tipped his head. “Fair enough.”
Ultra Magnus’ gaze flicked up to him and then fell to the datapad, skittering, as if uneasy. “And he’s your responsibility now.”
Ratchet’s vents stuttered. He blinked. “Come again?”
Ultra Magus spread his hands. “You trust him enough to put the safety of the crew, the quest, this ship at jeopardy. If anything should happen, you’ll share the blame. That is, if any of us survive long enough for an ‘I told you so.’”
Ratchet swallowed over a lump in his intake, the weight of Ultra Magnus’ words sitting heavy on his shoulders. “Understood.” He cycled a ventilation, hoping the jitter of his internals wasn’t audible. “I appreciate your lack of moral judgment, Magnus.”
“You’re good for each other,” Ultra Magnus said, his tone perfectly bland. “Whatever I think about Megatron, if it’s an act or not, I’m seeing improvement. And I’m going to hope it’s sincere. For our sake and yours.”
“Yeah, me too.” Primus, this was such a bad idea. But it was too late to back out now.
Ratchet patted the arm of his chair and made a motion to rise. “Well, next on my list is Rodimus.” And after the joy of this conversation, Ratchet couldn’t wait to see what juvenile or furious comment Rodimus had to offer.
Or how much he’d immediately round up a lynching squad and go after Megatron, certain it was all Megatron’s fault in some way.
“Oh, please. Allow me.” Amusement danced in Ultra Magnus’ optics, and was that a twitch on the corner of his lips? An almost-smile. “After all, there is the matter of our wager.”
Ratchet managed a small smile himself. “Well, I’d hate to deprive you of something so entertaining. Be my guest.” He edged around the chair, backed toward the door, and hoped it didn’t resemble a retreat.
“And Ratchet?”
He paused before he could escape. “Yes?”
The almost-smile lingered on Ultra Magnus’ lips. “Good luck.”
Ratchet snorted. “Thanks.”
He was certainly going to need it.
Ratchet returned to his quarters in a daze. He was sure he passed others in the corridors, but their faces were blurred to him, their comments like static. He had approval from Ultra Magnus of all mechs. It wasn’t absolution, but the closest thing to it.
He felt as though he’d walked blind through a field of landmines, and somehow managed to avoid each and every one.
He’d left Megatron recharging in his berth. But it’s no surprise Megatron was awake by the time he’d returned. He hadn’t moved far. Propped up on the berth, a datapad in one hand while the other arm folded behind his head, he looked the picture of ease.
Delectable ease.
Ratchet stared at him for a long moment, caught between the oddness of his conversation with Ultra Magnus, and the desire he suddenly felt for the murderous warlord in his berth.
Crimson optics acknowledged him. “How’d it go?” Megatron asked.
Ratchet paused and ran through a gamut of replies
“Ultra Magnus has a sense of humor,” he settled on and stood at the foot of the berth, admiring the splay of Megatron across it.
Tempting.
He could do something with this.
Megatron snorted a laugh. “Is that so?”
They weren’t quite relaxed with each other. Not that they’d been before their argument. But there was a certain simplicity now. Like they’d finally confronted the combiner in the corner, acknowledged it was there, and decided they’d just have to deal with it. The combiner continued to linger, looming over them, but they had a plan.
“Um hm.” Ratchet considered the trunk of toys beneath his berth. A scenario unfolded at the back of his mind. “Were you aware he and Rodimus had a bet regarding our relationship?”
Megatron lifted an orbital ridge. “I didn’t know Ultra Magnus was capable of making wagers.”
“Neither did I.” Ratchet leaned forward, admiring the shape of the responsibility reclining in front of him. The menace he knew lurked beneath the armor. The intelligence sharp and guarded behind red optics.
He braced his hands to either side of Megatron’s knees. Sometimes a fusion cannon was just a fusion cannon apparently.
Either way, it was a deadly weapon.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and caught Megatron’s gaze. “Tell me you understand what I just did.”
Megatron tilted his head. He set the datapad aside, giving Ratchet his full attention. “What was the punishment?” he asked, tone quiet. Grave. At least he comprehended the gravity of the situation.
“None,” Ratchet said, and put fake cheer into his voice. “Unless you count the fact I am now directly responsible for your actions. Good and bad.”
Surprise flickered in Megatron’s field. He pulled himself fully upright, one ankle drawing up to tuck under the opposite knee. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Ratchet straightened and moved around the berth, leaning his hip against the edge. “When I told you the truth about the fool’s energon, I chose to believe in your sincerity. If you go down, I’m going with you.” He huffed a laugh without humor, the grim nature of the situation burbling in his spark like clotted energon.
Megatron swung his legs over the edge of the berth, and when Ratchet moved, he trapped Ratchet between his knees. “You trust me.”
“I don’t even trust myself anymore.” Ratchet scraped a palm down his face, ex-venting noisily. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a mistake. I don’t know if this makes me selfish. I don’t know anything.”
He could have kept the truth to himself, rather than admit such weakness to Megatron. But Ratchet was tired. Of fighting himself. Of pretending he didn’t care. Of holding on to his grump because it was all he had left.
The war was over. He desperately wanted it to stay that way.
Firm fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. “You trust me,” Megatron repeated, his tone lower, firmer. “I won’t betray that trust, Ratchet. I don’t wish to return to war. I may not quietly submit to a cage or execution, but I don’t want to return to the status quo.”
