[G1] The Trick is to Keep Breathing
a/n: This fic is NSFW.
Title: The Trick is to Keep Breathing
Universe: G1
Characters: RatchetxSunstreakerxSideswipe
Rating: M
Warning: twincest, sticky, fisting
Description: Sunstreaker wants something but is too embarrassed to ask for it. Too bad for him, Sideswipe is the weakest link and Ratchet knows it.
Written for the twinsxratch community and a Wrench of Inspiration kink prompt.
Ratchet was not a telepath by any means. But he had learned over the years to become an expert in frame language, energy fields, and faceplate expression.
Even so, his twins still baffled him on occasion.
Sunstreaker wanted something, that much was obvious. However, he was not talking.
He had made himself scarce instead. He scattered when Ratchet got close. And once, Ratchet caught a whiff of startled embarrassment on the retreating twin's field.
Sunstreaker had even gone so far as to take opposite shifts from Ratchet and bully First Aid into fixing his numerous scrapes, dings, or minor damage.
Ratchet was starting to wonder if he should take offense.
After the fourth time Sunstreaker saw him coming, whirled on a heel, and fled, Ratchet had had enough. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
He went straight for the weakest link.
Sideswipe was in the rec room, surrounded by his friends. He thought he was safe.
He was wrong.
Ratchet approached, expression a thunderous visage. The Autobots scattered, one by one, with mumbled excuses and flat out denials.
By the time Ratchet arrived at the table, Sideswipe was alone, abandoned by his so-called friends. He looked like a deer in the headlights, seconds away from bolting.
“Don't. You. Move,” Ratchet growled.
Sideswipe froze, every armor plate locking down. “Uh, hi, Ratchet,” he said, optics darting about. “You're looking cranky today.”
“I tend to get that way when I'm being ignored,” Ratchet retorted, inviting himself to an empty chair.
Sideswipe's engine stuttered. He searched for help, and an escape, but there was none to be found. He was on his own and he had Sunstreaker to thank for that.
“W-who would do that?”
Ratchet's optics cycled down. “I'm not playing games, Sideswipe. What in the glitching frag is wrong with your brother?”
“Nothing. He's just... busy.” A nervous chuckle bubbled out of Sideswipe's vocalizer. “You know Sunny. If there's a minute to spend polishing, he's going to take it.”
Ratchet leaned forward, his very presence surging across the table. “You want to tell me another lie?” he asked, warning notes dark in his vocals. “Because I can get creative, too.”
Something squeaked in Sideswipe's substructure. “He'll kill me,” Sideswipe protested.
Poor mech. Trapped between his crazy brother and an equally crazy medic. Ratchet would feel pity if he wasn't so fragged off.
Ratchet lowered his helm, making Sideswipe the sole focus of his intent stare. “Not if I get you first.”
A whine crawled out of Sideswipe's vocalizer. His ventilations stuttered.
Ratchet waited.
Sideswipe broke.
“You're a demon,” he accused. But it was concession.
Ratchet fought back a grin. “Answer the question.”
“Sunny... he..” Sideswipe visibly fidgeted, toyed with his energon cube, and sent a pleading glance to the rec room at large.
The Autobots were too busy watching this spectacle to even think about interfering. Their favorite show was As the Kitchen Sinks, after all. Drama was their favorite genre.
“I'm waiting,” Ratchet prodded and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“He just... he wants something and he doesn't know how to ask for it and he's embarrassed because he wants it and he doesn't want you to say no as much as he really, really, really wants you to say yes,” Sideswipe said, all in a rush, and in a decent imitation of Bluestreak.
Ratchet cycled his optics, trying to piece together the details in the run-on sentence. “And what is it that he wants?”
To his utter surprise, Sideswipe's faceplates flushed with heat. “I can't tell you.”
Ratchet's patience stormed toward the end of the road. “Sideswipe.”
The frontliner rolled his helm and then pulled a datapad out of subspace, shoving it across the table. “Here. Just don't make me say it.”
Ratchet shot Sideswipe an unamused look and reached for the datapad, pulling it toward himself and powering it on. The screen showed several images, already queued up, and Ratchet felt his orbital ridges try to crawl to the back of his helm.
Well. This was unexpected.
Fragging sparklings. This was what Ratchet got for taking up with a couple of practically younglings. Any old mech would have no problem just coming right out and saying when they wanted to experiment in the berth. But these young mechs? Too fragging embarrassed of their own desires. It was enough to make him feel old and rusted.
“Can I go now?” Sideswipe pleaded, looking two steps away from bolting whether Ratchet allowed him to or not.
“No.” Ratchet tucked the datapad away for later perusal. “Your brother is an idiot.”
Sideswipe huffed. “Tell me something I don't know.”
“You want this, too?”
“No!” Sideswipe straightened, quick as a shot, but his denial was a bit too hasty to give much credence to it. “I mean, I don't think I do.” He fidgeted, faceplates burning a hotter glow.
Figures. Ratchet rapped the tabletop with his fingers, wondering if he should approach this with diplomacy and tact, or his usual flair for the stupid.
Maybe a mixture of both.
He cycled a ventilation and pinned Sideswipe with his most serious stare. “I would have been happier if he'd just asked me,” Ratchet said, “but if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right.”
Surprise etched itself across Sideswipe's features. His mouth opened and closed, but his vocalizer glitched static.
“You tell that brother of yours to come to the medbay after his shift,” Ratchet continued, rising to his pedes and feeling the weight of the eons. Or was it the miles? “Or I'll take his absence as an indication he's done with this.” He made a circular gesture with his hand, indicating himself, Sideswipe, and the missing twin.
Sideswipe jerked. “But--”
“Package deal, remember?” Ratchet tapped his helm. “It's all or nothing, Sideswipe. You two want to play with the big boys, you have to start acting like it.”
He turned away from the table, leaving Sideswipe to stew in the knowledge that Ratchet had given up chasing. It would be up to Sideswipe to relay the message. And then it would be up to Sunstreaker to decide what he really wanted.
o0o0o
Ratchet waited.
He pretended he wasn't by organizing his file cabinets, straightening up his desk, dusting his office, updating patient files, and inspecting his medical equipment. He had one sensor locked on the medbay doors, and one finger figuratively poised over the dial, ready to call Hoist in for his shift.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. Which was why Private Room Delta was prepped and ready and the most soundproof of them all.
The doors opened. Ratchet looked up, unsurprised to find Sideswipe and Sunstreaker coming inside, the former looking harried and the latter as though he intended to bolt at any second. Well, they weren't twins for nothing.
