[IDW] On Cloud Nine
Sep. 30th, 2019 06:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: On Cloud Nine
Universe: IDW Alternate Canon, part of The Perfect Storm
Characters: Blurr/Ricochet, Drift, Echo
Rating: M
Enticements: BDSM themes, Dom/Sub, Sounding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Fluff, Family Cuteness
Description: With Echo farmed out for the night, Blurr has a special surprise in store for Ricochet, and as it turns out, they also have a surprise for each other.
Sundries.
Ricochet and Jazz used to tease each other, when they were younglings, about what they might do in the future. Jazz used to talk about families and sparklings of his own, and meeting the mech of his dreams -- so long as Ricochet approved of him. Jazz had beautiful, shining hopes for a beautiful, shining future, full of all the love and comfort their Sire couldn’t be bothered to give them.
Ricochet had a different approach.
He talked about all of the damage he’d do, how he’d be famous, and how he’d be dangerous, and well-respected. Worshipped even. He whispered mutiny and overthrowing their Sire and leaving, the both of them together, because home wasn’t really a home. It was just a place they lived. Romance, Ricochet had said, was stupid and pointless and ineffective, and their Sire was an aft, so why would Ricochet want to be like him someday?
But here he was. Present day. With sundries.
Sundries for the carrier of his sparkling and for the bitlet. Sundries purchased at the supply depot because they were out of sparkling-safe washing soap, frame supplements, Blurr’s particular brand of wax, and Ricochet’s favorite energon treats.
Blurr’d asked. Ricochet had gone without question.
Ricochet had turned domestic somehow while Jazz was the one off on another world, on an adventure, sleuthing with his partner in the berth, and partner in crime. Ricochet approved of Bluestreak. If anything, he’d had to shove the two together because Jazz was stubborn, and couldn’t find his aft with both hands if he didn’t have Ricochet there to show it to him.
Some things changed.
Some didn’t.
If someone had told Ricochet then, what he was doing now, he’d have laughed uproariously. It would have sounded absurd.
Granted, he did manage to become dangerous and sort of respected and a little bit infamous. He supposed he wasn’t entirely off the mark.
He never accounted for Blurr.
Ricochet slipped into the building, sliding between two clearly-marked Autobots making their exit, both of them eyeing him warily. Ricochet resisted the urge to bear his denta at them, but only just. He glared instead, watching them pass with the same ferocity they gave him.
Afts.
The war’s over, losers. Neither side won. Neither side lost. Get over yourselves.
Ricochet jabbed the button to call the lift and waited with patience he didn’t used to have. He bobbed on his feet, swearing the bags grew heavier the longer he held them.
The lift dinged. Ricochet moved to intercept, when two very familiar faces stepped out first.
Ricochet cycled his optics. “What the frag are you doing with my kid?”
Drift grinned back at him, a spring in his step, a bag over one shoulder, and Echo tucked in his other arm. He was gleaming from head to foot, as though he’d gone in for a specialized wash and wax before visiting. He stank of incense, too. Ricochet didn’t know how Ratchet put up with it.
“Blurr asked me to take him, and I’m not supposed to tell you why. It’s a surprise,” Drift said, giving Echo a little hop.
Echo giggled with pure joy, his laughter approaching the dangerous decibel of shriek he found terribly amusing lately. His parents, not so much.
Ricochet narrowed his optics. He dropped grocery sacks and reached for Echo. “Give him to me for a minute,” he said, but not giving Drift much of a choice as he slipped Echo out of the other mech’s arms.
It wasn’t very hard. Echo wanted to come to him.
“Papa!” Echo chuckled and reached for Ricochet’s face, patting his cheeks. Bitlet loved doing that for some reason.
Also. Papa. They’d been using Earth terms rather than Cybertronian ones, purely because Ricochet loved to hear Echo call Blurr ‘mama’. More than that, he loved the way Blurr simultaneously melted with affection for Echo, and glared at Ricochet as if to blame him.
“Yeah, I’m Papa.” Ricochet planted a kiss on his forehead before holding him up, Echo giggling as he looked down at Ricochet. “Don’t listen to a thing your uncle says, all right? He’s a lunatic. Get me?”
Echo’s feet kicked, his sensory panels fluttering madly. Had no control over them yet, the little brat, but they were adorable so Ricochet didn’t mind so much.
“Damn, you’re too cute,” Ricochet said and kissed Echo again, bringing him in for a cuddle since he wouldn’t have the bit tonight. What in Cybertron did Blurr have planned anyway?
Eh. He’d find out in a second.
Ricochet reluctantly turned Echo back to Drift’s care. “Not a dent or a scratch, you hear me?” he threatened. It was a mild threat, all things considered. He never thought he’d love something as much as he did that sparkling.
Love for Jazz, that’s a given. That’s as easy as ventilating, as onlining, as living. Jazz is the other half of his spark. Loving Echo is the easiest thing he’s ever done, from the moment he looked into the kid’s optics, and held Echo in his arms. He promised to be a better Sire than his own had ever been, and in Ricochet’s opinion, he’s keeping that promise.
Drift slipped Echo into his arms with practiced ease. He was their go-to sitter as it was, but that didn’t mean Ricochet found it easy to let Echo out of his sight. The war wasn’t so long over Ricochet had completely forgotten how to be cautious.
“I sleep next to a medic, you know,” Drift said, but if he was actually offended, it didn’t show. Maybe he’d finally gotten used to what Blurr called Ricochet being overprotective, but Ricochet called being prudent. “He’ll be fine.”
Ricochet frowned. “That’s not reassuring.” He picked up his bags, shifting them to one hand, so he could squeeze his bitlet’s dangling foot. “Have fun.”
“Bye, Papa!” Echo waved goodbye as Drift carried him out the door, and Ricochet watched them for what might be considered a paranoid amount of time.
He called the lift again, and this time when it arrived, he entered, jabbing the button for the appropriate floor. Blurr had some kind of surprise for him, and that was the only thing chasing away the pang he felt at seeing his sparkling leave. It wasn’t the first time, but it hadn’t gotten easier either.
Maybe Blurr’s right.
Maybe he was a bit overprotective.
The lift dinged and deposited Ricochet on the appropriate floor, where half of the other apartments were still vacant after Whipstrike’s rampage. The corridor had been cleaned, repaired, and sanitized, bur Ricochet swore he still caught whiffs of plasmafire and scorched metal from time to time. It was getting less and less, but sometimes, he still walked through here remembering how the world had turned to fire, Blurr had come inches close to being killed, and Ricochet’s entire existence turned upside down.
Ricochet tapped the code into the lock and waited for it to register his spark signature -- an added security measure after the whole Whipstrike fiasco -- before the door clicked and let him inside. Immediately, the smell hit him. Like Drift’s incense only better because it didn’t reek. It clung to the air, sweet and spicy, and made Ricochet’s mouth water.
The door closed behind him.
The lights were dimmed, with only a few of the main overheads keeping away the dark. The vidscreen was off, but the sound system spilled a tune popular down in Maccadam’s. It was some of the more tolerable of Earth’s music, though Ricochet still preferred the classics.
Unless, of course, Blurr was shaking his aft to it.
“Blurr?” Ricochet called as he set the bags of sundries on the coffee table with a rattling thump. It would keep.
“In the berthroom!”
The door was open, pale light spilling out, and of course, that’s where Blurr was. The surprise was clearly of a carnal nature. How intriguing.
Ricochet grinned and approached the berthroom, pausing in the doorway to peer inside. Everything looked normal, as far as he could tell, though the lights were dimmed and more music played, less romantic than it was erotic.
Blurr stood in front of the storage chest, rummaging around inside, but he peered out to greet Ricochet with a smile. "Welcome home."
Suspicious.
Ricochet cocked his head, folding his arms. "Alright, what's up?" he asked as he leaned against the jamb. "You're being friendly, and Drift just stole my kid."
"Our kid," Blurr corrected.
"Didn't I say that?" Ricochet pushed off the door and stalked into the room, his intrigue growing by the minute. It was rare for Blurr to try and be sneaky. He wasn't very good at it.
Blurr rolled his optics and closed the storage chest with quiet clicks. "Drift has Echo so we can have some privacy tonight and not worry about keeping our voices down."
"Is that so?" Ricochet crowded Blurr against the chest, trapping him in place, their fields in sizzling contact as Blurr lifted his chin defiantly. "Do you have something specific in mind, Zippy? You face down on the berth, maybe, while I rail that pretty valve of yours?"
He leaned in for a kiss, but Blurr's palm smacked his chestplate, keeping him at bay.
"As fun as that sounds," Blurr said, in a tone that implied it wasn't fun at all, "No. I'm thinking this time you're the one on your back, and I'm the one in charge." He punctuated each word with a poke to Ricochet's chassis.
Ricochet stared at him. He couldn't help the bubble of laughter, or the wide curve of his lips. Primus, but the Racer was adorable when he tried to be stern and commanding.
"Haven't we been down this road before? Pretty sure it's not going to go the way you think it is." He tried to lean in again, one hand drifting to cup Blurr's hip while the other braced against the wall by Blurr's head. "Let's stick to what we're both good at, hmm?"
Blurr's hand on his chestplate got firmer. "Or you can put this gag on, get on the berth, and let me cuff your hands." Said gag dangled from his free hand, lifted into view.
It was a ball gag. Pretty simple, comfortably sized, with a strap that fastened behind the wearer’s head. It would be easy enough to work free or spit out, since Blurr hadn't chosen a spider-gag design.
It was a token gag basically.
Ricochet wasn't so stupid he didn't know what it meant.
'Course, that didn't mean he intended to cooperate like a good little mech either.
His grin widened, he chuckled, and he knew it was a mistake the moment Blurr's optics narrowed, and his field shut down from Ricochet's so quickly, it was dizzying. Gone were the waves of heat and lust, tantalizing so warmly against Ricochet's field.
Blurr was a block of ice in his arms, empty and unforgiving.
"Frag you." Blurr snarled and shoved past Ricochet, every plate of armor drawn tight to his substructure, and wisps of his escaping field bristling with anger and humiliation.
Oops.
Ricochet grabbed his arm, stopping his escape. He was stronger than Blurr, so it was easy, though he had to be careful not to squeeze too hard, or risk denting Blurr's armor. Such delicate things, Racers were. It's a miracle he survived the war.
Teasing Blurr was all fun and games, and Ricochet enjoyed it. But hurting Blurr... that wasn't something he wanted to do. It was counter-productive. He liked to push. It was in his nature. Ricochet had spent his life being pushed by the world, so he fought back.
Maybe now wasn't a good time for it.
"Fine," he said. "If you're going to throw a fit about it, let's give it a try."
Hm. Maybe not the best choice of words, especially given the way Blurr's engine revved and he tried to twist out of Ricochet's grip.
"You aft," Blurr hissed, and his optics flashed, and Primus, but he was sexy when he was angry. 'Facing like that was always a guarantee of a good time with Blurr.
Probably not in this case, but oh, the memories.
Ricochet liked Blurr a little riled and emotional and cocky and full of that smug too-rich Racer background he reeked of. He didn't want to needle Blurr into genuine anger though. Clearly, this was important to Blurr for some reason.
Whatever.
It was going to be a good time either way. Or it wouldn't be, and Ricochet could use it to his advantage, and coax future favors from Blurr.
Ricochet plucked the gag from Blurr's hand and put it in his mouth, all while holding Blurr's gaze. He tied the straps himself, tight enough it wouldn't budge, and he prodded the gag with his glossa to get it to a comfortable position. He tapped the gag itself pointedly and raised his orbital ridges at Blurr.
See? He could cooperate.
Blurr's optics narrowed. "The berth."
Amusement swelled in Ricochet's spark, but he kept it hidden. He tilted his head in a show of deference and moved to the berth, throwing himself down onto it gladly. He wriggled around to get comfortable and stretched his arms above his head, wrists toward the faint glint of manacles. How he hadn't seen them earlier, he'd never know.
Blurr followed, wariness in the way he looked at Ricochet, as if expecting him to leap off the bed and say 'gotcha'. Which, granted, was the kind of thing Ricochet would do to get Blurr riled.
Ricochet waited while Blurr locked first one wrist and then the other in the manacles. They, like the ball gag, were simple. Easy for someone of Ricochet's caliber to slip or break or pick. It was about presentation more than function.
Blurr stepped back as Ricochet gave a few testing tugs to the manacles and found them reasonably sturdy.
"You can still access your comm," Blurr said as he folded his arms and cocked a hip. "Only use it if you're telling me to stop, and you mean it, not because you're making fun of me. Got it?"
Ricochet hunched his shoulders and tried gesturing with his orbital ridges. He couldn't speak and didn't know if using his comms now would tell Blurr he wasn't serious.
Blurr sighed and rolled his optics.
"Tell me you got it," he said.
Yes, sir, Ricochet replied, across the comms, and Primus, it was worth it, for the way Blurr's optics dilated, and his vents quickened, and his glossa flicked across his lips. His field slipped free of the tight grip, and Ricochet almost drowned in the lust pouring over him.
It was delicious.
"Good," Blurr said, and his lips pulled into a smile rather than a frown. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it, before he climbed onto the berth, straddling Ricochet's abdomen. The heat of him was delicious, and Ricochet wished he could grab Blurr and get this party started.
It wasn't his choice to make this time. How frustrating.
Blurr leaned across him, giving the shackles a testing tug. "I know you could slip these if you wanted," he said, finger sliding between Ricochet's wrist and the manacles. "Do it and see what happens."
Ooo. A threat.
Ricochet tilted his head. He wondered what the punishment would be if he disobeyed. He was tempted to try and see.
