[IDW] For the Present
Aug. 20th, 2020 07:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: For the Present
Universe: IDW Lost Light, Between the Lines
Characters: Megatron/Ratchet/Rung
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, BDSM Themes, Dom/Sub Themes, Threesome, Piercing, Needleplay, Bondage, Painplay, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Double Valve Penetration
Description: Ratchet has a desire, one Megatron agrees to satisfy -- with a little help from Rung.
Commission for Borath.
“I have a desire,” Ratchet said, out of nowhere, whilst they were lying in a post-interfacing haze, Megatron’s engine thrumming comfortably, and halfway to a doze.
In an instant, Megatron was fully awake.
“Oh?” He aimed for nonchalance though he suspected the spike of interest in his field betrayed him. “I’m listening.”
Ratchet sat up then, back braced against the wall, his gaze heated as he looked directly at Megatron. “I like to watch,” he said, his words almost rehearsed. “Specifically, I’d like to watch you in the hands of someone else.”
“Hm.”
Megatron shoved a pillow behind his back, thinking. He pictured it: Ratchet sitting, perhaps in that chair over there, optics dark and hungry, watching as Megatron gasped and panted and overloaded under someone else’s frame. There would be permission in his silence, in his hot gaze. Safety also. The hands might not belong to Ratchet, but that he would be present, allowing and protecting, sent a shiver up Megatron’s spinal strut.
He was not a mech accustomed to the idea of being protected, but this was different. Appealing in a way Megatron had not before considered.
“Who?” Megatron asked, as he turned the concept over and over in his head, surprisingly not at all against the idea. He’d have thought the mere suggestion would evoke an intense dislike in him, but instead there was curiosity.
He would be, in a sense, performing for Ratchet, under the guided touch of someone else, but with Ratchet’s consent. And Megatron’s own, of course.
Megatron suddenly had an intense desire to see this, to see how Ratchet reacted when it was another making Megatron squirm.
It was no secret Megatron was something of a performer. He’d learned how to present himself, to speak before crowds, to engage the masses and let his charisma shine through. Now Ratchet offered him an opportunity to do such a thing, but on a much smaller scale. To display for his lover -- and his master.
Perhaps there was more than a little pride in his interest as well. He had once been a mech larger than life, and while he’d changed, it was hard to forget who he used to be. Lord Megatron, feared and admired in equal measures.
Still.
It would depend entirely on the mech in question.
Ratchet held up a hand, two fingers extended. “Bluestreak or Rung,” he said. “They are two mechs I would trust, and who would understand what it is I’m looking for.”
They’d been together long enough Megatron knew of Ratchet’s past with Rung and Bluestreak -- two mechs he’d engaged in dominance and submission play, until they discovered they were unsuited for a long-term partnership. Unsuited, Megatron presumed, because all three of them landed on the opposite side of the fence where Megatron found himself.
“Rung,” Megatron said after a moment’s consideration. He trusted Rung’s neutrality toward him more than he trusted Bluestreak’s grudging tolerance. “So long as he doesn’t use it as an opportunity to get inside my head.”
“Fair enough.” Ratchet’s orbital ridges climbed toward his crest. “You’ll do it?”
Megatron rubbed a hand around his face and eyed Ratchet. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and before Ratchet’s smile could curl too broadly, he added, “if you tell me what you get out of it.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ratchet asked as his field touched on Megatron’s, already buzzing with warmth and renewed arousal.
“If it was, I wouldn’t have asked,” Megatron drawled.
Ratchet chuckled. “Fair enough.” His hand rested on Megatron’s thigh, stroking the inner plating, teasingly close to his pelvis before down to his knee. “I enjoy watching for many reasons,” he began, clearly picking and choosing his words carefully, “Partially because I am so often the one involved, I miss moments of your pleasure, and also, because seeing you submit to another by my request reminds me just how much you belong to me.”
Megatron contemplated. The harmonics surrounding the use of the term “belong” referred less to Ratchet considering him a possession, and more to the breadth of their relationship, in that they were in possession of each other. A mutual owning, so to speak.
“It’s a point of pride,” Ratchet added, and he stroked upward, further this time, flirting nearer and nearer to Megatron’s bared array. “Plus it’s a reminder of the trust you put in me which by itself is my favorite part of all.”
Trust, in its many forms, was the most important facet of their relationship. It had been tested time and again by their actions -- not only Ratchet’s misbehavior, but Megatron’s as well -- and each time, they’d come out stronger for it.
Megatron supposed it made sense. He couldn’t fathom wanting to share his partner with someone else, nor could he imagine wanting to merely watch, but if it was something which aroused Ratchet, who was he to judge?
“I see,” Megatron said.
Ratchet arched one orbital ridge. “Is that a yes?”
“It means I’m considering it,” Megatron corrected and gave Ratchet an askance look. “What, specifically, did you have in mind?”
He didn’t get the opportunity to find out. At least, not in this instant, because Ratchet grinned and leaned in, kissing him hard and fast, with conversation falling to the wayside in lieu of Ratchet’s spike sinking back into his valve, where it belonged.
~
“I have a proposition for you.”
Rung looked up, paintbrush pausing mid-stroke, as Ratchet strode into his office without so much as a ping. “A proposition?” he echoed before he bent his attention back to his project. “I was under the impression your relationship with Megatron ended any further proposing.”
Ratchet snorted and threw his weight into the chair opposite Rung’s desk, causing it to creak a complaint. “He doesn’t own me.”
“Then you’re not exclusive?”
“We are. To a certain extent.” Ratchet twisted his wrist and shifted his weight with a screech of the chair. “But I’ve gotten his permission for this. You can ask him if you’d like.”
Rung might just but only after Ratchet had his say. They knew each other so well, after all, and Rung was more than a little curious.
Still. Best not to get his hopes up.
Rung squinted at his project and swept the brush across the plain space. “I’m listening.”
“Been a while since you were able to play like you want, right?”
“Please, Ratchet, don’t tease me,” Rung said, giving his oldest friend a wry look. It was a question that honestly didn’t need to be asked.
Ratchet chuckled. “Fair enough.” His palms landed on his thighs with a quiet smack. “Megatron’s a masochist, and I’ve a desire to see you work your particular skills on him.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Rung dryly. He had quite a few of the more, shall he say, extreme philias, and Ratchet could be talking about any one of them. Especially since it was often difficult to find a partner willing to play. Though if Megatron was a masochist, hmm, that did offer a lot of potential.
