Archive of Our Own

It was the smell that hit him first, the musty smell of cygars and engex permeating the room. The bar was mostly dark, with the dance floor and bar illuminated with blue and purple neon lights. He had been in worse, far seedier bars in the past. The curious looks they were getting upon their entrance was familiar too, fresh prey to the slaughter. Various colored optics watched their movements with rapt attention, the red and white of their frames glowing blue in the neon lighting.

“Maybe….this isn’t the right place?”

“It's fine Conduit, besides who was the one that wanted something better just a few kliks ago?” Blue optics narrowed at Ratchet before the smaller medic huffed and took point, walking boldly towards the bar. Rolling his optics Ratchet followed behind, First Aid meekly walking behind him. More optics traced their movements, a few grins and murmured comments as they passed.

The bartender nodded at their approach, Ratchet quickly looking over the menu before holding up 3 digits and pointing at what he hoped was a picture of what he wanted. Leaned against the bar top, First Aid sitting on the stool next to him. Conduit had already been distracted by another bot, a much larger frame towering over the medic before leaning closer to whisper in his audial. Ratchet could see the blush forming on Conduits face, a servo trailing along his chest plate.

That was fine, it was the reason they had come out here in the first place. They were so close to finishing their internship and graduating, the grind of being dropped into an understaffed facility quickly hardening them to the realities of the field. This was what they had been forged for, their careers and paths in life decided for them. To be a medic was already a prestigious position, but to be a medic within the Iacon medical network placed them even higher within the political game that the Senate had been developing.

If they graduated and were accepted within Iacon, they were set for life. Far from any outside political discourse, the facilities were well funded and had support from many prominent members. There would be no fear of budget cuts or downsizing of staff. Ratchet was already on-track, his accolades and speed in the surgery suite had caught the attention of some board members within the Deltaran facility, with a position offer imminent. 

The clack of three glasses on the bar top drew his attention, the oily pink liquid swaying in the cubes. First Aid quickly snatched his and downed it, Conduit blindly reaching for his as his new companion continued to lavish him with smart comments. It was all good, if Ratchet could get First Aid settled down and in some bots lap he could finally relax and enjoy himself. Of course he would have to chaperone these two, he was losing his ‘party ambulance’ lifestyle as he matured. They had already been two previous bars, the thinner crowds there forcing them to move on.

Didn’t mean he didn’t think about climbing on the bar and grinding on the bare pole, the crowd surrounding him and cheering him on as he let himself go. Wouldn’t be the first time, and hopefully not the last. Finally taking a drink from his glass, grimacing at the bitter taste of the drink. A snort from the bartender, a bowl of sugared energon cubes placed in front of him.

Chasing the bitterness with the sweetened treat, Conduit now fully lip locked with his suitor. One down, now if he could get Aid situated. Turning to look at the smaller medic, now holding out his empty glass in a silent request for more. Another deep sigh, Ratchet calculating how many credits he still had available.

A shadow moved behind him, the brush of another EM field inquisitively touching his own. Turning his helm to look over his shoulder, the shadowed outline of a bulky mech moving in closer. A gentle touch against the small of his back, the mech working his way between Ratchet and First Aid.

“Can I make a recommendation? Not sure that drink would be my first choice.”

“Depends. What kind of drink are we talking about?”

“Lets see, are you an enjoyer of the bitters or the refined smoother kind of engex?”

“Honestly, either. If the price is right.”

A low laugh, the puff of vents moving over his shoulder. The bot looked at the bartender and smiled, ordering some drink Ratchet didn’t really bother to remember the name of. Aid was peeking at him shyly, the stranger turning to give him a smile as well. “A shy one? Looking for company as well?”

“A little.”

The mech stood up and turned, raising his arm before snapping his digits, another shape moving in the darkness. A thinner but tall mech sidled up to First Aid, leaning against the bar but still keeping a good distance so not as to crowd. Turning back to Ratchet as their drinks arrived, a triangular glass with fizzy green liquid, a paper umbrella adorned the rim. Shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip, the liquid sweet and salty, bubbling on his glossa. That was an improvement, the slightest burn as it settled in his tanks.

A digit played along the plating on his back, mech leaning in closer to whisper nonsense in his audial. Conduit was fully engrossed, First Aid giggling occasionally to his right. As he finished his drink it was replaced with another, the hazy feeling of engex filling of processors. The touches grew bolder, warm hip plating gently pressing against his side. Ratchet wasn’t paying attention, the words going through his audials without any processing. He could only hope the mech could frag better than his seduction tactics, it was as textbook as they come. Glancing up at the mirrored wall of the bar, seeing his own reflection in between empty bottles. 

Ratchet looked bored. Exhausted. A bit weary, annoyed, could he even say a bit apathetic? This wasn’t working. Another night out on the town putting his comrades first, while he grew sexually frustrated with himself. He should have gotten up on the bar and danced, by now he would be bent over in the back room.

Two empty glasses and a sealed bottle were placed in front of him, the bartender's expression now serious and guarded. The mech that was just grinding against him slowly moved back, servos raising up. “I see. I didn’t know you belonged to him.”

