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The rules are simple: no telling, no killing each other, and no kissing. That last one had been Deadlock's condition, and he’d refused to give any explanation beyond, “I don’t want it.” Which… Fair? But kinda annoying, because Hot Rod likes kissing and Deadlock’s mouth looks extremely kissable.
Or maybe it’s just the fangs, they look dangerous.
...anyway, you can’t get more dangerous than fragging a Decepticon, so if Deadlock says “No kissing,” then there’s no kissing and that’s it.
It’s probably some weird emotional thing, just like Deadlock's insistence on not looking at Hot Rod's face. At first it amused him, how Deadlock would rather be on his hands and knees than allow Hot Rod to see him overload, but after noticing how he kept his eyes at some point above Hot Rod's face when they were chest to chest, or how he outright hid his face in Hot Rod’s neck or closed his eyes, Hot Rod had to admit that it was probably less about Deadlock’s pride and more about Deadlock wishing Hot Rod was somebody else. That… hurt a bit, yeah. Hot Rod would like some appreciation from his dangerous and forbidden fragbuddy, but oh well. He’s getting laid, and he can’t complain.
Except now. Right now, he’s completely ready to complain. Or cry. Whichever gets him results faster.
“Come on, Deadlock!” he whines, pushing back to try to get Deadlock’s spike deeper, but instead Deadlock has the gall to outright stop moving. “Oh, for Primus's sake,” he mutters, dropping his head.
Deadlock has been odd since the moment he arrived. Usually, when it’s his turn to spike he’s quick to make what he wants clear, which means that 30 seconds after entering the room Hot Rod is either on all fours or pushed against a wall, and in both cases Deadlock immediately gets busy rubbing at Hot Rod's panel and then pushing his fingers inside Hot Rod’s valve to get him wet and stretched. Today, though, Deadlock had entered the room and looked at him. And kept looking at him. Then he’d looked at him some more, like he was considering something.
“You do realize we don’t have all day, right?” Hot Rod had said, which was probably what had gotten him into this mess.
Deadlock had frowned slightly and moved towards him slowly, decisively, stopping in front of Hot Rod and towering over him. Hot Rod had been extremely unimpressed – the scary Decepticon act loses its effect after the guy has taken your drunk aft home and left you untouched.
Hot Rod had raised his chin, giving it a proud tilt, and Deadlock had raised a hand to hold Hot Rod’s face in that position, studying it. He hadn’t seemed to be trying to intimidate him.
Then he’d smirked and let go, walking forward until Hot Rod’s back was against the wall. Wall day, then. Hot Rod hadn’t been a fan of those since he'd noticed how determined Deadlock was to not see him – it’s harder to ignore when the guy's face is right in front of yours.
“Turn around,” Deadlock had said and, uh, that was new.
Hot Rod had complied, spreading his legs, bending enough for his aft to be in a good position, and putting his hands on the wall to keep himself from accidentally getting his face smashed against it. That'd have been a moodkiller. Although, frankly, he’d been sure that the moodkiller would be the crouch Deadlock would need to adopt in order to line up his hips with Hot Rod’s.
Deadlock had apparently not gotten the memo about how they didn’t have much time. He’d pressed his body against Hot Rod’s and put his mouth on the back of his neck, his hands slowly travelling up Hot Rod’s thighs towards his panel.
“Open up,” Deadlock had said, his fingers teasing the cabling in Hot Rod’s hip joints.
Hot Rod hadn’t needed to be told twice. Finally.
He'd felt Deadlock's smile against his neck, and then Deadlock's tongue against that same spot as one of his hands completely ignored Hot Rod’s spike to cup his valve and just. Not move.
“You've got to be kidding me,” he'd groaned.
And Deadlock had laughed. What a jerk.
“I find this fun, don’t you?” Deadlock had said lightly, using two of his fingers to brush the rim of Hot Rod’s valve.
“No.”
He'd felt Deadlock's fangs grazing his plating and his arm settling around his waist, keeping Hot Rod firmly against Deadlock.
Hot Rod hadn't known if the moan/curse/undignified- yelp that he'd let out was a product of Deadlock biting down or of the two fingers entering his valve. He’d been perfectly aware that the only thing that had kept him from jumping had been Deadlock's hold on him.
Deadlock had licked the bite and then continued toward Hot Rod’s audial to whisper, “Better?” as he bent his fingers to rub at a sensitive node.
“Frag, yes,” he'd moaned.
And then Deadlock had pulled out his fingers. Hot Rod had pressed his forehead against the wall and decided to give Deadlock a moment to fix things before he started complaining.
Thankfully, then he'd felt the tip of Deadlock’s spike against his valve and Deadlock pushing in and, frag, yes. He’d almost started laughing when he thought about the weird position Deadlock might have been in, but his laughter had died when Deadlock had put his hands under Hot Rod’s thighs and lifted him.