“We made it,” Sideswipe announced, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. He offered a nervous chuckle.
Sunstreaker gave a longing glance to the door. Embarrassment and anticipation both leaked from his field before he could tamp it down.
“So you did,” Ratchet drawled and gestured to Delta with a tilt of his helm. “Let's talk.”
Sideswipe grabbed Sunstreaker's arm before his twin could make an escape. “Sure thing, Ratch,” he said with forced cheer and half-dragged Sunstreaker toward the door.
Ratchet bit back a sigh, commed Hoist who was willing to exchange shifts, and followed them inside. He closed the door behind him, locked it with a code only Prime could override (and sometimes Red Alert when he was feeling crafty) and turned toward his lovers.
Sideswipe was poking his olfactory sensor around like a turbofox exploring a new home, but Sunstreaker was staring at the medberth like he'd never seen one before.
“Now,” Ratchet said, loudly enough that Sunstreaker startled and Sideswipe whirled toward him. “It has come to my attention that you, Sunstreaker, want something.” He pulled out the datapad Sideswipe had given him for emphasis. “Care to elaborate?”
Sunstreaker shot his brother a poisonous look, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Sideswipe!” he hissed.
The red twin held up his hands, stepping away from his brother. “It's not my fault you were acting like a glitch. Primus, Sunny. Just tell him!”
Silence. Sunstreaker huffed, twitching uneasily, his gaze falling.
Ratchet sighed, rubbing his faceplate. He tossed the datapad away and approached Sunstreaker, as skittish as a colt.
“Sideswipe asks for kinky things all the time,” Ratchet said, careful to keep his tones measured and soft. “What makes you think I'm going to laugh just because it's you with the idea this time?”
Sunstreaker stared hard at the floor, like it contained all the secrets of the universe. “It's a little extreme...”
And this would be another example of why the difference in their ages could be so very apparent.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation. “Trust me, Sunstreaker. Over the centuries I've functioned, I've seen worse. This is hardly the definition of extreme.”
“Now I'm curious,” Sideswipe said, daring to step closer to his brother. “What on Cybertron would you... no, wait.” He contemplated, face contorting with unease. “Maybe I don't want to know.”
Some of the tension visibly drained from Sunstreaker's frame. “Have you done it before?”
“No,” Ratchet admitted, “but I've spent the last three hours circuits deep in research. And I'm not adverse to the idea.”
Sunstreaker's helm snapped up, optics cycling wide in surprise. His mouth open and closed, no words emerging.
“But,” Ratchet said, resting his hands on Sunstreaker's shoulders, thumbs stroking his lover's collar brace. “If we do this, we do it my way and we do it right. Agreed?”
A ripple of heat surged beneath Ratchet's hands, rising from Sunstreaker's core. “Okay,” he said. “Now?”
Ratchet grinned. “Why else do you think I told you to come here?” His thumbs gave another caress to Sunstreaker's neck cables before he leaned in, brushing his lips over Sunstreaker's. “Get on the berth.”
Arousal flooded Sunstreaker's field. He all but scrambled to obey, anticipation coloring the edges of his field.
“Just so you know,” Sideswipe said, nudging closer to Ratchet. “I want no part of this. Except for the watching.”
Ratchet rolled his optics. “I know how much you like to watch, Sides.” He pointed to the berth. “You, too.”
Chuckling, Sideswipe did as he was commanded. Ratchet let them get arranged to their liking and fetched the supplies he thought he'd need, mostly a few towels for clean-up and a huge bottle of medical-grade lubricant, for the obvious.
He turned to find Sideswipe braced up against the wall with Sunstreaker laying against his front, propped up. Sideswipe had his arms around his brother and they were kissing, a sight which never failed to make Ratchet's engine rev.
“Starting without me, I see,” Ratchet said as he climbed onto the base of the medberth, one hand sliding up Sunstreaker's leg.
“Just an appetizer,” Sideswipe said with a parting nip to his brother's lips. One hand slid downward, over Sunstreaker's chassis before resting on his groin, circling the panel that concealed Sunstreaker's interface housing.
Sunstreaker drew in a sharp intake, hips languidly pushing into his brother's hand. “Fragging tease,” he grumbled, but his optics were on Ratchet, thighs parting to make room for the medic.
No hesitation, not anymore. There was nothing but trust in Sunstreaker's optics and it was simultaneously humbling and arousing.
“Gonna open for me?” Ratchet asked, his fingers joining Sideswipe's at Sunstreaker's array, stroking the closed panel over Sunstreaker's valve.
Sideswipe's engine rumbled, his hand sliding up his brother's abdomen in an obvious caress. “Of course he is, aren’t ya, bro?”
“Shut up,” Sunstreaker muttered, but he did obey, panel sliding aside with a quiet snick that seemed too loud in the expectant silence.
Trust. It weighed on him. But he was sure Sunstreaker wanted this, because lubricant was already gathering in the yellow twin's valve, beading at the rim. The parted thighs and open valve were an invitation Ratchet could not resist.
“You need to stay relaxed,” Ratchet murmured, his fingers tracing the rim of Sunstreaker's valve over and over, exciting the exterior sensors. “Focus. Ventilate. And trust me.”
Sunstreaker's valve twitched, a low rumble building in his chassis. “If I didn't, I wouldn't be here now,” he said, and gave Ratchet a long look that spoke volumes.
“Are we going to chitchat all night or we going to get this show on the road?” Sideswipe drawled, fingers sliding into Sunstreaker's chest seams.
“Impatient brat,” Ratchet muttered, but Sideswipe was right. No need to delay any longer.
He cycled a ventilation and slipped the first finger into Sunstreaker's valve, enjoying the first hitch of ventilation, and sharp intake, and soft sound that Sunstreaker made. Lubricant already soaked the walls of Sunstreaker's valve, heat rising from his frame. The anticipation must have been a thick static in his circuits all day.
“You're already wet,” Ratchet murmured, finger sliding in deeper, curling to stroke all the lovely inner nodes. “Been thinking about this, have you?”
Sunstreaker twitched his hips. “More than you'll know.”
“Boy, has he,” Sideswipe said with a chuckle, tilting his helm to rub it against his brother's. “I've been getting some pretty interesting fantasies over the bond. Trust me, Ratch, this isn't the only one.”