“I guess time will tell,” Ratchet said, his hands landing on Megatron’s thighs, right above his knees. Heat warmed his fingertips.
“You trust me,” Megatron murmured, like a broken recorder, stuck on the same track over and over again.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Yeah, and it’s probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.” He squeezed Megatron’s knees in warning, to prove he shouldn’t be taken lightly, no matter what emotions grew in his spark. “I swear to Primus below if you betray us, betray me, I will cut your spark out myself. With surgical precision. Don’t think I won’t.”
“I believe you.” Megatron’s knees slid inward, trapping Ratchet’s hips between them. “And now I think I’m going to kiss you.”
“What? Are you asking permission?”
Megatron chuckled. “Sometimes, I think it’s better if I do.” He tugged Ratchet closer and slanted their mouths together, his glossa teasing the seam of Ratchet’s lips.
Ratchet opened to him, swallowing a moan, arousal swirling hot and tight in his tanks. It raced down his spinal strut, burning away the anxiety running like ice through his lines. Megatron’s glossa touched his, the kiss deepening even as it remained soft. Romantic if Ratchet had to put a description on it, though romance had never been part of the picture for them. Because it’s not a relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t.
It was now.
“Mm. If only I didn’t have to be on shift in an hour,” Megatron said against his lips, his field rolling over Ratchet’s with hot intent.
“An hour’s more than long enough,” Ratchet scoffed.
A mouth nibbled on the curve of his jaw. “Not for what I want to do to you.”
Ratchet’s hands slid up, until his thumbs framed Megatron’s interface panel. “But it’s plenty of time for what I have in mind,” he purred as he nuzzled into Megatron’s intake. “There’s a little game I want to play.”
“Go on.” Megatron slid a hand around Ratchet’s side, toying with a thick armor seam.
Ratchet nibbled on a cable, the rumble of Megatron’s vocalizer against his lips. “It’s more of a wager.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over Megatron’s valve panel, grinning as Megatron’s ventilations hitched. “A test of your endurance.”
Megatron groaned, and his armor rippled. “I’m half-afraid of what your devious mind has conjured, but I do enjoy a challenge.”
“I thought you might say that.” Ratchet nipped Megatron’s intake and then forced himself to draw away.
He crouched and pulled out the crate beneath his berth, rummaging through it for the item he sought. It paid to be organized. He found it quickly and stood, holding the vibrator between two fingers as he showed it to Megatron.
“This goes in your valve,” Ratchet said as he planted his free hand on Megatron’s thigh.
Crimson optics focused on the toy, spiraling in and out, his field spiking with desire.
“But only I have the control,” Ratchet continued. He slid his hand upward, fingertips grazing over Megatron. “If you don’t beg me for relief by the time your shift is up, then you win.”
Megatron’s glossa swept over his lips. His gaze slanted toward Ratchet. “What do I win?” He plucked the toy from Ratchet’s hold and turned it around and around in his fingers.
“A favor of the most erotic kind. Free of charge, of course.” Ratchet rumbled a laugh and leaned in, brushing his lips over the curve of Megatron’s jaw. “But if you beg me for an overload, and I’m quite sure you will, then I win the prize.”
“It’s only pleasure?” Megatron asked.
A lump took residence in Ratchet’s intake. “Of course,” he said, careful to keep his tone light despite the ripple of outrage coursing through his spark.
Someday, when things were less fragile and every conversation wasn’t a challenge, Ratchet would sit Megatron down and poke at the origin of all those misconceptions. He would peel back the layers, find the root of the uncertainty, the unease, the agitation. And if it was at all within his ability, he would help Megatron heal.
Someday. Just… not today. They remained fragile and tentative, and Ratchet did not want to stir a nest that was content to be left.
Megatron licked his lips again, and he held the toy back out to Ratchet. “And what if I say the other word?”
Couldn’t bring himself to call it a ‘safe word,’ could he? That was the Decepticon in him.
“Then it’s a full stop.” Ratchet took Megatron’s jaw in hand gently and pressed his forehead to Megatron’s. “No games. No winners or losers. Full stop.”
The puff of Megatron’s ex-vents ghosted over his lips. “Very well. I’ll take on this challenge.” His thighs pressed inward, against Ratchet’s hips. “And I’ll be the one victorious.”
Ratchet chuckled and let go of Megatron’s jaw, but only so he could slide his hand between Megatron’s legs and caress the very heated valve at the apex of them.
“We’ll see.” He circled the seam, felt the rise of charge against his fingertips. “Open up.”
A shiver ran through Megatron’s field. His panel slid aside, the scent of arousal and lubricant filling the air with delicious tang. Megatron’s engine purred a quiet rumble, and his vents hitched as Ratchet circled his rim with careful fingers. Megatron was already wet, and Ratchet couldn’t deny it was intoxicating how much Megatron wanted him, wanted this.
Ratchet hummed a laugh. “So ready for me,” he murmured and mouthed his way to Megatron’s cables, felt Megatron swallow against his lips. “Just what datapad were you reading anyway?”
“Nothing of import,” Megatron said, the words a rumble Ratchet could taste. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”
“Worried about me?” Ratchet teased.
“Yes.”