Now that was a good solution.
Hot Rod had braced himself against the wall and prepared himself for what was sure to come. Which had ended up being Deadlock fragging him lazily and shallowly.
And now Deadlock isn’t even doing that.
He’s still.
“Seriously?” he says, trying to turn his head to look at Deadlock. “What do I have to do? Beg you?”
The sound of disgust that Deadlock lets out is enough of an answer.
“Never,” he growls, pulling out until just the tip of his spike is inside Hot Rod.
He adjusts his hold on Hot Rod and leans against him to lick the bite mark again, then pushes in completely and Hot Rod moans.
“I swear that if you’re just going to keep teasing me-"
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Deadlock decides to move, sliding in and out at a merciless pace that has Hot Rod’s hands twitching against the wall, desperate for something to hold on to, and which has him crying out Deadlock’s name along a series of words that he thinks form some coherent sentences. He certainly hopes they’re coherent sentences; he’s trying to tell Deadlock how good it feels to take his spike.
Deadlock’s a pretty silent lover, which sucks, because Hot Rod would like some feedback while fragging, and he has to guess from the way Deadlock groans and how fast his cooling fans are working.
Deadlock readjusts his position, changing the angle of his hips so that his next thrust hits the exact spot that makes Hot Rod turn into a wordless mess.
He keeps the position, each thrust building up Hot Rod’s charge until he’s barely aware of himself, most of his brain focused on the heat pooling between his legs and how close he is to the edge.
Deadlock’s mouth presses against his shoulder and Hot Rod braces himself for a bite. Instead there’s a kiss. A sloppy, wet kiss, which is followed by a series of kisses to Hot Rod’s neck, the back of his head, the side of his face; any point within Deadlock’s reach as he keeps moving.
It occurs to Hot Rod that if he turned his head, he could maybe catch one of those kisses on the corner of his mouth. So he does, and when Deadlock’s mouth lands by his lips, all Hot Rod wants is a real kiss, so he turns his head a bit more.
The response he gets is Deadlock catching his lip between his teeth and pulling, then leaning closer to kiss him, burying himself deeper while trying to reach Hot Rod’s mouth.
Everything stills for a moment. Deadlock stays like that, only his lips moving against Hot Rod’s, and Hot Rod's torn between how much he needs Deadlock to move and how much he wants to keep kissing him.
It doesn’t last more than two seconds, then Deadlock's pulling out and setting Hot Rod’s feet on the ground, his face moving away from Hot Rod's.
Ah, frag. No kissing. That was the rule.
Deadlock’s hands settle on Hot Rod’s shoulders and his mouth is on Hot Rod’s neck again, kissing and nipping at the cables, and that shouldn’t be getting Hot Rod even more turned on, but… The tips of Deadlock’s fangs keep grazing a major fuel line; if he bit down, it’d be the end of Hot Rod.
Optimus would be so disappointed.
…that shouldn’t be a turn on either.
Hot Rod doesn’t know what’s more distracting, Deadlock’s mouth or his spike pressing against Hot Rod's back, but he does know that Deadlock's hands are slowly turning him around until he’s chest to chest with Deadlock, who moves away to look at him.
It takes Hot Rod a moment to come to terms with that. Deadlock is looking at him. There’s eye-contact. Deadlock's gaze travels downwards to settle on Hot Rod's mouth, and Hot Rod has never felt so desired before. Who’d have known that having a Decepticon wanting to kiss you would be a bigger ego boost than a Decepticon wanting to frag you?
One of Deadlock's hands cups Hot Rod's face and tilts it up, pulling him closer. Deadlock doesn’t bother with teasing, his tongue is against Hot Rod’s lips as soon as their mouths touch, and Hot Rod is more than happy to let him in, while he reaches up to put his arms around Deadlock's neck. He stands on his tiptoes, trying to get an angle that doesn’t hurt his neck, and Deadlock laughs into his mouth before lifting him by the thighs to push him against the wall and sink into him again. Hot Rod's ventilations hitch and he groans into Deadlock's mouth; he tries to move his hips to meet Deadlock's thrusts, his hands doing their best to keep Deadlock close.
Deadlock bites his lower lip hard enough to draw energon, and Hot Rod jerks away out of pain and surprise.
“Owwwww. Easy, Deadlock, I’m not a chew toy,” he mutters, licking the energon. He glances at Deadlock, who is giving him an odd look. He seems... almost... sorry? Which, frankly? It’s a ridiculous idea.
Except his pace slows down and he brings up a finger to brush a drop of energon off Hot Rod's mouth. He leans down to take Hot Rod's lip between his teeth, and he starts sucking softly on it and licking the wound, while keeping his thrusts slow and deep, which is the strangest thing that has happened today. This isn’t a teasing rhythm, this is a careful one.
