[SG] Make Us Whole - II
a/n: The results of the first attempt to livestream write that I tried. I had my two viewers throw prompts at me until the muses stirred and said muses desired a sequel to this former flash fic fill. XD Heed the warnings!
Title: Make Us Whole, Part Two (sequel to this)
Universe: Shattered Glass
Characters: Ratchet/Sideswipe, Sunstreaker/Sideswipe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Twincest, Rape/NonCon, Forced spark merge, Sticky
Description: Sideswipe's back where he belongs. Sunstreaker and Ratchet intend to make certain he never leaves again.
Sideswipe onlines with a jolt. An explicable static shock of pleasure ripples down his spinal strut and pools in his groin.
His vents quicken. His optics flicker online.
He's still in the medbay.
The pleasure lingers, distant, but present. Perhaps it is an echo of a dream, a memory of a better time. He ignores it for the moment and tugs on his limbs. Unsurprisingly, he remains bound, though with simple clasps as opposed to posts through his joints.
He's surrounded by silence.
Sideswipe turns his helm to the left and right, but he can't find either his insane twin or the maniac medic lurking in the shadows. He doesn't think for an instant that they aren't watching.
He gasps as another surge of static creeps down his lines. His spark quivers, and only then does he realize his chestplates have been closed. It should be a relief, but it's not. His spark should ache, but it doesn't.
What have they done to him?
No. Worry about that later. Worry about escaping now. Megatron promised. Sideswipe has to believe him.
Something rattles in the distance. He jerks his gaze toward the right, but the spotlight on his medical berth makes it too bright. He hopes it's not the stray turbofox that Ratchet used to keep. For funsies.
Sideswipe works his intake. He grits his denta. Focus. Focus.
Pleasure. Again. His entire lower half trembles. He hears a click and knows that his panel has just opened itself. He supposes he should be lucky they let him keep it. Not that it matters, because here he is now, spike and valve both exposed. Leaking, if the mild scent filling the air is any indication.
His sensornet hums at him. It feels like someone has stroked their fingers over every erogenous zone on his frame.
"Are you enjoying my gift?"
Sideswipe lurches to the left, away from the voice suddenly appearing in his audial, whispering to him. It's Ratchet, of course it's Ratchet. It's always Ratchet.
"You can take it back," he snarls, helm whipping toward the maniac. "Whatever it is."
"He's so damn ungrateful," Sunstreaker says, from wherever that bastard is hiding in the shadows. "After all the trouble we've gone through."
Ratchet grins. "That's because he hasn't been trained yet. But don't worry I'm working on it."
Pain.
Sideswipe arches off the berth, his backstrut forming an arc, as every ounce of pleasure vanishes in the wake of the scorching agony that strips his lines. His visual feed goes white with static, and his mouth opens in a soundless scream.
It vanishes as quickly as it came upon him, and Sideswipe collapses against the berth, ventilating harshly. Ratchet hadn't touched him; he would have seen it!
The berth abruptly shifts beneath him, hovering between vertical and horizontal, so that he's not quite upright, but not quite laying down either. His frame wants to slide downward, but the shackles keep him pinned.
It's disorienting, especially since he can now see Sunstreaker. Or at least the amber glow of Sunstreaker's optics, circling around the periphery of the overhead light, like some kind of deranged predacon.
"What... have you done to me?" Sideswipe asks, his vocals laced with static. His cooling fans clatter, struggling to cool down his frame.
"Hit him again, Ratchet," Sunstreaker hisses, and there's glee buried in there. "I don't think he understood you the first time."
"Now, now, Sunstreaker. This is something that requires delicacy. Patience. You don't want to push him too soon. Remember what happened last time?"
Sunstreaker hovers on the edge, between the dark and the light, his matte paint refusing to reflect a bit of light. "He left," he snarls. "He left us."
"That's right." Ratchet's hand rests on Sideswipe's helm and his plating crawls at the subtle weight of it. "He did. And I promised you, didn't I? That won't ever happen again."