Tempted, but also, more curious to see what Blurr had in store for him.
"Obedience looks good on you," Blurr said with a sexy little smirk Ricochet wanted to bite. He shimmied down, kneeling between Ricochet's legs, forcing his thighs into a wide splay. "So does this."
Ricochet would have smirked if he could. He looked good in anything. So he squeezed his thighs against Blurr's waist, metal sliding against metal, tasting the growing lust in Blurr's field as it infected his own.
Blurr's fingers flirted over his interface array. "Open," he commanded as he traced seams and caught Ricochet's gaze intently.
Ricochet let his spike panel spiral open, his spike immediately jutting free, into Blurr's waiting fingers. He groaned behind the gag as Blurr gave him a few strokes, thumb sweeping over the head, gathering up his pre-fluid. He hoped that meant Blurr was going to ride him. That was good, too. Blurr put on a damn fine show.
"It's a good start," Blurr said as he stroked and pumped and twisted his wrist perfectly, and Ricochet rocked his hips up into Blurr's fist, enough pre-fluid seeping free to ease the slide.
He let go of Ricochet's spike, which was just a travesty of justice, and tapped Ricochet's valve panel instead.
"But I want this, too," Blurr said. He arched an orbital ridge at Ricochet as if in challenge.
Oh, Zippy. It's not going to be that easy.
Ricochet tilted his chin and waited.
"You're not going to open?" Blurr asked, and he traced Ricochet's valve panel, circling the seam of it, teasing the sensitive rim. "Why? Because you want to be difficult?"
Ricochet revved his engine. That hadn't been forbidden, after all. He stroked Blurr's field with his own, layering it with the desire he felt for the Racer, and the lust simmering in his lines.
Blurr’s jaw set with a familiar, hardheaded defiance. “Open,” he said, his voice taking on a hard edge, like he’d been practicing. “Open or this ends now.”
Well.
If he was going to be that insistent about it…
Ricochet graciously granted his valve permission to open, and Blurr’s finger immediately sank against his rim, gathering up lubricant to tease the sensors lining the outer edge of his valve. Ricochet swallowed a moan. He rarely let anyone at his valve, and as a result, it was obscenely sensitive.
“Better,” Blurr purred, and oh, the satisfaction in his tone was hypnotizing. Satisfied, smug Blurr was unbelievably sexy.
Ricochet canted his hips up, encouraging Blurr to stroke him deeper, and a shiver danced up his spinal strut as Blurr curved two fingers inside of him, rubbing along the cluster of nodes right behind his rim.
Thank Primus the gag muffled his moan.
“We should do this more often,” Blurr said before he withdrew his fingers and started stroking Ricochet’s spike again, but only a few quick pumps, enough to prime him.
He was going to drive Ricochet crazy with anticipation, the fragger.
“I like you like this,” Blurr added with a smirk. His head tilted, his gaze roaming over Ricochet’s frame. “I’m kind of torn. Got all these things I want to do to you now.”
Then get on with it! Ricochet would have shouted, if he could.
“Guess I’ll just have to work my way down the list,” Blurr said, and then he shimmied down, gripped Ricochet’s hips, and closed his mouth around the head of Ricochet’s spike.
Ricochet groaned into the gag, his engine purring, as the tip of Blurr’s glossa prodded at his transfluid slit before Blurr ever so gradually swallowed him down. Blurr had a mouth like a buymech, knowing how and when to apply the perfect pressure, the perfect suction, a gentle scrape of denta for added flavor.
Ricochet’s hips juttered upward, trying to thrust, but Blurr held him down, merciless as he sucked Ricochet into his mouth, swirled his glossa around Ricochet’s spike, hummed and teased, and drove Ricochet crazy. He moaned, heat pooling in his groin, spike throbbing, more and more slick spilling from his spike.
If Blurr wanted to make him overload like this, he was well on his way to accomplishing that.
Ricochet’s ventilations quickened. Slick gathered in his valve. Cool air teased over the damp, and his nodes sang with the barely-present touch of it. He rocked his hips upward, the most motion Blurr would allow him, and moaned when Blurr took him all the way to the hilt, swallowing Ricochet’s spike to the root.
Fragging Primus!
Heat twisted and churned in his belly, flooding his lines, until little arcs of electric arousal danced over his armor. Ricochet moaned again, chomping down on the gag, wrists unconsciously jerking on the manacles. Blurr swallowed around him, then pulled off his spike with a long, sucking slurp. It was lewd and noisy, and Ricochet groaned his dismay as Blurr released him, his spike bobbing, spit-slick and rigid.
“That’s a good start, I think,” Blurr said with a smirk, one fingertip rubbing over Ricochet’s transfluid slit, spreading the slick around. “Means you’re ready for the next part.”
He slid back and off the berth, and Ricochet might have kicked his heels into the mattress a little, because Blurr was getting away from him rather than closer. He made muffled noises into the gag since he refused to use his comm for anything less than an emergency.
“Patience, Ricochet,” Blurr called back to him, smug to the very depth of his glyphs. “I just need to fetch something.”
Oh, Ricochet intended to make him pay for this, once Blurr was done with his games.
Blurr rummaged in the storage chest, though Ricochet had the feeling he knew exactly what he wanted and where it was. Aft was dragging it out on purpose.
Blurr emerged with a box, long and thin, which Ricochet immediately recognized. His spark-rate doubled with anticipation, but he schooled his expression behind the gag, pretending disinterest.
“See, I figured since you like doing it so much to me you secretly wanted me to do it to you,” Blurr said as he gave the box a shake. Metal rattled noisily inside. “Am I wrong?”
Ricochet swallowed over a lump in his intake. His engine crept into a whine before he could tamper it down.
Oh, he wanted it.
Admitting that, however, was an entirely different story.
"You think I can't feel the lust in your field?" Blurr slid onto the berth, back between Ricochet's thighs, fingers lightly dragging up the length of Ricochet's spike. "Tell me what you want, Ricochet."
His smugness would've been irritating if it weren't so fragging sexy.
Blurr set the box next to him and opened it, the click of the latch disengaging abnormally loud in the silence. Ricochet couldn't see into the box, but his memory provided all the details. A set of sounding rods, from a slim beginner to a thick, bulbous expert level.
Primus.
His engine rattled into a purr.
Blurr's lips widened into a smirk. "Use your comm," he said as he swept his thumb over the head of Ricochet's spike, smearing around the pre-fluid. "Answer my question, Ricochet."
He picked up the smallest sound with his free hand, and the polished metal caught the overhead light, glinting erotically.
"Do you want this?" Blurr asked, and his optics were bright and hungry, his ventilations sharp and eager. He was as aroused by this as Ricochet.
He groaned behind the gag. 'Yes,’ he admitted, over the comm.
Blurr tilted his head. He teased the tip of the sound against Ricochet's transfluid slit, stirring the sensors but not breaching him. "Yes, what?"
'Yes, I want the fragging sound!' Ricochet snapped, and his wrists jerked on the manacles, his hips juttering up toward the sound ineffectually.
Blurr licked his lips. "Yes, you do," he breathed, and he nudged the narrow tip of the sound against Ricochet's transfluid slit, easing it inside.
No extra lubricant was necessary, not with the amount of pre-slick Ricochet had, and the thinness of the rod. He barely felt it enter his transfluid channel, but the knowledge of it, watching Blurr do it -- focused, intent, aroused -- was enough to make Ricochet's tanks flipflop with arousal. He groaned, optics spiraling wide, watching as his spike consumed the sound inch by precious inch.
"This is just a teaser, really," Blurr said as he filled Ricochet's spike with the sound, all the way to the knobby base, where he let go. "To prime you for the next size." He lightly stroked Ricochet's spike, squeezing it just enough to feel the stiffness of the sound within his channel.
Ricochet groaned. Stars burst behind his optics.
"Don't overload yet," Blurr warned him.
Primus. Easy for him to say.
Fingers traced Ricochet's valve rim, stroking over his anterior node in light sweeps, and Ricochet groaned again. It was delicious, and taunting, and he wanted more damn it.
"You're so impatient," Blurr said, but he slipped the smallest sound free and set it aside, pulling the second one and the lube from the box. "Luckily, I am, too."
The lubricant squelched out of the tube, coating the thicker sound liberally. Blurr squeezed even more against the head of Ricochet's spike, massaging it against his transfluid slit, and Ricochet had to grit his denta against the onslaught of sensation. It didn't help that Blurr's field was volcanic with lust, swirling around Ricochet in a hot flurry.
The second sound was thicker, with a bulb on the end slightly wider than the shaft of the sound itself. Ricochet moaned as Blurr directed it toward his spike, teasing the bulb over his transfluid slit before easing it inside.
There was more of a stretch this time, a tangible sensation as the sound inched deeper and deeper down his channel. Blurr paused, spinning it, twirling it against the sensors lining his channel, and Ricochet's optics flickered.
"This one's my favorite," Blurr murmured as he worked it deeper, micrometer by precious micrometer. "Just thick enough you can feel it, but not so thick it burns. I'm thinking you're going to like the next one the most though."
Ricochet moaned into his gag. Primus, he loved sounding Blurr, loved watching the way Blurr squirmed and panted and turned into a gibbering mess of arousal. Loved how many overloads he could wring from his overclocked Racer.
Blurr nudged the sound even deeper, until the bulb at the end nudged the base of Ricochet's spike, right against the deepest part of him. It flirted with a cluster of sensors, and electric ecstasy raced through Ricochet's lines, making his optics twirl. He was drooling around the gag and couldn't be arsed to care.
His insides twisted. His valve clamped on nothing, and then it clamped on fingers because Blurr slid three into him, stroking him sweetly, teasing his sensitive lining. Ricochet's fans roared.
"Don't overload," Blurr ordered, but he sounded breathless.
He drew his fingers from Ricochet's valve, and then there was a click, and through his aroused haze, Ricochet caught sight of Blurr stroking his own spike with his lubricant-damp fingers. Blurr gnawed on his bottom lip, optics glazed with pleasure, his other hand gently twirling the sound in Ricochet's channel.
"You're gonna take... one more," Blurr said, with a little grunt, before he released his spike and sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to get control of himself. "You're good still?"
'Fine, fine, keep going. I'm fine,' Ricochet all but growled into the comm, maybe a little frantic, but his entire frame hovered on a precipice of pleasure.
Blurr moaned through his denta. "Good. Good. That's... good." He withdrew the sound, maybe a bit too hasty were it anyone else, and set it aside.
The third sound was liberally doused in lubricant, and even more squeezed against Ricochet's spike. He moaned when he saw it, dotted with bulbs up and down the length, a wider bulb at the tip than before, an incrementally wider shaft. It was going to stretch and burn in the most delicious way.
"Tell me if it hurts," Blurr said, before he nudged the wider bulb against Ricochet's transfluid slit and eased it inside.
Lubricant squelched out around the sound, but it entered him without a struggle. Ricochet groaned, muffled by the gag, but long and low, as each subsequent bulb dragged along his interior sensors.
Blurr was being slow and careful, and Ricochet loved him for it, as much as he wanted to shout and demand Blurr go faster, harder, really frag him with the sound. The slow drag of it was maddening and arousing, and Ricochet's engine raced.
"Maybe I'll try this one next time," Blurr murmured, and he licked his lips, making them glisten. Ricochet wanted to kiss him, to bite at his lips until they swelled, to nip at Blurr's neck and mark him. "You'll have to take your time though. Really stretch me first. But I think it could fit."
Ricochet groaned.
The mental image was as excruciating as the actual sensation of it. Each bulb was perfectly sized to nudge his inner sensors, and he trembled to hold himself still as Blurr worked the sound in and out. In and out. In and out. A little deeper with each push in, a little spin on each drag out.
The berth beneath Ricochet's aft was soaked with lubricant. Not all of it was extra. His valve ached, and his spike throbbed, and he gnawed on the gag with his denta because it felt so damn good.
More. He wanted more.
It wasn't until Blurr smirked, until the sound bottomed out, that Ricochet realized he'd been chanting 'more' across the comm.
"Damn," Blurr said, and he released his grip on the sound, letting it stay buried in Ricochet's spike. The wide end of it ground against his lining, and Ricochet moaned, loud and desperate.
"Gotta frag you," Blurr panted as he grabbed Ricochet's hips, slid forward, ground his spike against Ricochet's valve rim. He rocked, fingers squeezing into seams, his spike leaving trails of charged pre-fluid behind.
'Do it,' Ricochet demanded, his thighs tightening around Blurr's waist, his heels drumming against Blurr's back, trying to shove him into place. 'Do it!'
Blurr's spikehead caught on the rim of his valve and sank in, burying deep in one, sharp thrust. Ricochet moaned as every one of his internal sensors sprang to life, singing with pleasure. His calipers rippled, valve spiraling down, cinching on Blurr's spike.
Blurr moaned and electric fire crackled over his armor, the same shade as his optics. He reached with shaky fingers for Ricochet's spike, giving him a gentle squeeze.
Ricochet's back arched. His entire frame spasmed with pleasure. He made an unintelligible noise, and for a moment, Blurr looked worried. He started to tug on the end of the sound.
'Leave it!' Ricochet gasped into the comm, his thighs squeezing Blurr's hips, his pelvis thrusting upward, demanding Blurr to go deeper.
"Yeah, okay," Blurr panted, and he grabbed Ricochet's hips, yanking him down into each thrust, Blurr's knees digging into the berth, his Racer engine roaring like he's on the race track.
Frag, yes.
