[IDW] A Happy Bottom
a/n: So this is the last of the Valentines BDSM series though it's not quite complete. I'm going to be updating this one periodically as I run through the gamut of sexy mechs (and femmes? Nautica?) to smut up with Rodimus. So yeah. Series of smuts. Coming your way. Eventually. For now, we have Ratchet and Megatron. And in case it wasn't obvious, these are all NSFW.
Oh. And I'd apologize for the title but I'm not even sorry. ;)
Title: A Happy Bottom
Universe: IDW, More Than Meets the Eye
Characters: Rodimus, Lost Light Ensemble
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, bondage, oral, gags, fingering, power exchange, BDSM themes
Description: He may be the one on his knees, legs spread, and at their mercy. But Rodimus knows who really has the power here, and it's not the one holding his leash.
~Ratchet~
It was the only time Rodimus was silent, Ratchet reflected.
Then again, the gag and vocalizer disruptor might have had something to do with it.
Ratchet chuckled to himself.
Irritant though his captain might be, the fragger was ridiculously attractive. Rodimus was aware of it, too. Unfortunately.
But!
This made it all worth it.
Knuckles deep in a dripping valve, clutching calipers trying to pull all three fingers deeper. Rodimus bound at wrists and ankles, spreadeagle and immobile. His optics blazing blue fire, his field screaming desperation. His hips twitching in place.
He was probably begging across the comms but Ratchet had blocked him.
Even better?
Ratchet had been given full permissions. Rodimus was absolutely certain he could take anything but just in case, he had an emergency line to Ultra Magnus. Not that Ratchet expected he'd use it. By now, Ratchet was more than adept at reading Rodimus' tells.
“You're a mess,” Ratchet said as lubricant slopped over his wrist and dripped onto the berth beneath Rodimus, joining the pool already present.
Ratchet's expression was one of disinterest but it took all of his focus to keep his spike locked away.
For now.
Rodimus' mouth was proving to be quite the temptation.
The scent of hot metal got stronger. Ratchet added a fourth finger and considered how much more effort it would take before four fingers could make a fist. He wondered if Rodimus would protest.
Time to test the waters.
“You're a mess,” Ratchet repeated, and he crooked his index finger, rubbing a deepset node. “I'll bet if I added my thumb, you'd barely feel it.”
Rodimus' hips bucked. His engines revved. There was a distinct thunk as his spike knocked against his locked panel. There would be time to play with that later.
Ratchet smirked, abandoning his nonchalance.
He stroked that deep node again and was rewarded with a flare of a charged energy field. Rodimus' lust almost bowled him over.
“You approve,” Ratchet observed with a tilt of his helm. “You're a hungry little fragtoy, aren’t you?”
Rodimus' squirming did not dispute Ratchet's claim. If anything, it only encouraged him.
Ratchet leaned over Rodimus, fingers buried deep, teasing the tip of his thumb around Rodimus' stretched rim. He flicked the external node, making Rodimus buck. He ex-vented across Rodimus' chestplate and traced the flame decal with his glossa.
Rodimus trembled.
Ratchet licked his lips. “Or maybe,” he purred. “Maybe fingers aren't enough. Maybe I ought to slide my whole fist into you?”
Rodimus seized beneath him, frame thrashing in the cuffs as static danced like lightning over his plating. His valve clamped down hard on Ratchet's fingers, trapping them in place. His vents wheezed. His optics blazed, oral lubricant seeping out from around the gag.
Smug, Ratchet dropped a kiss on Rodimus' autobrand. Rodimus radiated heat, his whole frame clattering with the echoes of his overload. Ratchet's hand was soaked in lubricant, he could feel it seeping into the tiniest mechanisms of his fingers.
Well, that answered that. They would have to discuss fisting later since Rodimus seemed so inclined.
“Hedonist,” Ratchet murmured and he withdrew his hand, contemplating the soaked digits.
Rodimus eyed the dripping lubricant as though it was engex.
Ratchet grinned.
Time to remove the gag for both of their sakes.
-END-
~Megatron~
He lounged in the chair as though it were a throne. For the sake of the game today, it was. The throne from which he commanded his subject to obey him.
He parted his thighs, dragged his fingers down the inside plating, exciting the sensors that led a fine path toward his valve. His panel remained closed and he tapped two fingers over it, tracing the hot metal.
Blue optics watched him with an intensity that all but burned. Megatron pushed his knees further apart, exposing himself to his observer and teased the gaps in his plating, pushing his thick fingers into seams to flit over the cables beneath.
His subject whimpered.
Megatron smirked and tilted his helm. The hand not occupied with teasing himself lifted and crooked a finger.
“Come here,” he ordered.
And Rodimus came to him, on hands and knees, spike leaving splatters of pre-transfluid in his wake. Megatron would have to make him clean those later, with his glossa if need be. Ultra Magnus would not approve of such a mess, now would he?