"Get your hand off me!" Sideswipe snaps, trying to tilt his helm away, but Ratchet's fingers dig in, hard enough to stress the metal.
"No," Ratchet says. And leaves it at that.
The pleasure starts then, slowly and delicately, as though someone is caressing his inner thighs, stroking around the rim of his valve. It's a gentle wave through his frame, upward and right into the core of his spark.
Sideswipe's ventilations quicken. He's shaking, and he knows it's just an after-effect of the pain. He doesn't know what they're doing to him. He can't see any equipment. This is like nothing they've ever effected before.
Ratchet leans closer, his lips brushing Sideswipe's left audial. "You're wondering what I've done, aren't you? You're trying to figure it out. You're watching Sunstreaker. Do you want me to tell you, Sideswipe?"
It has to be a trap.
He grinds his denta so hard he hears the metal squeal. He turns as far from Ratchet as he can, and squeezes his optical shutters closed.
Lips graze to the sensitive cables at the side of his intake. While revulsion claws stickily at his spark, another wave of heat suffuses his frame. His spike starts to throb, pressurizing into view with a slick sound. His engine revs.
"He's not paying attention, Ratchet," Sunstreaker says. "He's not even looking."
"Well, we can't have that," Ratchet murmurs, his thumb sweeping over Sideswipe's left sensory horn.
His optical shutters snap open, and Sideswipe cringes at the sudden shift. What..? He hadn't done that! He hadn't--
No.
"Ahhh," Ratchet purrs. "Judging by that spike in your field, you are finally beginning to understand. I knew you weren't a complete idiot."
Sunstreaker is closer now. He's at least stepped into the light, illuminating the maroon and dark grey of his paint. But he's still pacing, while his gaze stays focused on Sideswipe, on his chestplate.
"You see, Sideswipe," Ratchet continues as the pleasure grows stronger, into a throbbing, needy heat that makes his spike drip and his valve cycle with need. "There is no part of you that I don't own. There is nothing that you can call yours anymore. You can't escape, because I won't let you, and that is my promise to you."
Denta nibble at Sideswipe's cables, a touch that might have been welcome once upon a time.
"Unlike Megatron," Ratchet says as the pleasure rises and rises, until Sideswipe can hear his own armor clattering from the force of it, "I keep my promises."
The keen builds in his vocalizer before he can stop it. Worse that he doesn't know if it's his own. Worse that he can't tell if he could stop it if he even tried to.
"Can I see him now?" Sunstreaker asks, moving closer, every step he takes jittery and uncoordinated. His field pours over Sideswipe, ripe with need, desperation. "You'll open him for me, won't you, Ratchet?"
"No," Sideswipe pants as his hips start to move, rocking into the ghostly touches that are driving him faster and faster toward overload.
Ratchet chuckles. "Funny thing that," he says as he strokes Sideswipe's helm. "You don't really have a say anymore." He backs off, though his hand remains where it is.
The berth lurches again, turning Sideswipe completely upright. He sags down, the cuffs digging into his joints, and he knows he should feel pain, but he doesn't.
Sunstreaker's close now. So close that Sideswipe can feel his ex-vents. His gaze is boring into Sideswipe's own.
"I get him first, right?" Sunstreaker says as his glossa sweeps over his lips, his optics flicking to Ratchet erratically before returning to Sideswipe. "I've been waiting the longest."
"Of course you do, Sunstreaker. I keep my promises," Ratchet purrs, his free hand sliding down Sideswipe's front to palm his spike, rolling the head of it with his fingertips. "Come a little closer, sweetspark. You can't enjoy him from that far away."
Sunstreaker's hands lift and hover. "He's not open yet," he says, optics wide and bright, the need in his field a yawing hole that tries to suck Sideswipe in.
Sideswipe's chestplates twitch. He looks down in growing horror as they start to split of their own accord, bearing his spark to Sunstreaker's hungry gaze. It seems to be a magnet, drawing Sunstreaker closer, until mere inches separate them. Sunstreaker's hands land on Sideswipe's hips, talons pricking past his seams, against his cables.