Ratchet hummed, adding a second finger, curling them both against Sunstreaker's anterior node. “Then we'll get to those,” he said, fingers pushing in and out of his partner's valve, covered by a sheen of glossy lubricant when they emerged. “One by one.”
Sunstreaker shivered, the last traces of unease vanishing from his frame, plating shifting and relaxing in Sideswipe's arms.
“Primus, you're beautiful,” Ratchet murmured as his optics tracked up and over the enticing display that Sunstreaker presented.
The red of Sideswipe's armor was a delightful contrast to the rich gold of Sunstreaker's plating. His optics were half-shuttered, dark with arousal. The gaps in his plating were more defined by his position, and the cloud of anxiety and anger that he usually carried was completely gone.
Sideswipe chuckled as he leaned down, nuzzling his brother's helm. “Ya already got us in the berth, Ratch. No need to sweet talk him anymore.”
Ratchet slid his hand down Sunstreaker's legs, taking his time to touch and tease and arouse. “I'm just being honest,” he said. “You're both beautiful.” He pressed his lips to Sunstreaker's knee, working his glossa into the finer mechanisms that gave the frontliner such flexibility on the battlefield.
He worked a third finger into Sunstreaker's valve, lubricant washing out over his digits, puddling on the berth. They were all going to make quite a mess by the time this was through.
Sunstreaker's engine gave a hum of appreciation. His valve twitched, grasping at Ratchet's fingers, legs trembling to either side of Ratchet's frame. There was a creak as Sunstreaker's grip on Sideswipe's arm tightened, and Ratchet eyed it with concern, but aside from minor denting, there was no real damage.
That Sideswipe was watching him with bright optics and an energy field filled with desperate arousal only made the anticipation curl heavier in Ratchet's internals. He had never thought of this before, never considered it erotic, but with Sunstreaker spread in front of him, open and trusting, his own spark contracted with desire. It was the trust, he realized, more than anything that aroused him.
“Can you take another?” Ratchet asked, and his vocals were barely above a whisper, a quaver at the end that betrayed his rising desire.
Sunstreaker's valve clenched down hard, as though in anticipation. He vented a heavy burst. “Can take a lot more,” he said, frustration and need coloring his words. “I'm not going to break. Primus!”
“And I'm not going to hurt you,” Ratchet retorted, but he slipped in a fourth finger, the smallest of them, the lubricant easing the way.
“Can't hurt me,” Sunstreaker panted, frame arching, pushing back against his brother and down on Ratchet's fingers. “Won't hurt me.”
Trust, Ratchet thought, was a very potent aphrodisiac.
He pushed his fingers in and out of Sunstreaker's valve, curling and twisting them, exploring the soft inner walls, dancing over lines of sensors. Sunstreaker's hips picked up a rhythm, his mouth open for panting gasps.
Sideswipe made a low noise, bereft of his usual during interface chatter. “Come on, Ratch,” he urged, mouthing at Sunstreaker's helm vent, glossa flicking over each slat. “Give him all of it. He can take it.”
Sunstreaker moaned an agreement, another gush of lubricant spilling out, coating Ratchet's fingers and hand, dripping down to the berth. Ratchet's ventilations stuttered.
“Let me just...” he trailed off, groping behind him for the bottle of lubricant he'd stashed there. It was probably overkill but frag it, the last thing he wanted to do was add to the register of pain in Sunstreaker's databanks.
He fumbled the bottle, surprised to find that his hands were shaking, though he couldn't identify precisely why. Lubricant sloshed from the tip, adding to the mess already on the berth, and he coated his fingers, his hand, his wrist, all the way up to his forearm. He triggered a partial transformation, smoothing down his seams, locking his plates, unwilling to even so much as pinch Sunstreaker's valve lining accidentally.
Ratchet's free hand rested on Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, feeling the shift and flex of powerful cables beneath the thinner armor. His lubricant-wet hand circled the rim of Sunstreaker's stretched valve, feeling it flutter beneath his touch.
“Ready?” he asked, and Primus, now his vocals were rough, laced with static.
Sunstreaker's answer was to arch his hips upward, thighs straining as he struggled to spread his legs wider, engines revving a harsh screech.
“More than,” Sideswipe panted, his frame undulating up against his brother's, heat pouring off both of their frames.
Ratchet worked his intake. “Okay,” he said, and worked in two fingers easily enough, adding the third, marveling at how Sunstreaker's valve clasped at his digits, hungrily demanding more.
He slipped in the fourth and then his thumb, pressing all of his fingers together to make them as small as possible. Sunstreaker's ventilation stuttered, a low sound emerging from his vocalizer. His optics brightened, helm rolling back against Sideswipe's shoulder.
Ratchet paused, feeling Sunstreaker's valve strain and stretch around his fingers. He had dampened the sensors in his hand for precisely this reason but curiosity now got the best of him. He unlocked some of the sensitivity and groaned when the readings came back to him - hot and wet and tight and charge sparking along the insides, dancing over his digits, crawling up his arm and into his substructure.
Sunstreaker's hips danced in small circles, barely moving. The extra lubricant proved unnecessary as his valve all but gushed and Ratchet took that as invitation. He pushed his hand up further, now past the knuckles, to the widest part just before his wrist. Sunstreaker made a noise, one without definition, frame trembling.
His valve fluttered around Ratchet's hand, calipers cycling, the mesh so soft and inviting. Sideswipe moaned, glossa flicking over his brother's helm, arms squeezing tight.
“Fine, he's fine, dear Primus that's hot,” Sideswipe murmured and there was a click, no doubt the sound of his spike emerging, rubbing against Sunstreaker's aft and back. “Wish it was me,” he added on the end of a moan.
In which position, Ratchet didn't know and didn't ask. That could be saved for later.
Sunstreaker himself said nothing, optics shuttering, legs trembling to either side of Ratchet. All of his vents were working full bore, struggling to keep up with a rising core temperature.
Ratchet waited, for several ventilations, counting each and every one of them, until the grasp on his hand eased. He rubbed Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, pulsing soft bursts of comfort, and eased his hand further in. To the wrist now and just beyond, heat enveloping his entire hand.
Primus, but Sideswipe was right. This was hot. Erotic like nothing Ratchet had ever seen or done before. All of his research hadn't come close to the reality of it.
Sunstreaker whimpered, hips still shifting in fractional movements, his valve clamping down hard, squeezing Ratchet's hand and wrist. He was gone, lost to the pleasure, and Sideswipe was little better, murmuring nonsense into his brother's audial, little plinks of metal on metal as he ground his spike against Sunstreaker's aft.
