robothell | [network post--marked urgent]

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ratchet | asafepairofhands

[network post--marked urgent]

Hello? Yeah, all right, it looks like this thing is on.

[The vid flickers on and Ratchet's face fills it, somehow more exasperated and peeved than usual.]

Look, public service health announcement, stay away from the damn stupid flowers that are popping up everywhere. They're releasing a pollen that's hyperconductive that causes an allergic reaction in both organics and inorganics. Nobody's going to drop dead, unless you're set on being a medical miracle and being the first to die of overcharge, but if you're affected, for goodness' sake, be careful until it wears itself out. If you don't release the pent-up charge or whatever periodically it's possible you'll overheat.

If you absolutely need medical assistance, I'm going to be at the first medibay trying to figure out more precisely what the fresh smelting hell is going on.

Ratchet out.

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[Genuine surprise, and he even pauses in the work that keeps preoccupying him from the conversation. He really has been out of the loop.]

Fortunate.

[He pauses, then turns away again.]

I thank you in advance for any updates.

[Then his end of the feed cuts.]

[Spinister watches him for just a few seconds longer before lazily pushing off of the medical berth. He makes a show of stretching his arms, fingers interlocked and palm out, looming over Ratchet with all the height and mass of a front line fighter.

The touch on the Autobot's thigh was gentle however, thumb brushing playfully over the edges of Ratchet's kneecap.]

You the kind of fellow who likes having a queue?

[Ratchet looks up at him, frank and fearless, a grin tugging up at the corner of his mouth.]

Not particularly. Gets in the way of my work, having a parade of people in here wanting to swap paint. [He wriggles, then bites down on a laugh, twitching as Spinister strokes at his knee.] I'm going to end up kicking you by accident if you keep that up.

You're not buyin' it, are you?

[He presses himself a little closer in a huff of approval, grin fading slightly.]

[Sixshot's optics hungrily track Ratchet's hand as it slides down between his thighs. He traces his tongue over the marks he'd left in Ratchet's neck, sliding his own hands under the medic's knees.]

I'll. Mmm. I'll try to be gentler.

[It's hard to resist biting down. Had he always been this bitey while having sex? It was hard to remember and he was quickly beginning to find it harder to care. He's too busy lifting Ratchet's knees up, putting all of the medic's weight on his hips as he grinds up and into him.]

S'fine. It's--

[Ratchet's optics go huge and round as Sixshot lifts his thighs, spreading him obscenely wide and pressing him down onto the thick weight of Sixshot's spike. His vocalizer spits static, cuts out again, then flares back on mid-curse as he shudders and struggles to pull in cooler air.]

Oh. Hell. It's--s'all right. M'all right. [His head lolls forward and he shudders at the gentle scrape of Sixshot's teeth, clenching down around him helplessly.] Wasn't complaining.

Wow, so, the legendary Autobot CMO is ticklish, huh?

[Because Spinister is definitely not going to immediately exploit the heck out of that. Nope. He's just going to-

Yeah, no, he's pretty much just going to tickle the hell out of that knee.]

[Ratchet yelps and hops back, knocking over a stool and managing to catch himself against a berth, hoisting himself up onto the edge of it semi-frantically while he waves his other crutch at Spinister in a warding gesture.]

Don't! [His voice is sharp and just very slightly too high.] Damn it, if you were going to annoy the charge out of me why did you offer me a handjob first!

Nnh-- [ First Aid gasps, his visor flickering as Ratchet's hand curls around his spike. His rhythm falters, his hips jerking harder against Ratchet's. He has to pause for a moment to vent, sucking cool air into his frame, and he presses his hand heavy on the elder medic's side. ]

Cheating.

[ He squeezes his thighs tighter, pressing it against Ratchet's anterior node. He leans back, putting more pressure against Ratchet's valve as he grinds his lips against his, smearing lubricant against their thighs. He moans loudly, a fresh bead of fluid squeezes from the tip of his cord and rolls over Ratchet's hand. ]

Let me take care of you.

[Spinister cackles, the most delighted and evil noise that had ever come out of his dusty vocalizer, even as he grabs at Ratchet to make sure he didn't fall and hurt himself- in spite of the crutch being waved at his face.]

I'm using my hands and it's doing the job, isn't it?

[Of course, now he's kneeling in front of Ratchet and the tone of his voice takes on a decidedly lewd twist. Spin's hands find Ratchet's hips and he pushes the smaller medic up onto the berth proper, leaning in to press his mask against white abdominal armor with a playful engine hum.]

You are a monster.

[But Ratchet's choking on a low laugh too, shivering a little in Spin's grip and trying not to let his engine rev at how easily Spinister lifts him. He reaches down and touches Spin's helm gently, almost petting, his teeth digging into his lower lip.]

