BDSM Done Right Fills Take 3
For Inushiek
Prompt: Ratchet/Bumblebee, Non-sexual, Sticky, Aftercare
Fandom: Transformers Animated. Warnings: mostly sfw, BDSM themes
“You did really well, you know,” Ratchet said as he stroked his fingers down Bumblebee’s arms, careful to avoid his seams, intending for each motion to be soothing.
Bumblebee’s field flushed with a sort of embarrassed pride. “Oh, um, thanks,” he said, quietly for once. He squirmed a little in Ratchet’s lap. “I didn’t think I would like something like that. How do you even know about it?”
“Cause I’m old,” Ratchet said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Old and rusted. Of course I know everything.”
“Pfft. You’re not that old,” Bumblebee retorted and he pushed back, rubbing his frame against Ratchet’s. “And old’s not a bad thing.”
“Weren’t you just saying last week that I was creaking when I walked?” Ratchet countered with an arched orbital ridge.
“Yeah, but, I didn’t mean it.” Bumblebee squirmed again until he turned on his front, planting his legs to either side of Ratchet’s waist so he was seated in Ratchet’s lap again, only this time facing him. “I was only teasing. I’m all talk. You know that, Ratch.”
He tucked his hands under Bumblebee’s aft, holding the smaller mech in place. “Yeah, I do, brat.” He tilted his helm forward, pressing their forehelms together. “So. You good with what we did?”
Bumblebee’s hands rested on his windshield. They were still trembling a little, an aftereffect of the stimulation Ratchet had given him. Not for the sake of pleasure, but for the sake of control.
“Yeah. Surprisingly.” His gaze wandered away as his faceplate heated in what Sari would tease him about it being a blush. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind doing it again.” His glossa swept over his lips again as he rolled his hips forward. “It actually left me a little hot.”
Ratchet’s orbital ridges rose. “Did it now? That wasn’t my intention, you know.”
Bumblebee shrugged. “Guess I’m kinkier than you thought. And I thought.” He paused and then laughed, though his squirming grew more intense. “Guess I didn’t really learn that control, huh?”
Ratchet chuckled, patting Bumblebee’s aft gently. “No. I’ll have to try something else in the future. See what I’ve got stored in my databanks.”
“Now you’ve got me curious.” Bumblebee purred, his engine giving a rev that was probably loud enough to be heard in the hall. “Curious and excited.” As if to emphasis the latter, he rocked his hips, rubbing his panel against Ratchet’s ventrum.
Ratchet hummed and patted Bumblebee’s aft again. “Maybe just let me hold you for now.”
“Why? So you can send me off to Prowl all revved up?” Bumblebee asked.
“Exactly.” Ratchet grinned, smug. “I get the fun part. He gets the messy one.”
“Figures.” Bumblebee slumped against his frame, still heating up, but at least actively focusing on throttling it back for now.
One of Ratchet’s hands shifted to his backplate, stroking it gently. He sent Prowl a ping, letting him know to come retrieve his disciplined - for lack of a better word - mate.
Or at least, as disciplined as Bumblebee was going to get.
For Anonymous
Prompt: Ratchet/Wheeljack, sticky, aftercare
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: mostly sfw
“This one’s deep,” Ratchet murmured, the words a warning.
Wheeljack braced himself, but still hissed when the soothing gel was carefully dabbed on the burns. It stung.
“Sorry.”
“S'okay.” Wheeljack braced himself again, his back now a curious mixture of tingling and burning. “I asked for it.”
“I know. I also want to know why.” Ratchet’s voice floated to his audials from behind Wheeljack, his field gently covering Wheeljack from top to bottom.
Wheeljack folded his arms beneath his chin. His own field was calm and his spark settled. His valve had a pleasant ache. His spike was sated.
His back, however, was a spiderweb of crisscrossing lines of fire. Ratchet was a maestro with an electrowhip. He knew how to paint pain, how to cut through the most durable armor. Some of the marks would scar, not that anyone could tell. Wheeljack’s entire frame was a mismatched mess of weldlines and scrapes and scratches.