Blurr wasn't gentle, which was good because Ricochet didn't want gentle. He wanted this, Blurr driven to the point of hunger, slamming into him, over and over, fast and hot and frantic. His field was an electric storm, buzzing all over Ricochet.
The sound jostled in his spike, teasing all of his inner sensors. Ricochet's frame twisted and arched, torn between the plunge of Blurr's spike in his valve, and the torment of the sound, massaging his spike from the inside.
"You can -- hngh -- overload," Blurr gasped, frame curving forward, optics bright and hungry, the clang of their frames colliding barely audible over their roaring fans.
Ricochet's head tossed back as a jolt of blue static spilled over his armor. Overload erupted through his lines, his valve cycling down tight, his spike spurting transfluid. He slammed up against Blurr, fingers drawing into fists, transfluid bubbling up around the sound until it finally forced the rod free.
Blurr hissed something like a curse, and he slammed into Ricochet like a mech possessed, vents roaring, as overload took him, too. He moaned, long and low, the hot spurts of his transfluid painting the inside of Ricochet's valve, making him twitch.
Ricochet's frame trembled in the aftermath of release, but he wasn't done yet. He could feel it coiling inside of him, his spike half-pressurized. It always took at least two to clear his charge after a valve-fragging, and with sounding in the mix? He was a pressure valve demanding release.
'Cuffs!' Ricochet spat into the comm, giving them a rattle.
Blurr pushed himself up, giving Ricochet a shaky, satisfied smile. "Still impatient?" he teased as he slid out of Ricochet's valve and leaned over him, activating the quick-release for the cuffs.
They sprang off his wrists, and the moment Ricochet was free, he wrapped himself around Blurr and flipped their positions, planting Blurr's back on the berth, and Ricochet's knees between Blurr's thighs. He rutted against Blurr's valve -- closed to him, and that wouldn't do. Ricochet growled behind the gag, glaring, until Blurr shuddered, and his panel sprang open.
They moaned in tandom as Ricochet sank into him without preamble, setting up a hard and fast pace. He gripped Blurr's thigh with one hand, opening him up for deep thrusts, and braced his weight with the other, curved over Blurr, burying the Racer beneath his greater mass.
"Couldn't even wait for the gag," Blurr hissed, but his outrage didn't match the lust in his field or the way he canted his hips to meet Ricochet's thrusts. One hand fumbled at Ricochet's mouth, trying to get off the gag.
Ricochet leaned up, smacked his hands away, and ripped off the gag, throwing it across the room. "Needed to be inside you more," he said with a smirk, twisting his jaw to ease the slight ache he'd earned.
Blurr rolled his optics, and Ricochet smothered his next smart-aft remark with a kiss, tasting himself on Blurr's glossa, tasting the heat of their coupling in the air. He bit at Blurr’s mouth, wrestling for control of the kiss, as Blurr snarled against his lips and gripped his sides, fingers sinking harshly into seams.
It’s fragging perfect.
Ricochet growled into the kiss, nosing his way to Blurr’s intake, finding his favorite place to mark. His hips snapped forward, burying deep in Blurr, hips rising up to meet each thrust. Energy crackled between them, the air reeking of ozone and lubricant, and pleasure zapped up and down Ricochet’s backstrut like a lightning strike.
"Come on," Ricochet growled against Blurr's intake, his glossa tracing the marks of his denta, his fingers curling against the berthcover and tighter around Blurr’s thigh. "Know ya got another one in ya, Zippy. Give it to me.”
“Frag you,” Blurr panted, but his head tossed back, baring more of his intake to Ricochet’s mouth, his valve tight and wet around Ricochet’s spike, sucking him deeper.
“Did that already,” Ricochet teased with a raspy laugh, and he bit down, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make Blurr jerk, hard enough to make him twitch in Ricochet’s arms and overload with a shout, a garbled phrase that might have been a curse word and might have been Ricochet’s name, and might have been both.
Frag yeah.
Ricochet stole his mouth again, swallowing his pleasured moans, and chased after his own overload with single-minded determination, Blurr twitching and writhing beneath him as his frame gamely tried to cycle up for a third. It was a fair try, but Ricochet was on the path to spilling in Blurr’s valve before Blurr’s spike managed a second twitch.
Ricochet growled as he overloaded, buried deep inside Blurr, painting the Racer’s valve with his transfluid. His vents roared as charge danced across his armor, expending itself harmlessly against the berth cover.
“That… was better than I could have hoped for,” Blurr said. He stroked Ricochet’s sides, valve still twitching around Ricochet’s spike.
Ricochet managed a tired chuckle.
“You’re still an aft,” Blurr said.
Ricochet lifted his head and shifted his weight, back onto his heels as he slid free of Blurr’s valve. Their lower halves were a mess of lubricant and transfluid, and in his haste to get Blurr beneath him, he’d knocked the box of sounds onto the floor.
Oops.
“That’s never going to change, Zippy.” Ricochet brushed his thumb over Blurr’s swollen anterior node, and received the heel of a foot to the chassis, pushing him back.
“Sensitive,” Blurr grumbled.
Ricochet chuckled and backed off, admiring with his optics rather than his hands. “Guess I’ll let you take the lead a little more often. You could use the practice at least.”
Blue optics rolled as Blurr kicked at him again, but it was half-sparked at best, with Ricochet catching his ankle before the foot could make contact. “You had fun.”
“True.” Ricochet tugged and leaned in for a kiss, a gentler one this time. “I knew you had it in you.”
Blurr sighed, but let himself be kissed. It might as well have been forgiveness. “Come on. I need a shower. I’m getting sticky.”
“Aw. It’s just a little mess. You’re so delicate, my high-maintenance Racer,” Ricochet teased, his fingers sliding into the complicated gears of Blurr’s ankle, which he knew for a fact were ticklish.
“I’m not high maintenance. There’s lube everywhere, for Primus’ sake!”
“Indeed there is. And as tonight’s Dom, you get to change the sheets.” Ricochet kissed him on the nose and clambered off the berth before Blurr could take a swipe at him. He waggled a finger at his Racer. “Them’s the rules, big shot.”
Ricochet sauntered out of the room with Blurr’s spluttering following him out. Hey. It was only fair. He took care of Blurr after they played, cleaned him up nice, made sure they had all they needed. If Blurr wanted to take the reins every now and again, then he had to take all the duties that came with them.
Which meant if he was quick enough, Ricochet wouldn’t use all the hot solvent by the time Blurr joined him.
Fair was fair after all.
Ricochet managed a good scrub and soak while he waited for Blurr to join him. Satisfaction simmered in his lines, so much so that he wasn’t even tempted to rub one out. Not that he’d tell Blurr as much.
He had to keep his Racer on his toes. Couldn’t go letting Blurr grow an even bigger ego either.
The door to the washrack burst open. “There’d better still be hot solvent for me,” Blurr announced in a tone that would have been threatening, if Ricochet were afraid of him in the slightest.
“Get in here and find out,” Ricochet called back.
Blurr snorted and eased into the washrack, looking more than a little put out. Which probably had to do with the fact the various fluids had dried and congealed on his armor.
“Did you get everything cleaned up?” Ricochet asked, playing innocent.
“Good enough.” Blurr eyed him warily before hip-checking Ricochet aside to get the choice spot under the spray. “How’re your wrists?”
Ricochet snagged Blurr’s arm and reeled him in for a kiss. “They’re fine obviously, but I love that ya care.” He nuzzled Blurr because he could, his engine rumbling with satisfaction.
Blurr rolled his optics. “I’d make a poor excuse for a lover if I didn’t care.”
“You are many things, including an excellent lover.” Ricochet’s hands wandered; he couldn’t help himself. There was so much sleek, and now slick, Racer to touch. “Why else would I keep you around?”
Blurr twisted in his arms, leaning back toward the solvent with an eagerness to get clean. “It’s my apartment. Technically, I’m the one who keeps you.”
Ricochet laughed. “Mmm. I think you have a point.” He plastered himself to Blurr’s back, against the empty mounts for his boosters. His hands wandered over Blurr’s chassis and groin, flirting with his now-closed panels. “We should probably restore the natural balance of things, yeah? Wouldn’t mind a little play right now.”
An elbow impacted his midsection. It didn’t hurt, but it startled him enough for Blurr to squeeze out of his arms and duck under the spray. He grabbed a scrub brush like it was a weapon and started swiping solvent over his frame.
“Or not,” Ricochet said. “Didn’t realize getting clean was that important to you.”
Blurr’s optics narrowed. “Maybe you just don’t pay enough attention.” He attacked his armor with a viciousness the dried lubricant didn’t require.
All right.
Clearly something had crawled up his Racer’s aft and erased the post-interface bliss they should both be soaking up.
Eh.
Maybe Ricochet had teased a bit too much. Letting Blurr take the lead hadn’t been bad, and he’d be down for doing it again and again. Honestly, he was up for just about anything Blurr wanted from him.
Because.
Well, because it was Blurr.
There wasn’t anyone else on Cybertron Ricochet would willingly open his valve for, except Jazz, but Jazz didn’t count. He’d laid a lot of trust in Blurr’s hands, though he hadn’t wanted to make a big deal about it.
Ricochet crossed his arms. “What slagged you off?”
Nothing. He might as well not have spoken, for all that Blurr acknowledged the question.
“Hey.” Ricochet snatched the brush out of Blurr’s hands. “You wanna be mad at me, that’s fine. But at least tell me why.”
Blurr eyed the scrub brush, but this was a wrestling match he couldn’t win. “I’m not mad,” he said, but before Ricochet could call him on his pitslag, he continued, “but I am fragging tired of being treated like a toy.”
“Wait. What?” Ricochet blinked, and was too startled to stop Blurr for seizing the brush back. He also didn’t care enough to turn this into a childish game of ‘keep away’. “The frag you talking about? Who’s a fragging toy?”
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Blurr whipped the scrub brush around like it was a weapon, slinging solvent around the interior, some of it splashing across Ricochet's chassis. "I'm just something for you to play with, something to entertain you, until you get bored."
What the-- Where the frag was this even coming from?
Ricochet narrowed his optics. "Is this because I teased ya about domming me?"
A storm raged over Blurr's face, and the press of his field turned to ice before it closed down behind an iron curtain -- just like it had earlier tonight. "I'm a joke to you."
Slag.
He really had put his foot in it, didn't he?
Ricochet sighed and slammed his hand on the panel, cutting off the spray of the solvent. In the resulting silence, the lingering drip was abnormally loud. As were the echoes of their discordant engines.
"Ya listen to me good, because I'm only gonna say this once." Ricochet squared his shoulders, squared his jaw, and looked Blurr dead in the optic. "I've never let anyone do the things to me I let you do. I sure as slag don't play games either. So don't you tell me what you are to me."
Blurr's jaw set. He folded his arms over his chassis. "Sure got a funny way of showing it."
"Yeah, well, ya grow up the way I did, you survive the way I did, that's what you know." Ricochet shrugged, playing it off, really not wanting to dive into that barrel of laughs right now. "I don't move in with mechs for fun. I don't stick around and make a family with them as a joke. And I don't give my loyalty away for no reason."
Blurr lifted his chin. "Is that so? Then why did you do it?"
"You're a fragging idiot," Ricochet growled, and he poked Blurr in the chassis, right above his crossed arms. "Because I love you obviously. What kind of psychopath do you think I am?"
Blurr blinked. His arms fell as he took a step back, looking up at Ricochet with eyes widening like Ricochet had revealed some great secret. "Obviously?" he repeated, his tone somehow both skeptical and outraged. "Obviously? Since when have the words 'I love you' ever come out of your mouth?"
"That's beside the point."
"No, it is the point." It was Blurr's turn to prod Ricochet in the chassis, his lips twisting into a snarl. "You act like I should have just known this obvious thing when our entire relationship is based on a series of accidents. Frag you for assuming."
Ricochet caught his wrist, gave it a warning squeeze, but far from enough to damage. He leaned in closer to Blurr, right into that arrogant, self-righteous face. "I've never heard you say it either, so don't you go laying the blame on me."
"I wouldn't be with you if I didn't love you," Blurr growled, and his engine roared, echoing around the washrack walls. "So what the frag are we even fighting about?"
"You started it."
Blurr rolled his optics so hard, Ricochet half-expected them to roll right out of his head. "You're a bigger sparkling than Echo."
Ricochet cupped the back of Blurr's head and pressed their foreheads together. "You started it," he repeated. "You're not a fragging toy. You're the carrier of my kid. You're my partner. And you're the idiot, spoiled, high-maintenance Racer I happen to be in love with. Got it?"
Blurr kissed him, which Ricochet took to mean he understood. It was a fierce kiss, with glossa and denta, Blurr's frame colliding with his, hands pulling him close, pressed tight. Blurr's field unfurled, wrapping around him, a confusing miasma of emotions Ricochet didn't bother to pick through. His field was probably worse.
Blurr threw him for a loop like no one else Ricochet had ever met.
"We should finish gettin' clean," Ricochet said against Blurr's mouth.
Blurr pulled back and gripped his chin, forcing Ricochet to look at him. "You are annoying and rude and a pain in my aft," he said, but his optics flashed and his field flowed into a liquid heat. "But I love you."
"Look at how soppy we are. Jazz would be impressed," Ricochet said.
Blurr smacked the solvent-covered scrub brush against his chest, leaving a streak of suds behind. "Like I said: annoying." He prodded the activation switch, and the spray stuttered to life, luke-warm. "Come on. We don't have much time left."
"Fragging rations," Ricochet muttered, but it was impossible to hold onto a grump. Blurr loved him. How could he be annoyed by anything else?
