Flash Fiction Fills Take 65 Part Four
For Lightscreener
Prompt: Ratchet/Scavenger
Fandom: Transformers AU, Crown the Empire series. Warning for dark themes, noncon mentions, character death mentions
A cursory rinse in the washracks was not enough to wash out the energon and grime. It was still in his seams, his joints, his gears.
Hook was the only one who ever insisted Ratchet be immaculate before entering his berth. For the first time since becoming property of the Constructicons, Ratchet wished it were Hook's turn.
That would have meant scalding solvent, scrubbers, a wire brush. Cleanliness that bordered on painful, but it had to be better than this.
Beachcomber's energon was in his gears and Ratchet couldn't look at his hands without thinking of his failure to save the minibot's spark.
He'd take Hook's snide comments, jeering, lashing - if only it meant he could feel clean for even a moment.
“Hey, why're you shaking? I never treat you bad, do I?” Scavenger's voice pulled Ratchet from the dark, a mixture of confusion and exasperation.
Ratchet twisted his face away from Scavenger's, fisting his hands at his sides. “Just get it over with,” he hissed, vents hiccuping. He pushed his thighs apart, bared his array, and braced himself.
What was the point? He should be lucky. Glad he wasn't Beachcomber. Ripped apart by those monsters and dropped in front of Ratchet like spare parts.
They taunted him with the impossible.
“Fix him and we'll let him go,” they said. False promises. Empty promises.
Beachcomber's spark was already guttering.
Ratchet reached for him anyway. He had to try. He was their medic. He had to--
“Hey.” Scavenger's hands landed on Ratchet's knees, only to push them back together. “It isn't fun like this. You know you tried, right?” A finger brushed Ratchet's cheek, almost gentle. “He was dead before you got him anyway. That's why Hook stopped fixing their toys centuries ago.”
Ratchet's plating clattered. Heat gathered behind his optics.
Frag it. No.
He couldn't stop shaking, but he'd be damned if he freed a sob.
“Hey. Hey. Shh.” Scavenger curled against him, his field unreadable, one finger still stroking Ratchet's cheek. “Ya must've been close to that one, huh?”
Ratchet shuttered his optics.
Close? He couldn't tell you a damn thing about Beachcomber, not the things that mattered. All he could think of was the lack of terror in the minibot's field. There'd been nothing but relief. He'd given up long before Ratchet got to him.
“Shh. It's okay,” Scavenger murmured. “Ya don't hafta do anything tonight, all right? Get it out now cause Scrapper won't care tomorrow, okay? It's gonna be all right.”
No. No, it wasn't.
Ratchet gritted his denta.
It was never going to be okay again.
For copperzealot
Prompt: Bluestreak/Stunticons, Preferably something sweet/positive. Just happy.
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
It had taken some time to get used to the different personalities - all five of them. But it was no different than learning to balance the many quirks of the residents of the Ark.
Besides, with five devoted and eager mechs courting him, Bluestreak could stand to be a little patient.
Every one of them had their own charm.
Dead End, while occasionally dreary to a fault, had a beautiful glossa, and not just for kissing. He had musical talent buried in the dark, and to hear him sing was haunting and entrancing.
Drag Strip was as exacting about his paint job as Sunstreaker was. It made him single-minded and focused, and when he bent that focus onto Bluestreak, well. Ratchet might have had to replace a few circuits.
Motormaster was endearing in how he treated Bluestreak so gently. He fumbled over his words when he got flustered, and was adorably clumsy.
Once he got over the rage fed to him by Megatron, he was even a good leader.
Wildrider was, in a word, fun. He was full of energy, ideas, and he had no fear. He let nothing hold him back and embraced life. It was hard to be anything but happy in his presence.
Breakdown was utterly adorable. The only one of the five who let Bluestreak chase him. Even better, he let himself get caught.
One by one, Bluestreak had grown to know them separately.
Now it was time to know them as one.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Motormaster rumbled, every inch of him bristling with concern.
“We can be pretty intense, ya know,” Wildrider added, bouncing on his pedes.
Bluestreak grinned. “I'm sure.”
“Then don't say we didn't warn ya,” Dead End grumbled.
“I'm sure it'll be fine,” Bluestreak said.
“Stunticons, combine!” Motormaster ordered.