"I've missed you," Sunstreaker whispers as he rubs their cheeks together, a happy sigh leaving his vents. "I didn't want you to leave. Why did you have to leave?"
"Sunny..." Sideswipe looks at his brother, the mech he feels he ought to love. "Please, don't do this."
"But I missed you." Sunstreaker nuzzles against him and brushes their lips together. "Didn't you miss me, too?"
His spark cycles faster, fear eclipsing whatever pleasure Ratchet has forced on him.
"I missed you," Sideswipe says, and who cares if it's a lie? In his current state, Sunstreaker can't tell the difference. "So you don't have to do this. We can be together without... this. Right?" He tilts his helm forward, tries to capture Sunstreaker's lips in a gentle kiss.
Surely there's something left of the brother Sunstreaker used to be in there?
Sunstreaker's hands flex on his hips. He's close enough now that his closed chestplate bumps against Sideswipe's open one. Their kiss is soft, tentative. Sunstreaker's idling engine is a soothing thrum against his frame.
"It can be the way it was. You and me," Sideswipe murmurs, their lips brushing as he speaks. "Together."
Sunstreaker makes a little moan of need in his intake. "Sides.."
"You'll trust him not to leave, Sunstreaker?" Ratchet asks, and his voice shatters the moment. It's a dark drawl, a chastisement.
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch. His moan shifts from pleasure to agony, the pain of a broken spark. "Noooo," he says. "No. Sideswipe can't leave."
"He will. If you let him have his way," Ratchet says, and his hand tightens around Sideswipe, both his helm, and his spike. A flash of pain cuts through the pleasure, not enough to send him reeling, but enough to startle. "Do you want that, Sunstreaker?"
Claws prick at Sideswipe's cables. Sunstreaker nicks a line, and Sideswipe feels the slow trickle of energon inside his armor.
"No," Sunstreaker breathes, and his denta nip at Sideswipe's lips, pointed denta scraping
over the sensitive dermal layer.
"Then you know what you have to do," Ratchet growls.
"I do," Sunstreaker hisses, and Sideswipe hears the heavier click of Sunstreaker's chestplates opening -- three layers instead of two because Sunny has always been more paranoid.
He feels the waft of Sunstreaker's spark energy against his own. Sideswipe moans and turns his face away, unable to look. He hates that he wants it as much as he wants to run away. Because he'd lied, and he'd told the truth.
He'd missed Sunstreaker. He'd missed his brother. Not the abomination in front of him, but the way things used to be. And his spark? It certainly remembers Sunstreaker. It has no compunction, the way it reaches for Sunstreaker.
Especially when Sunstreaker closes the last micrometers between them and their chestplates notch together, like puzzle pieces, the same way they'd been born.
There's no escaping it now.
Their sparks knit together, two lovers reunited. And it feels good, of course it feels good. Sideswipe knows that even if Ratchet hadn't been poking at his systems, it would feel good.
It's a pleasure that takes over his entire frame. He can hear Sunstreaker moaning, his ventilations getting quicker and quicker. Ratchet's hand is still on Sideswipe's spike, squeezing, and then Sunstreaker's spike is free, too. He's rutting against Sideswipe, rolling his hips. He presses his face into Sideswipe's neck and he's muttering words that sound like static.
Sideswipe stares into the shadows, at the unclear shapes of Ratchet's medical equipment cum torture devices. He's seeing without seeing.
It's too late, he knows, as his spark succumbs to the pull of Sunstreaker's. It had taken him ages to get over walking away from his brother the first time. This one taste sets him back even further. Even without Ratchet's puppet-mastering.
It's far too late.
Sideswipe sobs as Sunstreaker murmurs happily, and glee swells in his brother's spark. As their energies knit and dance together, and Sunstreaker's relieved joy pulls them both into an overload, frame and spark both.