“I’m sorry? What? I don’t belong to anyone.” Ratchet turned to look at the mech, noticing that others were apprehensive as well. The mech that had been flirting with First Aid took another step back as well, the medic leaning forward to follow him. Subtly catching him as he fell off the stool, First Aid leaned against the mechs chest plate as he was led away to a booth.

Rounding back to the bartender, blue optics now furious. “Explain.”

“Courtesy of the patron in the back booth. Your tab is being covered as well.”

Sweeping his optics over the room, bots that once looked at him in interest now looking away hurriedly. The pit was all this about? Focusing on the farthest booth, barely able to see the outline of a large frame tucked in. Red optics were slitted and looking ahead, as if they couldn’t be bothered to look over at Ratchet. Grinding his denta he grabbed the glasses and bottle, pedesteps heavy as he crossed the room.

Standing next to the booth, placing the items down and leaning over, denta bared as he sneered. “I belong to no one.”

A helm slowly raised and turned his way, Ratchet could just make out pointed finials and a wide smile. “You misunderstand my intentions. You are correct, you belong to no one.”

“So why the drink and the credits?”

“You looked bored. I figured I would make your time worthwhile.”

Standing back up in confusion, looking back at the bar to his companions. He could make out Aid, tucked into a booth with his mech, Conduit and his partner now full on laying on the bar. A rag was thrown at them, the bartender pointing at the backdoor when they looked up. Huffing he turned back, picking up the bottle. Wax sealed, gold and black label.

Oh Primus. It was expensive, recognition of the name pinging in his processor. Like $300 credits a bottle kind of expensive. “I’m not sure I can accept this.”

“Sit. Give me a few kliks of your time. That is payment enough for me.”

“A gentlemech in this dump?” Rolling the bottle in his digits, trying to see his new suitor better in the dark corner. He was obviously tall, and bulky. Red optics pierced the gloom, staring at Ratchet intently. An arm was spread across the top of the padded bench, a claw lightly tapping. Taking in a deep invent before carefully sliding into the booth, making sure there were a few inches between him and his new companion.

“See, I’m not so bad.”

“I’ll admit, better behaved than the rest. For now.” A laugh had Ratchet twitching, a low noise as the mech smiled into the darkness.

“Not really sure what you were expecting coming into this joint, not exactly high class in these parts.”

“No, I suppose not. I wanted something different, and I’m certainly getting it.”

“Hm. That won’t do.” Claws reached for the bottle and glass, the mech leaning closer next to Ratchet for a moment as he pulled them closer. Definitely bigger framed than him, large shoulder pauldrons and thick chest armor coming into view. The mech skillfully twisted the cap loose with one servo, pouring them both a glass. Held out his drink, waiting for Ratchet to pick up his own. “Got a name?”

“Ratchet.”

A cluck of a glossa, the mech chewing on the name. “Suits you. I like it.”

“Don’t know anything about me.”

“I would like to.”

“And what do I call you?”

The smile faded, the slightest twitch of optics before a short vent. Finials flicked, the claw behind his helm tapping slightly harder. “Names Deadlock.”

“What kind of name is that?”

“The one given to me when I joined the Vanguard.”

That explains how he could afford the engex, maybe Ratchet had picked wrong. The other mechs in the bar looked bulked out as well, this wasn’t your normal dive bar. These mechs weren’t exhausted miners or office workers, these kinds of bots had the credits and skills to acquire those credits. “You are in the Vanguard? Want to explain how that happened?”

“I’ll just say I’m good with a gun. Enough about me, what about you dear Ratchet?”

The claws behind him had shifted to his shoulder, barely tracing along a seam in his plating. The haze in his processor coupled with the rich engex in his glass heightened that subtle touch, Ratchet could feel his face heating up. “I’m in the medical academy. I needed a break from my internship.”

“Your friends as well?”

“Yeah, only 2 more deca-cycles and we will graduate.”

“Congratulations are in order.” Deadlocks glass clinked with his, Ratchet dumbly staring at it for a moment before taking another sip. Did he say rich? It was so pure it could pass for high grade energon. Licking his lips at the sweet taste, feeling the growing numbing heat in his tanks. The claws were slowly tracing along his collar now, Ratchet slightly leaning closer to Deadlock.

“T-thanks. I guess I never really thought it would ever be over. Ten solar cycles seems like nothing in our lifetimes.”

“Seems like a blink of an optic, but that is still a decent chunk of time spent. And what is next for you?”

“If I’m lucky, I get picked up by a premier facility. I’ll need to get my certificates, but I’ll be working  in an actual facility and honing my skills.”

“I’m sure you will get selected. I can tell you have promise.” The softest brush of lips against the side of his helm, Ratchet setting his empty glass down as he felt his cheeks blush. The mech was talented, never breaking the gentle contact as he refilled his glass, now nuzzling against the edge of his chevron. Shivering with the contact, Ratchet relented and fully leaned against Deadlock.

“You came here for other reasons, I saw the way you looked at the pole.” The voice was low, almost purred, Ratchet could feel the vibration of a powerful engine against his plating. 

“Been feeling frustrated.”

“Work will do that to you. Welcome to growing up.”

“Hmpf, I am grown up!” Another laugh, strong servos hauling him across the bench and into Deadlocks lap, back pressing back against the wall. Ratchet squeaked with the sudden change, not resisting the movement, tilting his helm back to expose his neck. Kisses and nibbling bites along his cables, servos running along his side and legs, Ratchet stretching out in the hold to expose more of his frame.