Ratchet sucked in a struggling ventilation of his own. Arousal roared through his systems, spike surging behind his panel, valve filling with lubricant. Later, he promised himself. Later he would let them frag him silly.
But first...
He gathered a will of steel and concentrated. Sunstreaker's valve was tight around his hand, rippling enticingly, and Ratchet ever-so-slowly began to move. He pulled his hand by a fraction and then pushed back in, inches deeper than before. Sunstreaker shook, another helpless sound escaping him, charge crackling visibly across his armor. Sideswipe echoed him, no doubt plunging into their bond, to experience the same sensations as his twin.
Spark pulsing, Ratchet took great care, thrusting his hand and wrist with minute shifts, caressing Sunstreaker's valve from the inside out. He gently loosed his fingers from their tight press, broadening them inside Sunstreaker's valve, brushing over the deepest sensors.
Sunstreaker keened and Sideswipe groaned, panting full on, his optics a glassy sheen of pleasure.
“Full,” Sideswipe gasped out, vocalizing what Sunstreaker seemed unable to. “So fragging full, Primus, yes.”
It wasn't request to stop by any definition of the word.
Ratchet worked his intakes again, cycling a ventilation, and then began to twist his arm back and forth, careful with his motions. The feeling of Sunstreaker clamping down on him was indescribable. It never felt like this with just his spike, though now he wondered, what about two spikes? What if he and Sideswipe both pinned Sunstreaker between them, pushing their spikes at once into this lovely valve?
Ratchet shuddered at the mental image, his spike surging within its housing, knocking sharply against the cover.
He lifted his optics, watching as Sunstreaker's lips parted, drawing in vent after vent through his mouth. His plating flexed and rippled in a golden wave, condensation gathering on his frame.
“Beautiful,” Ratchet breathed and drew his fingers in for the last stage.
He pulled them into a fist, tucking his thumb into the cradle of his fingers. His knuckles and the back of his hand pressed hard against Sunstreaker's valve, fighting the desperate clutch of his calipers. He twisted his wrist, rubbing his knuckles against Sunstreaker's valve, pushing on the excited sensors.
Sunstreaker whimpered and clenched down hard, hips twitching. More energy crackled over his frame, his field flaring as his engine roared. His legs twitched, plating rippling again. Metal creaked, Sideswipe hissing in pain, before Sunstreaker's entire frame bucked, overload cascading over him. His valve clenched down on Ratchet's fist and arm, almost unbearably tight, and he sucked in a startled ventilation.
Sideswipe shouted, the scent of charged ions filling the air, along with that of spent transfluid as his spike spurted against Sunstreaker's back. The twins twisted and writhed together and Ratchet struggled to move with them, refusing to harm Sunstreaker even in the midst of ecstasy. His own systems roared their arousal, he wanted to frag them so badly.
Lubricant soaked his hand, squeezed out of Sunstreaker's valve through what little space was available. Primus but it was the hottest thing Ratchet had ever seen.
“Ohhh, frag,” Sideswipe moaned, rolling his helm, optics flickering back on. “That was intense.”
“Should have seen it from my end,” Ratchet drawled, and rubbed his fingers over Sunstreaker's abdominal armor again. “He okay?”
Sideswipe grinned, rubbing his helm against his brother's. “Just resetting. He'll be fine. No pain.”
“Crazy slagger.” Ratchet cycled a careful ventilation, drawing upon every ounce of his self-control to ignore the heat in his circuits that demanded a good, hard frag.
He uncurled his fingers as the desperate clamp on his hand and wrist eased. Probably should do it now before Sunstreaker onlined, to avoid any possible discomfort.
Sideswipe loosed one of his arms, softly petting his brother's chestplate. “Yeah, but you agreed to it. So what does that make you?”
“Equally crazy.” Ratchet offered Sideswipe an amused curve of his lips before he carefully withdrew from Sunstreaker's valve, more than a little aroused by the sheer amount of lubricant that came with him.
Sunstreaker stirred the moment Ratchet was completely free, optics flickering and a soft groan spilling from his lips. He lifted his helm, optics cycling in and out as he attempted to focus.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Sideswipe teased cheerily. “Enjoy your beauty sleep?”
Sunstreaker's legs twitched. “Shut up.”
“Ah, he's such a joy first thing in the morning,” Sideswipe said with another pat to his brother's chestplate.
Ratchet rolled his optics and rose up, one finger tracing the rim of Sunstreaker's valve while the other hand cupped Sunstreaker's helm. “You all right? No damage?” The rim fluttered weakly, and the sensors in Ratchet's fingers didn't register anything but it never hurt to be careful.
“I'm fine,” Sunstreaker said, and it was kind of nice the way he turned into Ratchet's hand, mouth pressing against his palm. “Told you I could handle it.”
Ratchet vented a heated burst. “Yes, well, your definition of handling it is hopping into my medbay carrying one of your own limbs.”
“That was the one time,” Sideswipe defended. “And it was a clean break. No tore lines or anything.”
Sometimes, Ratchet asked himself why he had ever been foolish enough to take up with these two. They would be the death of him some day.
He shook his helm. “Next time,” he said, changing the subject and removing his fingers from Sunstreaker's valve, resting them on the golden twin's thigh instead. “How about asking me instead of making me chase Sideswipe down, hm?”
“Whatever.” Sunstreaker's glossa flicked out over Ratchet's palm, his optics darkening to an aroused hue. “But I think you're forgetting something.”
“Let me guess,” Ratchet drawled, thinking of the current state of the berth and the sticky mess between Sunstreaker's thighs. “You want a bath.”
Sunstreaker's engine gave a muted rumble. “Later. First, we need to take care of you,” he purred, and then he drew one of Ratchet's fingers into his mouth.
Ratchet's spike panel popped. He would have been embarrassed if it weren't for the arousal pulsing so heavily across his circuits.
Sideswipe chuckled, one of affection rather than mockery, and slid out from behind his brother in the same moment that Sunstreaker drew Ratchet down on top of him.
“Our treat,” Sideswipe said, promise thick in his vocals.
Since when, Ratchet mused as Sunstreaker attacked him with hands and mouth and Sideswipe's energy field blanketed them all in desire, did he ever say no to them?