Rung fought the urge to analyze precisely why a mech like Megatron might be into both dominance and submission dynamics, and why he would be masochistic. The berth was no place for psychiatric assessments.
“Piercing and valve torture.”
Rung’s brush hung in mid-air. He looked up at Ratchet, orbital ridges raised. “Megatron agreed to this?”
Ratchet’s smirk would have annoyed lesser folks. “I gave him a few options, and this is what he picked.” He leaned his chin on his knuckles. “Honestly, I didn’t know his engine could reach that pitch of excitement.”
Rung set the brush and the replica aside, his internals quivering with barely concealed delight. He hadn’t been able to practice the art of needleplay in quite some time. “And you only want to watch?” he asked, hoping his vocals were even.
They must not have been, given the way Ratchet’s smirk widened. “I’ll participate if either of you two invite me, otherwise, I’ll be a silent observer. You know how fond of that I can be.”
Oh, yes. Rung did indeed. He had several cherished memories of Ratchet watching.
It took a few cycled ventilations before Rung was able to ask, “When?” He would, of course, have a private conversation with Megatron before the fact, but now that Ratchet had made the proposal, ideas and scenarios peppered in numerous bursts at the back of his processor.
Ratchet stood up then, grinning like Rodimus having found a meteor storm to surf, and said, “I’ll give you a ping when I figure out a good date and time.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “We’ll work out the particulars once you’ve managed to control that greedy look on your face.”
Rung removed his spectacles and pulled out a cleaning mesh, focusing on them rather than the excitement spiraling around his spark. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean, Ratchet.”
“Sure, you don’t,” Ratchet said, and his laughter echoed behind him, the door shutting with a quiet click.
~
The stage was set.
Megatron had been bound in all his finery, his armor wreathed in Ratchet’s favorite rope, purchased ever so long ago on Quartex. The crimson was still as bright and bold as when he bought it, and now it criss-crossed Megatron’s gray frame in complicated twists and sharp lines.
For someone as strong as Megatron, it could be snapped in an instant. There was an illusion of restraint here, which Ratchet preferred, no matter Megatron’s insistence otherwise. He wanted Megatron to be as comfortable as possible, which he would never be if he was completely at their mercy.
His wrists had been bound at the base of his spinal strut, and his own bulk held them as he lay there, thighs open through the aid of a spreader bar, his array bared, already dripping with lubricant, the scent of his arousal nearly overpowering Ratchet’s own. It took all he had to keep his spike behind his panel, rather than bared so he could stroke it. He wanted to hold off as long as possible lest he get distracted.
There was a special kind of torture in making himself sit here, on this chair, two strides away from Megatron squirming and panting, his engine revving. Rung stood between his splayed thighs, and one by one, pierced the external folds of Megatron’s valve with multiple sharp, curved needles.
Rung’s fingers were small and agile as they handled Megatron’s most sensitive derma. His focus was intent, heated -- one could barely tell how aroused he was. He was a master of his craft, and Ratchet didn’t think he could ever tire of watching Rung work. Their clashing inclinations aside, he would forever find Rung’s skill and focus a delight to behold.
As Rung slid in the eighth needle of the evening, Megatron sucked in a vent, and his armor shivered. His hips didn’t move -- he knew he had to be still -- but from here, Ratchet could see the quiver of his valve, the twitch of his calipers in the dewy shadows. A pearl of pre-fluid seeped from the tip of his spike.
Ratchet licked his lips, resisting the urge to rise and taste that escaped droplet. His role, in the moment, was to watch. Megatron was gorgeous there, bound for them, submitting by Ratchet’s request, submitting to Rung’s delicate ministrations. He had done so because Ratchet asked, and that trust was such a heady thing. It was a power Ratchet never expected to wield, but oh, he was not unaware of the weight of it either.
It was a gift he would have to treat with the respect it deserved.
“Beautiful,” Rung murmured, his fingers dragging through Megatron’s lubricant and painting it over his swollen valve pleats, touching each point of needle contact. One he gave a flick, and Megatron jerked with a long, breathed moan.
“One more, I think,” Rung said. “Can you handle the last one, Megatron?” This he asked with a look to Ratchet first -- who nodded -- and then Megatron, whose unfocused gaze had the glazed sheen of a mech teetering toward overload.
Primus, he was stunning. The contrast of their sizes -- large and powerful Megatron wrapped in ropes before the small and nimble Rung -- made heat flush fast and furious through Ratchet’s lines. To have so much power contained behind thin and breakable ropes, it made his spark spin, faster and faster.
Megatron had no idea how delicious he was in his submission.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Megatron said after a moment, and he shifted, as though trying to spread his thighs further, but was so thoroughly lashed in place, he would snap the ropes if he kept on. “Do it.”
Rung arched one orbital ridge. “Was that a demand or a request?”
Megatron’s jaw twisted, the ropes creaked, but he said at length, “Please,” and Ratchet had to bite back a groan of delight because Megatron would not beg, not for Rung, but this was close to it.
It was evidence, for even Rung to see, how much Megatron had given Ratchet. How much he now owned, cradled and carefully guarded. There was no questioning it now, what Ratchet had been granted. It wasn’t in his mind alone. Rung knew it, too.
Ratchet gnawed on his knuckles.
Rung smiled a gentle smile of approval and his fingers danced over the peak of Megatron’s anterior node, swollen and angry with want. “Would you assist me, Ratchet?” he asked, as he circled Megatron’s node. “I think this one needs a medic’s steady hand.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Ratchet stood, making a show of it, stretching to take his time, while Megatron watched and Rung waited, his gaze admiring.
“Yes, yes, we both know how lovely you are, Ratchet,” Rung teased.
“I’m not at all. I’m old and creaky,” Ratchet retorted, but it was in the shadow of their shared amusement. A running joke as old as their friendship.
“Megatron is the lovely one here,” Ratchet said as he leaned in to bestow a kiss on Megatron, their lips brushing together, need sharp and spicy on Megatron’s glossa. “You’re sure?” he murmured as he touched two fingers to Megatron’s jaw, turning his head so their gazes could meet.
“Trust my consent,” Megatron said, vocals pitched too low for Rung to hear.
Ratchet kissed him again, and told himself he couldn’t linger. “Then hold still,” he said against Megatron’s mouth before he pulled away and joined Rung between Megatron’s thighs, the smaller mech waiting with a tray of sanitized supplies.
Hunger shone in Rung’s optics as well, but this had been part of the agreement discussed beforehand -- Rung could put as many needles through Megatron’s derma as he wanted, but if there was to be anything permanent, only Ratchet could apply it.