“That’s it, I can make you feel better. Just need to give me permission.”

“Feels nice.” Left leg dropping down, pelvic span open to the room just underneath the table. Smiling lips kissed along his jawline, claws rubbing in a circle over abdominal plating. It did feel nice, heat now pooling behind his array panels. Lightly panting as denta grazed across his chevron in tiny bites, frame trembling with the sensation. No one ever paid his helm any attention, it was always lower and lewder, how fast could they get the party ambulances panels open. Gripping the servo on his belly, moving it lower until it rested over heated panels.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Be a good little medic for me and give me your spike. But don’t open your other panels, or I’ll have to stop.”

“Why?”

The touch was gone, nibbling lips and denta pulling away. It made Ratchet feel cold, lonely, as if someone had physically disconnected from him. It made him tense, slinging his arm over Deadlock's neck so he didn’t pull fully away.

“I said I can make it all better. But only if you do as I say. Do you understand?”

The glass was handed back to him, Ratchet pondering the words for a moment. Did he understand? You came here for another reason. It was the truth of it, Ratchet had been seeking something out, a partner or partners that could make him forget the past few weeks. Downing the glass in one go, frame relaxing back down as he spread himself open wider. The smirk was back on Deadlock's face, the submission registering.

A click had Deadlock looking down, Ratchet spike pressurizing. His frame jerked as a rough palm took hold, claws clicking along the plates as Deadlock stroked him slowly. Ratchet was sure his face was flushed blue with energon, looking out the corner of his optic to see another pair of optics watching them intently over the opposite side of the booth. The legs beneath him shifted slightly, the table being kicked sideways in the cramped space, giving them both a few extra inches of room.

Ratchet was definitely exposed now, biting his lower lip as more helms swiveled their way, optics tracing the servo moving up and down his spike. Deadlock was back to nuzzling the side of his helm and neck, nasal ridge rubbing him just right. The edge of his helm was sensitive, just like his chevron, the right touch made Ratchet tremble. A servo was tracking over his side and into his windshield, claws digging down into seams and transformation folds, picking at an errant wire. 

A vent hitched in Ratchets intake, two claws pinching the node just below the spike head. The process repeated, a tug at a seam or wire, claw points putting rhythmic pressure on the node. A whimper escaped him, a long lick up his neck cables.

“You smell delicious, I bet you taste even better.”

“Deadlock…”

“Hm?”

“...nnnh…..bots …are watching…”

“Does that bother you?”

Did it? Not really. Opened his optics, frames had moved closer, now raptly staring. He could hear a fan running, louder than his own, another series of pinches against his node making him tremble and lean his helm back against the wall. He could overload like this, he was charged up enough that it would be easy. The pressure on his node eased off and the stroking restarted, a tight squeeze of his spike head on each upwards stroke.

Red digits lightly stroked the back of Deadlock's neck, free arm bracing along the table. Each time Ratchet looked out towards the room the crowd grew closer, the fire tracing up his lines as overload approached. Fought against the urge to open his valve panel, he could feel lubricant pooling behind it. He had been told not too, he wasn’t looking to risk losing the pleasure he was receiving in a simple disobeyment.

Deadlock's engine was purring a bit louder, heat and vibration against his side, the strong hold on his left thigh and spike keeping him in place. Rolled his helm again to tuck into Deadlocks neck, thighs trembling as his node was tortured once more. “Pretty medic, will you give them a show?”

“What…do you…have in mind?”

“You just be yourself and let me do all the work. But remember, keep that panel shut.” The words were whispered against his lips, the barest of kisses, Ratchet wanting more. Bit his lip and moaned as his node was pinched harder, biolights flickering with the building charge. It was painful but blissfully pleasant, each time those claws dug in a little deeper under the node, lighting up his neural pathways. Pre-fluid was dripping down the side of his spike, bubbling in the slit. 

It was maddening. It drove him near the edge, ready to leap over and crash into overload while the pain held him back. Ratchet had self serviced and gotten plenty of mutual play over the years, his anterior node his favorite to have sucked and stroked, even flicked and spanked if he was feeling particularly naughty. But this was definitely something new, he wasn’t even sure he could replicate it on his own with the blunt ends of his digits.

A stifled groan escaped him as his frame tensed up, that electrical cascade in his lines as his frame prepared to dump charge and overload, his world suddenly upending and crashing into the table. His back plating clacked against the metal, arms and servos reaching out for balance as his gyros righted his systems. Deadlock had picked him up and tossed him onto the table, the mech now smiling darkly between his legs. 

Trembling thighs pressed against grey arms as claws traced up and down his frame, aching spike throbbing in denied release. Fragger was edging him, back bowing in frustration as Ratchet squirmed on the table. Looking out into the crowd he could see he was surrounded, multiple fans running loudly as warm air filled the space. The smell of heated metal and ozone from charging lines, the cloying scent of cygars now mixed with arousal. His spike bobbed and leaked more fluid at the sight of several mechs with pressurized spikes out, a few slowly stroking themselves as they watched Ratchet on the table.

Warm heat across the bottom of his spike as Deadlock panted over it, a long lick from base to tip making him tremble. “Deadlock…!”