***
a/n: I'm also thinking it's probably in line with Push It, Love How it Hurts, and Quick 'n Dirty. Eventually I'll think of a title for the series. I'm working on it.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I do so love writing pronz with the twins.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/226359.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: The Trick is to Keep Breathing
Universe: G1
Characters: RatchetxSunstreakerxSideswipe
Rating: M
Warning: twincest, sticky, fisting
Description: Sunstreaker wants something but is too embarrassed to ask for it. Too bad for him, Sideswipe is the weakest link and Ratchet knows it.
Written for the twinsxratch community and a Wrench of Inspiration kink prompt.
Ratchet was not a telepath by any means. But he had learned over the years to become an expert in frame language, energy fields, and faceplate expression.
Even so, his twins still baffled him on occasion.
Sunstreaker wanted something, that much was obvious. However, he was not talking.
He had made himself scarce instead. He scattered when Ratchet got close. And once, Ratchet caught a whiff of startled embarrassment on the retreating twin's field.
Sunstreaker had even gone so far as to take opposite shifts from Ratchet and bully First Aid into fixing his numerous scrapes, dings, or minor damage.
Ratchet was starting to wonder if he should take offense.
After the fourth time Sunstreaker saw him coming, whirled on a heel, and fled, Ratchet had had enough. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
He went straight for the weakest link.
Sideswipe was in the rec room, surrounded by his friends. He thought he was safe.
He was wrong.
Ratchet approached, expression a thunderous visage. The Autobots scattered, one by one, with mumbled excuses and flat out denials.
By the time Ratchet arrived at the table, Sideswipe was alone, abandoned by his so-called friends. He looked like a deer in the headlights, seconds away from bolting.
“Don't. You. Move,” Ratchet growled.
Sideswipe froze, every armor plate locking down. “Uh, hi, Ratchet,” he said, optics darting about. “You're looking cranky today.”
“I tend to get that way when I'm being ignored,” Ratchet retorted, inviting himself to an empty chair.
Sideswipe's engine stuttered. He searched for help, and an escape, but there was none to be found. He was on his own and he had Sunstreaker to thank for that.
“W-who would do that?”
Ratchet's optics cycled down. “I'm not playing games, Sideswipe. What in the glitching frag is wrong with your brother?”
“Nothing. He's just... busy.” A nervous chuckle bubbled out of Sideswipe's vocalizer. “You know Sunny. If there's a minute to spend polishing, he's going to take it.”
Ratchet leaned forward, his very presence surging across the table. “You want to tell me another lie?” he asked, warning notes dark in his vocals. “Because I can get creative, too.”
Something squeaked in Sideswipe's substructure. “He'll kill me,” Sideswipe protested.
Poor mech. Trapped between his crazy brother and an equally crazy medic. Ratchet would feel pity if he wasn't so fragged off.
Ratchet lowered his helm, making Sideswipe the sole focus of his intent stare. “Not if I get you first.”
A whine crawled out of Sideswipe's vocalizer. His ventilations stuttered.
Ratchet waited.
Sideswipe broke.
“You're a demon,” he accused. But it was concession.
Ratchet fought back a grin. “Answer the question.”
“Sunny... he..” Sideswipe visibly fidgeted, toyed with his energon cube, and sent a pleading glance to the rec room at large.
The Autobots were too busy watching this spectacle to even think about interfering. Their favorite show was As the Kitchen Sinks, after all. Drama was their favorite genre.
“I'm waiting,” Ratchet prodded and drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“He just... he wants something and he doesn't know how to ask for it and he's embarrassed because he wants it and he doesn't want you to say no as much as he really, really, really wants you to say yes,” Sideswipe said, all in a rush, and in a decent imitation of Bluestreak.
Ratchet cycled his optics, trying to piece together the details in the run-on sentence. “And what is it that he wants?”
To his utter surprise, Sideswipe's faceplates flushed with heat. “I can't tell you.”
Ratchet's patience stormed toward the end of the road. “Sideswipe.”
The frontliner rolled his helm and then pulled a datapad out of subspace, shoving it across the table. “Here. Just don't make me say it.”
Ratchet shot Sideswipe an unamused look and reached for the datapad, pulling it toward himself and powering it on. The screen showed several images, already queued up, and Ratchet felt his orbital ridges try to crawl to the back of his helm.
Well. This was unexpected.
Fragging sparklings. This was what Ratchet got for taking up with a couple of practically younglings. Any old mech would have no problem just coming right out and saying when they wanted to experiment in the berth. But these young mechs? Too fragging embarrassed of their own desires. It was enough to make him feel old and rusted.
“Can I go now?” Sideswipe pleaded, looking two steps away from bolting whether Ratchet allowed him to or not.
“No.” Ratchet tucked the datapad away for later perusal. “Your brother is an idiot.”
Sideswipe huffed. “Tell me something I don't know.”
“You want this, too?”
“No!” Sideswipe straightened, quick as a shot, but his denial was a bit too hasty to give much credence to it. “I mean, I don't think I do.” He fidgeted, faceplates burning a hotter glow.
Figures. Ratchet rapped the tabletop with his fingers, wondering if he should approach this with diplomacy and tact, or his usual flair for the stupid.
Maybe a mixture of both.
He cycled a ventilation and pinned Sideswipe with his most serious stare. “I would have been happier if he'd just asked me,” Ratchet said, “but if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right.”
Surprise etched itself across Sideswipe's features. His mouth opened and closed, but his vocalizer glitched static.
“You tell that brother of yours to come to the medbay after his shift,” Ratchet continued, rising to his pedes and feeling the weight of the eons. Or was it the miles? “Or I'll take his absence as an indication he's done with this.” He made a circular gesture with his hand, indicating himself, Sideswipe, and the missing twin.
Sideswipe jerked. “But--”
“Package deal, remember?” Ratchet tapped his helm. “It's all or nothing, Sideswipe. You two want to play with the big boys, you have to start acting like it.”
He turned away from the table, leaving Sideswipe to stew in the knowledge that Ratchet had given up chasing. It would be up to Sideswipe to relay the message. And then it would be up to Sunstreaker to decide what he really wanted.
o0o0o
Ratchet waited.
He pretended he wasn't by organizing his file cabinets, straightening up his desk, dusting his office, updating patient files, and inspecting his medical equipment. He had one sensor locked on the medbay doors, and one finger figuratively poised over the dial, ready to call Hoist in for his shift.
If he was going to do this, he was going to do this right. Which was why Private Room Delta was prepped and ready and the most soundproof of them all.
The doors opened. Ratchet looked up, unsurprised to find Sideswipe and Sunstreaker coming inside, the former looking harried and the latter as though he intended to bolt at any second. Well, they weren't twins for nothing.
