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keelywolfeInterlude #2
Ratchet; Internal Whispers
Notes: This is not set in the current timeline, but some short time before it. Don't worry, it'll make sense.
Interlude #1: Twins; Creation Myth
~~*~~
The first warm pulse of pleasure was like a wash of solar energy over him, caressing his firewalls with such intimate familiarity that Ratchet allowed it to slither through without even a token protest.
He should have verified identity, he knew, even deep in recharge his processors scolded him for allowing in a unknown presence, familiar or not, but his carelessness was rewarded with a clean, sweet delight, curling deeply enough into him that Ratchet moaned, his vocalizer online before his reboot had even completed.
His processors were still sluggish, warming up slowly enough to be a concern but his database confirmed that he was awaking from a particularly deep and necessary recharge. Every mech needed a good defrag from time to time, and he was no exception. It felt good, like a long, deep stretch and that combined with the sensual pulses inside him made Ratchet decide he'd be happy to spend the entire day just like this, awareness slowly filtering in along with the rising thrum of pleasure.
True speech was still beyond him and instead, Ratchet made a soft hum, a sigh that deepened into another groan as the warm presence in his processor laughed, sent another trill along his neural net, and oh, that felt good. It would be just like Wheeljack to wake him like this after a long defrag, sweet, sly little pulses that traveled through his newly sensitized sensors and back, the echo reverberating until Ratchet shuddered, letting his recharge cycles fade and his awareness increase.
He reached automatically, sending back his own sleepy desire to wind through their interface, tangling them together with deeper intimacy and the bright happiness that flooded into him from it made him stutter internally, almost tipping over the edge from that alone. So like him, Wheeljack was the same, inside and out, and that brilliant, perfect enthusiasm cupped itself around Ratchet's internals like a well-loved, familiar tool.
His final reboot protocol finalized as Ratchet gasped again, finally able to move enough to clutch at the arms surrounding him. Words tumbled through him, begging to be spoken and he finally settled on a name, was on the edge of saying it aloud as his optics finally come online, his vocalizer only just seizing it in time before it could tip into the air and shatter around them.
Optimus was leaning over him, the brilliant blue of his optic half-shuttered, flickering faintly from the throb of ecstasy that was building between them. Optimus had woken him with a connection, Optimus was making needy, breathy little sounds that made Ratchet push back harder, wanting more, deftly coiling their link into his control and Optimus allowed him, always, their leader in everything but he gladly gave Ratchet the power in this. Let him increase the pulse between them, let him turn gentle, ghostly internal touches into something a little rougher, needier. Let him do whatever Ratchet wanted, to him, and in the darkest, most shameful corners of his processors, Ratchet occasionally wondered just how far he could go, just how much Optimus would allow before finally telling him enough.
He could close his optics, again, just this one time. He could pretend and if Ratchet cried aloud a name that wasn't his own, Optimus would never say a word of protest, would pull that exquisite pain inward like he always had. Always did.
I am not Megatron! Ratchet didn't, would never, say.
Instead, he swallowed back Wheeljack's name, buried it deep in his processors with the bitter darkness of his disappointment and whispered, pleadingly, "Optimus."
-finis-
Ratchet; Internal Whispers
Notes: This is not set in the current timeline, but some short time before it. Don't worry, it'll make sense.
Interlude #1: Twins; Creation Myth
~~*~~
The first warm pulse of pleasure was like a wash of solar energy over him, caressing his firewalls with such intimate familiarity that Ratchet allowed it to slither through without even a token protest.
He should have verified identity, he knew, even deep in recharge his processors scolded him for allowing in a unknown presence, familiar or not, but his carelessness was rewarded with a clean, sweet delight, curling deeply enough into him that Ratchet moaned, his vocalizer online before his reboot had even completed.
His processors were still sluggish, warming up slowly enough to be a concern but his database confirmed that he was awaking from a particularly deep and necessary recharge. Every mech needed a good defrag from time to time, and he was no exception. It felt good, like a long, deep stretch and that combined with the sensual pulses inside him made Ratchet decide he'd be happy to spend the entire day just like this, awareness slowly filtering in along with the rising thrum of pleasure.
True speech was still beyond him and instead, Ratchet made a soft hum, a sigh that deepened into another groan as the warm presence in his processor laughed, sent another trill along his neural net, and oh, that felt good. It would be just like Wheeljack to wake him like this after a long defrag, sweet, sly little pulses that traveled through his newly sensitized sensors and back, the echo reverberating until Ratchet shuddered, letting his recharge cycles fade and his awareness increase.
He reached automatically, sending back his own sleepy desire to wind through their interface, tangling them together with deeper intimacy and the bright happiness that flooded into him from it made him stutter internally, almost tipping over the edge from that alone. So like him, Wheeljack was the same, inside and out, and that brilliant, perfect enthusiasm cupped itself around Ratchet's internals like a well-loved, familiar tool.
His final reboot protocol finalized as Ratchet gasped again, finally able to move enough to clutch at the arms surrounding him. Words tumbled through him, begging to be spoken and he finally settled on a name, was on the edge of saying it aloud as his optics finally come online, his vocalizer only just seizing it in time before it could tip into the air and shatter around them.
Optimus was leaning over him, the brilliant blue of his optic half-shuttered, flickering faintly from the throb of ecstasy that was building between them. Optimus had woken him with a connection, Optimus was making needy, breathy little sounds that made Ratchet push back harder, wanting more, deftly coiling their link into his control and Optimus allowed him, always, their leader in everything but he gladly gave Ratchet the power in this. Let him increase the pulse between them, let him turn gentle, ghostly internal touches into something a little rougher, needier. Let him do whatever Ratchet wanted, to him, and in the darkest, most shameful corners of his processors, Ratchet occasionally wondered just how far he could go, just how much Optimus would allow before finally telling him enough.
He could close his optics, again, just this one time. He could pretend and if Ratchet cried aloud a name that wasn't his own, Optimus would never say a word of protest, would pull that exquisite pain inward like he always had. Always did.
I am not Megatron! Ratchet didn't, would never, say.
Instead, he swallowed back Wheeljack's name, buried it deep in his processors with the bitter darkness of his disappointment and whispered, pleadingly, "Optimus."
-finis-