“Be a good mech Ratchet.”

His legs were shifted over black shoulders, glossa now laving over his abused node. He was leaking, surely he was leaking lubricant through his panel, empty valve rippling down on nothing. Deadlock sucked the tip into his mouth, glossa now playing into the slit. Another hiccuped noise from Ratchet, that burning pressure building up once more. Unknown servos were caressing his helm and shoulders, Ratchet panting and trembling at the dual sensations over his frame.

Arching his back once more as Deadlock swallowed him to the hilt, intake rings squeezing along the spike head as his glossa stroked along the bottom. He took him with ease, pressing his nose down into hip plating, glossa tip digging into the protoform sheath. 

“Annh!....Dea..Deadlock!”

A servo was gently rubbing the side of his helm, another rubbing circles into his windshield, lightly pinning him down. The smell of heated metal and ozone was strong, erect spikes now in full view. A thumb pressing against his lips, a mech leaning over him with a carefree smile. Red digits dragged along the table, Ratchet snapping his hips upwards as he thrust into Deadlocks willing intake. Twisting in pleasure, frame eased into ecstasy as the suction grew intense for a moment, Deadlock taking him somehow deeper and glossa now searching deep into the sheath. 

Moaning loudly with release, hot transfluid spilling down Deadlocks intake. Continued to swallow against his spike before lifting off and suddenly snarling at the others, finials folded flat and fangs bared. The loud engine rev made Ratchet open his optics, frame sliding down the table into Deadlocks grip, the mech growling over him in a clear threat. 

Slowly rolling his helm to look outwards, the crowd had shrank back, a few mechs achieving their own release as they furiously stroked their spikes. The move from Deadlock was possessive, finally pulling Ratchet into his lap and tucking him under his chin, allowing the medic to cool down and settle.

Ratchet only evened out his vents and fluffed his plating , warm air rising around them. He was still charged up, valve aching behind his panel, but he also felt strangely sated. Remained in the position for a few kliks, Deadlock holding him tighter every time he shifted. It felt nice, to be wanted and held like this, frame sinking against armored chest plating.

The pit was wrong with him? Excusing the processor blowing overload he had just received he knew nothing about the mech holding him, didn’t even know what he fully looked like. His frame disobeyed him again when he nuzzled against the collar faring, soothed by the thrumming engine and warmth. 

“Thirtsy…”

“Yeah?” The hold on his frame lightened, Deadlock releasing one arm to reach for the bottle and twist off the cap, bringing it to Ratchet. His optics stared hard out into the crowd, satisfied grunts and sighs as the metallic stench of transfluid overwhelmed the bar. Ratchet sipped at the bottle, the glass  lifting and lowering in Deadlock's field of vision. Claws twitching against the medics side, fangs bared in a sneer. He was hooked, and he wanted more. His medic now, fat chance he was leaving with any of the others tonight. “Ready to move on?”

“Are you offering?”

“I said I would take care of you. I’m a mech of my word.”

“Guess you really are a gentlemech. Pegged you for just another mech who wanted my aft.”

“Oh, I want your aft all right. Guess I just have an extra processor that can make sure you are well taken care of first.”

Fumbling with the cap, Ratchet leaned into Deadlocks neck again. Definitely overcharged from engex, and horny from built up release denial. If this strange mech spiked as good as he gave oral then Ratchet wouldn’t be having any issues for a few weeks, maybe even longer with the fantasies he could self service with. “Back room I guess.”

“Not happening. Not into that, I know a nice comfy berth with a washrack.” The bottle was taken from his digits as he was slung over a long shoulder pauldron, Ratchet clumsily working his way towards the other. “Your companions?”

Stupidly looked up, blurry optics looking out over the darkened room for familiar frames. Conduit was definitely getting fragged somewhere, Ratchet sending him a comm. A red servo was held up over the back of a booth before folding into a thumbs up, First Aid sending the signal he was good. “On their own. Tired of babysitting.”

—------------

The night air felt good against his heated frame, Deadlock easily shoulder carrying him through several city blocks. The servo holding his legs was firm, his own arm splayed over Deadlock's right shoulder limply. He was sure that bots were staring, his drunk aft being carried with ease by some stranger. Woke up when he was slid down onto his pedes, the yellow lighting of the hotel lobby making him blink. A strong arm held him against Deadlocks side as he checked in, once again ignoring the low tones spoken around him. For some reason that hold kept turning him into Deadlocks side anytime Ratchet tried to turn, finally relenting and resting his helm against a shoulder.

Chuckled and kicked his legs when he was lifted again, burying his nose into neck cables as they waited for the elevator. He was most definitely overcharged, his processors slow as he felt giddy. “Do I really smell good?”

“One of a kind. Don’t think I’ll forget it.”

“Most mechs think I smell bad, the antiseptic and cleanser stench they say.”

“Mechs like that don’t deserve to smell you then. It suits you, and a hint of something darker that is unique, all Ratchet.”

Rubbing his cheek against armor, frame lightly bouncing as he was carried into the elevator and down a long hallway. It had been a long time since any bot had carried him, normally it was him that was carrying one of his companions somewhere. Even worse a patient. This was careful positioning of servos to balance his weight, Ratchet leaning more into the armored chest plate. The door unlocked easily, Deadlock moving sideways to fit both their frames through the doorway. Looking up at the brightened room, optics widening at the triple sized berth.