Shock cut through the building arousal. Ratchet pulled back so he could see Megatron’s face. His hand shifted, lubricant-damp fingers resting against Megatron’s thigh.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Megatron said, gruff. “We are in a relationship. And I am fully aware of how the Autobots would view your actions as of late. I have enough guilt on my shoulders without adding your punishment to it.”
Ratchet swallowed over a lump in his intake. “I changed my mind.” He tossed the vibrator aside, shifting to hold Megatron’s hips, slotting himself between Megatron’s thighs with growing familiarity. “I want you now.”
He rolled his hips, spike surging free, grinding over Megatron’s valve in a slick slide of lubricant and heat. He’d save the game for another day. Right now, he wanted to kiss Megatron, touch him, take him as lovers did. Because that was what they were.
“What of our wager?” Megatron asked, but his ventilations hitched, and his fingers curled against Ratchet’s sides, tugging him closer.
“Save it for later.” Ratchet found his way to Megatron’s lips, pressed a kiss to the corner of them. It was his turn to be courteous. “May I?” he asked as he rolled forward, spike nudging at Megatron’s valve rim in blatant interest.
Megatron gripped him and tipped backward onto the berth, pulling Ratchet with him in a feat of strength he might not have attempted, had he been under the spell of the fool’s energon. Ratchet grunted, flailing, and it took awkward maneuvering to get them where Ratchet wanted to be: Megatron beneath him, Ratchet notched between his thighs, their lips so close they tasted one another’s ex-vents.
Ratchet had a hand hooked around Megatron’s thigh, the other braced on the berth beside Megatron’s shoulder. Need broiled inside of him, spark pulsing to an uncertain beat.
“Is this my answer?” Ratchet leaned forward, and Megatron curled upward to meet him.
Megatron slid a hand around the back of Ratchet’s head, drew him closer, until they were sharing ventilations. “You damn well know it is,” he growled, and brought their mouths together, glossa stabbing into Ratchet’s mouth as if in claim.
Heat and charge licked down Ratchet’s spinal strut. He groaned into the kiss and rocked forward, slow and deep. Megatron rippled around him, hot and wet, his free hand pulling on Ratchet’s hip, pulling him deeper.
Ratchet sank into him, pouring out the emotional gamut into the kiss. Their clashes were usually ones of fervency, rough around the edges, chasing after pleasure because it was the only thing which made sense. This was different. Slower. Paced.
They kissed like they were trying to memorize the shape of one another’s mouths. He tasted the curve of Megatron’s jaw, the warmth of his intake, before wandering back to Megatron’s lips. He felt every vibration of Megatron’s moans, and their frames rose and fell together like they’d always known the rhythm.
It should have felt awkward.
It didn’t.
Megatron had to be on shift soon. Ratchet couldn’t take the time to lay him out, explore like he wanted. But he could do it in the future. They would have time another day, and Megatron would allow him to do so.
Perhaps with a smirk and a smart-aft comment, but he’d stretch out over the berth, let himself be tied down if Ratchet asked, and he’d moan and arch under Ratchet’s fingertips. He’d look beautiful, those bright red ropes twisted around his armor in complicated patterns. He’d submit like he was sparked for it, and Ratchet would treat that trust with the reverence it deserved.
A surge of arousal ran like fire through Ratchet’s lines. His pace quickened, plunging into Megatron, circling deep, grinding against external nodes and pulling cries of pleasure from Megatron’s intake. Their armor clashed, grating noisily, their fields thoroughly entangled.
Megatron made sounds in his intake, ones that found their way to Ratchet’s array and shot lust down his spinal strut. His engine roared, rattling the berth and Ratchet, and heat blasted from his vents.
“More,” he demanded against Ratchet’s lips, the berth creaking as they rocked together in increasingly urgent motions, lubricant slick between them, Megatron’s spike grinding against Ratchet’s abdomen.
Ratchet panted into the crook of Megatron’s intake, his denta grazing cables. He shifted his grip on Megatron’s thigh, pulling it tighter, changing the angle of his thrusts. Megatron tipped his head back, groaning long and low, his valve spasming around Ratchet’s spike.
“Like that?” Ratchet asked with a low chuckle, his vents coming in short gasps, heat coiling and churning inside of him like a radiator about to burst.
Megatron’s grip on the back of his head slid down to Ratchet’s jaw, jerking his head up to press their lips together. “Don’t have time for you to tease me,” he panted against Ratchet’s mouth.
He clenched and Ratchet groaned, thrusting deep enough to grace Megatron’s ceiling node, charge surging hot through his lines, setting off a rattle in his knees. He breathed a curse, slipping his glossa into Megatron’s mouth, swearing he could taste the need on Megatron’s glossa. It choked the air between them, rode high on their fields.
He pressed his forehead to Megatron’s, thrusting harder and faster, engine roaring, Megatron moving with him like they’d always known this dance. It felt like staking a claim or making a promise, only without words, because words could be twisted while actions and fields shouted the truth.
They were in this together now. That was the choice Ratchet made.
“Get used to it,” Ratchet growled, his lips sloppy against Megatron’s, his field surging over Megatron’s in a tidal wave of need. “You’re mine now.”
By Magnus decree, no less.