He feels Sunstreaker splatter wetly against his abdomen. He feels himself pulse in Ratchet's grip, though it's more a dribble.
He's shaking again. He can't seem to stop. It doesn't matter anymore.
"Very nice," Ratchet says, his fingers massaging Sideswipe's softening spike before he wipes them on Sideswipe's thigh. "You two always make such a pretty picture."
"Mmm." Sunstreaker presses a kiss to the curve of Sideswipe's jaw. "You won't leave now, right?" he asks, dripping a trail of kisses down to the apex of Sideswipe's open chestplate.
Sideswipe swallows thickly. "Right," he says, a single word laced with static. His spark feels raw and tender, scored from the inside and out.
Sunstreaker looks up and Sideswipe can feel his relief, his excitement. He hears Sunstreaker's chestplates click closed, but Sideswipe himself doesn't have that luxury.
He doesn't resist when Sunstreaker surfaces for a kiss on the lips, something sweet and absurdly gentle. He tells himself to enjoy it, because surely it's better than what is coming next.
"Now, now, Sunstreaker," Ratchet says as he comes around the side of the berth. "You've had your turn and what did I tell you about sharing?"
"I'm sorry, Ratchet," Sunstreaker murmurs and he steps aside, lingering near Sideswipe's right. "But I can watch, right?"
"Of course you may." Ratchet grins, and there's nothing of sanity in his optics. He grabs Sideswipe's chin with his left hand, forcing Sideswipe to look at him. He can smell his own spill on Ratchet's fingers. "This, after all, is going to be a learning experience. Isn't it, Sideswipe?"
"Frag you!" he snarls, fixing Ratchet with the most hateful glare he has in his arsenal. He's not beaten, not just yet.
Ratchet chuckles and leans in close. "Oh, I intend to do just that," he says. "And you're going to enjoy every minute of it."
Judging by the pleasure already winding through his frame all over again, Sideswipe knows that Ratchet is right.
He doesn't have a choice.
***
a/n: There will probably be more of this. Because a) OT3 and b) dark OT3 so yay. I don't know where it's going. Don't know when, where, why, or how. But there will be more. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/322510.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Make Us Whole, Part Two (sequel to this)
Universe: Shattered Glass
Characters: Ratchet/Sideswipe, Sunstreaker/Sideswipe
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Twincest, Rape/NonCon, Forced spark merge, Sticky
Description: Sideswipe's back where he belongs. Sunstreaker and Ratchet intend to make certain he never leaves again.
Sideswipe onlines with a jolt. An explicable static shock of pleasure ripples down his spinal strut and pools in his groin.
His vents quicken. His optics flicker online.
He's still in the medbay.
The pleasure lingers, distant, but present. Perhaps it is an echo of a dream, a memory of a better time. He ignores it for the moment and tugs on his limbs. Unsurprisingly, he remains bound, though with simple clasps as opposed to posts through his joints.
He's surrounded by silence.
Sideswipe turns his helm to the left and right, but he can't find either his insane twin or the maniac medic lurking in the shadows. He doesn't think for an instant that they aren't watching.
He gasps as another surge of static creeps down his lines. His spark quivers, and only then does he realize his chestplates have been closed. It should be a relief, but it's not. His spark should ache, but it doesn't.
What have they done to him?
No. Worry about that later. Worry about escaping now. Megatron promised. Sideswipe has to believe him.
Something rattles in the distance. He jerks his gaze toward the right, but the spotlight on his medical berth makes it too bright. He hopes it's not the stray turbofox that Ratchet used to keep. For funsies.
Sideswipe works his intake. He grits his denta. Focus. Focus.
Pleasure. Again. His entire lower half trembles. He hears a click and knows that his panel has just opened itself. He supposes he should be lucky they let him keep it. Not that it matters, because here he is now, spike and valve both exposed. Leaking, if the mild scent filling the air is any indication.
His sensornet hums at him. It feels like someone has stroked their fingers over every erogenous zone on his frame.
"Are you enjoying my gift?"