Pedesteps were near silent on the carpet, Deadlock easily crossing the space in a few strides. Gently deposited the medic on the bottom edge, red and white frame laying back and sinking down into the gel top, Ratchet giggled at the feeling of cold sheets against his plating. Maybe he was a bit too drunk, Deadlock flicking a finial as he stepped away for a moment.

“Ratchet.”

Blinking open heavy optics, a servo rubbing on his belly again. Looking up he could see Deadlock leaning over him, red optics locked onto his face for a moment. Oh no, he was handsome. And tall. And definitely heavily armored.

“You’re pretty.”

A snort before a slight blush formed on Deadlocks cheeks, finials fluttering briefly. The optical contact broke for a moment as Deadlock collected himself, lips pressing together tight as he held back a reply. “Pretty sure I should be saying that about you.”

“Not pretty. All boxy.”

“Well good thing I like my partners boxy then.” The servo stroking his plating moved upwards over his windshield, claws dragging along neck cables briefly before cupping the side of his helm. The caress was sweet and gentle, Deadlock slowly encouraging him to sit up. When he had steadied himself on the edge of the berth Deadlock looked down at Ratchets lap, blue optics following. His port was still open, limp spike hanging out. Slamming his servos into his lap and curling in on himself, Deadlock huffing a laugh. “Tried to make sure no one saw it.”

“Should have said something!”

“Why? I like seeing it.”

“That….we were out on the street!”

The darker frame turned away for a moment to pick up something on the table, returning and handing Ratchet a cube, the medic staring at the pink liquid.

“Don’t think I need any more to drink.”

“It's high grade energon, drink it. It will make you feel better.” The servo was back on his helm, Ratchet slowly taking a few cautious sips. It was cold, chasing away the numbing heat in his core. Sighing at the sensation, Deadlock patiently remained with him as he finished it. Claws caught the glass before he dropped it, easing him back down onto the berth. He should be worried about it being spiked, but he was already in a hotel berth with a stranger, it would be pretty pointless to drug him now. The sensation of a servo tucking his spike back into the port, Ratchet couldn’t be sure if it was his own servo or Deadlocks. 

Rolling into the sheets and rubbing himself against the softness, the chill of the gel pad drawing heat away from his frame. Ratchet must have slipped into recharge for a moment, waking up to the room darkened with several lights turned off, Deadlock laying next to him propped up on the headboard. A gentle caress in between his shoulder plates, claws playing into his spinal strut.

“Guess I was wrong about you. Really are a gentlemech.”

“Not into intoxicated partners Ratchet. Engex may loosen the processor, but it is a turnoff if they can’t function anymore.”

“Ung, sorry.”

“Not to worry. I don’t mind caring for you.” The caress continued, Ratchet taking stock of his frame and systems. Some of the charge had burned off, the energon diluting his lines and lifting the fog. He still felt hazy, but he could make  clear decisions now, reaching an arm out and splaying his servo across black and gold plating. 

“How did you end up in the Vanguard?”

“Told you, I’m good with a gun.”

“This is some serious armor, and if guessing right by the engine sound you are a speeder.” The gentle purr and vibration of a powerful engine was his response, Deadlock letting the noise do the work for him. Taking a deep invent Ratchet sat up on his knees, the other mech watching him carefully. Red optics swept over his frame, taking in Ratchet in the better lighting. Claws picked at his knee armor, spurring him into moving. Carefully straddling Deadlock's lap, the mech relaxing beneath him. Servos helped hold his hips, Ratchet taking the initiative to roam his own servos over Deadlock's frame.

“This is some thick plating, almost akin to a war frame.”

“Eh, what can I say? Comes with the job. Sometimes I come under fire.”

“Don’t seem like the type. Something about you.” Deadlock's face darkened for a moment, the same flicker Ratchet had seen in the bar. 

“Says the one who claimed I knew nothing about him.”

“My bad. Guess we are even now.”

“I came from nothing, Ratchet. I’m not important or special.”

“No, I don’t believe that.” Tilted his helm as he looked at Deadlock, pressing their forehelms together. Running the back of his digits along an audial, the grip on his hips tightening for a moment. Small healed cuts on his derma, paint that had been touched up and polished one too many times. Under all the heavy armor Ratchet could sense a thinner frame, a protoform struggling to manage with all the bulk. The creases and dark tone under red optics showed trauma, longing, desperation. “You were alone for a long time, weren’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m past that now.”

Running a thumb over a cheek, red optics watching Ratchet intently as finials folded flat. Starvation, lack of care, abuse of the frame, it was clear as day to Ratchet. This mech had suffered. Whispered against his lips, the touch soft against each other. “I’m glad it is over for you. Only the future to look forward to.”

“Some future.”

“Been hearing rumors. But I can’t tell what is rumor or medical gossip anymore.”

“Stay in Iacon Ratchet. You will be safe.”

“That bad huh? Well, guess as long as you are in the wings protecting us it will all work out in the end.” The press of lips grew insistent, Ratchet holding Deadlock's helm as he took charge. Licked against his lips in silent invitation, a hesitant touch of glossas before he was let in. The mech tasted like smoke and engex, a pointed fang pressing down on Ratchet's glossa briefly before releasing. 