A shudder ran across Megatron’s armor, and Ratchet read the lust in it, rather than fear. His fingers tightened on Ratchet’s upper arm. His other hand slapped against Ratchet’s back, keeping him pinned close. His thighs clamped tight, a moan long and low slipping from his intake, and then he was overloading, valve rhythmically rippling around Ratchet’s spike as he spurted hot and wet over Ratchet’s belly.
Ratchet growled, gripped Megatron’s hips, and bore him down into the berth, thrusting hard and fast. Need clawed down his spinal strut, coiled in his belly like a blaze. Megatron’s hands cupped his face, yanked him into a kiss that was more denta than lips. He panted, hot over Ratchet’s lips.
Release whited out Ratchet’s perception for a long, dizzying moment. He sank down into Megatron, pleasure flooding his system in a white-hot crackle of charge. He buried his forehead against Megatron’s chestplate, over the Auto-brand that forever carried the scent of battle.
Silence briefly settled over the tick-tick-tick of cooling frames. But of course, Megatron couldn’t abide by it for long.
His hands swept up and down Ratchet’s back. His engine rumbled with amusement. “I’m yours, am I?”
“Shut up,” Ratchet muttered. He lifted his head, shifting until he sat back on his heels, sliding out of Megatron in the same motion.
Megatron lay back against the berth, folding his arms behind his head, still splayed beneath Ratchet as though completely at ease despite the transfluid streaking up his belly and the fluids seeping from his valve.
He smirked, optics glimmering with humor. “You’re the one who said it.”
“Heat of the moment,” Ratchet declared. He checked his chronometer. “You’re gonna need a rinse before you take your shift. I suggest you get to it.”
Megatron’s hand boldly slid down his frame, fingers sliding through the slick between his thighs. “And who’s fault is this?”
Ratchet ignored the frisson of heat the sight sent down his backstrut. “Yours, of course.” He slid out from between Megatron’s thighs and off the berth, away from temptation.
“It always is.” Megatron grunted and swung his legs back over the edge, pulling himself off the berth and briefly wobbling on his knees. “You never told me what Rodimus had to say.”
“That’s because Ultra Magnus wanted the honor of telling him.” Ratchet grabbed a mesh cloth and dampened it. “I suppose we’ll find out later.”
“And won’t that be a treat.” Megatron snorted, and paused in the doorway to Ratchet’s small, but private washrack. “Are you going to join me or not?”
Ratchet nibbled on his bottom lip. He probably shouldn’t but…
“Since you’ve made a mess of me, I might as well,” Ratchet said, tossing the damp rag into the recycling basket.
Megatron’s smirk had no busy turning Ratchet’s insides to heated coils. “Whatever helps you recharge,” he said, and vanished into the washrack.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and swept a hand down his face.
Just what on Cybertron had he gotten himself into?
Something he wasn’t willing to give up apparently.
Ratchet snorted and stepped through the door.
***
Universe: IDW MTMTE Season Two, Hot to Trot sequel, Between the Lines series
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Rung, Ravage, Bluestreak, Perceptor
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sex, BDSM themes, Bondage, Dom/Sub Themes, BDSM Education, Trust Issues, Angst, Vampires/Energy Eaters, mentions of torture, canon-typical violence, the LL always finds trouble
Description: What Megatron and Ratchet are to each other is a matter up for debate, one that gets a little tangled when the Lost Light stumbles into an unexpected complication.
Commission for Larry Draws
Ratchet loitered outside the office Ultra Magnus had claimed for himself for five minutes before he gathered the courage to press the chime.
The door opened immediately. Ratchet eased inside, found Ultra Magnus crouched behind a desk much too small, bent over a stack of datapads and frowning at them. He didn’t look up. Probably didn’t get much visitors here.
Ratchet didn’t ask if Ultra Magnus was busy. He knew the answer to that.
“I’d like to turn myself in for disciplinary action,” Ratchet said as he dropped heavily into the chair opposite Ultra Magnus, fiddling with it for a moment to make it adapt a shape best suited to his frame.
Ultra Magnus stilled and lifted his head. “Beg your pardon?”
“Disciplinary action. Me.” Ratchet rolled his shoulders and tried to effect an air of ease. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. “I’m making it easy for you.”
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. He set down his stylus. “Alright,” he said, cautiously. “Might I ask why?”
Ratchet smoothed a hand around his mouth. He cycled a steadying ventilation. It was a good thing Ultra Magnus was already seated.
“For not only starting and continuing a relationship with Megatron, but also revealing the true nature of fool’s energon to him,” Ratchet said. “To start.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him. For a long moment, he said nothing. His field tentatively touched Ratchet’s, as though trying to feel out the truth, before it retracted.
Ultra Magnus laced his fingers together and folded them on top of the desk. “Rodimus owes me his undivided attention for a week,” he said at length.
It was Ratchet’s turn to blink. “What?”
Ultra Magnus’ expression remained unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Ratchet, I may be blind when it comes to many things, and my ability to read a social situation is passable at best, but I have noticed the growing relationship between yourself and Megatron. So this comes as no surprise to me.”
He paused, lips pursing into a frown, and cycled a heavy ventilation. “Though you taking it upon yourself to put the crew in danger by revealing the truth about the fool’s energon is troublesome.”
Ratchet, for his part, gaped. “You knew?”
Ultra Magnus nodded slowly. “I know now. I suspected before.” His lips formed a grim line. “Rodimus, of course, thought I was losing my processor. He actually suggested I have First Aid run a scan. Thus the wager.”