They showered quickly, or as quickly as they could considering Ricochet's idea of helping involved riling Blurr up for another tumble in the berth before recharge. How was he supposed to keep his hands off a soapy, shiny Racer? It was impossible.
Luke-warm turned to tepid turned to cool. Blurr was the first to scurry out from under the spray, griping about the loss of heat. Ricochet ambled after him a few moments later, after making sure his array was nice and clean. No excess lubrication gumming up his gears. He'd lived on the streets. A bit of cold solvent wouldn't kill him.
"Drift's bringing Echo back in the morning," Blurr said as Ricochet rejoined him in the berthroom -- the tidied berthroom with fresh covers on the berth and everything.
Blurr wasn't much of a homemaker, and cleaning up seemed anathema to him, so that he'd managed to tidy was impressive.
"Good." Ricochet flopped on the berth, face down at first, dragging in the scent of fresh bedcovers. "Don't want him influencing our kid too much."
Blurr snorted. "Why do you give him such a hard time?"
"Because I can." Ricochet maneuvered onto his back and reeled Blurr in as soon as the Racer was within reach, tucking Blurr against his frame. "I liked Deadlock better."
"You would." Blurr squirmed, ever high-maintenance as he twisted about to find the most comfortable position. "Lights: off." The room immediately darkened, save for the emergency lights around the baseboard.
Ricochet was a gentlemech. He didn't even grope Blurr. Much. Satisfaction hummed in his lines, both from the overloads, and from Blurr's confession. Blurr loved him.
"Drift's all right. A good sitter for Echo anyway," Ricochet said, aiming to make his tone as casual as possible. "The adults need their private time occasionally."
Blurr snorted. "You just want to be able to frag me over any surface whenever you want."
"There is that," Ricochet conceded, thinking longingly of the balcony and how much he wanted to frag Blurr up against those windows.
Someday, he might be able to get Blurr to say yes.
"There's also some toys in the closet you haven't tried on me yet," Ricochet said, keeping his voice light, but his words heavy with implication.
"Hmm." Blurr tossed a leg over Ricochet's, notching a knee teasingly close to Ricochet's pelvic array. "You're right." Lust tiptoed through his field, not enough to rile either of them up, but enough for Ricochet to tell he was intrigued. "Maybe next week."
Ricochet chuckled and rolled over, pinning Blurr beneath him. He nuzzled the Racer before sealing their lips together for a kiss, a gentle one this time, more savoring than claiming, because he'd already left his mark on Blurr's intake.
Blurr loved him.
All was right in the world.
Not bad for a former-gutter rat turned Decepticon, eh?
~
Morning came too soon.
It always came too soon.
Blurr wanted to linger in the berth, wake slowly, maybe doze a little. He owned a bar for Primus' sake. He shouldn't have to online any earlier than midday.
All that changed when Ricochet came into his life, bringing with him the circumstances of Echo. Now, Blurr wouldn't give up his sparkling for anything in the world, but lazy mornings in were a thing of the past.
Except the trembling of the berth was not caused by Echo. Because Echo was with Drift this morning. Which meant the individual responsible for waking Blurr was not his sparkling, but rather his sparkling's sire.
"Drift's on his way," Ricochet said, waving a cube of warmed, spiced energon under Blurr's nose. "Better get up."
Blurr groaned and resisted the urge to pull a pillow over his head. He knew damn well Drift wasn't going to bring Echo back until later this afternoon. Which meant...
"You commed him, didn't you?" Blurr accused as he sat up and reluctantly accepted the energon.
A marathon interfacing session was not conducive to a good night's restful recharge.
"Can't let Drift keep him too long. Who knows what nonsense he's filling Echo's head with," Ricochet said, completely unrepentant.
Blurr rolled his optics. He didn't argue too hard. It was actually rather adorable, how much Ricochet doted on Echo. He was the first to get up when Echo fussed, had no qualms about cleaning up after Echo, and always claimed Echo as his.
If Blurr had any doubt about Ricochet wanting to take care of Echo, they were quickly quashed within the first week after Echo's birth. Ricochet was many things, but a terrible sire was nowhere on the list.
As if on cue, the sound of the front door chime echoed through the apartment.
"Well. Speak of the former Decepticon." Ricochet grinned, planted a kiss on Blurr's cheek, and clambered off the berth. "I've got it."
He loved Echo. It was hard to remember that there was a time Blurr had convinced himself Ricochet would want nothing to do with their sparkling.
Blurr dragged himself out of the berth with all the speed of an Earth snail, finishing off his energon in several gulps. He’d have to try and beg Sunstreaker for a shape up or something, because his paint was atrocious at the moment, and it was mostly Ricochet’s fault.
Something Ricochet would happily take the blame for, Blurr knew. Possessive slagger.
He stepped out of the berthroom just in time to hear, “--don’t understand why he’s so sticky. Primus, Drift. What did you do? Drop him in a tub of energon treats?”
Drift’s laughter followed, completely unrepentant. “No. I let him feed himself breakfast.”
“You mean you gave him candy for breakfast rather than something nutritious,” Blurr said as he joined them in a little huddle at the doorway, Ricochet holding Echo up by the arms and squinting at their grinning sparkling.
Even from a distance, Blurr could see the goo clinging to Echo’s face and fingers.
“Mama!” Echo said, or shrieked rather because yay, he was apparently at the shrieking stage. He waved his arms and made grabby motions at Blurr. “Mama, come!”
Blurr swallowed a sigh. He tried to redirect Echo toward ‘carrier’ or ‘care’ or ‘ada’ at the very least, but no. Ricochet’s lessons held firm. Mama and Papa they were.
“You’re too sticky, kiddo,” Ricochet said as he pulled Echo in to plant a big kiss on his cheek. “You know how Mama hates getting dirty. Let’s get you cleaned up first.” He cradled Echo, tickling his belly, and Echo shrieked with laughter.
Ow.
Blurr winced.
Drift, however, slung the bag from his shoulder and thrust it Blurr’s direction. “He’s perfectly healthy, contrary to what Ricochet thinks,” he said with a sidelong glance at Ricochet departing with Echo in arm.
“He’s just protective,” Blurr said, his tone fond. His spark gave little pulses of warmth as he watched his family slip into the kitchen. Ricochet preferred to wash Echo in the sink because it was easier and safer.
“I’m happy for you.”
Blurr blinked at the non-sequitur. He furrowed his orbital ridge. “What?”
Drift’s smile was both soft and fond, and he twitched, like he wanted to draw Blurr into a hug but kept reconsidering it. “War’s hard. Living with yourself after war, well, that’s harder. Believe me, I’d know.” His gaze turned a little distant, over Blurr’s shoulder, like he was seeing something that wasn’t quite on this plane of existence. “But look at us now. Partners and sparklings and homes. Not too bad for some Wreckers, huh?”
“Not too bad for mechs who shouldn’t have survived the war,” Blurr agreed, and he managed a little chuckle. It was dangerously close to what Whipstrike had wanted to kill them for -- their happiness -- but Blurr wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. “Thanks for watching Echo.”
“Anytime.” Drift clapped him on the shoulder, focused now, mind back in his frame rather than out in the universe. “I’m this much closer to convincing Ratchet. This much.” He pinched his forefinger and thumb together and squinted.
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Blurr chuckled and ushered Drift out the door.
Ratchet needed to spark that mech soon. For all of their sakes.
Blurr locked the door behind Drift and picked up the overnight bag, briefly glancing through it to take note of what needed cleaning and restocking and whatnot. It was in pretty good shape still, so he tossed it into Echo’s room and headed for the kitchen instead.
He heard the splashing and the giggling first, followed by Ricochet’s good-natured grumbling, affection thick in the former Decepticon’s voice.
“You’re so wriggly,” he said as Echo babbled some nonsense words and more splashing filled the air. “I’m going to kill your uncle for this. Look at you! There’s gunk in your joints.”
“Gunk!” Echo repeated.
“Yeah. Exactly. Gunk,” Ricochet said, and from the doorway, Blurr could see his face in profile, could see the playfully disgusted face he made at their sparkling. “Gunk is yucky. It gums up your gears. Makes it hard to move. We don’t want gunk.”
“No gunk!” Echo agreed and slapped the solvent with his palms, sending sudsy splashes upward and across his face. He giggled.
Ricochet rolled his optics. “I’m trying, slagger.” He snagged one of Echo’s hands and showed it to him. “See? Look at that gunk.”
Echo giggled again and tried to stuff his fist in his mouth.
Ricochet sighed. “Lucky you’re so cute. I’m not sure you’ve got much going on in the processor department.” He leaned closer and mock-whispered, “Got that from your Mama. Everyone knows Papa is the smarts here.”
“I resent that remark,” Blurr said, from the doorway, finally announcing his presence.
Echo immediately zeroed in on him. “Mama!” He squirmed, making grabby motions, and Ricochet muttered a curse, both hands involved in wrangling a soap-slick sparkling. “Mama, come!”
“About time you showed up,” Ricochet grunted as he kept Echo in place with one hand and reached for the gentle sponge with the other, but it was just out of reach. “Get over here before he launches out of the sink.”
Blurr grinned and nudged the sponge a few inches closer. “I’m his favorite.”
“He’s a Mama’s bitlet for now, yeah. But that’ll change. Won’t it, bit?” Ricochet crooned at Echo and tickled his belly again, making Echo giggle and fold in on himself. “Listen, so I was thinking, you know what he needs?”
“Who? Drift?” Blurr leaned a hip against the counter, watching the infamous bathing wrestling match without offering to help. It was more amusing this way.
Ricochet rolled his optics. “I don’t care about what Drift wants. I’m talking about our kid.” He peered at Echo before prying one of Echo’s fisted hands open so he could scrub at tiny fingers. “He needs a brother, that’s what he needs.”
“A brother,” Blurr repeated, arching an orbital ridge.
“He shouldn’t grow up alone. He needs to have someone who’s always gonna be on his side,” Ricochet said, and his tone was casual, but his words were anything but. He wouldn’t look at Blurr, his focus entirely on Echo. “He needs a sibling so they can look out for each other.”
Blurr sucked on his bottom lip.
“I didn’t have any siblings, and I turned out just fine,” Blurr pointed out. “Besides, I finally got back into shape and now you want me to ruin that all over again?”
Ricochet exchanged one tiny hand for the other and kept scrubbing. “You’ll bounce back.”
“It wasn’t exactly a fun experience, you know.” Blurr frowned. He loved Echo, but he did not love the carrying and birthing process. Especially since he couldn’t deliver via valve. Ratchet would have to cut him open again.
His recovery time would be even longer with a second sparkling. Ratchet had already warned him of that much. At the time, Blurr had only half-listened, because he hadn’t intended Echo, why would he intend a second sparkling?
“Come on, Echo’s perfect,” Ricochet said, tickling Echo’s belly and making him giggle and squirm and babble at them. “We should have a matched set.”
“You want another sparkling so badly, you carry it,” Blurr retorted.
Silence.
Blurr expected another playful jab or rejoinder, but instead Ricochet picked up Echo, kissed him on the forehead, and leaned over to snag a towel, wrapping it around their dripping sparkling. Echo babbled and patted his cheeks.
“Papa, papa, papa,” he chanted, because the kid had only a few words, and he liked to repeat them over and over and over.
“What? Carrying too embarrassing for you?” Blurr demanded.
“I can’t carry,” Ricochet said as he wiped Echo’s armor dry of solvent and moisture, hands which had once ripped out the sparks of Autobots, unfailingly gentle as they dried tiny sparkling fingers and sensory panels and finials.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Ricochet shifted Echo in his arms and finally looked at Blurr. “Can’t.” He lifted his chin, a hardness in his expression. “I don’t have a gestational tank. Because trust me, if I did, Echo would already have a sibling.”
Oh.
Ricochet swept out of the kitchen, Echo babbling in his arms. Blurr moved to follow, pausing only long enough to pull the drain for the sink.
“Have you tried before? Is that how you know?” Blurr asked, trailing Ricochet to Echo’s room, or the small, former closet they’d renovated into a room perfectly sized for a sparkling.
“Does it matter?”
No, Blurr supposed it didn’t.
“Mama!” Echo sounded indignant, his tone reaching shrill, perhaps outraged at the thorough cleaning his sire had given him, and the fact he’d yet to get a kiss from his carrier.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Blurr grumbled, but he had nothing but smiles for Echo as Ricochet handed him over, and Blurr had an armful of freshly cleaned and dried sparkling. “Do you want a brother, Echo? Is your Papa right?”
Echo patted him on the cheeks and beamed. “Mama!”
“I think that’s a yes,” Ricochet said as he squeezed Echo’s foot gently, a softness to his visor that he rarely showed.
Blurr nuzzled his bitlet. “I’ll think about it,” he conceded.
It was one thing for Ricochet to expect him to carry out of some misguided sense of Blurr’s role in their relationship. It was quite another to know Ricochet was willing but unable. Clearly, this was something that meant a lot to Ricochet.
Honestly, he had a point. Echo was perfect. What else could his sibling be but the same?
“That’s good enough for me,” Ricochet said.
Blurr grinned and bounced Echo in his arms, causing Echo to shriek with delight. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you shined up and fed with some real energon.” He gave Ricochet a sidelong look. “You better get all the snuggling you can before your Papa gets his way and you have to share us with a brother.”
“There’s plenty of love to go around,” Ricochet said.
“Papa!” Echo babbled and reached for him over Blurr’s shoulders, his grin and joy infectious.
Blurr sighed and handed Echo over, knowing they’d be playing a game of ‘pass the sparkling’ as Echo couldn’t decide who’s arms he wanted more.
This was it.
This was his life.