Breaking away suddenly, Ratchet squirmed in Deadlock's lap, red digits scrabbling over chest armor. An intense blush over his face, the medic whimpering quietly. Deadlock could feel the heat coming off his array, thighs pressing into his sides. Reaching up to hold his chin, hips grinding upwards into that heat, Ratchet whimpering again and reaching back to balance himself on knee armor.

“Better tell me little medic, do you know what you are getting into?”

A tight nod, hooded blue optics looking down at Deadlock. “It feels like I’m burning up!” Ground his weight back down into Deadlock, valve panel pressing against Deadlock's cod piece, sending a shock of pleasure up his spinal strut. He knew what he wanted, his frame screaming for it, but his hazy processors were too slow to form the words. Claws stroked over his shoulders, tracing the red crosses painted on each before moving lower, tracing along his windshield. “Fr-Frag me, please!”

“Good medic. I’ll make it better.”

The world rolled again, Ratchet pressed back down into the gel top, a heavy weight along his frame. Deadlock grinded into his panel for a few moments, the glimmer of fangs as he smiled down at Ratchet. It only served to stroke the fire building in his hips, a frustrated groan escaping Ratchet as he tried to meet each thrust. 

It wasn’t enough, red digits twisting into the sheets as he tried to find a better angle, the war frame pinning him down even more. Panting Ratchet's lips were seized, larger glossa pushing his down and ravaging his mouth. Oral solvent mixed as Deadlock kissed him, stealing the taste from his mouth. It was commanding, larger servo still holding his chin as Deadlock tongue fucked his mouth, Ratchet moaning into it. 

Fangs grazed along his lower lip as Deadlock broke the kiss, Ratchet sucking in cooler air. His chin was released and digits teased down his frame, wet kisses following its path. Panting harder as the weight lifted off his frame, legs trembling as his abdominal plating was nipped. “Unh…..lower…..it hurts.”

“Needy little one, almost there. Doing so well for me.”

The words rattled in his helm, a flush of heat spreading through him again. He was being good, Deadlock had told him not to open his panels. Swallowed the oral solvent pooling in his mouth as Deadlock moved out from between his legs and held his knees together under the joints, exposing his closed array. Frame now trembling in tension and need, a whine from the medic as a claw pressed against his valve cover.

“Good medics deserve a reward, and you have kept this closed all this time.” The claw was now tapping right above his anterior node, Ratchet was sure Deadlock could hear the squelch of built up fluids behind his panel as his valve rippled again. “Open.”

The command was instant, a dual snap of valve and spike panels opening in unison. Ratchet could feel the hot spill of lubricant down his aft, Deadlock lifting his knees up higher while leaning down. Tensing at the sound of sniffing, the puffs of warm air over his exposed valve mesh as Deadlock drew near, the swipe of a glossa lapping up his lubricant. 

Shivering with the sensation, the feeling of being cleaned up in such a way making Ratchet blush harder. That glossa moved upwards and cleaned his outer mesh, inner valve clenching and squeezing out more lubricant.

“Hmmm. Sneaky medic. Don’t know your frame that well? Or is this your first time?”

“W-what are you on about!? I’m not sealed!” Squeaked at the feeling of that glossa delving through swollen valve lips, tantalizingly close to his entrance. Slapped a servo over his mouth to stop the noises from escaping, legs trembling again as Deadlock moved up to his anterior node. Another series of licks and deep sniffs, claws spreading him wide to the room.

“Feeling warm, irritated at nothing? Itch you just can’t scratch? I would say….” Another long lick, glossa tip circling his entrance a few times. “..1 to 2 weeks out from a heat cycle.” The chemoreceptors in his nose were lighting up, the taste electric on his glossa. This is where that scent was coming from, that deeper note under the cleanser that he couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Ratchet ran a quick diagnostic, dumping extra resources into his processors to complete the task. It was hard, Deadlock returning back to his valve, shocks of pleasure and heat flicking up his lines. A heat cycle? It couldn’t be, it had been ages since his last one. There was no way, he was taking his suppressants as prescribed, his baffles were still up to date. But there it was, the beginning lines of code making him groan. 

“Did your frame drive you out looking for company?”

“No!”

“It happens. Nothing to be ashamed of. Sometimes the frame needs to ensure it will have a proper partner when the time comes. So it makes you wander, broadcasting your availability.”

“I know how it works!” Huffed in frustration, this couldn’t be happening at a worse time. He would need to take time off, at least a week. Maybe even longer if he didn’t find the right partner. There was no way he could be working in the facility spreading pheromones, it would be too risky to the patients. “Slag it. This can’t be happening to me.”

A snicker against his anterior node, licklicklick before a kiss, a claw playing with the caliper at his entrance. Crossing his arms over his optics Ratchet grit his denta, frame betraying him and trying to sink that claw deeper. 

“You know, there are ways to trick it.”

“I already take suppressants.”

“That is satisfying to hear, means you have precautions installed. But I’m talking more carnal, forcing the systems into thinking it has already cycled and needs fulfilled now.”

“Like you would know!” A sigh, warm air over the base of his spike. Ratchet was being disagreeable, his mood souring.