Rodimus rose on his knees, leaned closer, reaching with his hands, but Megatron put up his own, engine growling a warning.
“No hands,” he said. “Mouth only.”
Frustration flicked across Rodimus' face but it was gone as quickly as it arrived. Patience had never been his strong suit and he hated the restraint as much as he enjoyed Megatron forcing him to employ it.
Megatron swallowed down the chuckle and gestured for Rodimus to continue.
His subject crossed his hands behind his back, grasping his own wrists and then tilted forward, ever so carefully pressing a kiss to the inside of Megatron's knee. The brush of lip components over armor barely registered, but it sent a shock of arousal through Megatron nonetheless.
Megatron's fingers dug deeper into his seams, pressing harder on his cables, drawing bursts of pain. But his other hand rested on Rodimus' helm, coaxing that delectable mouth closer to his array.
“Put that mouth to its best use,” Megatron growled.
Blue optics flashed at him, half-defiant and half-amused. But in this, at least, Rodimus obeyed.
His glossa traced a seam, gliding inward toward Megatron's array. His ex-vents were wet heat that only notched the anticipation higher. Rodimus' shoulders scraped Megatron's knees, prompting him to make more room, until he reached the limits of his flexibility.
Rodimus inched closer until Megatron's hand was more hindrance than help and he withdrew his fingers from his seams, letting Rodimus' glossa replace them. Megatron rumbled his approval the moment Rodimus placed the first kiss against his panel. Beneath it, his valve was slick and ready, and the second flick of Rodimus' glossa was enough to prompt it to slide aside.
Megatron's hand on Rodimus' helm became less guiding and more stroking. He couldn't quite hide the approval from his tone.
“You're conducting yourself properly today,” Megatron observed as the tip of Rodimus' glossa traced the pleated rim of his valve. “Such behavior should be rewarded.”
Rodimus didn't speak. To do so would have violated the command he'd been given earlier. But he pressed a delicate kiss to Megatron's anterior node, a bare brush that caused warmth to pool in Megatron's array.
Fragging tease.
And then his glossa pushed deeper, tasting the first ring of sensors in Megatron's valve.
Megatron shivered, shuttering his optics to enjoy the sensation alone.
Yes. A reward should be forthcoming indeed.
-END-
a/n: Coming up next, Optimus Prime. And then after that, Ultra Magnus. As for future visitors, well, I'll just let you guys decide. If you want to push some characters from the LL my direction, I'll see what I can do. Rodimus doesn't mind one bit, little overload chaser that he is.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/279370.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Oh. And I'd apologize for the title but I'm not even sorry. ;)
Title: A Happy Bottom
Universe: IDW, More Than Meets the Eye
Characters: Rodimus, Lost Light Ensemble
Rating: M
Warnings: sticky, bondage, oral, gags, fingering, power exchange, BDSM themes
Description: He may be the one on his knees, legs spread, and at their mercy. But Rodimus knows who really has the power here, and it's not the one holding his leash.
~Ratchet~
It was the only time Rodimus was silent, Ratchet reflected.
Then again, the gag and vocalizer disruptor might have had something to do with it.
Ratchet chuckled to himself.
Irritant though his captain might be, the fragger was ridiculously attractive. Rodimus was aware of it, too. Unfortunately.
But!
This made it all worth it.
Knuckles deep in a dripping valve, clutching calipers trying to pull all three fingers deeper. Rodimus bound at wrists and ankles, spreadeagle and immobile. His optics blazing blue fire, his field screaming desperation. His hips twitching in place.
He was probably begging across the comms but Ratchet had blocked him.
Even better?
Ratchet had been given full permissions. Rodimus was absolutely certain he could take anything but just in case, he had an emergency line to Ultra Magnus. Not that Ratchet expected he'd use it. By now, Ratchet was more than adept at reading Rodimus' tells.
“You're a mess,” Ratchet said as lubricant slopped over his wrist and dripped onto the berth beneath Rodimus, joining the pool already present.
Ratchet's expression was one of disinterest but it took all of his focus to keep his spike locked away.
For now.
Rodimus' mouth was proving to be quite the temptation.
The scent of hot metal got stronger. Ratchet added a fourth finger and considered how much more effort it would take before four fingers could make a fist. He wondered if Rodimus would protest.
Time to test the waters.
“You're a mess,” Ratchet repeated, and he crooked his index finger, rubbing a deepset node. “I'll bet if I added my thumb, you'd barely feel it.”
Rodimus' hips bucked. His engines revved. There was a distinct thunk as his spike knocked against his locked panel. There would be time to play with that later.
Ratchet smirked, abandoning his nonchalance.
He stroked that deep node again and was rewarded with a flare of a charged energy field. Rodimus' lust almost bowled him over.