“We made it,” Sideswipe announced, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably. He offered a nervous chuckle.
Sunstreaker gave a longing glance to the door. Embarrassment and anticipation both leaked from his field before he could tamp it down.
“So you did,” Ratchet drawled and gestured to Delta with a tilt of his helm. “Let's talk.”
Sideswipe grabbed Sunstreaker's arm before his twin could make an escape. “Sure thing, Ratch,” he said with forced cheer and half-dragged Sunstreaker toward the door.
Ratchet bit back a sigh, commed Hoist who was willing to exchange shifts, and followed them inside. He closed the door behind him, locked it with a code only Prime could override (and sometimes Red Alert when he was feeling crafty) and turned toward his lovers.
Sideswipe was poking his olfactory sensor around like a turbofox exploring a new home, but Sunstreaker was staring at the medberth like he'd never seen one before.
“Now,” Ratchet said, loudly enough that Sunstreaker startled and Sideswipe whirled toward him. “It has come to my attention that you, Sunstreaker, want something.” He pulled out the datapad Sideswipe had given him for emphasis. “Care to elaborate?”
Sunstreaker shot his brother a poisonous look, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Sideswipe!” he hissed.
The red twin held up his hands, stepping away from his brother. “It's not my fault you were acting like a glitch. Primus, Sunny. Just tell him!”
Silence. Sunstreaker huffed, twitching uneasily, his gaze falling.
Ratchet sighed, rubbing his faceplate. He tossed the datapad away and approached Sunstreaker, as skittish as a colt.
“Sideswipe asks for kinky things all the time,” Ratchet said, careful to keep his tones measured and soft. “What makes you think I'm going to laugh just because it's you with the idea this time?”
Sunstreaker stared hard at the floor, like it contained all the secrets of the universe. “It's a little extreme...”
And this would be another example of why the difference in their ages could be so very apparent.
Ratchet cycled a ventilation. “Trust me, Sunstreaker. Over the centuries I've functioned, I've seen worse. This is hardly the definition of extreme.”
“Now I'm curious,” Sideswipe said, daring to step closer to his brother. “What on Cybertron would you... no, wait.” He contemplated, face contorting with unease. “Maybe I don't want to know.”
Some of the tension visibly drained from Sunstreaker's frame. “Have you done it before?”
“No,” Ratchet admitted, “but I've spent the last three hours circuits deep in research. And I'm not adverse to the idea.”
Sunstreaker's helm snapped up, optics cycling wide in surprise. His mouth open and closed, no words emerging.
“But,” Ratchet said, resting his hands on Sunstreaker's shoulders, thumbs stroking his lover's collar brace. “If we do this, we do it my way and we do it right. Agreed?”
A ripple of heat surged beneath Ratchet's hands, rising from Sunstreaker's core. “Okay,” he said. “Now?”
Ratchet grinned. “Why else do you think I told you to come here?” His thumbs gave another caress to Sunstreaker's neck cables before he leaned in, brushing his lips over Sunstreaker's. “Get on the berth.”
Arousal flooded Sunstreaker's field. He all but scrambled to obey, anticipation coloring the edges of his field.
“Just so you know,” Sideswipe said, nudging closer to Ratchet. “I want no part of this. Except for the watching.”
Ratchet rolled his optics. “I know how much you like to watch, Sides.” He pointed to the berth. “You, too.”
Chuckling, Sideswipe did as he was commanded. Ratchet let them get arranged to their liking and fetched the supplies he thought he'd need, mostly a few towels for clean-up and a huge bottle of medical-grade lubricant, for the obvious.
He turned to find Sideswipe braced up against the wall with Sunstreaker laying against his front, propped up. Sideswipe had his arms around his brother and they were kissing, a sight which never failed to make Ratchet's engine rev.
“Starting without me, I see,” Ratchet said as he climbed onto the base of the medberth, one hand sliding up Sunstreaker's leg.
“Just an appetizer,” Sideswipe said with a parting nip to his brother's lips. One hand slid downward, over Sunstreaker's chassis before resting on his groin, circling the panel that concealed Sunstreaker's interface housing.
Sunstreaker drew in a sharp intake, hips languidly pushing into his brother's hand. “Fragging tease,” he grumbled, but his optics were on Ratchet, thighs parting to make room for the medic.
No hesitation, not anymore. There was nothing but trust in Sunstreaker's optics and it was simultaneously humbling and arousing.
“Gonna open for me?” Ratchet asked, his fingers joining Sideswipe's at Sunstreaker's array, stroking the closed panel over Sunstreaker's valve.
Sideswipe's engine rumbled, his hand sliding up his brother's abdomen in an obvious caress. “Of course he is, aren’t ya, bro?”
“Shut up,” Sunstreaker muttered, but he did obey, panel sliding aside with a quiet snick that seemed too loud in the expectant silence.
Trust. It weighed on him. But he was sure Sunstreaker wanted this, because lubricant was already gathering in the yellow twin's valve, beading at the rim. The parted thighs and open valve were an invitation Ratchet could not resist.
“You need to stay relaxed,” Ratchet murmured, his fingers tracing the rim of Sunstreaker's valve over and over, exciting the exterior sensors. “Focus. Ventilate. And trust me.”
Sunstreaker's valve twitched, a low rumble building in his chassis. “If I didn't, I wouldn't be here now,” he said, and gave Ratchet a long look that spoke volumes.
“Are we going to chitchat all night or we going to get this show on the road?” Sideswipe drawled, fingers sliding into Sunstreaker's chest seams.
“Impatient brat,” Ratchet muttered, but Sideswipe was right. No need to delay any longer.
He cycled a ventilation and slipped the first finger into Sunstreaker's valve, enjoying the first hitch of ventilation, and sharp intake, and soft sound that Sunstreaker made. Lubricant already soaked the walls of Sunstreaker's valve, heat rising from his frame. The anticipation must have been a thick static in his circuits all day.
“You're already wet,” Ratchet murmured, finger sliding in deeper, curling to stroke all the lovely inner nodes. “Been thinking about this, have you?”
Sunstreaker twitched his hips. “More than you'll know.”
“Boy, has he,” Sideswipe said with a chuckle, tilting his helm to rub it against his brother's. “I've been getting some pretty interesting fantasies over the bond. Trust me, Ratch, this isn't the only one.”
Ratchet hummed, adding a second finger, curling them both against Sunstreaker's anterior node. “Then we'll get to those,” he said, fingers pushing in and out of his partner's valve, covered by a sheen of glossy lubricant when they emerged. “One by one.”