No matter how many times Bluestreak had seen a gestalt combine, it never ceased to amaze. How separately, they could stand on each other's shoulders, but still never reach the height of Menasor combined. Plating flexed and twisted, different from their root mode, and they towered over Bluestreak as one.
Standing in their shadow, he should have felt ill at ease. But he didn't. Menasor looked down at him, cocked his helm and then lowered himself to one knee with a creak and groan of gears.
“You Blue,” he boomed, slow and laborious. “You ours.”
Bluestreak laughed. “To make it simpler for you to understand, sure. But you're mine, too. Just so you know. That's how it works.”
Menasor chuckled, the deep vibrations rolling over and through Bluestreak, making him shiver. “We yours,” he agreed.
He offered a hand to Bluestreak - Drag Strip's - and added, “Always.”
Bluestreak grinned and lay his own hand over Menasor's fingertip. “Well, for now at any rate. I guess we'll have to see how much you impress me in the future. And if I impress you, too.”
Another deep-rolling laugh echoed above him. Menasor vibrated from top to bottom, his armor shuffling and twitching.
“We'll see,” he said.
Bluestreak's smile stretched wider. Apart and together, either way, he figured he and the Stunticons were going to work out just fine.
For Nkfloofiepoof
Prompt: Grimlock/Starscream, knotting
Fandom: Transformers AU, Crown the Empire series. Warnings: nsfw, knotting, sticky
Starscream lost count of the overloads somewhere around the fourth one.
He moaned, full of static, as he squirmed, not that there was anywhere to go. He was sprawled on his front over the berth, his thighs spread wide to make room for Grimlock's girth between them.
He was full, so full, his calipers unable to even twitch around the spike stretching him wide. More than that was the mix of lubricant and transfluid, pushing at the give of his walls, stroking every last internal sensor.
Grimlock had initiated his knot over ten minutes ago, and had been filling Starscream with transfluid since then, until his gestational port threatened to give way. There was nowhere for the fluids to go except to drive Starscream crazy. Especially when Grimlock kept a finger against his anterior node, flicking it in an uneven pattern.
Starscream moaned again, vents rattling and fans struggling to draw in thicker draughts of air. His frame was bathed in condensation. His hands were weak where they lightly clutched at the covers. The fabric beneath him was full of holes, gnawed by his denta. His engine rumbled.
Grimlock chuckled, his free hand stroking down Starscream's back, pausing briefly to tweak his wing hinges before continuing on again.
“Want another?” Grimlock asked, his vocals warm and rich with desire, purring ever so delightfully into Starscream's audial.
He wriggled his hips, but neither Grimlock's spike nor the fluids within him stirred. “One more might kill me,” Starscream retorted, but he tried his best to roll onto Grimlock's gently circling finger anyway.
That low, heavy pressure built in his groin all over again. Heat crawled through his circuits, static in its wake.
“It won't.” Grimlock's free hand rested on his hip and then he pulled, keeping within Starscream but sliding him off the berth a few precious inches.
His finger abandoned Starscream's anterior node and petted over his spike panel instead. Behind it, Starscream's spike pulsed and throbbed, demanding to be let free. Starscream did not deny the requests this time and gasped with relief as his spike jutted free, into Grimlock's waiting fingers.
Some of the pressure in his valve eased. His calipers were able to twitch again, but only just.
“In fact,” Grimlock continued as he curled his fingers around Starscream's spike and gave it a long stroke, “I think another overload is the perfect way to ease the pressure.”
“Nnnn.” Starscream pressed his forehelm to the berth, panting through his ventilations.
“Or would I rather I trigger the deflate and let all of this mess spill out of you.” Grimlock's fingers slid back, tracing around the rim of Starscream's valve, teasing the stretched mesh. “The choice is yours, Starscream.”
Another unintelligible sound forced its way out of Starscream's intake. He fisted the berth covers, his hips trembling.
Grimlock leaned over his back, venting against Starscream's wings. “Or should I choose for you? Will that make it easier?”
Starscream moaned again. “Just do something, frag it!” he snarled.
Grimlock chuckled and nipped at a wing edge. “Yes, my consort.” He squeezed Starscream's spike, drawing free a whimper. “Whatever you wish.”