“You approve,” Ratchet observed with a tilt of his helm. “You're a hungry little fragtoy, aren’t you?”
Rodimus' squirming did not dispute Ratchet's claim. If anything, it only encouraged him.
Ratchet leaned over Rodimus, fingers buried deep, teasing the tip of his thumb around Rodimus' stretched rim. He flicked the external node, making Rodimus buck. He ex-vented across Rodimus' chestplate and traced the flame decal with his glossa.
Rodimus trembled.
Ratchet licked his lips. “Or maybe,” he purred. “Maybe fingers aren't enough. Maybe I ought to slide my whole fist into you?”
Rodimus seized beneath him, frame thrashing in the cuffs as static danced like lightning over his plating. His valve clamped down hard on Ratchet's fingers, trapping them in place. His vents wheezed. His optics blazed, oral lubricant seeping out from around the gag.
Smug, Ratchet dropped a kiss on Rodimus' autobrand. Rodimus radiated heat, his whole frame clattering with the echoes of his overload. Ratchet's hand was soaked in lubricant, he could feel it seeping into the tiniest mechanisms of his fingers.
Well, that answered that. They would have to discuss fisting later since Rodimus seemed so inclined.
“Hedonist,” Ratchet murmured and he withdrew his hand, contemplating the soaked digits.
Rodimus eyed the dripping lubricant as though it was engex.
Ratchet grinned.
Time to remove the gag for both of their sakes.
-END-
~Megatron~
He lounged in the chair as though it were a throne. For the sake of the game today, it was. The throne from which he commanded his subject to obey him.
He parted his thighs, dragged his fingers down the inside plating, exciting the sensors that led a fine path toward his valve. His panel remained closed and he tapped two fingers over it, tracing the hot metal.
Blue optics watched him with an intensity that all but burned. Megatron pushed his knees further apart, exposing himself to his observer and teased the gaps in his plating, pushing his thick fingers into seams to flit over the cables beneath.
His subject whimpered.
Megatron smirked and tilted his helm. The hand not occupied with teasing himself lifted and crooked a finger.
“Come here,” he ordered.
And Rodimus came to him, on hands and knees, spike leaving splatters of pre-transfluid in his wake. Megatron would have to make him clean those later, with his glossa if need be. Ultra Magnus would not approve of such a mess, now would he?
Rodimus rose on his knees, leaned closer, reaching with his hands, but Megatron put up his own, engine growling a warning.
“No hands,” he said. “Mouth only.”
Frustration flicked across Rodimus' face but it was gone as quickly as it arrived. Patience had never been his strong suit and he hated the restraint as much as he enjoyed Megatron forcing him to employ it.
Megatron swallowed down the chuckle and gestured for Rodimus to continue.
His subject crossed his hands behind his back, grasping his own wrists and then tilted forward, ever so carefully pressing a kiss to the inside of Megatron's knee. The brush of lip components over armor barely registered, but it sent a shock of arousal through Megatron nonetheless.
Megatron's fingers dug deeper into his seams, pressing harder on his cables, drawing bursts of pain. But his other hand rested on Rodimus' helm, coaxing that delectable mouth closer to his array.
“Put that mouth to its best use,” Megatron growled.
Blue optics flashed at him, half-defiant and half-amused. But in this, at least, Rodimus obeyed.
His glossa traced a seam, gliding inward toward Megatron's array. His ex-vents were wet heat that only notched the anticipation higher. Rodimus' shoulders scraped Megatron's knees, prompting him to make more room, until he reached the limits of his flexibility.
Rodimus inched closer until Megatron's hand was more hindrance than help and he withdrew his fingers from his seams, letting Rodimus' glossa replace them. Megatron rumbled his approval the moment Rodimus placed the first kiss against his panel. Beneath it, his valve was slick and ready, and the second flick of Rodimus' glossa was enough to prompt it to slide aside.
Megatron's hand on Rodimus' helm became less guiding and more stroking. He couldn't quite hide the approval from his tone.
“You're conducting yourself properly today,” Megatron observed as the tip of Rodimus' glossa traced the pleated rim of his valve. “Such behavior should be rewarded.”
Rodimus didn't speak. To do so would have violated the command he'd been given earlier. But he pressed a delicate kiss to Megatron's anterior node, a bare brush that caused warmth to pool in Megatron's array.
Fragging tease.
And then his glossa pushed deeper, tasting the first ring of sensors in Megatron's valve.
Megatron shivered, shuttering his optics to enjoy the sensation alone.
Yes. A reward should be forthcoming indeed.
-END-
a/n: Coming up next, Optimus Prime. And then after that, Ultra Magnus. As for future visitors, well, I'll just let you guys decide. If you want to push some characters from the LL my direction, I'll see what I can do. Rodimus doesn't mind one bit, little overload chaser that he is.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/279370.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.