Sunstreaker shivered, the last traces of unease vanishing from his frame, plating shifting and relaxing in Sideswipe's arms.
“Primus, you're beautiful,” Ratchet murmured as his optics tracked up and over the enticing display that Sunstreaker presented.
The red of Sideswipe's armor was a delightful contrast to the rich gold of Sunstreaker's plating. His optics were half-shuttered, dark with arousal. The gaps in his plating were more defined by his position, and the cloud of anxiety and anger that he usually carried was completely gone.
Sideswipe chuckled as he leaned down, nuzzling his brother's helm. “Ya already got us in the berth, Ratch. No need to sweet talk him anymore.”
Ratchet slid his hand down Sunstreaker's legs, taking his time to touch and tease and arouse. “I'm just being honest,” he said. “You're both beautiful.” He pressed his lips to Sunstreaker's knee, working his glossa into the finer mechanisms that gave the frontliner such flexibility on the battlefield.
He worked a third finger into Sunstreaker's valve, lubricant washing out over his digits, puddling on the berth. They were all going to make quite a mess by the time this was through.
Sunstreaker's engine gave a hum of appreciation. His valve twitched, grasping at Ratchet's fingers, legs trembling to either side of Ratchet's frame. There was a creak as Sunstreaker's grip on Sideswipe's arm tightened, and Ratchet eyed it with concern, but aside from minor denting, there was no real damage.
That Sideswipe was watching him with bright optics and an energy field filled with desperate arousal only made the anticipation curl heavier in Ratchet's internals. He had never thought of this before, never considered it erotic, but with Sunstreaker spread in front of him, open and trusting, his own spark contracted with desire. It was the trust, he realized, more than anything that aroused him.
“Can you take another?” Ratchet asked, and his vocals were barely above a whisper, a quaver at the end that betrayed his rising desire.
Sunstreaker's valve clenched down hard, as though in anticipation. He vented a heavy burst. “Can take a lot more,” he said, frustration and need coloring his words. “I'm not going to break. Primus!”
“And I'm not going to hurt you,” Ratchet retorted, but he slipped in a fourth finger, the smallest of them, the lubricant easing the way.
“Can't hurt me,” Sunstreaker panted, frame arching, pushing back against his brother and down on Ratchet's fingers. “Won't hurt me.”
Trust, Ratchet thought, was a very potent aphrodisiac.
He pushed his fingers in and out of Sunstreaker's valve, curling and twisting them, exploring the soft inner walls, dancing over lines of sensors. Sunstreaker's hips picked up a rhythm, his mouth open for panting gasps.
Sideswipe made a low noise, bereft of his usual during interface chatter. “Come on, Ratch,” he urged, mouthing at Sunstreaker's helm vent, glossa flicking over each slat. “Give him all of it. He can take it.”
Sunstreaker moaned an agreement, another gush of lubricant spilling out, coating Ratchet's fingers and hand, dripping down to the berth. Ratchet's ventilations stuttered.
“Let me just...” he trailed off, groping behind him for the bottle of lubricant he'd stashed there. It was probably overkill but frag it, the last thing he wanted to do was add to the register of pain in Sunstreaker's databanks.
He fumbled the bottle, surprised to find that his hands were shaking, though he couldn't identify precisely why. Lubricant sloshed from the tip, adding to the mess already on the berth, and he coated his fingers, his hand, his wrist, all the way up to his forearm. He triggered a partial transformation, smoothing down his seams, locking his plates, unwilling to even so much as pinch Sunstreaker's valve lining accidentally.
Ratchet's free hand rested on Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, feeling the shift and flex of powerful cables beneath the thinner armor. His lubricant-wet hand circled the rim of Sunstreaker's stretched valve, feeling it flutter beneath his touch.
“Ready?” he asked, and Primus, now his vocals were rough, laced with static.
Sunstreaker's answer was to arch his hips upward, thighs straining as he struggled to spread his legs wider, engines revving a harsh screech.
“More than,” Sideswipe panted, his frame undulating up against his brother's, heat pouring off both of their frames.
Ratchet worked his intake. “Okay,” he said, and worked in two fingers easily enough, adding the third, marveling at how Sunstreaker's valve clasped at his digits, hungrily demanding more.
He slipped in the fourth and then his thumb, pressing all of his fingers together to make them as small as possible. Sunstreaker's ventilation stuttered, a low sound emerging from his vocalizer. His optics brightened, helm rolling back against Sideswipe's shoulder.
Ratchet paused, feeling Sunstreaker's valve strain and stretch around his fingers. He had dampened the sensors in his hand for precisely this reason but curiosity now got the best of him. He unlocked some of the sensitivity and groaned when the readings came back to him - hot and wet and tight and charge sparking along the insides, dancing over his digits, crawling up his arm and into his substructure.
Sunstreaker's hips danced in small circles, barely moving. The extra lubricant proved unnecessary as his valve all but gushed and Ratchet took that as invitation. He pushed his hand up further, now past the knuckles, to the widest part just before his wrist. Sunstreaker made a noise, one without definition, frame trembling.
His valve fluttered around Ratchet's hand, calipers cycling, the mesh so soft and inviting. Sideswipe moaned, glossa flicking over his brother's helm, arms squeezing tight.
“Fine, he's fine, dear Primus that's hot,” Sideswipe murmured and there was a click, no doubt the sound of his spike emerging, rubbing against Sunstreaker's aft and back. “Wish it was me,” he added on the end of a moan.
In which position, Ratchet didn't know and didn't ask. That could be saved for later.
Sunstreaker himself said nothing, optics shuttering, legs trembling to either side of Ratchet. All of his vents were working full bore, struggling to keep up with a rising core temperature.
Ratchet waited, for several ventilations, counting each and every one of them, until the grasp on his hand eased. He rubbed Sunstreaker's abdominal plating, pulsing soft bursts of comfort, and eased his hand further in. To the wrist now and just beyond, heat enveloping his entire hand.
Primus, but Sideswipe was right. This was hot. Erotic like nothing Ratchet had ever seen or done before. All of his research hadn't come close to the reality of it.
Sunstreaker whimpered, hips still shifting in fractional movements, his valve clamping down hard, squeezing Ratchet's hand and wrist. He was gone, lost to the pleasure, and Sideswipe was little better, murmuring nonsense into his brother's audial, little plinks of metal on metal as he ground his spike against Sunstreaker's aft.