For Radio-Cybertron
Prompt: Rodimus/Megatron, Snow Patrol “Run”
Fandom: Transformers MTMTE Season Two. Warnings: None
Sitting in the dark moping was the least of things he needed to do. But there was comfort in the dim and silence. It was as though time stood still, trapping him in the shadows.
Until the door opened, revealing Rodimus in the entry, hall lights gleaming off his dented armor.
“I said I didn't want to be disturbed,” Megatron growled.
Rodimus said nothing, a first. Instead, he came inside, the door closing behind him, enclosing them in the dark. Rodimus' biolights flickered, offering the only illumination, save for Megatron's own.
Megatron's engine dully rumbled. “Now is not the time for one of your speeches,” he hissed as Rodimus came closer. “I don't have--”
“Shh.” Rodimus rose up on his pedes and pressed a finger to Megatron's lips, his field muted and solemn like it had never been before. “Don't talk.”
Megatron's optics narrowed. “Why not?” he asked, behind the gentle press of the finger as it lingered.
“Because we don't have time for words. Not anymore.” Rodimus shrugged, but it was far from dismissive. “I was never good with those anyway.”
Megatron cycled a ventilation. “Rodimus, if this is--”
“Megatron,” Rodimus interrupted again, only this time it was to grab Megatron's helm in both of his hands, pulling him down. “Hush.”
He rose to the tips of his pedes, dragging Megatron down to him, and Megatron allowed it, his spark throbbing at the gentle brush of their lips.
Oh.
“Don't talk,” Rodimus murmured against his lips, before kissing him again, more firmly this time, intent in every flicker of his field.
Megatron shuddered and wrapped an arm around Rodimus' narrow waist. He crushed his co-captain against him, their fields clashing, remarkably in sync. Rodimus' legs wrapped around his waist, hips rolling urgently, demanding. Megatron's other hand cupped his aft, supporting his weight.
No words. Just this moment. Was that easier? Megatron didn't know. There wasn't time to debate. There was just this, here and now.
So be it.
Megatron gave himself to the kiss, to the quiet noises Rodimus made, and the warm embrace of his co-captain's field. If this was all he had, from now until the ned, it would be enough.
Rodimus was enough.
a/n: Four more flash fic done, a great big handful left to go. XD
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/331392.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Prompt: Ratchet/Scavenger
Fandom: Transformers AU, Crown the Empire series. Warning for dark themes, noncon mentions, character death mentions
A cursory rinse in the washracks was not enough to wash out the energon and grime. It was still in his seams, his joints, his gears.
Hook was the only one who ever insisted Ratchet be immaculate before entering his berth. For the first time since becoming property of the Constructicons, Ratchet wished it were Hook's turn.
That would have meant scalding solvent, scrubbers, a wire brush. Cleanliness that bordered on painful, but it had to be better than this.
Beachcomber's energon was in his gears and Ratchet couldn't look at his hands without thinking of his failure to save the minibot's spark.
He'd take Hook's snide comments, jeering, lashing - if only it meant he could feel clean for even a moment.
“Hey, why're you shaking? I never treat you bad, do I?” Scavenger's voice pulled Ratchet from the dark, a mixture of confusion and exasperation.
Ratchet twisted his face away from Scavenger's, fisting his hands at his sides. “Just get it over with,” he hissed, vents hiccuping. He pushed his thighs apart, bared his array, and braced himself.
What was the point? He should be lucky. Glad he wasn't Beachcomber. Ripped apart by those monsters and dropped in front of Ratchet like spare parts.
They taunted him with the impossible.
“Fix him and we'll let him go,” they said. False promises. Empty promises.
Beachcomber's spark was already guttering.
Ratchet reached for him anyway. He had to try. He was their medic. He had to--
“Hey.” Scavenger's hands landed on Ratchet's knees, only to push them back together. “It isn't fun like this. You know you tried, right?” A finger brushed Ratchet's cheek, almost gentle. “He was dead before you got him anyway. That's why Hook stopped fixing their toys centuries ago.”
Ratchet's plating clattered. Heat gathered behind his optics.
Frag it. No.
He couldn't stop shaking, but he'd be damned if he freed a sob.
“Hey. Hey. Shh.” Scavenger curled against him, his field unreadable, one finger still stroking Ratchet's cheek. “Ya must've been close to that one, huh?”
Ratchet shuttered his optics.