Of course Ratchet would want to know why Wheeljack wanted to add to the canvas.
He sighed a vent. “Because I owe,” Wheeljack answered and hoped Ratchet understood without him having to elaborate.
Forty-seven lashes.
Forty-seven sparks he sent to the Well.
Ratchet’s hands never stopped moving, applying strip after strip of nanite gel. “You can’t keep this up,” he said quietly. “I can’t either.”
“Just a little while longer. I promise.”
He hoped.
Ratchet shifted his weight, hands stilling, their weight briefly wresting on Wheeljack’s lower back. He felt the gentle press of lips to his spinal strut, a kiss right over the nexus of a dozen lashes.
“We’ll find a better way,” Ratchet said as he leaned back and continued tending to the burns. “Otherwise, what’s it all for?”
Wheeljack made a noncommittal sound of agreement. What indeed.
For lmi94
Prompt: Drift/Ratchet, Sticky, Playtime
Fandom: Transformers MTMTE. Warnings: NSFW, Master and petplay
“Look at you,” Drift said, clicking his glossa at his pet. “You made a mess on the floor.”
He circled around the kneeling red and white frame, shaking his head at the puddle beneath Ratchet’s aft. It was a shimmering mix of spent transfluid and lubricant, with a few spatters striping Ratchet’s belly and further across the floor.
“Not only did you make a mess,” Drift continued as he reached down, unsnapping the ring gag that kept Ratchet’s mouth open and ready for his use, “But you overloaded before I gave you permission.”
He pressed his hand to the back of Ratchet’s head and pushed his face down toward the floor, until Ratchet was staring at the results of his own actions. Ratchet’s hands stayed planted flat; he didn’t try to push back. The shift in position resulted in hiking his aft high in the air. His knees spread further apart.
Drift tried not to get tempted by Ratchet’s stretched, dripping valve. His spike ached to slide into that clenching heat. But no. Not yet.
Ratchet had to understand the consequences of his actions first.
“I just had this floor cleaned,” Drift continued, careful to keep his tone mild, despite Ratchet’s arousal, which flooded his field like an inferno and slammed against Drift’s own. “So I think you should clean up this mess.”
Ratchet’s engine rumbled at him, loud enough to make his entire frame vibrate. His armor flexed, opening up his seams. His fingers kneaded the floor, knees scraping as they pushed even further apart, lowering his face closer to the floor.
He ex-vented loudly. “I have cloths,” Ratchet said, his vocals small, so very small, but the excitement in his field completely belied it.
“Cloths.” Drift snorted, asserting more pressure on Ratchet’s helm, until his olfactory sensor nearly pressed to the floor. “Good pets get to use cloths. Bad pets have to use their glossa.”
Ratchet’s engine shifted into a higher pitch. He outright moaned. He didn’t bother to put forth the effort to protest.
Drift pushed Ratchet’s face the last precious inch, rubbing his olfactory sensor and cheek against the cooling transfluid dribbled onto the floor.
“Well,” he said. “Get to it, pet. I don’t have all day.” He kept his hand there, though they both knew Ratchet wasn’t going to try to back away.
Drift’s glossa swept over his own lips as he watched Ratchet’s glossa emerge, slowly at first, the first lick against the floor forcing Drift to swallow a groan. His spike emerged suddenly, the sound echoing above Ratchet’s rumbling engine.
Two more licks and Ratchet had cleaned the floor directly below him. He needed no prompting to shift forward, lapping up the nearest spatter to him.
Drift wrapped his free hand around himself. “Don’t, unngh, don’t miss a drop,” he said, ventilations quickening. “I want this floor to sparkle when you’re done.”
A low whine eeked from Ratchet’s vocalizer. His aft swayed.