Sideswipe lurches to the left, away from the voice suddenly appearing in his audial, whispering to him. It's Ratchet, of course it's Ratchet. It's always Ratchet.
"You can take it back," he snarls, helm whipping toward the maniac. "Whatever it is."
"He's so damn ungrateful," Sunstreaker says, from wherever that bastard is hiding in the shadows. "After all the trouble we've gone through."
Ratchet grins. "That's because he hasn't been trained yet. But don't worry I'm working on it."
Pain.
Sideswipe arches off the berth, his backstrut forming an arc, as every ounce of pleasure vanishes in the wake of the scorching agony that strips his lines. His visual feed goes white with static, and his mouth opens in a soundless scream.
It vanishes as quickly as it came upon him, and Sideswipe collapses against the berth, ventilating harshly. Ratchet hadn't touched him; he would have seen it!
The berth abruptly shifts beneath him, hovering between vertical and horizontal, so that he's not quite upright, but not quite laying down either. His frame wants to slide downward, but the shackles keep him pinned.
It's disorienting, especially since he can now see Sunstreaker. Or at least the amber glow of Sunstreaker's optics, circling around the periphery of the overhead light, like some kind of deranged predacon.
"What... have you done to me?" Sideswipe asks, his vocals laced with static. His cooling fans clatter, struggling to cool down his frame.
"Hit him again, Ratchet," Sunstreaker hisses, and there's glee buried in there. "I don't think he understood you the first time."
"Now, now, Sunstreaker. This is something that requires delicacy. Patience. You don't want to push him too soon. Remember what happened last time?"
Sunstreaker hovers on the edge, between the dark and the light, his matte paint refusing to reflect a bit of light. "He left," he snarls. "He left us."
"That's right." Ratchet's hand rests on Sideswipe's helm and his plating crawls at the subtle weight of it. "He did. And I promised you, didn't I? That won't ever happen again."
"Get your hand off me!" Sideswipe snaps, trying to tilt his helm away, but Ratchet's fingers dig in, hard enough to stress the metal.
"No," Ratchet says. And leaves it at that.
The pleasure starts then, slowly and delicately, as though someone is caressing his inner thighs, stroking around the rim of his valve. It's a gentle wave through his frame, upward and right into the core of his spark.
Sideswipe's ventilations quicken. He's shaking, and he knows it's just an after-effect of the pain. He doesn't know what they're doing to him. He can't see any equipment. This is like nothing they've ever effected before.
Ratchet leans closer, his lips brushing Sideswipe's left audial. "You're wondering what I've done, aren't you? You're trying to figure it out. You're watching Sunstreaker. Do you want me to tell you, Sideswipe?"
It has to be a trap.
He grinds his denta so hard he hears the metal squeal. He turns as far from Ratchet as he can, and squeezes his optical shutters closed.
Lips graze to the sensitive cables at the side of his intake. While revulsion claws stickily at his spark, another wave of heat suffuses his frame. His spike starts to throb, pressurizing into view with a slick sound. His engine revs.
"He's not paying attention, Ratchet," Sunstreaker says. "He's not even looking."
"Well, we can't have that," Ratchet murmurs, his thumb sweeping over Sideswipe's left sensory horn.
His optical shutters snap open, and Sideswipe cringes at the sudden shift. What..? He hadn't done that! He hadn't--
No.
"Ahhh," Ratchet purrs. "Judging by that spike in your field, you are finally beginning to understand. I knew you weren't a complete idiot."
Sunstreaker is closer now. He's at least stepped into the light, illuminating the maroon and dark grey of his paint. But he's still pacing, while his gaze stays focused on Sideswipe, on his chestplate.
"You see, Sideswipe," Ratchet continues as the pleasure grows stronger, into a throbbing, needy heat that makes his spike drip and his valve cycle with need. "There is no part of you that I don't own. There is nothing that you can call yours anymore. You can't escape, because I won't let you, and that is my promise to you."
Denta nibble at Sideswipe's cables, a touch that might have been welcome once upon a time.