Ratchet searched for words, and couldn’t think of a blessed one. He didn’t know which was worse. That he and Megatron were apparently not as discreet as he’d thought. That Ultra Magnus tacitly approved of their relationship. Or that Magnus had taken the stick out of his aft long enough to make a wager with Rodimus.
One he’d apparently won.
“I think I shall relish the ‘I told you so’ for many months to come,” Ultra Magnus added with an air of fond amusement.
Ratchet coughed in his intake and gathered his wits back around him. “Should I consider that approval then?”
“Approve is not the word I’d use.” Ultra Magnus’ shoulder stacks twitched, armor fluffing and resettling around his frame. “But in terms of disciplinary action, I cannot honestly conceive of a punishment to suit your transgression. I’d strip you of your rank, but you’ve already passed it to First Aid. Supposedly.”
Ratchet couldn’t decide if Magnus’ frank tone was eerie or a relief. He felt as though he’d slid into some sidealong dimension where nothing made sense anymore. Including the fact he actually wanted to try a relationship with Megatron.
He shifted, the chair shifting with him. “Then I’m not going to be punished?”
A cable in Ultra Magnus’ jaw twitched. “Ratchet, the very purpose of punishment is to deter someone from repeating an action in the future. And while beginning a relationship with Megatron is perhaps in poor taste, there’s no rule against it.”
Poor taste? Primus, Ratchet couldn’t tell if that meant the idea of it made Ultra Magnus’ nauseous, or if he disapproved but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Or if it was some thin reference to the fact Megatron was who he was and no one should desire a relationship with him, least of all Ratchet.
It was surreal.
Ratchet stared at Ultra Magnus.
The former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord cycled a ventilation. “However, that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for your actions.”
“Consequences for fragging Megatron?” Ratchet arched an orbital ridge. “I thought the never-ending guilt-trip was it.”
Ultra Magnus rubbed his forehead. “Consequences for putting the Lost Light in danger,” he corrected. He frowned, deep and stubborn. “You’ve taken the leash off someone who is capable of great and terrible things.”
There it was. The guilt he’d mentioned. It clawed up out of his tank, took root in his spark, and knobbed up his intake. It threatened his ventilations, reminded him of his own selfishness.
“You don’t think he’s sincere?” Ratchet asked. Because clearly his own judgment was compromised and had been for quite some time.
“I think he’s played at peace before.” Ultra Magnus unfolded his hands and leaned back. He reached for a datapad, fiddling with the attached stylus. “I’m cautious,” he said, his tone as careful as the word he’d selected.
Ratchet tipped his head. “Fair enough.”
Ultra Magnus’ gaze flicked up to him and then fell to the datapad, skittering, as if uneasy. “And he’s your responsibility now.”
Ratchet’s vents stuttered. He blinked. “Come again?”
Ultra Magus spread his hands. “You trust him enough to put the safety of the crew, the quest, this ship at jeopardy. If anything should happen, you’ll share the blame. That is, if any of us survive long enough for an ‘I told you so.’”
Ratchet swallowed over a lump in his intake, the weight of Ultra Magnus’ words sitting heavy on his shoulders. “Understood.” He cycled a ventilation, hoping the jitter of his internals wasn’t audible. “I appreciate your lack of moral judgment, Magnus.”
“You’re good for each other,” Ultra Magnus said, his tone perfectly bland. “Whatever I think about Megatron, if it’s an act or not, I’m seeing improvement. And I’m going to hope it’s sincere. For our sake and yours.”
“Yeah, me too.” Primus, this was such a bad idea. But it was too late to back out now.
Ratchet patted the arm of his chair and made a motion to rise. “Well, next on my list is Rodimus.” And after the joy of this conversation, Ratchet couldn’t wait to see what juvenile or furious comment Rodimus had to offer.
Or how much he’d immediately round up a lynching squad and go after Megatron, certain it was all Megatron’s fault in some way.
“Oh, please. Allow me.” Amusement danced in Ultra Magnus’ optics, and was that a twitch on the corner of his lips? An almost-smile. “After all, there is the matter of our wager.”
Ratchet managed a small smile himself. “Well, I’d hate to deprive you of something so entertaining. Be my guest.” He edged around the chair, backed toward the door, and hoped it didn’t resemble a retreat.
“And Ratchet?”
He paused before he could escape. “Yes?”
The almost-smile lingered on Ultra Magnus’ lips. “Good luck.”
Ratchet snorted. “Thanks.”
He was certainly going to need it.
Ratchet returned to his quarters in a daze. He was sure he passed others in the corridors, but their faces were blurred to him, their comments like static. He had approval from Ultra Magnus of all mechs. It wasn’t absolution, but the closest thing to it.
He felt as though he’d walked blind through a field of landmines, and somehow managed to avoid each and every one.
He’d left Megatron recharging in his berth. But it’s no surprise Megatron was awake by the time he’d returned. He hadn’t moved far. Propped up on the berth, a datapad in one hand while the other arm folded behind his head, he looked the picture of ease.
Delectable ease.
Ratchet stared at him for a long moment, caught between the oddness of his conversation with Ultra Magnus, and the desire he suddenly felt for the murderous warlord in his berth.
Crimson optics acknowledged him. “How’d it go?” Megatron asked.