“I would actually. It could buy you a few more weeks.” The servo holding his knees up released, moving his right leg onto a shoulder. Deadlock kissed up his spike, digit pressing deeper into his valve. “Been there, done that. I told you it was in the past.”

Dropping his arms down, digits pulling on the sheet. This mech has suffered. He had read a few articles on it, overdosing on suppressants and toxicity, some illicit ROMs that could be purchased in markets, another medic had told him about going to a brothel and getting fragged until sunrise. “What…..what do you know?”

“Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that all of a sudden?”

“Ratchet, do you trust me? Do you trust me to take care of this for you?”

“That is rid….” Getting up on his elbows, the digit in his valve sliding even deeper and pressing against an internal cluster. Optics twitching with the sensation, processors working on two different paths. His forge was still offline, but he was definitely producing pheromones. And lubricant. Ample amounts of lubricant. Studying Deadlock's face, the open expression catching him off guard. He didn’t even know this mech, barely two joors in each other's company. But his frame answered the question for him. A war frame, a good disposition, obviously had credits to spare. Deadlock would be an excellent CNA donor, a prime choice for a spark merge. Ratchet could feel his valve flutter, his frame relaxing against his will.

Deadlock could most definitely take care of him. Could make his problems go away. Ratchet would love nothing more than to spend a heat cycle with him.

Shaking his helm at the sudden thoughts, the absurdity of them. “The slag is wrong with me?”

“Processor making choices without you?”

“Yes! No!” Hips bucked when a second digit was added, Deadlock still working him open slowly despite his inner conflict. “Not what I meant.”

“I’ll help you make a decision, take the edge off. Just relax and let me work.”

Deadlock leaned forward enough to rub his nasal ridge along his chin, Ratchet biting his lip at the pink smear on his face. Feeling bold he pressed forward and licked it off, tasting his own fluids. A smile grew on Deadlock's face, red optics narrowing. Licking his lips Ratchet laughed quietly before laying back down, frame relaxing as servos rubbed over his sides and hip plating. Nodded and spread his legs wide, opening himself up to the room. 

If Deadlock had only been teasing him before, he most certainly wasn’t now. Holding his valve open with a claw he dove right in, glossa digging in deep into his entrance. Ratchet rather enjoyed oral, just as much as he enjoyed giving it. Most mechs were tentative when it came to depth, something that Deadlock most certainly was not. Shuddering as that glossa teased at an inner cluster, nasal ridge rubbing against his anterior node.

Arching his neck as the pressure grew, suction at his entrance making his thighs tremble. Oh frag, Deadlock was more than qualified to be his partner. The thought of the mech eating him out for joors, that purring engine against his back as they rested afterwards. He was getting into the fantasy, little gasps on his lips as his optics slid closed. The pressure ready to explode, the singing of his lines as overload approached. Unconsciously widened his legs, rolling his hips with each lick, calipers rippling in anticipation……

The sudden loss of sensation had Ratchet freeze, hips held upwards in the air, Deadlock wiping his lips of pink lubricant. “Uh…..hnnnnh?”

“Something wrong?”

He was smirking, the smug aft was smirking! Ratchet grit his denta again and slid back down to the berth, charge making his frame twitch. He wanted to overload, he wanted it right now! “Supposed…to be helping me….”

“I am.”

A frustrated huff had Ratchet reaching for his own valve, mesh slick with lubricant and oral solvent. Just as he was sinking his digits in they were pulled away, Deadlock pinning his servo back onto the berth. Looking up in anger, Ratchet stamped his pedes, his limit being reached with this mech. First he uses him like a toy in the bar, now he denies him the basics, the very thing he had allowed himself to be brought to this hotel for. “Denial doesn’t work well with me.”

“Sorry to hear that. Maybe you need an attitude adjustment.”

Mouth agape, he could only stare. The nonchalance, the brattiness, how dare this mech treat him this way. “Excuse me?”

“Can’t always get your way Ratchet.”

“Says who? You?!”

A slap to his valve made him flinch, freezing him in place again. “Look at that, it works. You do need an adjustment.”

“It hurts!”

Another slap, Ratchet twisting away from Deadlock. A strong servo pulled him back into place, trailing down his thigh to press down into his hip joint, pinning Ratchet into the berth. Holding his free servo above his valve, blue optics widening in tense anticipation. Instead of slaps it tapped his mesh gently, the swollen silicone absorbing the impact. 

“Look at that, your node is peeking out now and demanding attention.” 

“Stop messing with me!”

“Part of the process I’m afraid. I told you we need to trick it into thinking you are going into heat now.”

“By spanking me?!”

A few more pats, rough digit pads stroking his swollen anterior node. It sent little jolts through Ratchet, his frame twitching with each hit. “If that is what you want I can spank you, in fact I might rather enjoy that.”

“Rude!”

“Shhhh, it will get better here soon.” Deadlock placed his flat palm over his valve and rubbed in a circle, Ratchet panting again. “Listen, medic, think back on your last cycle. The heat that burned no matter how cold the solvent shower was, the ache in your hips, the pain when you couldn’t find release. That is what I am replicating.”

“But…..” Was it that simple? His hips did ache, his thighs felt abused and tingly. His fans had been running all day, even more the last few joors. Somewhere in his pelvis he could feel that clustered heat and need, the unrelenting pressure that would come from his forge down into his valve. 