And the titanium ring, glinting a black-steel hue in the overhead light, was a piercing Megatron intended to keep.
~
His valve throbbed, swollen with fire, and Megatron couldn’t remember a time he’d been more aroused. Any apprehension he might have carried vanished after the first needle, and he only needed to glance at Ratchet for his arousal to reach new heights.
He saw himself in Ratchet’s gaze -- wanton, desirable, safe -- and it took everything he had not to overload.
Rung’s fingers were far too gentle, far too skilled, for the pinching fire they provoked in his valve. Each needle built on itself, until the pain burned itself into ecstasy.
“Take a deep vent,” Ratchet said from between Megatron’s thighs, and he obeyed, trembling with anticipation. “And release.”
He vented out as a sharper pain bit through his anterior node. Megatron groaned, long and low and deep, his valve throbbing as a sudden overload swept through him, static-charged fire licking through his lines. Wetness dribbled out of him, caught by Ratchet’s fingers, sweeping over the tiny needles and the more permanent ring.
“I think he’s primed now,” said Ratchet.
“I appreciate the help,” Rung said, and movement in Megatron’s hazy peripheral vision was Rung shifting closer, holding a flog now -- one they’d agreed upon beforehand.
Megatron’s mouth watered. His valve gave a dull throb. The flat end of the flog would have been delicious in itself, but it was also electrified for a stronger jolt. The pain would be exquisite.
“Ratchet tells me you have a skilled mouth,” Rung said as he measured the length of the flog with one of his clever fingers, as though taunting Megatron with what was to come. “Shall I give truth to his boast while I reward you?”
He wanted the flog. He wanted the shock. Pleasuring Rung was hardly torture. He was much smaller than Ratchet. He would fit easier on Megatron’s mouth.
“You have a beautiful frame,” Megatron said, thinking flattery would get him further with Rung than it would with Ratchet. “I’ll show you.”
Rung smiled, soft and gentle. “I trust you will.”
It was a shame his hands were bound behind him. There was something to be said for the contrast of his large hands on Rung’s smaller frame. Instead, he could only watch with anticipation making him wetter and hotter as Rung scaled the berth and scaled himself.
His thighs soon framed Megatron’s head, giving him a clear view of Rung’s bared valve, swollen and damp, biolights flickering with excitement. Megatron licked him, how could he not, and was rewarded with a swat to his valve. Pain, sharp and delicious, radiated from Megatron’s valve. He groaned against Rung’s opening and licked again, tasting his arousal and his lubricant, wrapping his lips around the swollen nub.
Every suck earned him a swat, a flash of electric fire. Every deep lick and gentle scrape of his denta another lash of the electrified flog. But if he was less diligent, if he paused to savor the sensation, Rung stopped, leaving his valve to throb and pulse in denied satisfaction.
Rung’s free hand braced on the middle of Megatron’s abdomen, and that slight pressure was a point of reassuring contact between the taste of Rung on his lips, and the sharp bite of the flog on his valve. He throbbed in arrhythmic beats to the flutter of his calipers and the ache of the piercings, especially when the flog caught on his node, the shock of it enough to make his optics flicker and a low groan to rise in his intake.
His hips worked in the restraints. The rope creaked its effort to hold him. He licked and sucked and teased as Rung rode his face, gasping encouragement with each flick of his wrist. He reminded Megatron to work harder every time the flog rested against his thigh, neither striking nor delivering the biting current.
All the while Ratchet watched, the heat of his gaze tangible to Megatron, despite the fact he couldn’t see Ratchet. He could feel Ratchet’s field, the hunger in it, and knew he was the cause of it.
It was power such as he’d never felt before.
There was power in submission, one of the data-tracts had said. Until now, Megatron hadn’t believed it.
“Ah. That’s enough,” Rung gasped, and abruptly lifted away from Megatron’s mouth, a string of lubricant caught between them before it snapped. “Any more and I’ll overload too soon. Ratchet was right.”
“I very often am,” Ratchet said and the two of them shared a look of familiarity as Rung slid to the side, aft perched on the berth.
The flog was discarded as Rung cupped Megatron’s jaw with his small hand, thumb wiping beads of lubricant from Megatron’s bottom lip.
“A hard worker deserves a reward,” he said, and Megatron’s frame thrummed with need, his spike throbbing behind the cap, his valve aching and hungry. “Shall I have your valve or your port?”
Megatron sucked in a shuddering ventilation, torn between the two options. His valve cried for penetration, but his port had yet to be used. Both were appealing.
"He has a preference for larger spikes," Ratchet offered, and Megatron saw the light of understanding behind Rung's optics before lust, thick and potent, pulsed in Rung's field.
"Do you now?" Rung murmured with another sweep of his thumb. "Would you like us both inside you then? At the same time?"
Megatron's engine revved before it occurred to him he shouldn't be so obvious with what he wanted. The truth was out, however, and the weight of lust in the room increased exponentially. Rung smiled at him before glancing at Ratchet over his shoulder.
"Care to join me?" he asked.
"Don't mind if I do."
Ratchet stood, and Megatron's spark performed an unseemly flipflop of delight within his chassis, hopefully not tangible through his field.
"We'll have to make some adjustments, Megatron," Ratchet said as he stroked his fingers up the inside of Megatron's thighs, dragging curls of static with him. "We can't have you crushing Rung, after all."
Rung sniffed. "Not all of us were made to be sturdy."
"Get on with it," Megatron growled. Ratchet's fingers were aching close to his valve, but the drag of them was nothing more than a tease.
At least Rung didn't tease, damn it.
Ratchet chuckled and leaned in toward Rung, a glance passing between them before Rung hooked a finger in Ratchet's collar fairing and tugged him down into a kiss. Megatron did not expect it to make his internals tighten with lust as much as it did -- smaller Rung mechhandling Ratchet like that, Ratchet yielding without complaint.
"Just one," Rung said as he released Ratchet.
"That was the deal," Ratchet said.
They separated, and Ratchet joined Megatron on the berth, which creaked under their combined weight, but held fast. It had endured much more athletic adventures than this.
"How're your arms?" Ratchet asked, stroking along Megatron's shoulders.
"Much better than my valve," Megatron growled. "Stop stalling."
Ratchet leaned in. "You're so mouthy when you're ready to overload," he said before stealing a kiss, a hungry one, which set a fire in Megatron's belly. He hummed approvingly and then pulled back, throwing Rung a look over his shoulder. "He tastes like you."