Ratchet paused and ran through a gamut of replies
“Ultra Magnus has a sense of humor,” he settled on and stood at the foot of the berth, admiring the splay of Megatron across it.
Tempting.
He could do something with this.
Megatron snorted a laugh. “Is that so?”
They weren’t quite relaxed with each other. Not that they’d been before their argument. But there was a certain simplicity now. Like they’d finally confronted the combiner in the corner, acknowledged it was there, and decided they’d just have to deal with it. The combiner continued to linger, looming over them, but they had a plan.
“Um hm.” Ratchet considered the trunk of toys beneath his berth. A scenario unfolded at the back of his mind. “Were you aware he and Rodimus had a bet regarding our relationship?”
Megatron lifted an orbital ridge. “I didn’t know Ultra Magnus was capable of making wagers.”
“Neither did I.” Ratchet leaned forward, admiring the shape of the responsibility reclining in front of him. The menace he knew lurked beneath the armor. The intelligence sharp and guarded behind red optics.
He braced his hands to either side of Megatron’s knees. Sometimes a fusion cannon was just a fusion cannon apparently.
Either way, it was a deadly weapon.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and caught Megatron’s gaze. “Tell me you understand what I just did.”
Megatron tilted his head. He set the datapad aside, giving Ratchet his full attention. “What was the punishment?” he asked, tone quiet. Grave. At least he comprehended the gravity of the situation.
“None,” Ratchet said, and put fake cheer into his voice. “Unless you count the fact I am now directly responsible for your actions. Good and bad.”
Surprise flickered in Megatron’s field. He pulled himself fully upright, one ankle drawing up to tuck under the opposite knee. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Ratchet straightened and moved around the berth, leaning his hip against the edge. “When I told you the truth about the fool’s energon, I chose to believe in your sincerity. If you go down, I’m going with you.” He huffed a laugh without humor, the grim nature of the situation burbling in his spark like clotted energon.
Megatron swung his legs over the edge of the berth, and when Ratchet moved, he trapped Ratchet between his knees. “You trust me.”
“I don’t even trust myself anymore.” Ratchet scraped a palm down his face, ex-venting noisily. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m making a mistake. I don’t know if this makes me selfish. I don’t know anything.”
He could have kept the truth to himself, rather than admit such weakness to Megatron. But Ratchet was tired. Of fighting himself. Of pretending he didn’t care. Of holding on to his grump because it was all he had left.
The war was over. He desperately wanted it to stay that way.
Firm fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. “You trust me,” Megatron repeated, his tone lower, firmer. “I won’t betray that trust, Ratchet. I don’t wish to return to war. I may not quietly submit to a cage or execution, but I don’t want to return to the status quo.”
“I guess time will tell,” Ratchet said, his hands landing on Megatron’s thighs, right above his knees. Heat warmed his fingertips.
“You trust me,” Megatron murmured, like a broken recorder, stuck on the same track over and over again.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Yeah, and it’s probably one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done.” He squeezed Megatron’s knees in warning, to prove he shouldn’t be taken lightly, no matter what emotions grew in his spark. “I swear to Primus below if you betray us, betray me, I will cut your spark out myself. With surgical precision. Don’t think I won’t.”
“I believe you.” Megatron’s knees slid inward, trapping Ratchet’s hips between them. “And now I think I’m going to kiss you.”
“What? Are you asking permission?”
Megatron chuckled. “Sometimes, I think it’s better if I do.” He tugged Ratchet closer and slanted their mouths together, his glossa teasing the seam of Ratchet’s lips.
Ratchet opened to him, swallowing a moan, arousal swirling hot and tight in his tanks. It raced down his spinal strut, burning away the anxiety running like ice through his lines. Megatron’s glossa touched his, the kiss deepening even as it remained soft. Romantic if Ratchet had to put a description on it, though romance had never been part of the picture for them. Because it’s not a relationship. Or at least, it wasn’t.
It was now.
“Mm. If only I didn’t have to be on shift in an hour,” Megatron said against his lips, his field rolling over Ratchet’s with hot intent.
“An hour’s more than long enough,” Ratchet scoffed.
A mouth nibbled on the curve of his jaw. “Not for what I want to do to you.”
Ratchet’s hands slid up, until his thumbs framed Megatron’s interface panel. “But it’s plenty of time for what I have in mind,” he purred as he nuzzled into Megatron’s intake. “There’s a little game I want to play.”
“Go on.” Megatron slid a hand around Ratchet’s side, toying with a thick armor seam.
Ratchet nibbled on a cable, the rumble of Megatron’s vocalizer against his lips. “It’s more of a wager.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over Megatron’s valve panel, grinning as Megatron’s ventilations hitched. “A test of your endurance.”
Megatron groaned, and his armor rippled. “I’m half-afraid of what your devious mind has conjured, but I do enjoy a challenge.”
“I thought you might say that.” Ratchet nipped Megatron’s intake and then forced himself to draw away.
He crouched and pulled out the crate beneath his berth, rummaging through it for the item he sought. It paid to be organized. He found it quickly and stood, holding the vibrator between two fingers as he showed it to Megatron.
“This goes in your valve,” Ratchet said as he planted his free hand on Megatron’s thigh.
Crimson optics focused on the toy, spiraling in and out, his field spiking with desire.