"Unlike Megatron," Ratchet says as the pleasure rises and rises, until Sideswipe can hear his own armor clattering from the force of it, "I keep my promises."
The keen builds in his vocalizer before he can stop it. Worse that he doesn't know if it's his own. Worse that he can't tell if he could stop it if he even tried to.
"Can I see him now?" Sunstreaker asks, moving closer, every step he takes jittery and uncoordinated. His field pours over Sideswipe, ripe with need, desperation. "You'll open him for me, won't you, Ratchet?"
"No," Sideswipe pants as his hips start to move, rocking into the ghostly touches that are driving him faster and faster toward overload.
Ratchet chuckles. "Funny thing that," he says as he strokes Sideswipe's helm. "You don't really have a say anymore." He backs off, though his hand remains where it is.
The berth lurches again, turning Sideswipe completely upright. He sags down, the cuffs digging into his joints, and he knows he should feel pain, but he doesn't.
Sunstreaker's close now. So close that Sideswipe can feel his ex-vents. His gaze is boring into Sideswipe's own.
"I get him first, right?" Sunstreaker says as his glossa sweeps over his lips, his optics flicking to Ratchet erratically before returning to Sideswipe. "I've been waiting the longest."
"Of course you do, Sunstreaker. I keep my promises," Ratchet purrs, his free hand sliding down Sideswipe's front to palm his spike, rolling the head of it with his fingertips. "Come a little closer, sweetspark. You can't enjoy him from that far away."
Sunstreaker's hands lift and hover. "He's not open yet," he says, optics wide and bright, the need in his field a yawing hole that tries to suck Sideswipe in.
Sideswipe's chestplates twitch. He looks down in growing horror as they start to split of their own accord, bearing his spark to Sunstreaker's hungry gaze. It seems to be a magnet, drawing Sunstreaker closer, until mere inches separate them. Sunstreaker's hands land on Sideswipe's hips, talons pricking past his seams, against his cables.
"I've missed you," Sunstreaker whispers as he rubs their cheeks together, a happy sigh leaving his vents. "I didn't want you to leave. Why did you have to leave?"
"Sunny..." Sideswipe looks at his brother, the mech he feels he ought to love. "Please, don't do this."
"But I missed you." Sunstreaker nuzzles against him and brushes their lips together. "Didn't you miss me, too?"
His spark cycles faster, fear eclipsing whatever pleasure Ratchet has forced on him.
"I missed you," Sideswipe says, and who cares if it's a lie? In his current state, Sunstreaker can't tell the difference. "So you don't have to do this. We can be together without... this. Right?" He tilts his helm forward, tries to capture Sunstreaker's lips in a gentle kiss.
Surely there's something left of the brother Sunstreaker used to be in there?
Sunstreaker's hands flex on his hips. He's close enough now that his closed chestplate bumps against Sideswipe's open one. Their kiss is soft, tentative. Sunstreaker's idling engine is a soothing thrum against his frame.
"It can be the way it was. You and me," Sideswipe murmurs, their lips brushing as he speaks. "Together."
Sunstreaker makes a little moan of need in his intake. "Sides.."
"You'll trust him not to leave, Sunstreaker?" Ratchet asks, and his voice shatters the moment. It's a dark drawl, a chastisement.
Sunstreaker's ventilations hitch. His moan shifts from pleasure to agony, the pain of a broken spark. "Noooo," he says. "No. Sideswipe can't leave."
"He will. If you let him have his way," Ratchet says, and his hand tightens around Sideswipe, both his helm, and his spike. A flash of pain cuts through the pleasure, not enough to send him reeling, but enough to startle. "Do you want that, Sunstreaker?"
Claws prick at Sideswipe's cables. Sunstreaker nicks a line, and Sideswipe feels the slow trickle of energon inside his armor.
"No," Sunstreaker breathes, and his denta nip at Sideswipe's lips, pointed denta scraping
over the sensitive dermal layer.