Close? He couldn't tell you a damn thing about Beachcomber, not the things that mattered. All he could think of was the lack of terror in the minibot's field. There'd been nothing but relief. He'd given up long before Ratchet got to him.
“Shh. It's okay,” Scavenger murmured. “Ya don't hafta do anything tonight, all right? Get it out now cause Scrapper won't care tomorrow, okay? It's gonna be all right.”
No. No, it wasn't.
Ratchet gritted his denta.
It was never going to be okay again.
For copperzealot
Prompt: Bluestreak/Stunticons, Preferably something sweet/positive. Just happy.
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings: None
It had taken some time to get used to the different personalities - all five of them. But it was no different than learning to balance the many quirks of the residents of the Ark.
Besides, with five devoted and eager mechs courting him, Bluestreak could stand to be a little patient.
Every one of them had their own charm.
Dead End, while occasionally dreary to a fault, had a beautiful glossa, and not just for kissing. He had musical talent buried in the dark, and to hear him sing was haunting and entrancing.
Drag Strip was as exacting about his paint job as Sunstreaker was. It made him single-minded and focused, and when he bent that focus onto Bluestreak, well. Ratchet might have had to replace a few circuits.
Motormaster was endearing in how he treated Bluestreak so gently. He fumbled over his words when he got flustered, and was adorably clumsy.
Once he got over the rage fed to him by Megatron, he was even a good leader.
Wildrider was, in a word, fun. He was full of energy, ideas, and he had no fear. He let nothing hold him back and embraced life. It was hard to be anything but happy in his presence.
Breakdown was utterly adorable. The only one of the five who let Bluestreak chase him. Even better, he let himself get caught.
One by one, Bluestreak had grown to know them separately.
Now it was time to know them as one.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Motormaster rumbled, every inch of him bristling with concern.
“We can be pretty intense, ya know,” Wildrider added, bouncing on his pedes.
Bluestreak grinned. “I'm sure.”
“Then don't say we didn't warn ya,” Dead End grumbled.
“I'm sure it'll be fine,” Bluestreak said.
“Stunticons, combine!” Motormaster ordered.
No matter how many times Bluestreak had seen a gestalt combine, it never ceased to amaze. How separately, they could stand on each other's shoulders, but still never reach the height of Menasor combined. Plating flexed and twisted, different from their root mode, and they towered over Bluestreak as one.
Standing in their shadow, he should have felt ill at ease. But he didn't. Menasor looked down at him, cocked his helm and then lowered himself to one knee with a creak and groan of gears.
“You Blue,” he boomed, slow and laborious. “You ours.”
Bluestreak laughed. “To make it simpler for you to understand, sure. But you're mine, too. Just so you know. That's how it works.”
Menasor chuckled, the deep vibrations rolling over and through Bluestreak, making him shiver. “We yours,” he agreed.
He offered a hand to Bluestreak - Drag Strip's - and added, “Always.”
Bluestreak grinned and lay his own hand over Menasor's fingertip. “Well, for now at any rate. I guess we'll have to see how much you impress me in the future. And if I impress you, too.”
Another deep-rolling laugh echoed above him. Menasor vibrated from top to bottom, his armor shuffling and twitching.
“We'll see,” he said.
Bluestreak's smile stretched wider. Apart and together, either way, he figured he and the Stunticons were going to work out just fine.
For Nkfloofiepoof
Prompt: Grimlock/Starscream, knotting
Fandom: Transformers AU, Crown the Empire series. Warnings: nsfw, knotting, sticky
Starscream lost count of the overloads somewhere around the fourth one.
He moaned, full of static, as he squirmed, not that there was anywhere to go. He was sprawled on his front over the berth, his thighs spread wide to make room for Grimlock's girth between them.
He was full, so full, his calipers unable to even twitch around the spike stretching him wide. More than that was the mix of lubricant and transfluid, pushing at the give of his walls, stroking every last internal sensor.
Grimlock had initiated his knot over ten minutes ago, and had been filling Starscream with transfluid since then, until his gestational port threatened to give way. There was nowhere for the fluids to go except to drive Starscream crazy. Especially when Grimlock kept a finger against his anterior node, flicking it in an uneven pattern.