Ratchet sucked in a struggling ventilation of his own. Arousal roared through his systems, spike surging behind his panel, valve filling with lubricant. Later, he promised himself. Later he would let them frag him silly.
But first...
He gathered a will of steel and concentrated. Sunstreaker's valve was tight around his hand, rippling enticingly, and Ratchet ever-so-slowly began to move. He pulled his hand by a fraction and then pushed back in, inches deeper than before. Sunstreaker shook, another helpless sound escaping him, charge crackling visibly across his armor. Sideswipe echoed him, no doubt plunging into their bond, to experience the same sensations as his twin.
Spark pulsing, Ratchet took great care, thrusting his hand and wrist with minute shifts, caressing Sunstreaker's valve from the inside out. He gently loosed his fingers from their tight press, broadening them inside Sunstreaker's valve, brushing over the deepest sensors.
Sunstreaker keened and Sideswipe groaned, panting full on, his optics a glassy sheen of pleasure.
“Full,” Sideswipe gasped out, vocalizing what Sunstreaker seemed unable to. “So fragging full, Primus, yes.”
It wasn't request to stop by any definition of the word.
Ratchet worked his intakes again, cycling a ventilation, and then began to twist his arm back and forth, careful with his motions. The feeling of Sunstreaker clamping down on him was indescribable. It never felt like this with just his spike, though now he wondered, what about two spikes? What if he and Sideswipe both pinned Sunstreaker between them, pushing their spikes at once into this lovely valve?
Ratchet shuddered at the mental image, his spike surging within its housing, knocking sharply against the cover.
He lifted his optics, watching as Sunstreaker's lips parted, drawing in vent after vent through his mouth. His plating flexed and rippled in a golden wave, condensation gathering on his frame.
“Beautiful,” Ratchet breathed and drew his fingers in for the last stage.
He pulled them into a fist, tucking his thumb into the cradle of his fingers. His knuckles and the back of his hand pressed hard against Sunstreaker's valve, fighting the desperate clutch of his calipers. He twisted his wrist, rubbing his knuckles against Sunstreaker's valve, pushing on the excited sensors.
Sunstreaker whimpered and clenched down hard, hips twitching. More energy crackled over his frame, his field flaring as his engine roared. His legs twitched, plating rippling again. Metal creaked, Sideswipe hissing in pain, before Sunstreaker's entire frame bucked, overload cascading over him. His valve clenched down on Ratchet's fist and arm, almost unbearably tight, and he sucked in a startled ventilation.
Sideswipe shouted, the scent of charged ions filling the air, along with that of spent transfluid as his spike spurted against Sunstreaker's back. The twins twisted and writhed together and Ratchet struggled to move with them, refusing to harm Sunstreaker even in the midst of ecstasy. His own systems roared their arousal, he wanted to frag them so badly.
Lubricant soaked his hand, squeezed out of Sunstreaker's valve through what little space was available. Primus but it was the hottest thing Ratchet had ever seen.
“Ohhh, frag,” Sideswipe moaned, rolling his helm, optics flickering back on. “That was intense.”
“Should have seen it from my end,” Ratchet drawled, and rubbed his fingers over Sunstreaker's abdominal armor again. “He okay?”
Sideswipe grinned, rubbing his helm against his brother's. “Just resetting. He'll be fine. No pain.”
“Crazy slagger.” Ratchet cycled a careful ventilation, drawing upon every ounce of his self-control to ignore the heat in his circuits that demanded a good, hard frag.
He uncurled his fingers as the desperate clamp on his hand and wrist eased. Probably should do it now before Sunstreaker onlined, to avoid any possible discomfort.
Sideswipe loosed one of his arms, softly petting his brother's chestplate. “Yeah, but you agreed to it. So what does that make you?”
“Equally crazy.” Ratchet offered Sideswipe an amused curve of his lips before he carefully withdrew from Sunstreaker's valve, more than a little aroused by the sheer amount of lubricant that came with him.
Sunstreaker stirred the moment Ratchet was completely free, optics flickering and a soft groan spilling from his lips. He lifted his helm, optics cycling in and out as he attempted to focus.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Sideswipe teased cheerily. “Enjoy your beauty sleep?”
Sunstreaker's legs twitched. “Shut up.”
“Ah, he's such a joy first thing in the morning,” Sideswipe said with another pat to his brother's chestplate.
Ratchet rolled his optics and rose up, one finger tracing the rim of Sunstreaker's valve while the other hand cupped Sunstreaker's helm. “You all right? No damage?” The rim fluttered weakly, and the sensors in Ratchet's fingers didn't register anything but it never hurt to be careful.
“I'm fine,” Sunstreaker said, and it was kind of nice the way he turned into Ratchet's hand, mouth pressing against his palm. “Told you I could handle it.”
Ratchet vented a heated burst. “Yes, well, your definition of handling it is hopping into my medbay carrying one of your own limbs.”
“That was the one time,” Sideswipe defended. “And it was a clean break. No tore lines or anything.”
Sometimes, Ratchet asked himself why he had ever been foolish enough to take up with these two. They would be the death of him some day.
He shook his helm. “Next time,” he said, changing the subject and removing his fingers from Sunstreaker's valve, resting them on the golden twin's thigh instead. “How about asking me instead of making me chase Sideswipe down, hm?”
“Whatever.” Sunstreaker's glossa flicked out over Ratchet's palm, his optics darkening to an aroused hue. “But I think you're forgetting something.”
“Let me guess,” Ratchet drawled, thinking of the current state of the berth and the sticky mess between Sunstreaker's thighs. “You want a bath.”
Sunstreaker's engine gave a muted rumble. “Later. First, we need to take care of you,” he purred, and then he drew one of Ratchet's fingers into his mouth.
Ratchet's spike panel popped. He would have been embarrassed if it weren't for the arousal pulsing so heavily across his circuits.
Sideswipe chuckled, one of affection rather than mockery, and slid out from behind his brother in the same moment that Sunstreaker drew Ratchet down on top of him.
“Our treat,” Sideswipe said, promise thick in his vocals.
Since when, Ratchet mused as Sunstreaker attacked him with hands and mouth and Sideswipe's energy field blanketed them all in desire, did he ever say no to them?
***
a/n: I'm also thinking it's probably in line with Push It, Love How it Hurts, and Quick 'n Dirty. Eventually I'll think of a title for the series. I'm working on it.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. I do so love writing pronz with the twins.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/226359.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.