One of Deadlock's hands settles high up on Hot Rod's back, while the other one holds on tightly to his thigh.
“I’m gonna need you to hold on to me for a moment,” Deadlock says against his lips, punctuating his request? Order? Suggestion? Whatever it was, he decided that the best way to add emphasis was to press Hot Rod against the wall and get himself as deep inside Hot Rod as possible, brushing a particularly sensitive patch of nodes that has Hot Rod wrapping his legs tightly around Deadlock's waist and trying to roll his hips.
Hot Rod will do whatever Deadlock wants if he promises to keep doing that.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Deadlock laughs, holding Hot Rod securely against him as he sinks to his knees and leans forward to have Hot Rod lying on the floor.
With all the moving around that has been going on today, and going by previous encounters, Hot Rod is expecting Deadlock to pull out again and get him on his hands and knees. He’s ready for it; he relaxes his legs and starts lowering them, but Deadlock keeps his hand on his thigh and holds Hot Rod's leg up, resuming his thrusting, his other hand going from Hot Rod's back to the back of Hot Rod's head, pushing it up. He kisses Hot Rod… if he had to pick a word, Hot Rod would say it’s messy kissing, going from passionate open-mouthed kisses that are just lips, to Deadlock peppering kisses over Hot Rod’s mouth in an almost playful way, to Deadlock's tongue licking into Hot Rod’s mouth. It’s disorienting and confusing, like Deadlock doesn’t know how he wants to kiss him, but, mostly, it’s fun, and Hot Rod does his best to match the kisses he’s receiving, even as he once again starts getting close to the edge.
Deadlock starts moving faster and harder, his mouth leaving Hot Rod’s when his kisses become too sloppy, and Hot Rod knows what’s coming, he knows that the hand at the back of his head will push him until his face is hidden in the crook of Deadlock's neck, or that Deadlock will close his eyes, but he doesn’t have it in him to feel hurt when his processor can only focus on the way Deadlock is moving inside him.
The hand does leave the back of Hot Rod's head, but Deadlock puts it on the ground next to Hot Rod's head to hold himself up.
Deadlock’s eyes are still open, and they’re fixed on Hot Rod's face, watching him with so much attention that it’s better than any compliment, any praise – there’s fascination on Deadlock's face. Warmth spreads from between Hot Rod’s legs to his whole frame and Hot Rod overloads moaning Deadlock’s name.
He’s vaguely aware of Deadlock’s spike continuing to slide in and out of his oversensitive valve as he lets himself get carried away, and soon Deadlock is overloading too, a wordless sound coming out through clenched teeth.
They stay in the position they’re in, Hot Rod wrapped around Deadlock, Deadlock inside Hot Rod, as their cooling fans do their best to keep their frames from overheating. Deadlock presses several small kisses to Hot Rod’s lower lip, near the area he'd bitten earlier, and rests his forehead against Hot Rod’s.
It’s easy to reach for Deadlock's face and guide it to his own for a lazy kiss. This is nice and it feels good and-
Deadlock almost jumps away after two seconds. He’s only stopped by Hot Rod's legs around his waist.
Looks like they’re back at “No kissing”. Pity.
Hot Rod sighs and drops his arms and legs to the floor. He lies like that, spread out, not even bothering to close his panel, as Deadlock stands up and cleans himself up. Hot Rod watches him, appreciatively noting the paint transfers and lubricant stains on Deadlock’s plating.
“Clean yourself up,” Deadlock says, crouching between Hot Rod's legs and giving him a judging look.
“You could take care of that for me, you know?” Hot Rod says with a smirk.
Deadlock snorts and throws a rag at him.
“Maybe some other time,” he says, amused.
He starts to stand up again.
“Wait!” Hot Rod says, sitting up. “Is kissing allowed now?”
A flash of some emotion passes Deadlock's face.
“What’s with you and kissing?”
“It’s nice.” Hot Rod shrugs. “I like it. And you’re good at it!” He smiles his best flirty smile and hopes it works.
Deadlock smirks.
“Oh, really?” He says in a low voice, leaning close and tilting his head slightly.
“Really,” Hot Rod says, his tone matching Deadlock’s, and moving towards him, his eyes on Deadlock’s lips.
“Then I guess I should save it for next time,” Deadlock says with a laugh, standing up.
Hot Rod gapes for a moment.
“Seriously?!” He raises his hands in exasperation.
“Until next time, Hot Rod,” Deadlock says smugly, walking away.
“Frag you, you tease!”
“That’s next time too.”
Deadlock gives him one last smug look before leaving the room.
Hot Rod groans and starts cleaning himself up. Here’s hoping “next time” happens soon.