Strange how he wouldn’t want it any other way.
***
Universe: IDW Alternate Canon, part of The Perfect Storm
Characters: Blurr/Ricochet, Drift, Echo
Rating: M
Enticements: BDSM themes, Dom/Sub, Sounding, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Fluff, Family Cuteness
Description: With Echo farmed out for the night, Blurr has a special surprise in store for Ricochet, and as it turns out, they also have a surprise for each other.
Sundries.
Ricochet and Jazz used to tease each other, when they were younglings, about what they might do in the future. Jazz used to talk about families and sparklings of his own, and meeting the mech of his dreams -- so long as Ricochet approved of him. Jazz had beautiful, shining hopes for a beautiful, shining future, full of all the love and comfort their Sire couldn’t be bothered to give them.
Ricochet had a different approach.
He talked about all of the damage he’d do, how he’d be famous, and how he’d be dangerous, and well-respected. Worshipped even. He whispered mutiny and overthrowing their Sire and leaving, the both of them together, because home wasn’t really a home. It was just a place they lived. Romance, Ricochet had said, was stupid and pointless and ineffective, and their Sire was an aft, so why would Ricochet want to be like him someday?
But here he was. Present day. With sundries.
Sundries for the carrier of his sparkling and for the bitlet. Sundries purchased at the supply depot because they were out of sparkling-safe washing soap, frame supplements, Blurr’s particular brand of wax, and Ricochet’s favorite energon treats.
Blurr’d asked. Ricochet had gone without question.
Ricochet had turned domestic somehow while Jazz was the one off on another world, on an adventure, sleuthing with his partner in the berth, and partner in crime. Ricochet approved of Bluestreak. If anything, he’d had to shove the two together because Jazz was stubborn, and couldn’t find his aft with both hands if he didn’t have Ricochet there to show it to him.
Some things changed.
Some didn’t.
If someone had told Ricochet then, what he was doing now, he’d have laughed uproariously. It would have sounded absurd.
Granted, he did manage to become dangerous and sort of respected and a little bit infamous. He supposed he wasn’t entirely off the mark.
He never accounted for Blurr.
Ricochet slipped into the building, sliding between two clearly-marked Autobots making their exit, both of them eyeing him warily. Ricochet resisted the urge to bear his denta at them, but only just. He glared instead, watching them pass with the same ferocity they gave him.
Afts.
The war’s over, losers. Neither side won. Neither side lost. Get over yourselves.
Ricochet jabbed the button to call the lift and waited with patience he didn’t used to have. He bobbed on his feet, swearing the bags grew heavier the longer he held them.
The lift dinged. Ricochet moved to intercept, when two very familiar faces stepped out first.
Ricochet cycled his optics. “What the frag are you doing with my kid?”
Drift grinned back at him, a spring in his step, a bag over one shoulder, and Echo tucked in his other arm. He was gleaming from head to foot, as though he’d gone in for a specialized wash and wax before visiting. He stank of incense, too. Ricochet didn’t know how Ratchet put up with it.
“Blurr asked me to take him, and I’m not supposed to tell you why. It’s a surprise,” Drift said, giving Echo a little hop.
Echo giggled with pure joy, his laughter approaching the dangerous decibel of shriek he found terribly amusing lately. His parents, not so much.
Ricochet narrowed his optics. He dropped grocery sacks and reached for Echo. “Give him to me for a minute,” he said, but not giving Drift much of a choice as he slipped Echo out of the other mech’s arms.
It wasn’t very hard. Echo wanted to come to him.
“Papa!” Echo chuckled and reached for Ricochet’s face, patting his cheeks. Bitlet loved doing that for some reason.
Also. Papa. They’d been using Earth terms rather than Cybertronian ones, purely because Ricochet loved to hear Echo call Blurr ‘mama’. More than that, he loved the way Blurr simultaneously melted with affection for Echo, and glared at Ricochet as if to blame him.
“Yeah, I’m Papa.” Ricochet planted a kiss on his forehead before holding him up, Echo giggling as he looked down at Ricochet. “Don’t listen to a thing your uncle says, all right? He’s a lunatic. Get me?”
Echo’s feet kicked, his sensory panels fluttering madly. Had no control over them yet, the little brat, but they were adorable so Ricochet didn’t mind so much.
“Damn, you’re too cute,” Ricochet said and kissed Echo again, bringing him in for a cuddle since he wouldn’t have the bit tonight. What in Cybertron did Blurr have planned anyway?
Eh. He’d find out in a second.
Ricochet reluctantly turned Echo back to Drift’s care. “Not a dent or a scratch, you hear me?” he threatened. It was a mild threat, all things considered. He never thought he’d love something as much as he did that sparkling.
Love for Jazz, that’s a given. That’s as easy as ventilating, as onlining, as living. Jazz is the other half of his spark. Loving Echo is the easiest thing he’s ever done, from the moment he looked into the kid’s optics, and held Echo in his arms. He promised to be a better Sire than his own had ever been, and in Ricochet’s opinion, he’s keeping that promise.
Drift slipped Echo into his arms with practiced ease. He was their go-to sitter as it was, but that didn’t mean Ricochet found it easy to let Echo out of his sight. The war wasn’t so long over Ricochet had completely forgotten how to be cautious.
“I sleep next to a medic, you know,” Drift said, but if he was actually offended, it didn’t show. Maybe he’d finally gotten used to what Blurr called Ricochet being overprotective, but Ricochet called being prudent. “He’ll be fine.”
Ricochet frowned. “That’s not reassuring.” He picked up his bags, shifting them to one hand, so he could squeeze his bitlet’s dangling foot. “Have fun.”
“Bye, Papa!” Echo waved goodbye as Drift carried him out the door, and Ricochet watched them for what might be considered a paranoid amount of time.
He called the lift again, and this time when it arrived, he entered, jabbing the button for the appropriate floor. Blurr had some kind of surprise for him, and that was the only thing chasing away the pang he felt at seeing his sparkling leave. It wasn’t the first time, but it hadn’t gotten easier either.
Maybe Blurr’s right.
Maybe he was a bit overprotective.
The lift dinged and deposited Ricochet on the appropriate floor, where half of the other apartments were still vacant after Whipstrike’s rampage. The corridor had been cleaned, repaired, and sanitized, bur Ricochet swore he still caught whiffs of plasmafire and scorched metal from time to time. It was getting less and less, but sometimes, he still walked through here remembering how the world had turned to fire, Blurr had come inches close to being killed, and Ricochet’s entire existence turned upside down.
Ricochet tapped the code into the lock and waited for it to register his spark signature -- an added security measure after the whole Whipstrike fiasco -- before the door clicked and let him inside. Immediately, the smell hit him. Like Drift’s incense only better because it didn’t reek. It clung to the air, sweet and spicy, and made Ricochet’s mouth water.
The door closed behind him.
The lights were dimmed, with only a few of the main overheads keeping away the dark. The vidscreen was off, but the sound system spilled a tune popular down in Maccadam’s. It was some of the more tolerable of Earth’s music, though Ricochet still preferred the classics.
Unless, of course, Blurr was shaking his aft to it.
“Blurr?” Ricochet called as he set the bags of sundries on the coffee table with a rattling thump. It would keep.
“In the berthroom!”
The door was open, pale light spilling out, and of course, that’s where Blurr was. The surprise was clearly of a carnal nature. How intriguing.
Ricochet grinned and approached the berthroom, pausing in the doorway to peer inside. Everything looked normal, as far as he could tell, though the lights were dimmed and more music played, less romantic than it was erotic.
Blurr stood in front of the storage chest, rummaging around inside, but he peered out to greet Ricochet with a smile. "Welcome home."
Suspicious.
Ricochet cocked his head, folding his arms. "Alright, what's up?" he asked as he leaned against the jamb. "You're being friendly, and Drift just stole my kid."
"Our kid," Blurr corrected.
"Didn't I say that?" Ricochet pushed off the door and stalked into the room, his intrigue growing by the minute. It was rare for Blurr to try and be sneaky. He wasn't very good at it.
Blurr rolled his optics and closed the storage chest with quiet clicks. "Drift has Echo so we can have some privacy tonight and not worry about keeping our voices down."
"Is that so?" Ricochet crowded Blurr against the chest, trapping him in place, their fields in sizzling contact as Blurr lifted his chin defiantly. "Do you have something specific in mind, Zippy? You face down on the berth, maybe, while I rail that pretty valve of yours?"
He leaned in for a kiss, but Blurr's palm smacked his chestplate, keeping him at bay.
"As fun as that sounds," Blurr said, in a tone that implied it wasn't fun at all, "No. I'm thinking this time you're the one on your back, and I'm the one in charge." He punctuated each word with a poke to Ricochet's chassis.
Ricochet stared at him. He couldn't help the bubble of laughter, or the wide curve of his lips. Primus, but the Racer was adorable when he tried to be stern and commanding.
"Haven't we been down this road before? Pretty sure it's not going to go the way you think it is." He tried to lean in again, one hand drifting to cup Blurr's hip while the other braced against the wall by Blurr's head. "Let's stick to what we're both good at, hmm?"
Blurr's hand on his chestplate got firmer. "Or you can put this gag on, get on the berth, and let me cuff your hands." Said gag dangled from his free hand, lifted into view.
It was a ball gag. Pretty simple, comfortably sized, with a strap that fastened behind the wearer’s head. It would be easy enough to work free or spit out, since Blurr hadn't chosen a spider-gag design.
It was a token gag basically.
Ricochet wasn't so stupid he didn't know what it meant.
'Course, that didn't mean he intended to cooperate like a good little mech either.
His grin widened, he chuckled, and he knew it was a mistake the moment Blurr's optics narrowed, and his field shut down from Ricochet's so quickly, it was dizzying. Gone were the waves of heat and lust, tantalizing so warmly against Ricochet's field.
Blurr was a block of ice in his arms, empty and unforgiving.
"Frag you." Blurr snarled and shoved past Ricochet, every plate of armor drawn tight to his substructure, and wisps of his escaping field bristling with anger and humiliation.
Oops.
Ricochet grabbed his arm, stopping his escape. He was stronger than Blurr, so it was easy, though he had to be careful not to squeeze too hard, or risk denting Blurr's armor. Such delicate things, Racers were. It's a miracle he survived the war.
Teasing Blurr was all fun and games, and Ricochet enjoyed it. But hurting Blurr... that wasn't something he wanted to do. It was counter-productive. He liked to push. It was in his nature. Ricochet had spent his life being pushed by the world, so he fought back.
Maybe now wasn't a good time for it.
"Fine," he said. "If you're going to throw a fit about it, let's give it a try."
Hm. Maybe not the best choice of words, especially given the way Blurr's engine revved and he tried to twist out of Ricochet's grip.
"You aft," Blurr hissed, and his optics flashed, and Primus, but he was sexy when he was angry. 'Facing like that was always a guarantee of a good time with Blurr.
Probably not in this case, but oh, the memories.
Ricochet liked Blurr a little riled and emotional and cocky and full of that smug too-rich Racer background he reeked of. He didn't want to needle Blurr into genuine anger though. Clearly, this was important to Blurr for some reason.
Whatever.
It was going to be a good time either way. Or it wouldn't be, and Ricochet could use it to his advantage, and coax future favors from Blurr.
Ricochet plucked the gag from Blurr's hand and put it in his mouth, all while holding Blurr's gaze. He tied the straps himself, tight enough it wouldn't budge, and he prodded the gag with his glossa to get it to a comfortable position. He tapped the gag itself pointedly and raised his orbital ridges at Blurr.
See? He could cooperate.
Blurr's optics narrowed. "The berth."
Amusement swelled in Ricochet's spark, but he kept it hidden. He tilted his head in a show of deference and moved to the berth, throwing himself down onto it gladly. He wriggled around to get comfortable and stretched his arms above his head, wrists toward the faint glint of manacles. How he hadn't seen them earlier, he'd never know.
Blurr followed, wariness in the way he looked at Ricochet, as if expecting him to leap off the bed and say 'gotcha'. Which, granted, was the kind of thing Ricochet would do to get Blurr riled.
Ricochet waited while Blurr locked first one wrist and then the other in the manacles. They, like the ball gag, were simple. Easy for someone of Ricochet's caliber to slip or break or pick. It was about presentation more than function.
Blurr stepped back as Ricochet gave a few testing tugs to the manacles and found them reasonably sturdy.
"You can still access your comm," Blurr said as he folded his arms and cocked a hip. "Only use it if you're telling me to stop, and you mean it, not because you're making fun of me. Got it?"
Ricochet hunched his shoulders and tried gesturing with his orbital ridges. He couldn't speak and didn't know if using his comms now would tell Blurr he wasn't serious.
Blurr sighed and rolled his optics.
"Tell me you got it," he said.
Yes, sir, Ricochet replied, across the comms, and Primus, it was worth it, for the way Blurr's optics dilated, and his vents quickened, and his glossa flicked across his lips. His field slipped free of the tight grip, and Ricochet almost drowned in the lust pouring over him.
It was delicious.
"Good," Blurr said, and his lips pulled into a smile rather than a frown. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it, before he climbed onto the berth, straddling Ricochet's abdomen. The heat of him was delicious, and Ricochet wished he could grab Blurr and get this party started.
It wasn't his choice to make this time. How frustrating.
Blurr leaned across him, giving the shackles a testing tug. "I know you could slip these if you wanted," he said, finger sliding between Ricochet's wrist and the manacles. "Do it and see what happens."
Ooo. A threat.
Ricochet tilted his head. He wondered what the punishment would be if he disobeyed. He was tempted to try and see.
