Sticky Response pt2
This post is closed to new stories! Head over to Pt 5!
Stories that were started here continue here.
FIC: Continuity - Title (optional) - Characters - brief Kink (please include the entire thing on every part you post and for every comment!) and put Ch# or Pt# at the end. Note any major squicks or kinks in the header as a courtesy to the ( Read more... )
Stories that were started here continue here.
FIC: Continuity - Title (optional) - Characters - brief Kink (please include the entire thing on every part you post and for every comment!) and put Ch# or Pt# at the end. Note any major squicks or kinks in the header as a courtesy to the ( Read more... )
"Ratchet, please, hold still. I need you." Optimus seized his CMO around the hips and knelt in front of him, right in the middle of the Ark's main corridor.
"Optimus, we're in public," Ratchet hissed, then squeaked in a most un-CMO-like manner as Optimus's mask slid aside and he ran his glossa over Ratchet's rapidly heating panel.
"I don't care," Optimus said. "You wouldn't have cared back on Cybertron."
"Things were different then!" Ratchet cried. He backed up a half step, and the wall caught him in the skidplate. Not that he didn't want Optimus's mouth around his equipment - quite the opposite in fact, and his entire frame tingled for it. It was just the context. "The humans might see; they have all those taboos about interfa-" He froze; his panel had come undone all by itself, and his spike was slowly sliding free. "Oh slag..."
"Oh yes," Optimus rumbled, and Ratchet gasped as the Prime took his spike in his mouth. That glossa, the heat, the friction, everything was just too good. Ratchet's head flew back, his head denting the wall. He groaned, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Optimus's helm.
"Wow," a new voice intruded. Ratchet recognised Jazz, but only barely. "What's goin' on here, my mech?"
I'm about to overload, Ratchet thought, but he managed to force out a difference set of words. "What... it looks like," he said, his voice strained beyond belief. "Prime... reliving the... good... old... days. Oh frag!"
"Knew there was somethin' about Cybertron I was missin'," Jazz said.
Ratchet could only nod, his fans on high and his head spinning. He clutched at his leader's helm as the charge rushed through him, the overload building inexorably until Optimus enveloped Ratchet's entire spike in his mouth, the tip hitting the back of Optimus's throat and oh my PRIMUS that was good. Ratchet came hard, barely able to stand as Optimus licked the transfluid and the lubricant from his hardware.
"My turn?" Jazz suggested, giving them both a grin that Ratchet hadn't seen since the Ark first launched.
"My pleasure," Optimus said, but before Jazz could release his panel, Optimus had vanished into an adjacent office. He returned quickly, carrying a comfortable-looking chair.
"We could always have gone in the office," Ratchet commented, but he knew that wasn't the point. There had been no shame in public interfacing on Cybertron - especially not on this particular day each solar cycle, when Autobots were encouraged to interface with any many partners as possible - and so there shouldn't be here. Well, when the humans weren't on base, anyway.
"Would you like a seat, Ratchet?" Optimus asked. Jazz's grin grew wider; clearly, he could see where this was going.
"Yes," Ratchet said, but as soon as he was seated, Optimus hooked his arms under Ratchet's knees, raising his legs. Yes, this certainly was going where Ratchet thought it was. He released his valve cover, and moaned as Optimus lapped at the rim of his valve. Over Optimus's shoulder, he could see Jazz stroking his spike and giving Optimus’s aft a deliciously calculating look.
"Take me, Jazz!" Optimus groaned; the vibrations of his voice thrummed through Ratchet's valve and made his sensors sing. Then Jazz got in place behind their leader; he made optical contact with Ratchet, bit his lower lip in a wonderfully seductive way, and thrust forward.
Ratchet had never felt so wonton. His legs spread, Optimus's glossa working in and out of his valve, catching on the nodes and stretching him almost as wide as a spike. And the vibrations from Jazz as he fucked Optimus hard, his dark hands on Optimus's hips, his blue optics flickering.
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