Mini Fic: And All Shall Adore Him
Title: And All Shall Adore Him
Continuity: Shattered Glass
Rating: NC-17
Character(s): First Aid/Optimus Prime, Ratchet
Warnings: non-con, sticky
Prompt: First Aid/Optimus - Tyrant
I yelp as fingers tightens on my shoulder, spinning me around, faster than my gyroscope appreciates and I don't see the leg that hooks my feet from underneath me. Ratchet snarls, but I know that he won't help me, not with the field and frame bearing down on me, anger, thick and hot curling into me as a hand splays above my spark chamber.
Optics bright with lust and power stare down at me and I can sense the smirk present beneath his battlemask as he kneels between my legs. I retract my armour, better to submit to the inevitable than to have it ripped of. From past experience I know that hurts.
“Consider this a small reminder.” I let my helm tip back, barely suppressing a scream as he takes my valve. He likes his enemies to scream and beg for mercy, but he prefers that we remain silent, take it as he would, prove that we are strong enough to be part of his army.
He must have been planning this, anticipating it, for charge is already skittering across his armour and I am glad. Anger makes him brutal, unforgiving, but it also heats him faster, his own emotions spurring him on. I can feel his fingers digging into my hips as he anchors me in place.
The grip tightens further, crushing delicate wiring as he stills, warmth filling my valve as pleasure mingles with the anger in his field.
“Next time, do your job, keep my slagging army online.” He snarls as he withdraws, uncaring of the energon and transfluid still staining his spike. He strides out without a backward glance and I remain where I am, my vents frantically working to cool my frame.
Ratchet offers me a hand, hauling me to my feet before enfolding me in his arms and his energy field, emotions running unchecked as it pulses, flaring with his agitation. Only around me will he let his tightly controlled field relax and now I can read anger, hatred, resignation, resentment, devotion.
Much the same as my own field, for we both love and hate our Prime. I would enjoy putting a blade through his spark, twisting it, letting him feel all the hurt and pain he has given us, and yet, it is love that would stay my hand. Love for a mech that holds my loyalty as surely as Ratchet holds my spark.
Continuity: Shattered Glass
Rating: NC-17
Character(s): First Aid/Optimus Prime, Ratchet
Warnings: non-con, sticky
Prompt: First Aid/Optimus - Tyrant
I yelp as fingers tightens on my shoulder, spinning me around, faster than my gyroscope appreciates and I don't see the leg that hooks my feet from underneath me. Ratchet snarls, but I know that he won't help me, not with the field and frame bearing down on me, anger, thick and hot curling into me as a hand splays above my spark chamber.
Optics bright with lust and power stare down at me and I can sense the smirk present beneath his battlemask as he kneels between my legs. I retract my armour, better to submit to the inevitable than to have it ripped of. From past experience I know that hurts.
“Consider this a small reminder.” I let my helm tip back, barely suppressing a scream as he takes my valve. He likes his enemies to scream and beg for mercy, but he prefers that we remain silent, take it as he would, prove that we are strong enough to be part of his army.
He must have been planning this, anticipating it, for charge is already skittering across his armour and I am glad. Anger makes him brutal, unforgiving, but it also heats him faster, his own emotions spurring him on. I can feel his fingers digging into my hips as he anchors me in place.
The grip tightens further, crushing delicate wiring as he stills, warmth filling my valve as pleasure mingles with the anger in his field.
“Next time, do your job, keep my slagging army online.” He snarls as he withdraws, uncaring of the energon and transfluid still staining his spike. He strides out without a backward glance and I remain where I am, my vents frantically working to cool my frame.
Ratchet offers me a hand, hauling me to my feet before enfolding me in his arms and his energy field, emotions running unchecked as it pulses, flaring with his agitation. Only around me will he let his tightly controlled field relax and now I can read anger, hatred, resignation, resentment, devotion.
Much the same as my own field, for we both love and hate our Prime. I would enjoy putting a blade through his spark, twisting it, letting him feel all the hurt and pain he has given us, and yet, it is love that would stay my hand. Love for a mech that holds my loyalty as surely as Ratchet holds my spark.