“And you better hurry, too.” Drift squeezed his spike. “Because if I overload before I get a chance to frag your aft, you’re gonna have to clean that up, too.”
a/n: Still happily trucking along. More and more to come!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/323685.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Prompt: Ratchet/Bumblebee, Non-sexual, Sticky, Aftercare
Fandom: Transformers Animated. Warnings: mostly sfw, BDSM themes
“You did really well, you know,” Ratchet said as he stroked his fingers down Bumblebee’s arms, careful to avoid his seams, intending for each motion to be soothing.
Bumblebee’s field flushed with a sort of embarrassed pride. “Oh, um, thanks,” he said, quietly for once. He squirmed a little in Ratchet’s lap. “I didn’t think I would like something like that. How do you even know about it?”
“Cause I’m old,” Ratchet said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Old and rusted. Of course I know everything.”
“Pfft. You’re not that old,” Bumblebee retorted and he pushed back, rubbing his frame against Ratchet’s. “And old’s not a bad thing.”
“Weren’t you just saying last week that I was creaking when I walked?” Ratchet countered with an arched orbital ridge.
“Yeah, but, I didn’t mean it.” Bumblebee squirmed again until he turned on his front, planting his legs to either side of Ratchet’s waist so he was seated in Ratchet’s lap again, only this time facing him. “I was only teasing. I’m all talk. You know that, Ratch.”
He tucked his hands under Bumblebee’s aft, holding the smaller mech in place. “Yeah, I do, brat.” He tilted his helm forward, pressing their forehelms together. “So. You good with what we did?”
Bumblebee’s hands rested on his windshield. They were still trembling a little, an aftereffect of the stimulation Ratchet had given him. Not for the sake of pleasure, but for the sake of control.
“Yeah. Surprisingly.” His gaze wandered away as his faceplate heated in what Sari would tease him about it being a blush. “I, uh, wouldn’t mind doing it again.” His glossa swept over his lips again as he rolled his hips forward. “It actually left me a little hot.”
Ratchet’s orbital ridges rose. “Did it now? That wasn’t my intention, you know.”
Bumblebee shrugged. “Guess I’m kinkier than you thought. And I thought.” He paused and then laughed, though his squirming grew more intense. “Guess I didn’t really learn that control, huh?”
Ratchet chuckled, patting Bumblebee’s aft gently. “No. I’ll have to try something else in the future. See what I’ve got stored in my databanks.”
“Now you’ve got me curious.” Bumblebee purred, his engine giving a rev that was probably loud enough to be heard in the hall. “Curious and excited.” As if to emphasis the latter, he rocked his hips, rubbing his panel against Ratchet’s ventrum.
Ratchet hummed and patted Bumblebee’s aft again. “Maybe just let me hold you for now.”
“Why? So you can send me off to Prowl all revved up?” Bumblebee asked.
“Exactly.” Ratchet grinned, smug. “I get the fun part. He gets the messy one.”
“Figures.” Bumblebee slumped against his frame, still heating up, but at least actively focusing on throttling it back for now.
One of Ratchet’s hands shifted to his backplate, stroking it gently. He sent Prowl a ping, letting him know to come retrieve his disciplined - for lack of a better word - mate.
Or at least, as disciplined as Bumblebee was going to get.
For Anonymous
Prompt: Ratchet/Wheeljack, sticky, aftercare
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: mostly sfw
“This one’s deep,” Ratchet murmured, the words a warning.
Wheeljack braced himself, but still hissed when the soothing gel was carefully dabbed on the burns. It stung.
“Sorry.”
“S'okay.” Wheeljack braced himself again, his back now a curious mixture of tingling and burning. “I asked for it.”
“I know. I also want to know why.” Ratchet’s voice floated to his audials from behind Wheeljack, his field gently covering Wheeljack from top to bottom.
Wheeljack folded his arms beneath his chin. His own field was calm and his spark settled. His valve had a pleasant ache. His spike was sated.
His back, however, was a spiderweb of crisscrossing lines of fire. Ratchet was a maestro with an electrowhip. He knew how to paint pain, how to cut through the most durable armor. Some of the marks would scar, not that anyone could tell. Wheeljack’s entire frame was a mismatched mess of weldlines and scrapes and scratches.