"It's been far too long for you to possibly remember that," Rung said as the spreader bar went click-click, and Megatron's legs were freed.
"Some things you don't forget." Ratchet grinned and brushed a kiss over the corner of Megatron's mouth. "You still good?"
Megatron's spark twinged again. Ratchet's tone was light, but his harmonics rang of concern. "I'll be better once I get a spike in me."
"We can do that."
Ratchet slid onto the berth beside him and then eased beneath him, until Megatron perched astride his hips, sopping valve scrubbing over the rigid length of Ratchet's spike. Ratchet's hands were on his hips, heavy and possessive, until he hooked a finger in Megatron's collar fairing and pulled him down, down, down, his weight in an awkward balance.
Despite being smaller, Ratchet was much sturdier. There was no worry of crushing him. Megatron was careful all the same. He could control himself. He'd never needed the Fool's Energon.
It shifted Ratchet's spike within him, rubbing along hungry sensory nodes, and Megatron shuddered, his pierced node catching on a rise in Ratchet's armor and tugging with a sharp pinch. Then smaller hands were on his bound wrists, fingers curled into the twined rope like it were a handlebar, as another spike pressed against his swollen valve.
Megatron groaned, long and low, forehead pressed to Ratchet's shoulder as Rung eased into him, stretching his calipers wide, filling him inch by delicious inch. Ratchet groaned with him, a shiver fluttering his armor, his field hot and heavy where it twined around Megatron's own.
"Oh," Rung breathed. "I don't know how long I'll last like this, I'm afraid. It's been quite some time."
Megatron heard his voice only from a distance, same with Ratchet's rumble of agreement. There was too much sensation to worry about conversation. Their spikes moved within him, just shy of being too-full, stroking his sensitive lining and spilling charge over hungry nodes. Ratchet pulled him down onto the medic's spike, while Rung drove from behind, quick, jabbing thrusts aimed at the node clusters.
Ecstasy burst like lightning behind his optics. His hands clenched and unclenched, hips moving, knees shoving into the berth, but unable to do anything more than writhe between them, the pleasure rising and rising in undulating bursts.
The pleats of his valve ached, the thick needles catching and tugging with every push and thrust and rock. Each was a bite of pain, a little nip, and it blurred into a volcanic heat, twitching through his sensory net.
He wasn't sure who overloaded first. Whether it was the hot splash of Ratchet's spill, or the crackling heat of Rung's, or Megatron's own charge racing through his lines. But the pleasure snatched him up and tossed him into the waves of ecstasy, blue fire dancing over his armor, and his vision going static from the sheer intensity of it.
Rung pushed into him, grinding, and Ratchet thrust up, rolling deep. Their spikes lodged against Megatron's internal sensory clusters as if determined to keep the waves of pleasure crashing again and again, until Megatron went limp between them, gasping, still twitching in the echoes of one of the best overloads he'd had in his entire functioning.
~
The ropes were the first to go.
Rung focused his smaller fingers on the complicated knots, gently unwinding them from Megatron's frame, while Ratchet massaged Megatron's shoulders and eased him into a comfortable recline. He made as if to slide off the berth, but Megatron clung fast, one arm thrown possessively over Ratchet's chassis, so Ratchet didn't move.
"Would you mind?" he asked.
Rung smiled. "Not at all." He coiled the rope, set it off to the side, and retrieved the cleaning cloths, handing most to Ratchet before keeping a few for himself.
Megatron wasn't recharging, but his engine hummed contentedly, and his optics were half-slits of satisfaction, still partially diligent as they watched Rung. He had one knee drawn up, his valve bared, perhaps to ease the pressure on his swollen pleats, where the various needles still glittered in the overhead lighting.
Those went next though Rung was careful to ask permission first. He collected his needles, dropping them into a box to be sanitized and stowed for later use -- on the off chance he ever found someone who shared his interests. The ring through Megatron's anterior node remained, however.
It was Ratchet's to remove, if they so choose. Rung's needles had been temporary at best. Ratchet's ring meant something more.
A small pang of envy struck Rung before he tucked it aside.
"I'll be in the washrack if you need me," Rung said, briefly excusing himself from the room.
It wasn't the first time he'd played with an established couple, and he understood the need to reconnect after sharing. A quick rinse should give them ample time for a moment along with giving Rung the time he needed to settle back into himself.
Besides.
He had lubricant in his gears and that just wouldn't do at all.
~
Megatron's hold on him didn't ease until the door drifted shut behind Rung and the washrack audibly clicked on. Defense mechanism, perhaps. Or more likely, a bit of a reclaim. Either way, adorable and flattering.
Ratchet cupped Megatron's jaw and stroked his thumb along the curve of it. "You back with me?"
"Never left," Megatron rumbled, his vocals approaching raspy. "I'm fine."
"I'll be the judge of that," Ratchet declared, though Megatron's field only showed a sleepy satisfaction. "Let me take a look at the piercings."
"If you insist."
He did, in fact.
Ratchet extracted himself and moved to inspect Megatron's array, thoughtfully bared for him. He dabbed a few droplets of energon from the swollen folds, but the pierced node itself, while swollen, was not inflamed. It would heal nicely.
He looked forward to what other use they might make of it, especially when he stroked the tip of his finger gently over the raised nub, and Megatron shifted, his armor fluttering.
"Admiring your claim?" he asked.
"Only because you asked me to make it," Ratchet said, and returned to Megatron's enfolding embrace, the large limbs wrapping around him, keeping him in place. He'd gotten used to Megatron's cuddling post-scene.
Megatron’s head tucked under his chin, as though trying to make himself smaller, folding into Ratchet’s frame. “No one can see it.”
“I’ll know it’s there. That’s the point,” Ratchet said.
“Mmm.” Megatron’s non-committal hum vibrated through his armor.
For a moment, there was silence, the quiet tick-ticks of their frames cooling, the distant spatter of Rung in the washrack, the dull hum of the Lost Light around them…
Ratchet had been given quite the gift. He still wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“Thank you, Megatron,” he murmured into the quiet as the washrack shut off with a too-loud squeak and switched out for the dull roar of the dryer.
A snort vibrated against his intake. “Leave enough room on the berth for Rung,” Megatron said, but it was more what he meant that put the smile on Ratchet’s face.
“Yes, sir,” Ratchet murmured, and tilted his head against Megatron’s. Rung would join them soon enough, but Ratchet’s claim was there in ebony titanium for only them to see.