“But only I have the control,” Ratchet continued. He slid his hand upward, fingertips grazing over Megatron. “If you don’t beg me for relief by the time your shift is up, then you win.”
Megatron’s glossa swept over his lips. His gaze slanted toward Ratchet. “What do I win?” He plucked the toy from Ratchet’s hold and turned it around and around in his fingers.
“A favor of the most erotic kind. Free of charge, of course.” Ratchet rumbled a laugh and leaned in, brushing his lips over the curve of Megatron’s jaw. “But if you beg me for an overload, and I’m quite sure you will, then I win the prize.”
“It’s only pleasure?” Megatron asked.
A lump took residence in Ratchet’s intake. “Of course,” he said, careful to keep his tone light despite the ripple of outrage coursing through his spark.
Someday, when things were less fragile and every conversation wasn’t a challenge, Ratchet would sit Megatron down and poke at the origin of all those misconceptions. He would peel back the layers, find the root of the uncertainty, the unease, the agitation. And if it was at all within his ability, he would help Megatron heal.
Someday. Just… not today. They remained fragile and tentative, and Ratchet did not want to stir a nest that was content to be left.
Megatron licked his lips again, and he held the toy back out to Ratchet. “And what if I say the other word?”
Couldn’t bring himself to call it a ‘safe word,’ could he? That was the Decepticon in him.
“Then it’s a full stop.” Ratchet took Megatron’s jaw in hand gently and pressed his forehead to Megatron’s. “No games. No winners or losers. Full stop.”
The puff of Megatron’s ex-vents ghosted over his lips. “Very well. I’ll take on this challenge.” His thighs pressed inward, against Ratchet’s hips. “And I’ll be the one victorious.”
Ratchet chuckled and let go of Megatron’s jaw, but only so he could slide his hand between Megatron’s legs and caress the very heated valve at the apex of them.
“We’ll see.” He circled the seam, felt the rise of charge against his fingertips. “Open up.”
A shiver ran through Megatron’s field. His panel slid aside, the scent of arousal and lubricant filling the air with delicious tang. Megatron’s engine purred a quiet rumble, and his vents hitched as Ratchet circled his rim with careful fingers. Megatron was already wet, and Ratchet couldn’t deny it was intoxicating how much Megatron wanted him, wanted this.
Ratchet hummed a laugh. “So ready for me,” he murmured and mouthed his way to Megatron’s cables, felt Megatron swallow against his lips. “Just what datapad were you reading anyway?”
“Nothing of import,” Megatron said, the words a rumble Ratchet could taste. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”
“Worried about me?” Ratchet teased.
“Yes.”
Shock cut through the building arousal. Ratchet pulled back so he could see Megatron’s face. His hand shifted, lubricant-damp fingers resting against Megatron’s thigh.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Megatron said, gruff. “We are in a relationship. And I am fully aware of how the Autobots would view your actions as of late. I have enough guilt on my shoulders without adding your punishment to it.”
Ratchet swallowed over a lump in his intake. “I changed my mind.” He tossed the vibrator aside, shifting to hold Megatron’s hips, slotting himself between Megatron’s thighs with growing familiarity. “I want you now.”
He rolled his hips, spike surging free, grinding over Megatron’s valve in a slick slide of lubricant and heat. He’d save the game for another day. Right now, he wanted to kiss Megatron, touch him, take him as lovers did. Because that was what they were.
“What of our wager?” Megatron asked, but his ventilations hitched, and his fingers curled against Ratchet’s sides, tugging him closer.
“Save it for later.” Ratchet found his way to Megatron’s lips, pressed a kiss to the corner of them. It was his turn to be courteous. “May I?” he asked as he rolled forward, spike nudging at Megatron’s valve rim in blatant interest.
Megatron gripped him and tipped backward onto the berth, pulling Ratchet with him in a feat of strength he might not have attempted, had he been under the spell of the fool’s energon. Ratchet grunted, flailing, and it took awkward maneuvering to get them where Ratchet wanted to be: Megatron beneath him, Ratchet notched between his thighs, their lips so close they tasted one another’s ex-vents.
Ratchet had a hand hooked around Megatron’s thigh, the other braced on the berth beside Megatron’s shoulder. Need broiled inside of him, spark pulsing to an uncertain beat.
“Is this my answer?” Ratchet leaned forward, and Megatron curled upward to meet him.
Megatron slid a hand around the back of Ratchet’s head, drew him closer, until they were sharing ventilations. “You damn well know it is,” he growled, and brought their mouths together, glossa stabbing into Ratchet’s mouth as if in claim.
Heat and charge licked down Ratchet’s spinal strut. He groaned into the kiss and rocked forward, slow and deep. Megatron rippled around him, hot and wet, his free hand pulling on Ratchet’s hip, pulling him deeper.
Ratchet sank into him, pouring out the emotional gamut into the kiss. Their clashes were usually ones of fervency, rough around the edges, chasing after pleasure because it was the only thing which made sense. This was different. Slower. Paced.
They kissed like they were trying to memorize the shape of one another’s mouths. He tasted the curve of Megatron’s jaw, the warmth of his intake, before wandering back to Megatron’s lips. He felt every vibration of Megatron’s moans, and their frames rose and fell together like they’d always known the rhythm.
It should have felt awkward.
It didn’t.