Spinister... [He draws in a shaking vent of cool air.] ...can I do anything for you?

[Ratchet laughs, warm and staticky, squeezing teasingly at First Aid's length and stroking a little faster.]

Not used to being taken care of. [His voice is rough as First Aid pushes in harder, a shiver working down his spinal strut.] And you sound so good.

Squirm a lot?

[The touch on his helm draws a pleased noise from Spinister and he peers up at Ratchet from under his chevron. Tracing a teasing line down from the very top of the Autobot's pelvic armor, down over to the plates covering his valve, he then rubs his fingers in firm, swirling strokes.]

Make lots of noises.

Not--not what I mean--nnnn--

[Ratchet arches as Spinister strokes against sensitive plating, his thigh trembling and his panel snapping aside unbidden. He cries out quietly as his spike extends, his optics wide as he leans back hard on his elbow and arches his back, his hips still as Spinister's fingertips press against him.]

Not particularly, no.

[Ratchet just looks warm and content now with Ironhide still on top of him--the charge is there, but it isn't clouding him the way it was before.]

You think I'm just tryin' to flatter you? After the fact?

[Shouldn't the flattering happen before the banging happens? He's fine though, right now, curled up like this. It's comfortable.]

[The way Ratchet's whole damn body clenches down around him has Sixshot moaning, a low and hot little noise that he tries to muffle against the back of the smaller mech's neck.

He rocks again, pulling Ratchet down into it just a little harder, his tongue finding the edges of the medic's audio receptors. Slowly, he starts building up speed again, knot throbbing against the stretch of Ratchet's valve.]

I know- I know it's an, hha, awkward time to ask, but... [Sixshot bites down for a moment, rhythm faltering briefly with the flare of energy.]

Mmmm, have you seen... First Aid?

[Ratchet's spike popping up between them makes Spinister's optics light up in delight. His thumb finds the smaller medic's exposed anterior node in short order and he curls one thick index finger into the slick heat of his valve.]

What do you mean then?

[Of course, just to make things easier for Ratchet, Spin is nuzzling showily against his cord, dragging the edge of his mask up to the very tip. There's a quiet sound of plates sliding apart, and then the heli-former was slowing pushing the head of the length down his fuel intake.]

If you know it's an awkward time to ask, then why the hell are you asking?

[Ratchet groans when he feels Sixshot's teeth against his plating, shuddering weakly as Sixshot drives into him in short, rough little thrusts, the stretch starting to ache even through the charge now.]

I told you to talk to him!

That- was the plan. Up until flowers happened.

[Then he lost his goddamned mind and tried to bang Optimus Prime. That little memory makes Sixshot simultaneously heat up and cringe at the same time. He starts rolling his hips with increased urgency, firmly wrapping a hand around Ratchet's cord and pumping in time trying very hard not to think about that.]

Don't give me that, you had plenty of time between then and now to--oh, oh!

[Whatever he's going to say dissolves on a desperate, crackling moan, his hips jerking as Sixshot strokes him firmly. He clutches at Sixshot and bites at his lip to keep from making more noise, his optics flickering wildly.]

[Did he want to deal with Ratchet's oncoming guilt trip or did he want another overload?

Honestly, if Sixshot was in his right mind, he'd definitely have picked the guilt trip. That was way more familiar territory than fucking his friend's mentor. Unfortunately, Sixshot wasn't in his right mind and overloading took precedence over everything else.

Hooking Ratchet's knee over his elbow, he slides his free hand down, index finger rubbing rough circles over the smaller mech's anterior node. His tongue slides into the spaces between warm neck cables, the hand around Ratchet's cord pumping faster as the dense growl of a world destroying power plant sends the nearby debris rattling from the vibrations.]

Ratchet makes a thick sound in his throat that's almost a snarl and writhes as pleasure swamps him, radiating thick tendrils out from his array to drag through his whole body, his thigh shaking hard as Sixshot's hands work between his legs. He curses fiercely, rocking his hips and barely managing to move--all he can really do is hang there and let Sixshot wreck him, the ache of the stretch and the almost painful hypersensitivity of his whole body making him arch desperately for some kind of relief.

[Ratchet snorts a helpless laugh, reaching up and touching Ironhide's face with soft, careful fingers.]

It's the kind of thing you'd do, don't even deny it.

You--

[But then his spike is pushed into dense, slick heat and he gives up, tipping his head back and moaning desperately. His hands find Spinister's shoulders and squeeze hard, fumbling up to his helm, but his touch there is gentle and slow, stroking deliberately even as he writhes and curses and struggles to keep his hips still.]

More. [His voice is ragged and he clenches down around the finger Spin pressed into him, pushing his hips lower without really thrusting up. His fingertips trace down the side of Spinister's helm, following gently along the edge as he shudders.] Come on, not going to break.

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