***
Universe: IDW Lost Light, Between the Lines
Characters: Megatron/Ratchet/Rung
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, BDSM Themes, Dom/Sub Themes, Threesome, Piercing, Needleplay, Bondage, Painplay, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Double Valve Penetration
Description: Ratchet has a desire, one Megatron agrees to satisfy -- with a little help from Rung.
Commission for Borath.
“I have a desire,” Ratchet said, out of nowhere, whilst they were lying in a post-interfacing haze, Megatron’s engine thrumming comfortably, and halfway to a doze.
In an instant, Megatron was fully awake.
“Oh?” He aimed for nonchalance though he suspected the spike of interest in his field betrayed him. “I’m listening.”
Ratchet sat up then, back braced against the wall, his gaze heated as he looked directly at Megatron. “I like to watch,” he said, his words almost rehearsed. “Specifically, I’d like to watch you in the hands of someone else.”
“Hm.”
Megatron shoved a pillow behind his back, thinking. He pictured it: Ratchet sitting, perhaps in that chair over there, optics dark and hungry, watching as Megatron gasped and panted and overloaded under someone else’s frame. There would be permission in his silence, in his hot gaze. Safety also. The hands might not belong to Ratchet, but that he would be present, allowing and protecting, sent a shiver up Megatron’s spinal strut.
He was not a mech accustomed to the idea of being protected, but this was different. Appealing in a way Megatron had not before considered.
“Who?” Megatron asked, as he turned the concept over and over in his head, surprisingly not at all against the idea. He’d have thought the mere suggestion would evoke an intense dislike in him, but instead there was curiosity.
He would be, in a sense, performing for Ratchet, under the guided touch of someone else, but with Ratchet’s consent. And Megatron’s own, of course.
Megatron suddenly had an intense desire to see this, to see how Ratchet reacted when it was another making Megatron squirm.
It was no secret Megatron was something of a performer. He’d learned how to present himself, to speak before crowds, to engage the masses and let his charisma shine through. Now Ratchet offered him an opportunity to do such a thing, but on a much smaller scale. To display for his lover -- and his master.
Perhaps there was more than a little pride in his interest as well. He had once been a mech larger than life, and while he’d changed, it was hard to forget who he used to be. Lord Megatron, feared and admired in equal measures.
Still.
It would depend entirely on the mech in question.
Ratchet held up a hand, two fingers extended. “Bluestreak or Rung,” he said. “They are two mechs I would trust, and who would understand what it is I’m looking for.”
They’d been together long enough Megatron knew of Ratchet’s past with Rung and Bluestreak -- two mechs he’d engaged in dominance and submission play, until they discovered they were unsuited for a long-term partnership. Unsuited, Megatron presumed, because all three of them landed on the opposite side of the fence where Megatron found himself.
“Rung,” Megatron said after a moment’s consideration. He trusted Rung’s neutrality toward him more than he trusted Bluestreak’s grudging tolerance. “So long as he doesn’t use it as an opportunity to get inside my head.”
“Fair enough.” Ratchet’s orbital ridges climbed toward his crest. “You’ll do it?”
Megatron rubbed a hand around his face and eyed Ratchet. “I’ll think about it,” he said, and before Ratchet’s smile could curl too broadly, he added, “if you tell me what you get out of it.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ratchet asked as his field touched on Megatron’s, already buzzing with warmth and renewed arousal.
“If it was, I wouldn’t have asked,” Megatron drawled.
Ratchet chuckled. “Fair enough.” His hand rested on Megatron’s thigh, stroking the inner plating, teasingly close to his pelvis before down to his knee. “I enjoy watching for many reasons,” he began, clearly picking and choosing his words carefully, “Partially because I am so often the one involved, I miss moments of your pleasure, and also, because seeing you submit to another by my request reminds me just how much you belong to me.”
Megatron contemplated. The harmonics surrounding the use of the term “belong” referred less to Ratchet considering him a possession, and more to the breadth of their relationship, in that they were in possession of each other. A mutual owning, so to speak.
“It’s a point of pride,” Ratchet added, and he stroked upward, further this time, flirting nearer and nearer to Megatron’s bared array. “Plus it’s a reminder of the trust you put in me which by itself is my favorite part of all.”
Trust, in its many forms, was the most important facet of their relationship. It had been tested time and again by their actions -- not only Ratchet’s misbehavior, but Megatron’s as well -- and each time, they’d come out stronger for it.
Megatron supposed it made sense. He couldn’t fathom wanting to share his partner with someone else, nor could he imagine wanting to merely watch, but if it was something which aroused Ratchet, who was he to judge?
“I see,” Megatron said.
Ratchet arched one orbital ridge. “Is that a yes?”
“It means I’m considering it,” Megatron corrected and gave Ratchet an askance look. “What, specifically, did you have in mind?”
He didn’t get the opportunity to find out. At least, not in this instant, because Ratchet grinned and leaned in, kissing him hard and fast, with conversation falling to the wayside in lieu of Ratchet’s spike sinking back into his valve, where it belonged.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Rung looked up, paintbrush pausing mid-stroke, as Ratchet strode into his office without so much as a ping. “A proposition?” he echoed before he bent his attention back to his project. “I was under the impression your relationship with Megatron ended any further proposing.”
Ratchet snorted and threw his weight into the chair opposite Rung’s desk, causing it to creak a complaint. “He doesn’t own me.”
“Then you’re not exclusive?”
“We are. To a certain extent.” Ratchet twisted his wrist and shifted his weight with a screech of the chair. “But I’ve gotten his permission for this. You can ask him if you’d like.”
Rung might just but only after Ratchet had his say. They knew each other so well, after all, and Rung was more than a little curious.
Still. Best not to get his hopes up.
Rung squinted at his project and swept the brush across the plain space. “I’m listening.”
“Been a while since you were able to play like you want, right?”
“Please, Ratchet, don’t tease me,” Rung said, giving his oldest friend a wry look. It was a question that honestly didn’t need to be asked.
Ratchet chuckled. “Fair enough.” His palms landed on his thighs with a quiet smack. “Megatron’s a masochist, and I’ve a desire to see you work your particular skills on him.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Rung dryly. He had quite a few of the more, shall he say, extreme philias, and Ratchet could be talking about any one of them. Especially since it was often difficult to find a partner willing to play. Though if Megatron was a masochist, hmm, that did offer a lot of potential.