Tempted, but also, more curious to see what Blurr had in store for him.
"Obedience looks good on you," Blurr said with a sexy little smirk Ricochet wanted to bite. He shimmied down, kneeling between Ricochet's legs, forcing his thighs into a wide splay. "So does this."
Ricochet would have smirked if he could. He looked good in anything. So he squeezed his thighs against Blurr's waist, metal sliding against metal, tasting the growing lust in Blurr's field as it infected his own.
Blurr's fingers flirted over his interface array. "Open," he commanded as he traced seams and caught Ricochet's gaze intently.
Ricochet let his spike panel spiral open, his spike immediately jutting free, into Blurr's waiting fingers. He groaned behind the gag as Blurr gave him a few strokes, thumb sweeping over the head, gathering up his pre-fluid. He hoped that meant Blurr was going to ride him. That was good, too. Blurr put on a damn fine show.
"It's a good start," Blurr said as he stroked and pumped and twisted his wrist perfectly, and Ricochet rocked his hips up into Blurr's fist, enough pre-fluid seeping free to ease the slide.
He let go of Ricochet's spike, which was just a travesty of justice, and tapped Ricochet's valve panel instead.
"But I want this, too," Blurr said. He arched an orbital ridge at Ricochet as if in challenge.
Oh, Zippy. It's not going to be that easy.
Ricochet tilted his chin and waited.
"You're not going to open?" Blurr asked, and he traced Ricochet's valve panel, circling the seam of it, teasing the sensitive rim. "Why? Because you want to be difficult?"
Ricochet revved his engine. That hadn't been forbidden, after all. He stroked Blurr's field with his own, layering it with the desire he felt for the Racer, and the lust simmering in his lines.
Blurr’s jaw set with a familiar, hardheaded defiance. “Open,” he said, his voice taking on a hard edge, like he’d been practicing. “Open or this ends now.”
Well.
If he was going to be that insistent about it…
Ricochet graciously granted his valve permission to open, and Blurr’s finger immediately sank against his rim, gathering up lubricant to tease the sensors lining the outer edge of his valve. Ricochet swallowed a moan. He rarely let anyone at his valve, and as a result, it was obscenely sensitive.
“Better,” Blurr purred, and oh, the satisfaction in his tone was hypnotizing. Satisfied, smug Blurr was unbelievably sexy.
Ricochet canted his hips up, encouraging Blurr to stroke him deeper, and a shiver danced up his spinal strut as Blurr curved two fingers inside of him, rubbing along the cluster of nodes right behind his rim.
Thank Primus the gag muffled his moan.
“We should do this more often,” Blurr said before he withdrew his fingers and started stroking Ricochet’s spike again, but only a few quick pumps, enough to prime him.
He was going to drive Ricochet crazy with anticipation, the fragger.
“I like you like this,” Blurr added with a smirk. His head tilted, his gaze roaming over Ricochet’s frame. “I’m kind of torn. Got all these things I want to do to you now.”
Then get on with it! Ricochet would have shouted, if he could.
“Guess I’ll just have to work my way down the list,” Blurr said, and then he shimmied down, gripped Ricochet’s hips, and closed his mouth around the head of Ricochet’s spike.
Ricochet groaned into the gag, his engine purring, as the tip of Blurr’s glossa prodded at his transfluid slit before Blurr ever so gradually swallowed him down. Blurr had a mouth like a buymech, knowing how and when to apply the perfect pressure, the perfect suction, a gentle scrape of denta for added flavor.
Ricochet’s hips juttered upward, trying to thrust, but Blurr held him down, merciless as he sucked Ricochet into his mouth, swirled his glossa around Ricochet’s spike, hummed and teased, and drove Ricochet crazy. He moaned, heat pooling in his groin, spike throbbing, more and more slick spilling from his spike.
If Blurr wanted to make him overload like this, he was well on his way to accomplishing that.
Ricochet’s ventilations quickened. Slick gathered in his valve. Cool air teased over the damp, and his nodes sang with the barely-present touch of it. He rocked his hips upward, the most motion Blurr would allow him, and moaned when Blurr took him all the way to the hilt, swallowing Ricochet’s spike to the root.
Fragging Primus!
Heat twisted and churned in his belly, flooding his lines, until little arcs of electric arousal danced over his armor. Ricochet moaned again, chomping down on the gag, wrists unconsciously jerking on the manacles. Blurr swallowed around him, then pulled off his spike with a long, sucking slurp. It was lewd and noisy, and Ricochet groaned his dismay as Blurr released him, his spike bobbing, spit-slick and rigid.
“That’s a good start, I think,” Blurr said with a smirk, one fingertip rubbing over Ricochet’s transfluid slit, spreading the slick around. “Means you’re ready for the next part.”
He slid back and off the berth, and Ricochet might have kicked his heels into the mattress a little, because Blurr was getting away from him rather than closer. He made muffled noises into the gag since he refused to use his comm for anything less than an emergency.
“Patience, Ricochet,” Blurr called back to him, smug to the very depth of his glyphs. “I just need to fetch something.”
Oh, Ricochet intended to make him pay for this, once Blurr was done with his games.
Blurr rummaged in the storage chest, though Ricochet had the feeling he knew exactly what he wanted and where it was. Aft was dragging it out on purpose.
Blurr emerged with a box, long and thin, which Ricochet immediately recognized. His spark-rate doubled with anticipation, but he schooled his expression behind the gag, pretending disinterest.
“See, I figured since you like doing it so much to me you secretly wanted me to do it to you,” Blurr said as he gave the box a shake. Metal rattled noisily inside. “Am I wrong?”
Ricochet swallowed over a lump in his intake. His engine crept into a whine before he could tamper it down.
Oh, he wanted it.
Admitting that, however, was an entirely different story.
"You think I can't feel the lust in your field?" Blurr slid onto the berth, back between Ricochet's thighs, fingers lightly dragging up the length of Ricochet's spike. "Tell me what you want, Ricochet."
His smugness would've been irritating if it weren't so fragging sexy.
Blurr set the box next to him and opened it, the click of the latch disengaging abnormally loud in the silence. Ricochet couldn't see into the box, but his memory provided all the details. A set of sounding rods, from a slim beginner to a thick, bulbous expert level.
Primus.
His engine rattled into a purr.
Blurr's lips widened into a smirk. "Use your comm," he said as he swept his thumb over the head of Ricochet's spike, smearing around the pre-fluid. "Answer my question, Ricochet."
He picked up the smallest sound with his free hand, and the polished metal caught the overhead light, glinting erotically.
"Do you want this?" Blurr asked, and his optics were bright and hungry, his ventilations sharp and eager. He was as aroused by this as Ricochet.
He groaned behind the gag. 'Yes,’ he admitted, over the comm.
Blurr tilted his head. He teased the tip of the sound against Ricochet's transfluid slit, stirring the sensors but not breaching him. "Yes, what?"
'Yes, I want the fragging sound!' Ricochet snapped, and his wrists jerked on the manacles, his hips juttering up toward the sound ineffectually.
Blurr licked his lips. "Yes, you do," he breathed, and he nudged the narrow tip of the sound against Ricochet's transfluid slit, easing it inside.
No extra lubricant was necessary, not with the amount of pre-slick Ricochet had, and the thinness of the rod. He barely felt it enter his transfluid channel, but the knowledge of it, watching Blurr do it -- focused, intent, aroused -- was enough to make Ricochet's tanks flipflop with arousal. He groaned, optics spiraling wide, watching as his spike consumed the sound inch by precious inch.
"This is just a teaser, really," Blurr said as he filled Ricochet's spike with the sound, all the way to the knobby base, where he let go. "To prime you for the next size." He lightly stroked Ricochet's spike, squeezing it just enough to feel the stiffness of the sound within his channel.
Ricochet groaned. Stars burst behind his optics.
"Don't overload yet," Blurr warned him.
Primus. Easy for him to say.
Fingers traced Ricochet's valve rim, stroking over his anterior node in light sweeps, and Ricochet groaned again. It was delicious, and taunting, and he wanted more damn it.
"You're so impatient," Blurr said, but he slipped the smallest sound free and set it aside, pulling the second one and the lube from the box. "Luckily, I am, too."
The lubricant squelched out of the tube, coating the thicker sound liberally. Blurr squeezed even more against the head of Ricochet's spike, massaging it against his transfluid slit, and Ricochet had to grit his denta against the onslaught of sensation. It didn't help that Blurr's field was volcanic with lust, swirling around Ricochet in a hot flurry.
The second sound was thicker, with a bulb on the end slightly wider than the shaft of the sound itself. Ricochet moaned as Blurr directed it toward his spike, teasing the bulb over his transfluid slit before easing it inside.
There was more of a stretch this time, a tangible sensation as the sound inched deeper and deeper down his channel. Blurr paused, spinning it, twirling it against the sensors lining his channel, and Ricochet's optics flickered.
"This one's my favorite," Blurr murmured as he worked it deeper, micrometer by precious micrometer. "Just thick enough you can feel it, but not so thick it burns. I'm thinking you're going to like the next one the most though."
Ricochet moaned into his gag. Primus, he loved sounding Blurr, loved watching the way Blurr squirmed and panted and turned into a gibbering mess of arousal. Loved how many overloads he could wring from his overclocked Racer.
Blurr nudged the sound even deeper, until the bulb at the end nudged the base of Ricochet's spike, right against the deepest part of him. It flirted with a cluster of sensors, and electric ecstasy raced through Ricochet's lines, making his optics twirl. He was drooling around the gag and couldn't be arsed to care.
His insides twisted. His valve clamped on nothing, and then it clamped on fingers because Blurr slid three into him, stroking him sweetly, teasing his sensitive lining. Ricochet's fans roared.
"Don't overload," Blurr ordered, but he sounded breathless.
He drew his fingers from Ricochet's valve, and then there was a click, and through his aroused haze, Ricochet caught sight of Blurr stroking his own spike with his lubricant-damp fingers. Blurr gnawed on his bottom lip, optics glazed with pleasure, his other hand gently twirling the sound in Ricochet's channel.
"You're gonna take... one more," Blurr said, with a little grunt, before he released his spike and sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to get control of himself. "You're good still?"
'Fine, fine, keep going. I'm fine,' Ricochet all but growled into the comm, maybe a little frantic, but his entire frame hovered on a precipice of pleasure.
Blurr moaned through his denta. "Good. Good. That's... good." He withdrew the sound, maybe a bit too hasty were it anyone else, and set it aside.
The third sound was liberally doused in lubricant, and even more squeezed against Ricochet's spike. He moaned when he saw it, dotted with bulbs up and down the length, a wider bulb at the tip than before, an incrementally wider shaft. It was going to stretch and burn in the most delicious way.
"Tell me if it hurts," Blurr said, before he nudged the wider bulb against Ricochet's transfluid slit and eased it inside.
Lubricant squelched out around the sound, but it entered him without a struggle. Ricochet groaned, muffled by the gag, but long and low, as each subsequent bulb dragged along his interior sensors.
Blurr was being slow and careful, and Ricochet loved him for it, as much as he wanted to shout and demand Blurr go faster, harder, really frag him with the sound. The slow drag of it was maddening and arousing, and Ricochet's engine raced.
"Maybe I'll try this one next time," Blurr murmured, and he licked his lips, making them glisten. Ricochet wanted to kiss him, to bite at his lips until they swelled, to nip at Blurr's neck and mark him. "You'll have to take your time though. Really stretch me first. But I think it could fit."
Ricochet groaned.
The mental image was as excruciating as the actual sensation of it. Each bulb was perfectly sized to nudge his inner sensors, and he trembled to hold himself still as Blurr worked the sound in and out. In and out. In and out. A little deeper with each push in, a little spin on each drag out.
The berth beneath Ricochet's aft was soaked with lubricant. Not all of it was extra. His valve ached, and his spike throbbed, and he gnawed on the gag with his denta because it felt so damn good.
More. He wanted more.
It wasn't until Blurr smirked, until the sound bottomed out, that Ricochet realized he'd been chanting 'more' across the comm.
"Damn," Blurr said, and he released his grip on the sound, letting it stay buried in Ricochet's spike. The wide end of it ground against his lining, and Ricochet moaned, loud and desperate.
"Gotta frag you," Blurr panted as he grabbed Ricochet's hips, slid forward, ground his spike against Ricochet's valve rim. He rocked, fingers squeezing into seams, his spike leaving trails of charged pre-fluid behind.
'Do it,' Ricochet demanded, his thighs tightening around Blurr's waist, his heels drumming against Blurr's back, trying to shove him into place. 'Do it!'
Blurr's spikehead caught on the rim of his valve and sank in, burying deep in one, sharp thrust. Ricochet moaned as every one of his internal sensors sprang to life, singing with pleasure. His calipers rippled, valve spiraling down, cinching on Blurr's spike.
Blurr moaned and electric fire crackled over his armor, the same shade as his optics. He reached with shaky fingers for Ricochet's spike, giving him a gentle squeeze.
Ricochet's back arched. His entire frame spasmed with pleasure. He made an unintelligible noise, and for a moment, Blurr looked worried. He started to tug on the end of the sound.
'Leave it!' Ricochet gasped into the comm, his thighs squeezing Blurr's hips, his pelvis thrusting upward, demanding Blurr to go deeper.
"Yeah, okay," Blurr panted, and he grabbed Ricochet's hips, yanking him down into each thrust, Blurr's knees digging into the berth, his Racer engine roaring like he's on the race track.
Frag, yes.
Blurr wasn't gentle, which was good because Ricochet didn't want gentle. He wanted this, Blurr driven to the point of hunger, slamming into him, over and over, fast and hot and frantic. His field was an electric storm, buzzing all over Ricochet.