Megatron had to be on shift soon. Ratchet couldn’t take the time to lay him out, explore like he wanted. But he could do it in the future. They would have time another day, and Megatron would allow him to do so.
Perhaps with a smirk and a smart-aft comment, but he’d stretch out over the berth, let himself be tied down if Ratchet asked, and he’d moan and arch under Ratchet’s fingertips. He’d look beautiful, those bright red ropes twisted around his armor in complicated patterns. He’d submit like he was sparked for it, and Ratchet would treat that trust with the reverence it deserved.
A surge of arousal ran like fire through Ratchet’s lines. His pace quickened, plunging into Megatron, circling deep, grinding against external nodes and pulling cries of pleasure from Megatron’s intake. Their armor clashed, grating noisily, their fields thoroughly entangled.
Megatron made sounds in his intake, ones that found their way to Ratchet’s array and shot lust down his spinal strut. His engine roared, rattling the berth and Ratchet, and heat blasted from his vents.
“More,” he demanded against Ratchet’s lips, the berth creaking as they rocked together in increasingly urgent motions, lubricant slick between them, Megatron’s spike grinding against Ratchet’s abdomen.
Ratchet panted into the crook of Megatron’s intake, his denta grazing cables. He shifted his grip on Megatron’s thigh, pulling it tighter, changing the angle of his thrusts. Megatron tipped his head back, groaning long and low, his valve spasming around Ratchet’s spike.
“Like that?” Ratchet asked with a low chuckle, his vents coming in short gasps, heat coiling and churning inside of him like a radiator about to burst.
Megatron’s grip on the back of his head slid down to Ratchet’s jaw, jerking his head up to press their lips together. “Don’t have time for you to tease me,” he panted against Ratchet’s mouth.
He clenched and Ratchet groaned, thrusting deep enough to grace Megatron’s ceiling node, charge surging hot through his lines, setting off a rattle in his knees. He breathed a curse, slipping his glossa into Megatron’s mouth, swearing he could taste the need on Megatron’s glossa. It choked the air between them, rode high on their fields.
He pressed his forehead to Megatron’s, thrusting harder and faster, engine roaring, Megatron moving with him like they’d always known this dance. It felt like staking a claim or making a promise, only without words, because words could be twisted while actions and fields shouted the truth.
They were in this together now. That was the choice Ratchet made.
“Get used to it,” Ratchet growled, his lips sloppy against Megatron’s, his field surging over Megatron’s in a tidal wave of need. “You’re mine now.”
By Magnus decree, no less.
A shudder ran across Megatron’s armor, and Ratchet read the lust in it, rather than fear. His fingers tightened on Ratchet’s upper arm. His other hand slapped against Ratchet’s back, keeping him pinned close. His thighs clamped tight, a moan long and low slipping from his intake, and then he was overloading, valve rhythmically rippling around Ratchet’s spike as he spurted hot and wet over Ratchet’s belly.
Ratchet growled, gripped Megatron’s hips, and bore him down into the berth, thrusting hard and fast. Need clawed down his spinal strut, coiled in his belly like a blaze. Megatron’s hands cupped his face, yanked him into a kiss that was more denta than lips. He panted, hot over Ratchet’s lips.
Release whited out Ratchet’s perception for a long, dizzying moment. He sank down into Megatron, pleasure flooding his system in a white-hot crackle of charge. He buried his forehead against Megatron’s chestplate, over the Auto-brand that forever carried the scent of battle.
Silence briefly settled over the tick-tick-tick of cooling frames. But of course, Megatron couldn’t abide by it for long.
His hands swept up and down Ratchet’s back. His engine rumbled with amusement. “I’m yours, am I?”
“Shut up,” Ratchet muttered. He lifted his head, shifting until he sat back on his heels, sliding out of Megatron in the same motion.
Megatron lay back against the berth, folding his arms behind his head, still splayed beneath Ratchet as though completely at ease despite the transfluid streaking up his belly and the fluids seeping from his valve.
He smirked, optics glimmering with humor. “You’re the one who said it.”
“Heat of the moment,” Ratchet declared. He checked his chronometer. “You’re gonna need a rinse before you take your shift. I suggest you get to it.”
Megatron’s hand boldly slid down his frame, fingers sliding through the slick between his thighs. “And who’s fault is this?”
Ratchet ignored the frisson of heat the sight sent down his backstrut. “Yours, of course.” He slid out from between Megatron’s thighs and off the berth, away from temptation.
“It always is.” Megatron grunted and swung his legs back over the edge, pulling himself off the berth and briefly wobbling on his knees. “You never told me what Rodimus had to say.”
“That’s because Ultra Magnus wanted the honor of telling him.” Ratchet grabbed a mesh cloth and dampened it. “I suppose we’ll find out later.”
“And won’t that be a treat.” Megatron snorted, and paused in the doorway to Ratchet’s small, but private washrack. “Are you going to join me or not?”
Ratchet nibbled on his bottom lip. He probably shouldn’t but…
“Since you’ve made a mess of me, I might as well,” Ratchet said, tossing the damp rag into the recycling basket.
Megatron’s smirk had no busy turning Ratchet’s insides to heated coils. “Whatever helps you recharge,” he said, and vanished into the washrack.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and swept a hand down his face.
Just what on Cybertron had he gotten himself into?
Something he wasn’t willing to give up apparently.
Ratchet snorted and stepped through the door.