Rung fought the urge to analyze precisely why a mech like Megatron might be into both dominance and submission dynamics, and why he would be masochistic. The berth was no place for psychiatric assessments.
“Piercing and valve torture.”
Rung’s brush hung in mid-air. He looked up at Ratchet, orbital ridges raised. “Megatron agreed to this?”
Ratchet’s smirk would have annoyed lesser folks. “I gave him a few options, and this is what he picked.” He leaned his chin on his knuckles. “Honestly, I didn’t know his engine could reach that pitch of excitement.”
Rung set the brush and the replica aside, his internals quivering with barely concealed delight. He hadn’t been able to practice the art of needleplay in quite some time. “And you only want to watch?” he asked, hoping his vocals were even.
They must not have been, given the way Ratchet’s smirk widened. “I’ll participate if either of you two invite me, otherwise, I’ll be a silent observer. You know how fond of that I can be.”
Oh, yes. Rung did indeed. He had several cherished memories of Ratchet watching.
It took a few cycled ventilations before Rung was able to ask, “When?” He would, of course, have a private conversation with Megatron before the fact, but now that Ratchet had made the proposal, ideas and scenarios peppered in numerous bursts at the back of his processor.
Ratchet stood up then, grinning like Rodimus having found a meteor storm to surf, and said, “I’ll give you a ping when I figure out a good date and time.” He rapped his knuckles on the table. “We’ll work out the particulars once you’ve managed to control that greedy look on your face.”
Rung removed his spectacles and pulled out a cleaning mesh, focusing on them rather than the excitement spiraling around his spark. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean, Ratchet.”
“Sure, you don’t,” Ratchet said, and his laughter echoed behind him, the door shutting with a quiet click.
The stage was set.
Megatron had been bound in all his finery, his armor wreathed in Ratchet’s favorite rope, purchased ever so long ago on Quartex. The crimson was still as bright and bold as when he bought it, and now it criss-crossed Megatron’s gray frame in complicated twists and sharp lines.
For someone as strong as Megatron, it could be snapped in an instant. There was an illusion of restraint here, which Ratchet preferred, no matter Megatron’s insistence otherwise. He wanted Megatron to be as comfortable as possible, which he would never be if he was completely at their mercy.
His wrists had been bound at the base of his spinal strut, and his own bulk held them as he lay there, thighs open through the aid of a spreader bar, his array bared, already dripping with lubricant, the scent of his arousal nearly overpowering Ratchet’s own. It took all he had to keep his spike behind his panel, rather than bared so he could stroke it. He wanted to hold off as long as possible lest he get distracted.
There was a special kind of torture in making himself sit here, on this chair, two strides away from Megatron squirming and panting, his engine revving. Rung stood between his splayed thighs, and one by one, pierced the external folds of Megatron’s valve with multiple sharp, curved needles.
Rung’s fingers were small and agile as they handled Megatron’s most sensitive derma. His focus was intent, heated -- one could barely tell how aroused he was. He was a master of his craft, and Ratchet didn’t think he could ever tire of watching Rung work. Their clashing inclinations aside, he would forever find Rung’s skill and focus a delight to behold.
As Rung slid in the eighth needle of the evening, Megatron sucked in a vent, and his armor shivered. His hips didn’t move -- he knew he had to be still -- but from here, Ratchet could see the quiver of his valve, the twitch of his calipers in the dewy shadows. A pearl of pre-fluid seeped from the tip of his spike.
Ratchet licked his lips, resisting the urge to rise and taste that escaped droplet. His role, in the moment, was to watch. Megatron was gorgeous there, bound for them, submitting by Ratchet’s request, submitting to Rung’s delicate ministrations. He had done so because Ratchet asked, and that trust was such a heady thing. It was a power Ratchet never expected to wield, but oh, he was not unaware of the weight of it either.
It was a gift he would have to treat with the respect it deserved.
“Beautiful,” Rung murmured, his fingers dragging through Megatron’s lubricant and painting it over his swollen valve pleats, touching each point of needle contact. One he gave a flick, and Megatron jerked with a long, breathed moan.
“One more, I think,” Rung said. “Can you handle the last one, Megatron?” This he asked with a look to Ratchet first -- who nodded -- and then Megatron, whose unfocused gaze had the glazed sheen of a mech teetering toward overload.
Primus, he was stunning. The contrast of their sizes -- large and powerful Megatron wrapped in ropes before the small and nimble Rung -- made heat flush fast and furious through Ratchet’s lines. To have so much power contained behind thin and breakable ropes, it made his spark spin, faster and faster.
Megatron had no idea how delicious he was in his submission.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Megatron said after a moment, and he shifted, as though trying to spread his thighs further, but was so thoroughly lashed in place, he would snap the ropes if he kept on. “Do it.”
Rung arched one orbital ridge. “Was that a demand or a request?”
Megatron’s jaw twisted, the ropes creaked, but he said at length, “Please,” and Ratchet had to bite back a groan of delight because Megatron would not beg, not for Rung, but this was close to it.
It was evidence, for even Rung to see, how much Megatron had given Ratchet. How much he now owned, cradled and carefully guarded. There was no questioning it now, what Ratchet had been granted. It wasn’t in his mind alone. Rung knew it, too.
Ratchet gnawed on his knuckles.
Rung smiled a gentle smile of approval and his fingers danced over the peak of Megatron’s anterior node, swollen and angry with want. “Would you assist me, Ratchet?” he asked, as he circled Megatron’s node. “I think this one needs a medic’s steady hand.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Ratchet stood, making a show of it, stretching to take his time, while Megatron watched and Rung waited, his gaze admiring.
“Yes, yes, we both know how lovely you are, Ratchet,” Rung teased.
“I’m not at all. I’m old and creaky,” Ratchet retorted, but it was in the shadow of their shared amusement. A running joke as old as their friendship.
“Megatron is the lovely one here,” Ratchet said as he leaned in to bestow a kiss on Megatron, their lips brushing together, need sharp and spicy on Megatron’s glossa. “You’re sure?” he murmured as he touched two fingers to Megatron’s jaw, turning his head so their gazes could meet.
“Trust my consent,” Megatron said, vocals pitched too low for Rung to hear.
Ratchet kissed him again, and told himself he couldn’t linger. “Then hold still,” he said against Megatron’s mouth before he pulled away and joined Rung between Megatron’s thighs, the smaller mech waiting with a tray of sanitized supplies.
Hunger shone in Rung’s optics as well, but this had been part of the agreement discussed beforehand -- Rung could put as many needles through Megatron’s derma as he wanted, but if there was to be anything permanent, only Ratchet could apply it.