The sound jostled in his spike, teasing all of his inner sensors. Ricochet's frame twisted and arched, torn between the plunge of Blurr's spike in his valve, and the torment of the sound, massaging his spike from the inside.
"You can -- hngh -- overload," Blurr gasped, frame curving forward, optics bright and hungry, the clang of their frames colliding barely audible over their roaring fans.
Ricochet's head tossed back as a jolt of blue static spilled over his armor. Overload erupted through his lines, his valve cycling down tight, his spike spurting transfluid. He slammed up against Blurr, fingers drawing into fists, transfluid bubbling up around the sound until it finally forced the rod free.
Blurr hissed something like a curse, and he slammed into Ricochet like a mech possessed, vents roaring, as overload took him, too. He moaned, long and low, the hot spurts of his transfluid painting the inside of Ricochet's valve, making him twitch.
Ricochet's frame trembled in the aftermath of release, but he wasn't done yet. He could feel it coiling inside of him, his spike half-pressurized. It always took at least two to clear his charge after a valve-fragging, and with sounding in the mix? He was a pressure valve demanding release.
'Cuffs!' Ricochet spat into the comm, giving them a rattle.
Blurr pushed himself up, giving Ricochet a shaky, satisfied smile. "Still impatient?" he teased as he slid out of Ricochet's valve and leaned over him, activating the quick-release for the cuffs.
They sprang off his wrists, and the moment Ricochet was free, he wrapped himself around Blurr and flipped their positions, planting Blurr's back on the berth, and Ricochet's knees between Blurr's thighs. He rutted against Blurr's valve -- closed to him, and that wouldn't do. Ricochet growled behind the gag, glaring, until Blurr shuddered, and his panel sprang open.
They moaned in tandom as Ricochet sank into him without preamble, setting up a hard and fast pace. He gripped Blurr's thigh with one hand, opening him up for deep thrusts, and braced his weight with the other, curved over Blurr, burying the Racer beneath his greater mass.
"Couldn't even wait for the gag," Blurr hissed, but his outrage didn't match the lust in his field or the way he canted his hips to meet Ricochet's thrusts. One hand fumbled at Ricochet's mouth, trying to get off the gag.
Ricochet leaned up, smacked his hands away, and ripped off the gag, throwing it across the room. "Needed to be inside you more," he said with a smirk, twisting his jaw to ease the slight ache he'd earned.
Blurr rolled his optics, and Ricochet smothered his next smart-aft remark with a kiss, tasting himself on Blurr's glossa, tasting the heat of their coupling in the air. He bit at Blurr’s mouth, wrestling for control of the kiss, as Blurr snarled against his lips and gripped his sides, fingers sinking harshly into seams.
It’s fragging perfect.
Ricochet growled into the kiss, nosing his way to Blurr’s intake, finding his favorite place to mark. His hips snapped forward, burying deep in Blurr, hips rising up to meet each thrust. Energy crackled between them, the air reeking of ozone and lubricant, and pleasure zapped up and down Ricochet’s backstrut like a lightning strike.
"Come on," Ricochet growled against Blurr's intake, his glossa tracing the marks of his denta, his fingers curling against the berthcover and tighter around Blurr’s thigh. "Know ya got another one in ya, Zippy. Give it to me.”
“Frag you,” Blurr panted, but his head tossed back, baring more of his intake to Ricochet’s mouth, his valve tight and wet around Ricochet’s spike, sucking him deeper.
“Did that already,” Ricochet teased with a raspy laugh, and he bit down, hard enough to sting, hard enough to make Blurr jerk, hard enough to make him twitch in Ricochet’s arms and overload with a shout, a garbled phrase that might have been a curse word and might have been Ricochet’s name, and might have been both.
Frag yeah.
Ricochet stole his mouth again, swallowing his pleasured moans, and chased after his own overload with single-minded determination, Blurr twitching and writhing beneath him as his frame gamely tried to cycle up for a third. It was a fair try, but Ricochet was on the path to spilling in Blurr’s valve before Blurr’s spike managed a second twitch.
Ricochet growled as he overloaded, buried deep inside Blurr, painting the Racer’s valve with his transfluid. His vents roared as charge danced across his armor, expending itself harmlessly against the berth cover.
“That… was better than I could have hoped for,” Blurr said. He stroked Ricochet’s sides, valve still twitching around Ricochet’s spike.
Ricochet managed a tired chuckle.
“You’re still an aft,” Blurr said.
Ricochet lifted his head and shifted his weight, back onto his heels as he slid free of Blurr’s valve. Their lower halves were a mess of lubricant and transfluid, and in his haste to get Blurr beneath him, he’d knocked the box of sounds onto the floor.
Oops.
“That’s never going to change, Zippy.” Ricochet brushed his thumb over Blurr’s swollen anterior node, and received the heel of a foot to the chassis, pushing him back.
“Sensitive,” Blurr grumbled.
Ricochet chuckled and backed off, admiring with his optics rather than his hands. “Guess I’ll let you take the lead a little more often. You could use the practice at least.”
Blue optics rolled as Blurr kicked at him again, but it was half-sparked at best, with Ricochet catching his ankle before the foot could make contact. “You had fun.”
“True.” Ricochet tugged and leaned in for a kiss, a gentler one this time. “I knew you had it in you.”
Blurr sighed, but let himself be kissed. It might as well have been forgiveness. “Come on. I need a shower. I’m getting sticky.”
“Aw. It’s just a little mess. You’re so delicate, my high-maintenance Racer,” Ricochet teased, his fingers sliding into the complicated gears of Blurr’s ankle, which he knew for a fact were ticklish.
“I’m not high maintenance. There’s lube everywhere, for Primus’ sake!”
“Indeed there is. And as tonight’s Dom, you get to change the sheets.” Ricochet kissed him on the nose and clambered off the berth before Blurr could take a swipe at him. He waggled a finger at his Racer. “Them’s the rules, big shot.”
Ricochet sauntered out of the room with Blurr’s spluttering following him out. Hey. It was only fair. He took care of Blurr after they played, cleaned him up nice, made sure they had all they needed. If Blurr wanted to take the reins every now and again, then he had to take all the duties that came with them.
Which meant if he was quick enough, Ricochet wouldn’t use all the hot solvent by the time Blurr joined him.
Fair was fair after all.
Ricochet managed a good scrub and soak while he waited for Blurr to join him. Satisfaction simmered in his lines, so much so that he wasn’t even tempted to rub one out. Not that he’d tell Blurr as much.
He had to keep his Racer on his toes. Couldn’t go letting Blurr grow an even bigger ego either.
The door to the washrack burst open. “There’d better still be hot solvent for me,” Blurr announced in a tone that would have been threatening, if Ricochet were afraid of him in the slightest.
“Get in here and find out,” Ricochet called back.
Blurr snorted and eased into the washrack, looking more than a little put out. Which probably had to do with the fact the various fluids had dried and congealed on his armor.
“Did you get everything cleaned up?” Ricochet asked, playing innocent.
“Good enough.” Blurr eyed him warily before hip-checking Ricochet aside to get the choice spot under the spray. “How’re your wrists?”
Ricochet snagged Blurr’s arm and reeled him in for a kiss. “They’re fine obviously, but I love that ya care.” He nuzzled Blurr because he could, his engine rumbling with satisfaction.
Blurr rolled his optics. “I’d make a poor excuse for a lover if I didn’t care.”
“You are many things, including an excellent lover.” Ricochet’s hands wandered; he couldn’t help himself. There was so much sleek, and now slick, Racer to touch. “Why else would I keep you around?”
Blurr twisted in his arms, leaning back toward the solvent with an eagerness to get clean. “It’s my apartment. Technically, I’m the one who keeps you.”
Ricochet laughed. “Mmm. I think you have a point.” He plastered himself to Blurr’s back, against the empty mounts for his boosters. His hands wandered over Blurr’s chassis and groin, flirting with his now-closed panels. “We should probably restore the natural balance of things, yeah? Wouldn’t mind a little play right now.”
An elbow impacted his midsection. It didn’t hurt, but it startled him enough for Blurr to squeeze out of his arms and duck under the spray. He grabbed a scrub brush like it was a weapon and started swiping solvent over his frame.
“Or not,” Ricochet said. “Didn’t realize getting clean was that important to you.”
Blurr’s optics narrowed. “Maybe you just don’t pay enough attention.” He attacked his armor with a viciousness the dried lubricant didn’t require.
All right.
Clearly something had crawled up his Racer’s aft and erased the post-interface bliss they should both be soaking up.
Eh.
Maybe Ricochet had teased a bit too much. Letting Blurr take the lead hadn’t been bad, and he’d be down for doing it again and again. Honestly, he was up for just about anything Blurr wanted from him.
Because.
Well, because it was Blurr.
There wasn’t anyone else on Cybertron Ricochet would willingly open his valve for, except Jazz, but Jazz didn’t count. He’d laid a lot of trust in Blurr’s hands, though he hadn’t wanted to make a big deal about it.
Ricochet crossed his arms. “What slagged you off?”
Nothing. He might as well not have spoken, for all that Blurr acknowledged the question.
“Hey.” Ricochet snatched the brush out of Blurr’s hands. “You wanna be mad at me, that’s fine. But at least tell me why.”
Blurr eyed the scrub brush, but this was a wrestling match he couldn’t win. “I’m not mad,” he said, but before Ricochet could call him on his pitslag, he continued, “but I am fragging tired of being treated like a toy.”
“Wait. What?” Ricochet blinked, and was too startled to stop Blurr for seizing the brush back. He also didn’t care enough to turn this into a childish game of ‘keep away’. “The frag you talking about? Who’s a fragging toy?”
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Blurr whipped the scrub brush around like it was a weapon, slinging solvent around the interior, some of it splashing across Ricochet's chassis. "I'm just something for you to play with, something to entertain you, until you get bored."
What the-- Where the frag was this even coming from?
Ricochet narrowed his optics. "Is this because I teased ya about domming me?"
A storm raged over Blurr's face, and the press of his field turned to ice before it closed down behind an iron curtain -- just like it had earlier tonight. "I'm a joke to you."
Slag.
He really had put his foot in it, didn't he?
Ricochet sighed and slammed his hand on the panel, cutting off the spray of the solvent. In the resulting silence, the lingering drip was abnormally loud. As were the echoes of their discordant engines.
"Ya listen to me good, because I'm only gonna say this once." Ricochet squared his shoulders, squared his jaw, and looked Blurr dead in the optic. "I've never let anyone do the things to me I let you do. I sure as slag don't play games either. So don't you tell me what you are to me."
Blurr's jaw set. He folded his arms over his chassis. "Sure got a funny way of showing it."
"Yeah, well, ya grow up the way I did, you survive the way I did, that's what you know." Ricochet shrugged, playing it off, really not wanting to dive into that barrel of laughs right now. "I don't move in with mechs for fun. I don't stick around and make a family with them as a joke. And I don't give my loyalty away for no reason."
Blurr lifted his chin. "Is that so? Then why did you do it?"
"You're a fragging idiot," Ricochet growled, and he poked Blurr in the chassis, right above his crossed arms. "Because I love you obviously. What kind of psychopath do you think I am?"
Blurr blinked. His arms fell as he took a step back, looking up at Ricochet with eyes widening like Ricochet had revealed some great secret. "Obviously?" he repeated, his tone somehow both skeptical and outraged. "Obviously? Since when have the words 'I love you' ever come out of your mouth?"
"That's beside the point."
"No, it is the point." It was Blurr's turn to prod Ricochet in the chassis, his lips twisting into a snarl. "You act like I should have just known this obvious thing when our entire relationship is based on a series of accidents. Frag you for assuming."
Ricochet caught his wrist, gave it a warning squeeze, but far from enough to damage. He leaned in closer to Blurr, right into that arrogant, self-righteous face. "I've never heard you say it either, so don't you go laying the blame on me."
"I wouldn't be with you if I didn't love you," Blurr growled, and his engine roared, echoing around the washrack walls. "So what the frag are we even fighting about?"
"You started it."
Blurr rolled his optics so hard, Ricochet half-expected them to roll right out of his head. "You're a bigger sparkling than Echo."
Ricochet cupped the back of Blurr's head and pressed their foreheads together. "You started it," he repeated. "You're not a fragging toy. You're the carrier of my kid. You're my partner. And you're the idiot, spoiled, high-maintenance Racer I happen to be in love with. Got it?"
Blurr kissed him, which Ricochet took to mean he understood. It was a fierce kiss, with glossa and denta, Blurr's frame colliding with his, hands pulling him close, pressed tight. Blurr's field unfurled, wrapping around him, a confusing miasma of emotions Ricochet didn't bother to pick through. His field was probably worse.
Blurr threw him for a loop like no one else Ricochet had ever met.
"We should finish gettin' clean," Ricochet said against Blurr's mouth.
Blurr pulled back and gripped his chin, forcing Ricochet to look at him. "You are annoying and rude and a pain in my aft," he said, but his optics flashed and his field flowed into a liquid heat. "But I love you."
"Look at how soppy we are. Jazz would be impressed," Ricochet said.
Blurr smacked the solvent-covered scrub brush against his chest, leaving a streak of suds behind. "Like I said: annoying." He prodded the activation switch, and the spray stuttered to life, luke-warm. "Come on. We don't have much time left."
"Fragging rations," Ricochet muttered, but it was impossible to hold onto a grump. Blurr loved him. How could he be annoyed by anything else?