"Then you know what you have to do," Ratchet growls.
"I do," Sunstreaker hisses, and Sideswipe hears the heavier click of Sunstreaker's chestplates opening -- three layers instead of two because Sunny has always been more paranoid.
He feels the waft of Sunstreaker's spark energy against his own. Sideswipe moans and turns his face away, unable to look. He hates that he wants it as much as he wants to run away. Because he'd lied, and he'd told the truth.
He'd missed Sunstreaker. He'd missed his brother. Not the abomination in front of him, but the way things used to be. And his spark? It certainly remembers Sunstreaker. It has no compunction, the way it reaches for Sunstreaker.
Especially when Sunstreaker closes the last micrometers between them and their chestplates notch together, like puzzle pieces, the same way they'd been born.
There's no escaping it now.
Their sparks knit together, two lovers reunited. And it feels good, of course it feels good. Sideswipe knows that even if Ratchet hadn't been poking at his systems, it would feel good.
It's a pleasure that takes over his entire frame. He can hear Sunstreaker moaning, his ventilations getting quicker and quicker. Ratchet's hand is still on Sideswipe's spike, squeezing, and then Sunstreaker's spike is free, too. He's rutting against Sideswipe, rolling his hips. He presses his face into Sideswipe's neck and he's muttering words that sound like static.
Sideswipe stares into the shadows, at the unclear shapes of Ratchet's medical equipment cum torture devices. He's seeing without seeing.
It's too late, he knows, as his spark succumbs to the pull of Sunstreaker's. It had taken him ages to get over walking away from his brother the first time. This one taste sets him back even further. Even without Ratchet's puppet-mastering.
It's far too late.
Sideswipe sobs as Sunstreaker murmurs happily, and glee swells in his brother's spark. As their energies knit and dance together, and Sunstreaker's relieved joy pulls them both into an overload, frame and spark both.
He feels Sunstreaker splatter wetly against his abdomen. He feels himself pulse in Ratchet's grip, though it's more a dribble.
He's shaking again. He can't seem to stop. It doesn't matter anymore.
"Very nice," Ratchet says, his fingers massaging Sideswipe's softening spike before he wipes them on Sideswipe's thigh. "You two always make such a pretty picture."
"Mmm." Sunstreaker presses a kiss to the curve of Sideswipe's jaw. "You won't leave now, right?" he asks, dripping a trail of kisses down to the apex of Sideswipe's open chestplate.
Sideswipe swallows thickly. "Right," he says, a single word laced with static. His spark feels raw and tender, scored from the inside and out.
Sunstreaker looks up and Sideswipe can feel his relief, his excitement. He hears Sunstreaker's chestplates click closed, but Sideswipe himself doesn't have that luxury.
He doesn't resist when Sunstreaker surfaces for a kiss on the lips, something sweet and absurdly gentle. He tells himself to enjoy it, because surely it's better than what is coming next.
"Now, now, Sunstreaker," Ratchet says as he comes around the side of the berth. "You've had your turn and what did I tell you about sharing?"
"I'm sorry, Ratchet," Sunstreaker murmurs and he steps aside, lingering near Sideswipe's right. "But I can watch, right?"
"Of course you may." Ratchet grins, and there's nothing of sanity in his optics. He grabs Sideswipe's chin with his left hand, forcing Sideswipe to look at him. He can smell his own spill on Ratchet's fingers. "This, after all, is going to be a learning experience. Isn't it, Sideswipe?"
"Frag you!" he snarls, fixing Ratchet with the most hateful glare he has in his arsenal. He's not beaten, not just yet.
Ratchet chuckles and leans in close. "Oh, I intend to do just that," he says. "And you're going to enjoy every minute of it."
Judging by the pleasure already winding through his frame all over again, Sideswipe knows that Ratchet is right.
He doesn't have a choice.
***
a/n: There will probably be more of this. Because a) OT3 and b) dark OT3 so yay. I don't know where it's going. Don't know when, where, why, or how. But there will be more. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/322510.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.