And the titanium ring, glinting a black-steel hue in the overhead light, was a piercing Megatron intended to keep.
His valve throbbed, swollen with fire, and Megatron couldn’t remember a time he’d been more aroused. Any apprehension he might have carried vanished after the first needle, and he only needed to glance at Ratchet for his arousal to reach new heights.
He saw himself in Ratchet’s gaze -- wanton, desirable, safe -- and it took everything he had not to overload.
Rung’s fingers were far too gentle, far too skilled, for the pinching fire they provoked in his valve. Each needle built on itself, until the pain burned itself into ecstasy.
“Take a deep vent,” Ratchet said from between Megatron’s thighs, and he obeyed, trembling with anticipation. “And release.”
He vented out as a sharper pain bit through his anterior node. Megatron groaned, long and low and deep, his valve throbbing as a sudden overload swept through him, static-charged fire licking through his lines. Wetness dribbled out of him, caught by Ratchet’s fingers, sweeping over the tiny needles and the more permanent ring.
“I think he’s primed now,” said Ratchet.
“I appreciate the help,” Rung said, and movement in Megatron’s hazy peripheral vision was Rung shifting closer, holding a flog now -- one they’d agreed upon beforehand.
Megatron’s mouth watered. His valve gave a dull throb. The flat end of the flog would have been delicious in itself, but it was also electrified for a stronger jolt. The pain would be exquisite.
“Ratchet tells me you have a skilled mouth,” Rung said as he measured the length of the flog with one of his clever fingers, as though taunting Megatron with what was to come. “Shall I give truth to his boast while I reward you?”
He wanted the flog. He wanted the shock. Pleasuring Rung was hardly torture. He was much smaller than Ratchet. He would fit easier on Megatron’s mouth.
“You have a beautiful frame,” Megatron said, thinking flattery would get him further with Rung than it would with Ratchet. “I’ll show you.”
Rung smiled, soft and gentle. “I trust you will.”
It was a shame his hands were bound behind him. There was something to be said for the contrast of his large hands on Rung’s smaller frame. Instead, he could only watch with anticipation making him wetter and hotter as Rung scaled the berth and scaled himself.
His thighs soon framed Megatron’s head, giving him a clear view of Rung’s bared valve, swollen and damp, biolights flickering with excitement. Megatron licked him, how could he not, and was rewarded with a swat to his valve. Pain, sharp and delicious, radiated from Megatron’s valve. He groaned against Rung’s opening and licked again, tasting his arousal and his lubricant, wrapping his lips around the swollen nub.
Every suck earned him a swat, a flash of electric fire. Every deep lick and gentle scrape of his denta another lash of the electrified flog. But if he was less diligent, if he paused to savor the sensation, Rung stopped, leaving his valve to throb and pulse in denied satisfaction.
Rung’s free hand braced on the middle of Megatron’s abdomen, and that slight pressure was a point of reassuring contact between the taste of Rung on his lips, and the sharp bite of the flog on his valve. He throbbed in arrhythmic beats to the flutter of his calipers and the ache of the piercings, especially when the flog caught on his node, the shock of it enough to make his optics flicker and a low groan to rise in his intake.
His hips worked in the restraints. The rope creaked its effort to hold him. He licked and sucked and teased as Rung rode his face, gasping encouragement with each flick of his wrist. He reminded Megatron to work harder every time the flog rested against his thigh, neither striking nor delivering the biting current.
All the while Ratchet watched, the heat of his gaze tangible to Megatron, despite the fact he couldn’t see Ratchet. He could feel Ratchet’s field, the hunger in it, and knew he was the cause of it.
It was power such as he’d never felt before.
There was power in submission, one of the data-tracts had said. Until now, Megatron hadn’t believed it.
“Ah. That’s enough,” Rung gasped, and abruptly lifted away from Megatron’s mouth, a string of lubricant caught between them before it snapped. “Any more and I’ll overload too soon. Ratchet was right.”
“I very often am,” Ratchet said and the two of them shared a look of familiarity as Rung slid to the side, aft perched on the berth.
The flog was discarded as Rung cupped Megatron’s jaw with his small hand, thumb wiping beads of lubricant from Megatron’s bottom lip.
“A hard worker deserves a reward,” he said, and Megatron’s frame thrummed with need, his spike throbbing behind the cap, his valve aching and hungry. “Shall I have your valve or your port?”
Megatron sucked in a shuddering ventilation, torn between the two options. His valve cried for penetration, but his port had yet to be used. Both were appealing.
"He has a preference for larger spikes," Ratchet offered, and Megatron saw the light of understanding behind Rung's optics before lust, thick and potent, pulsed in Rung's field.
"Do you now?" Rung murmured with another sweep of his thumb. "Would you like us both inside you then? At the same time?"
Megatron's engine revved before it occurred to him he shouldn't be so obvious with what he wanted. The truth was out, however, and the weight of lust in the room increased exponentially. Rung smiled at him before glancing at Ratchet over his shoulder.
"Care to join me?" he asked.
"Don't mind if I do."
Ratchet stood, and Megatron's spark performed an unseemly flipflop of delight within his chassis, hopefully not tangible through his field.
"We'll have to make some adjustments, Megatron," Ratchet said as he stroked his fingers up the inside of Megatron's thighs, dragging curls of static with him. "We can't have you crushing Rung, after all."
Rung sniffed. "Not all of us were made to be sturdy."
"Get on with it," Megatron growled. Ratchet's fingers were aching close to his valve, but the drag of them was nothing more than a tease.
At least Rung didn't tease, damn it.
Ratchet chuckled and leaned in toward Rung, a glance passing between them before Rung hooked a finger in Ratchet's collar fairing and tugged him down into a kiss. Megatron did not expect it to make his internals tighten with lust as much as it did -- smaller Rung mechhandling Ratchet like that, Ratchet yielding without complaint.
"Just one," Rung said as he released Ratchet.
"That was the deal," Ratchet said.
They separated, and Ratchet joined Megatron on the berth, which creaked under their combined weight, but held fast. It had endured much more athletic adventures than this.
"How're your arms?" Ratchet asked, stroking along Megatron's shoulders.
"Much better than my valve," Megatron growled. "Stop stalling."
Ratchet leaned in. "You're so mouthy when you're ready to overload," he said before stealing a kiss, a hungry one, which set a fire in Megatron's belly. He hummed approvingly and then pulled back, throwing Rung a look over his shoulder. "He tastes like you."