They showered quickly, or as quickly as they could considering Ricochet's idea of helping involved riling Blurr up for another tumble in the berth before recharge. How was he supposed to keep his hands off a soapy, shiny Racer? It was impossible.
Luke-warm turned to tepid turned to cool. Blurr was the first to scurry out from under the spray, griping about the loss of heat. Ricochet ambled after him a few moments later, after making sure his array was nice and clean. No excess lubrication gumming up his gears. He'd lived on the streets. A bit of cold solvent wouldn't kill him.
"Drift's bringing Echo back in the morning," Blurr said as Ricochet rejoined him in the berthroom -- the tidied berthroom with fresh covers on the berth and everything.
Blurr wasn't much of a homemaker, and cleaning up seemed anathema to him, so that he'd managed to tidy was impressive.
"Good." Ricochet flopped on the berth, face down at first, dragging in the scent of fresh bedcovers. "Don't want him influencing our kid too much."
Blurr snorted. "Why do you give him such a hard time?"
"Because I can." Ricochet maneuvered onto his back and reeled Blurr in as soon as the Racer was within reach, tucking Blurr against his frame. "I liked Deadlock better."
"You would." Blurr squirmed, ever high-maintenance as he twisted about to find the most comfortable position. "Lights: off." The room immediately darkened, save for the emergency lights around the baseboard.
Ricochet was a gentlemech. He didn't even grope Blurr. Much. Satisfaction hummed in his lines, both from the overloads, and from Blurr's confession. Blurr loved him.
"Drift's all right. A good sitter for Echo anyway," Ricochet said, aiming to make his tone as casual as possible. "The adults need their private time occasionally."
Blurr snorted. "You just want to be able to frag me over any surface whenever you want."
"There is that," Ricochet conceded, thinking longingly of the balcony and how much he wanted to frag Blurr up against those windows.
Someday, he might be able to get Blurr to say yes.
"There's also some toys in the closet you haven't tried on me yet," Ricochet said, keeping his voice light, but his words heavy with implication.
"Hmm." Blurr tossed a leg over Ricochet's, notching a knee teasingly close to Ricochet's pelvic array. "You're right." Lust tiptoed through his field, not enough to rile either of them up, but enough for Ricochet to tell he was intrigued. "Maybe next week."
Ricochet chuckled and rolled over, pinning Blurr beneath him. He nuzzled the Racer before sealing their lips together for a kiss, a gentle one this time, more savoring than claiming, because he'd already left his mark on Blurr's intake.
Blurr loved him.
All was right in the world.
Not bad for a former-gutter rat turned Decepticon, eh?
Morning came too soon.
It always came too soon.
Blurr wanted to linger in the berth, wake slowly, maybe doze a little. He owned a bar for Primus' sake. He shouldn't have to online any earlier than midday.
All that changed when Ricochet came into his life, bringing with him the circumstances of Echo. Now, Blurr wouldn't give up his sparkling for anything in the world, but lazy mornings in were a thing of the past.
Except the trembling of the berth was not caused by Echo. Because Echo was with Drift this morning. Which meant the individual responsible for waking Blurr was not his sparkling, but rather his sparkling's sire.
"Drift's on his way," Ricochet said, waving a cube of warmed, spiced energon under Blurr's nose. "Better get up."
Blurr groaned and resisted the urge to pull a pillow over his head. He knew damn well Drift wasn't going to bring Echo back until later this afternoon. Which meant...
"You commed him, didn't you?" Blurr accused as he sat up and reluctantly accepted the energon.
A marathon interfacing session was not conducive to a good night's restful recharge.
"Can't let Drift keep him too long. Who knows what nonsense he's filling Echo's head with," Ricochet said, completely unrepentant.
Blurr rolled his optics. He didn't argue too hard. It was actually rather adorable, how much Ricochet doted on Echo. He was the first to get up when Echo fussed, had no qualms about cleaning up after Echo, and always claimed Echo as his.
If Blurr had any doubt about Ricochet wanting to take care of Echo, they were quickly quashed within the first week after Echo's birth. Ricochet was many things, but a terrible sire was nowhere on the list.
As if on cue, the sound of the front door chime echoed through the apartment.
"Well. Speak of the former Decepticon." Ricochet grinned, planted a kiss on Blurr's cheek, and clambered off the berth. "I've got it."
He loved Echo. It was hard to remember that there was a time Blurr had convinced himself Ricochet would want nothing to do with their sparkling.
Blurr dragged himself out of the berth with all the speed of an Earth snail, finishing off his energon in several gulps. He’d have to try and beg Sunstreaker for a shape up or something, because his paint was atrocious at the moment, and it was mostly Ricochet’s fault.
Something Ricochet would happily take the blame for, Blurr knew. Possessive slagger.
He stepped out of the berthroom just in time to hear, “--don’t understand why he’s so sticky. Primus, Drift. What did you do? Drop him in a tub of energon treats?”
Drift’s laughter followed, completely unrepentant. “No. I let him feed himself breakfast.”
“You mean you gave him candy for breakfast rather than something nutritious,” Blurr said as he joined them in a little huddle at the doorway, Ricochet holding Echo up by the arms and squinting at their grinning sparkling.
Even from a distance, Blurr could see the goo clinging to Echo’s face and fingers.
“Mama!” Echo said, or shrieked rather because yay, he was apparently at the shrieking stage. He waved his arms and made grabby motions at Blurr. “Mama, come!”
Blurr swallowed a sigh. He tried to redirect Echo toward ‘carrier’ or ‘care’ or ‘ada’ at the very least, but no. Ricochet’s lessons held firm. Mama and Papa they were.
“You’re too sticky, kiddo,” Ricochet said as he pulled Echo in to plant a big kiss on his cheek. “You know how Mama hates getting dirty. Let’s get you cleaned up first.” He cradled Echo, tickling his belly, and Echo shrieked with laughter.
Ow.
Blurr winced.
Drift, however, slung the bag from his shoulder and thrust it Blurr’s direction. “He’s perfectly healthy, contrary to what Ricochet thinks,” he said with a sidelong glance at Ricochet departing with Echo in arm.
“He’s just protective,” Blurr said, his tone fond. His spark gave little pulses of warmth as he watched his family slip into the kitchen. Ricochet preferred to wash Echo in the sink because it was easier and safer.
“I’m happy for you.”
Blurr blinked at the non-sequitur. He furrowed his orbital ridge. “What?”
Drift’s smile was both soft and fond, and he twitched, like he wanted to draw Blurr into a hug but kept reconsidering it. “War’s hard. Living with yourself after war, well, that’s harder. Believe me, I’d know.” His gaze turned a little distant, over Blurr’s shoulder, like he was seeing something that wasn’t quite on this plane of existence. “But look at us now. Partners and sparklings and homes. Not too bad for some Wreckers, huh?”
“Not too bad for mechs who shouldn’t have survived the war,” Blurr agreed, and he managed a little chuckle. It was dangerously close to what Whipstrike had wanted to kill them for -- their happiness -- but Blurr wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. “Thanks for watching Echo.”
“Anytime.” Drift clapped him on the shoulder, focused now, mind back in his frame rather than out in the universe. “I’m this much closer to convincing Ratchet. This much.” He pinched his forefinger and thumb together and squinted.
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Blurr chuckled and ushered Drift out the door.
Ratchet needed to spark that mech soon. For all of their sakes.
Blurr locked the door behind Drift and picked up the overnight bag, briefly glancing through it to take note of what needed cleaning and restocking and whatnot. It was in pretty good shape still, so he tossed it into Echo’s room and headed for the kitchen instead.
He heard the splashing and the giggling first, followed by Ricochet’s good-natured grumbling, affection thick in the former Decepticon’s voice.
“You’re so wriggly,” he said as Echo babbled some nonsense words and more splashing filled the air. “I’m going to kill your uncle for this. Look at you! There’s gunk in your joints.”
“Gunk!” Echo repeated.
“Yeah. Exactly. Gunk,” Ricochet said, and from the doorway, Blurr could see his face in profile, could see the playfully disgusted face he made at their sparkling. “Gunk is yucky. It gums up your gears. Makes it hard to move. We don’t want gunk.”
“No gunk!” Echo agreed and slapped the solvent with his palms, sending sudsy splashes upward and across his face. He giggled.
Ricochet rolled his optics. “I’m trying, slagger.” He snagged one of Echo’s hands and showed it to him. “See? Look at that gunk.”
Echo giggled again and tried to stuff his fist in his mouth.
Ricochet sighed. “Lucky you’re so cute. I’m not sure you’ve got much going on in the processor department.” He leaned closer and mock-whispered, “Got that from your Mama. Everyone knows Papa is the smarts here.”
“I resent that remark,” Blurr said, from the doorway, finally announcing his presence.
Echo immediately zeroed in on him. “Mama!” He squirmed, making grabby motions, and Ricochet muttered a curse, both hands involved in wrangling a soap-slick sparkling. “Mama, come!”
“About time you showed up,” Ricochet grunted as he kept Echo in place with one hand and reached for the gentle sponge with the other, but it was just out of reach. “Get over here before he launches out of the sink.”
Blurr grinned and nudged the sponge a few inches closer. “I’m his favorite.”
“He’s a Mama’s bitlet for now, yeah. But that’ll change. Won’t it, bit?” Ricochet crooned at Echo and tickled his belly again, making Echo giggle and fold in on himself. “Listen, so I was thinking, you know what he needs?”
“Who? Drift?” Blurr leaned a hip against the counter, watching the infamous bathing wrestling match without offering to help. It was more amusing this way.
Ricochet rolled his optics. “I don’t care about what Drift wants. I’m talking about our kid.” He peered at Echo before prying one of Echo’s fisted hands open so he could scrub at tiny fingers. “He needs a brother, that’s what he needs.”
“A brother,” Blurr repeated, arching an orbital ridge.
“He shouldn’t grow up alone. He needs to have someone who’s always gonna be on his side,” Ricochet said, and his tone was casual, but his words were anything but. He wouldn’t look at Blurr, his focus entirely on Echo. “He needs a sibling so they can look out for each other.”
Blurr sucked on his bottom lip.
“I didn’t have any siblings, and I turned out just fine,” Blurr pointed out. “Besides, I finally got back into shape and now you want me to ruin that all over again?”
Ricochet exchanged one tiny hand for the other and kept scrubbing. “You’ll bounce back.”
“It wasn’t exactly a fun experience, you know.” Blurr frowned. He loved Echo, but he did not love the carrying and birthing process. Especially since he couldn’t deliver via valve. Ratchet would have to cut him open again.
His recovery time would be even longer with a second sparkling. Ratchet had already warned him of that much. At the time, Blurr had only half-listened, because he hadn’t intended Echo, why would he intend a second sparkling?
“Come on, Echo’s perfect,” Ricochet said, tickling Echo’s belly and making him giggle and squirm and babble at them. “We should have a matched set.”
“You want another sparkling so badly, you carry it,” Blurr retorted.
Silence.
Blurr expected another playful jab or rejoinder, but instead Ricochet picked up Echo, kissed him on the forehead, and leaned over to snag a towel, wrapping it around their dripping sparkling. Echo babbled and patted his cheeks.
“Papa, papa, papa,” he chanted, because the kid had only a few words, and he liked to repeat them over and over and over.
“What? Carrying too embarrassing for you?” Blurr demanded.
“I can’t carry,” Ricochet said as he wiped Echo’s armor dry of solvent and moisture, hands which had once ripped out the sparks of Autobots, unfailingly gentle as they dried tiny sparkling fingers and sensory panels and finials.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Ricochet shifted Echo in his arms and finally looked at Blurr. “Can’t.” He lifted his chin, a hardness in his expression. “I don’t have a gestational tank. Because trust me, if I did, Echo would already have a sibling.”
Oh.
Ricochet swept out of the kitchen, Echo babbling in his arms. Blurr moved to follow, pausing only long enough to pull the drain for the sink.
“Have you tried before? Is that how you know?” Blurr asked, trailing Ricochet to Echo’s room, or the small, former closet they’d renovated into a room perfectly sized for a sparkling.
“Does it matter?”
No, Blurr supposed it didn’t.
“Mama!” Echo sounded indignant, his tone reaching shrill, perhaps outraged at the thorough cleaning his sire had given him, and the fact he’d yet to get a kiss from his carrier.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Blurr grumbled, but he had nothing but smiles for Echo as Ricochet handed him over, and Blurr had an armful of freshly cleaned and dried sparkling. “Do you want a brother, Echo? Is your Papa right?”
Echo patted him on the cheeks and beamed. “Mama!”
“I think that’s a yes,” Ricochet said as he squeezed Echo’s foot gently, a softness to his visor that he rarely showed.
Blurr nuzzled his bitlet. “I’ll think about it,” he conceded.
It was one thing for Ricochet to expect him to carry out of some misguided sense of Blurr’s role in their relationship. It was quite another to know Ricochet was willing but unable. Clearly, this was something that meant a lot to Ricochet.
Honestly, he had a point. Echo was perfect. What else could his sibling be but the same?
“That’s good enough for me,” Ricochet said.
Blurr grinned and bounced Echo in his arms, causing Echo to shriek with delight. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you shined up and fed with some real energon.” He gave Ricochet a sidelong look. “You better get all the snuggling you can before your Papa gets his way and you have to share us with a brother.”
“There’s plenty of love to go around,” Ricochet said.
“Papa!” Echo babbled and reached for him over Blurr’s shoulders, his grin and joy infectious.
Blurr sighed and handed Echo over, knowing they’d be playing a game of ‘pass the sparkling’ as Echo couldn’t decide who’s arms he wanted more.
This was it.
This was his life.
Strange how he wouldn’t want it any other way.