Of course Ratchet would want to know why Wheeljack wanted to add to the canvas.
He sighed a vent. “Because I owe,” Wheeljack answered and hoped Ratchet understood without him having to elaborate.
Forty-seven lashes.
Forty-seven sparks he sent to the Well.
Ratchet’s hands never stopped moving, applying strip after strip of nanite gel. “You can’t keep this up,” he said quietly. “I can’t either.”
“Just a little while longer. I promise.”
He hoped.
Ratchet shifted his weight, hands stilling, their weight briefly wresting on Wheeljack’s lower back. He felt the gentle press of lips to his spinal strut, a kiss right over the nexus of a dozen lashes.
“We’ll find a better way,” Ratchet said as he leaned back and continued tending to the burns. “Otherwise, what’s it all for?”
Wheeljack made a noncommittal sound of agreement. What indeed.
For lmi94
Prompt: Drift/Ratchet, Sticky, Playtime
Fandom: Transformers MTMTE. Warnings: NSFW, Master and petplay
“Look at you,” Drift said, clicking his glossa at his pet. “You made a mess on the floor.”
He circled around the kneeling red and white frame, shaking his head at the puddle beneath Ratchet’s aft. It was a shimmering mix of spent transfluid and lubricant, with a few spatters striping Ratchet’s belly and further across the floor.
“Not only did you make a mess,” Drift continued as he reached down, unsnapping the ring gag that kept Ratchet’s mouth open and ready for his use, “But you overloaded before I gave you permission.”
He pressed his hand to the back of Ratchet’s head and pushed his face down toward the floor, until Ratchet was staring at the results of his own actions. Ratchet’s hands stayed planted flat; he didn’t try to push back. The shift in position resulted in hiking his aft high in the air. His knees spread further apart.
Drift tried not to get tempted by Ratchet’s stretched, dripping valve. His spike ached to slide into that clenching heat. But no. Not yet.
Ratchet had to understand the consequences of his actions first.
“I just had this floor cleaned,” Drift continued, careful to keep his tone mild, despite Ratchet’s arousal, which flooded his field like an inferno and slammed against Drift’s own. “So I think you should clean up this mess.”
Ratchet’s engine rumbled at him, loud enough to make his entire frame vibrate. His armor flexed, opening up his seams. His fingers kneaded the floor, knees scraping as they pushed even further apart, lowering his face closer to the floor.
He ex-vented loudly. “I have cloths,” Ratchet said, his vocals small, so very small, but the excitement in his field completely belied it.
“Cloths.” Drift snorted, asserting more pressure on Ratchet’s helm, until his olfactory sensor nearly pressed to the floor. “Good pets get to use cloths. Bad pets have to use their glossa.”
Ratchet’s engine shifted into a higher pitch. He outright moaned. He didn’t bother to put forth the effort to protest.
Drift pushed Ratchet’s face the last precious inch, rubbing his olfactory sensor and cheek against the cooling transfluid dribbled onto the floor.
“Well,” he said. “Get to it, pet. I don’t have all day.” He kept his hand there, though they both knew Ratchet wasn’t going to try to back away.
Drift’s glossa swept over his own lips as he watched Ratchet’s glossa emerge, slowly at first, the first lick against the floor forcing Drift to swallow a groan. His spike emerged suddenly, the sound echoing above Ratchet’s rumbling engine.
Two more licks and Ratchet had cleaned the floor directly below him. He needed no prompting to shift forward, lapping up the nearest spatter to him.
Drift wrapped his free hand around himself. “Don’t, unngh, don’t miss a drop,” he said, ventilations quickening. “I want this floor to sparkle when you’re done.”
A low whine eeked from Ratchet’s vocalizer. His aft swayed.
“And you better hurry, too.” Drift squeezed his spike. “Because if I overload before I get a chance to frag your aft, you’re gonna have to clean that up, too.”
a/n: Still happily trucking along. More and more to come!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/323685.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.