"It's been far too long for you to possibly remember that," Rung said as the spreader bar went click-click, and Megatron's legs were freed.
"Some things you don't forget." Ratchet grinned and brushed a kiss over the corner of Megatron's mouth. "You still good?"
Megatron's spark twinged again. Ratchet's tone was light, but his harmonics rang of concern. "I'll be better once I get a spike in me."
"We can do that."
Ratchet slid onto the berth beside him and then eased beneath him, until Megatron perched astride his hips, sopping valve scrubbing over the rigid length of Ratchet's spike. Ratchet's hands were on his hips, heavy and possessive, until he hooked a finger in Megatron's collar fairing and pulled him down, down, down, his weight in an awkward balance.
Despite being smaller, Ratchet was much sturdier. There was no worry of crushing him. Megatron was careful all the same. He could control himself. He'd never needed the Fool's Energon.
It shifted Ratchet's spike within him, rubbing along hungry sensory nodes, and Megatron shuddered, his pierced node catching on a rise in Ratchet's armor and tugging with a sharp pinch. Then smaller hands were on his bound wrists, fingers curled into the twined rope like it were a handlebar, as another spike pressed against his swollen valve.
Megatron groaned, long and low, forehead pressed to Ratchet's shoulder as Rung eased into him, stretching his calipers wide, filling him inch by delicious inch. Ratchet groaned with him, a shiver fluttering his armor, his field hot and heavy where it twined around Megatron's own.
"Oh," Rung breathed. "I don't know how long I'll last like this, I'm afraid. It's been quite some time."
Megatron heard his voice only from a distance, same with Ratchet's rumble of agreement. There was too much sensation to worry about conversation. Their spikes moved within him, just shy of being too-full, stroking his sensitive lining and spilling charge over hungry nodes. Ratchet pulled him down onto the medic's spike, while Rung drove from behind, quick, jabbing thrusts aimed at the node clusters.
Ecstasy burst like lightning behind his optics. His hands clenched and unclenched, hips moving, knees shoving into the berth, but unable to do anything more than writhe between them, the pleasure rising and rising in undulating bursts.
The pleats of his valve ached, the thick needles catching and tugging with every push and thrust and rock. Each was a bite of pain, a little nip, and it blurred into a volcanic heat, twitching through his sensory net.
He wasn't sure who overloaded first. Whether it was the hot splash of Ratchet's spill, or the crackling heat of Rung's, or Megatron's own charge racing through his lines. But the pleasure snatched him up and tossed him into the waves of ecstasy, blue fire dancing over his armor, and his vision going static from the sheer intensity of it.
Rung pushed into him, grinding, and Ratchet thrust up, rolling deep. Their spikes lodged against Megatron's internal sensory clusters as if determined to keep the waves of pleasure crashing again and again, until Megatron went limp between them, gasping, still twitching in the echoes of one of the best overloads he'd had in his entire functioning.
The ropes were the first to go.
Rung focused his smaller fingers on the complicated knots, gently unwinding them from Megatron's frame, while Ratchet massaged Megatron's shoulders and eased him into a comfortable recline. He made as if to slide off the berth, but Megatron clung fast, one arm thrown possessively over Ratchet's chassis, so Ratchet didn't move.
"Would you mind?" he asked.
Rung smiled. "Not at all." He coiled the rope, set it off to the side, and retrieved the cleaning cloths, handing most to Ratchet before keeping a few for himself.
Megatron wasn't recharging, but his engine hummed contentedly, and his optics were half-slits of satisfaction, still partially diligent as they watched Rung. He had one knee drawn up, his valve bared, perhaps to ease the pressure on his swollen pleats, where the various needles still glittered in the overhead lighting.
Those went next though Rung was careful to ask permission first. He collected his needles, dropping them into a box to be sanitized and stowed for later use -- on the off chance he ever found someone who shared his interests. The ring through Megatron's anterior node remained, however.
It was Ratchet's to remove, if they so choose. Rung's needles had been temporary at best. Ratchet's ring meant something more.
A small pang of envy struck Rung before he tucked it aside.
"I'll be in the washrack if you need me," Rung said, briefly excusing himself from the room.
It wasn't the first time he'd played with an established couple, and he understood the need to reconnect after sharing. A quick rinse should give them ample time for a moment along with giving Rung the time he needed to settle back into himself.
Besides.
He had lubricant in his gears and that just wouldn't do at all.
Megatron's hold on him didn't ease until the door drifted shut behind Rung and the washrack audibly clicked on. Defense mechanism, perhaps. Or more likely, a bit of a reclaim. Either way, adorable and flattering.
Ratchet cupped Megatron's jaw and stroked his thumb along the curve of it. "You back with me?"
"Never left," Megatron rumbled, his vocals approaching raspy. "I'm fine."
"I'll be the judge of that," Ratchet declared, though Megatron's field only showed a sleepy satisfaction. "Let me take a look at the piercings."
"If you insist."
He did, in fact.
Ratchet extracted himself and moved to inspect Megatron's array, thoughtfully bared for him. He dabbed a few droplets of energon from the swollen folds, but the pierced node itself, while swollen, was not inflamed. It would heal nicely.
He looked forward to what other use they might make of it, especially when he stroked the tip of his finger gently over the raised nub, and Megatron shifted, his armor fluttering.
"Admiring your claim?" he asked.
"Only because you asked me to make it," Ratchet said, and returned to Megatron's enfolding embrace, the large limbs wrapping around him, keeping him in place. He'd gotten used to Megatron's cuddling post-scene.
Megatron’s head tucked under his chin, as though trying to make himself smaller, folding into Ratchet’s frame. “No one can see it.”
“I’ll know it’s there. That’s the point,” Ratchet said.
“Mmm.” Megatron’s non-committal hum vibrated through his armor.
For a moment, there was silence, the quiet tick-ticks of their frames cooling, the distant spatter of Rung in the washrack, the dull hum of the Lost Light around them…
Ratchet had been given quite the gift. He still wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“Thank you, Megatron,” he murmured into the quiet as the washrack shut off with a too-loud squeak and switched out for the dull roar of the dryer.
A snort vibrated against his intake. “Leave enough room on the berth for Rung,” Megatron said, but it was more what he meant that put the smile on Ratchet’s face.
“Yes, sir,” Ratchet murmured, and tilted his head against Megatron’s. Rung would join them soon enough, but Ratchet’s claim was there in ebony titanium for only them to see.