Starscream moaned again, vents rattling and fans struggling to draw in thicker draughts of air. His frame was bathed in condensation. His hands were weak where they lightly clutched at the covers. The fabric beneath him was full of holes, gnawed by his denta. His engine rumbled.
Grimlock chuckled, his free hand stroking down Starscream's back, pausing briefly to tweak his wing hinges before continuing on again.
“Want another?” Grimlock asked, his vocals warm and rich with desire, purring ever so delightfully into Starscream's audial.
He wriggled his hips, but neither Grimlock's spike nor the fluids within him stirred. “One more might kill me,” Starscream retorted, but he tried his best to roll onto Grimlock's gently circling finger anyway.
That low, heavy pressure built in his groin all over again. Heat crawled through his circuits, static in its wake.
“It won't.” Grimlock's free hand rested on his hip and then he pulled, keeping within Starscream but sliding him off the berth a few precious inches.
His finger abandoned Starscream's anterior node and petted over his spike panel instead. Behind it, Starscream's spike pulsed and throbbed, demanding to be let free. Starscream did not deny the requests this time and gasped with relief as his spike jutted free, into Grimlock's waiting fingers.
Some of the pressure in his valve eased. His calipers were able to twitch again, but only just.
“In fact,” Grimlock continued as he curled his fingers around Starscream's spike and gave it a long stroke, “I think another overload is the perfect way to ease the pressure.”
“Nnnn.” Starscream pressed his forehelm to the berth, panting through his ventilations.
“Or would I rather I trigger the deflate and let all of this mess spill out of you.” Grimlock's fingers slid back, tracing around the rim of Starscream's valve, teasing the stretched mesh. “The choice is yours, Starscream.”
Another unintelligible sound forced its way out of Starscream's intake. He fisted the berth covers, his hips trembling.
Grimlock leaned over his back, venting against Starscream's wings. “Or should I choose for you? Will that make it easier?”
Starscream moaned again. “Just do something, frag it!” he snarled.
Grimlock chuckled and nipped at a wing edge. “Yes, my consort.” He squeezed Starscream's spike, drawing free a whimper. “Whatever you wish.”
For Radio-Cybertron
Prompt: Rodimus/Megatron, Snow Patrol “Run”
Fandom: Transformers MTMTE Season Two. Warnings: None
Sitting in the dark moping was the least of things he needed to do. But there was comfort in the dim and silence. It was as though time stood still, trapping him in the shadows.
Until the door opened, revealing Rodimus in the entry, hall lights gleaming off his dented armor.
“I said I didn't want to be disturbed,” Megatron growled.
Rodimus said nothing, a first. Instead, he came inside, the door closing behind him, enclosing them in the dark. Rodimus' biolights flickered, offering the only illumination, save for Megatron's own.
Megatron's engine dully rumbled. “Now is not the time for one of your speeches,” he hissed as Rodimus came closer. “I don't have--”
“Shh.” Rodimus rose up on his pedes and pressed a finger to Megatron's lips, his field muted and solemn like it had never been before. “Don't talk.”
Megatron's optics narrowed. “Why not?” he asked, behind the gentle press of the finger as it lingered.
“Because we don't have time for words. Not anymore.” Rodimus shrugged, but it was far from dismissive. “I was never good with those anyway.”
Megatron cycled a ventilation. “Rodimus, if this is--”
“Megatron,” Rodimus interrupted again, only this time it was to grab Megatron's helm in both of his hands, pulling him down. “Hush.”
He rose to the tips of his pedes, dragging Megatron down to him, and Megatron allowed it, his spark throbbing at the gentle brush of their lips.
Oh.
“Don't talk,” Rodimus murmured against his lips, before kissing him again, more firmly this time, intent in every flicker of his field.
Megatron shuddered and wrapped an arm around Rodimus' narrow waist. He crushed his co-captain against him, their fields clashing, remarkably in sync. Rodimus' legs wrapped around his waist, hips rolling urgently, demanding. Megatron's other hand cupped his aft, supporting his weight.
No words. Just this moment. Was that easier? Megatron didn't know. There wasn't time to debate. There was just this, here and now.
So be it.
Megatron gave himself to the kiss, to the quiet noises Rodimus made, and the warm embrace of his co-captain's field. If this was all he had, from now until the ned, it would be enough.
Rodimus was enough.
a/n: Four more flash fic done, a great big handful left to go. XD
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/331392.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.