His first cycle had been frightening. He knew what would happen, all bots went through standard education. But all the holovids and data pads couldn’t compare to the actual sensations a bot went through, the way his frame disobeyed him. Ratchet had foolishly hid himself away, thinking he could wait it out. His frame overheated in the washrack, his digits buried deep in his valve over and over. It wasn’t enough, no matter how many times he overloaded it never satisfied the craving. His nodes and spike had been rubbed and scraped, the paint on his spike had been worn off.

It wasn’t until a mech broke through to his nest, the soothing touch and caresses, the first pump of transfluid into his forge that the fever broke. It was like someone had flicked a switch internally, the coding burning through his processors ceased, his core temperature finally stabilizing. 

It took him weeks to recover. Ashamed at his behavior, despite many others assuring him that it was common. Even those he had looked up to admitting to having difficulty with their first few cycles, the knowledge still not enough to convince him that what he had done wasn’t wrong. His second cycle he threw himself at the first mech that caught his scent, the whole ordeal over in less than a cycle.

Moist heat on his node brought him out of his thoughts, Deadlock licking and sucking the red node. Maybe that was why he was the way he was, the party ambulance. The constant need to seek out pleasure amongst the stress of being a student. The drive to attain release, his core programming crudely modified into tricking him that he could only find it in others. He had certainly done some things, the blush returning to his cheeks at the thought. Toys, parties, orgies, double penetration….ugh….what had he become?

Taking a shuddered invent at a hard suck, servo stroking his aching spike. Deadlock was just another partner in his menagerie of mechs. He was supposed to be a medic, helping bots, not helping himself to their pleasures. The tension was growing again, the all too familiar zing along his lines. Maybe, after all this was over, when he graduated he would take a vacation. Clear his helm, dump some offending memories. He was so close to starting a new chapter in his life, it was time for him to grow up. Deadlock was right, he was acting like a newspark.

Pulling his knees up to his chest as he squeezed his optics shut, venting through his nose as Deadlock worked him towards the edge, fluids freely dripping down from his spike. Whimpered as the pressure grew, his thighs trembling once more. He was close, so close, the rough pad of Deadlock glossa running over his anterior node over and over. Just one release, please just let me overload!

“Unff….Deadlock……let me……annnhhhh….” Felt his denta slip against each other as he peaked, frame trembling hard enough his plating rattled. His charge ramped up, desperate, frame twisting on the berth as it tried to find the key to his release. Deadlock had pulled away again, Ratchet howling in anger. Denied again, pants coming hard and fast, fans spooling up higher trying to cool his core.

“Deadlock! Why! I’ll….just let me! I’m gonna kill you if you don’t let me…!”

Sharp claws were against his throat suddenly, other servo under his knees again. Frozen in place, processors stalling in sudden fear. The mech above him was different, gone was the openness, now replaced with something he couldn’t place. His spark shouted danger, the dark look on Deadlock's face slowly melting away to something more neutral, a flash of fang as he snarled. 

“Kill me he says. I doubt you could achieve such a feat in your state medic.”

Venting heavily, afraid to move lest the claws tear into his lines. Deadlock looked away for a moment before taking a steadying vent, finials flicking before letting up on the pressure holding Ratchet down.

“Didn’t mean it Deadlock.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m the issue here.” Something hard and burning hot was nudging his valve, Deadlock holding himself still for a moment longer while he found his patience once more. Letting go of Ratchet's legs, red thighs splaying along his hip armor. A rolling of red optics as Deadlock tossed his helm, pressurized spike lightly grinding against Ratchet. “I won’t…..I would never hurt you. But you need to know I’m not a good mech. Not anymore.”

“I don’t believe that.” The words were whispered, fear slowly draining out of Ratchet. “Any other mech would have taken advantage of me long ago.”

“Ratchet….”

“There is still some good in you somewhere.” A growl was his answer, Ratchet watching that face change in the dim lighting. Deadlock moved between his legs and ground down against him, hot spike rutting along the outside of his valve. Risking a look down, claws still lightly flexing against his neck. It felt big, Ratchet widening his optics at the sight of it. It was definitely bigger than he was used to, maybe even bigger than Thunderclash…

“Something wrong medic, nervous?”

“I can take you.” His valve cycled down at his own words, a fresh gush of lubricant trailing down his aft. There it was, the itch, that strange pull in his internals. His frame wanted Deadlock, his valve wanted that thick spike, and his forge was coming online suddenly. “It's working.”

“Not yet. Still a few more steps.”

“Scrap.” Licked his lips as his frame made some internal changes, lines of code scrolling over his HUD. If this worked….licked his lips again and swallowed, Deadlock now leaning over him more and watching him. The slow grind against his valve was good, Deadlocks spike rubbing his swollen node just enough. “I want to take you.”

“Oh, is that right? How pretty you would look, throat bulging, intake rings stretched around my spike.” The claws at his neck stroked gently, thumb tracing down the center, Deadlock envisioning it. His mind had calmed, the medic was no threat. The scent was growing stronger suddenly, pheromones coming on strong. “Now comes the easy part.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Roll over for me, makes the angle of entry easier. Sure you want this?”

Ratchet tucked his knees again and moved under Deadlock, the mech sitting back as he repositioned himself on the berth. Pulling a few of the pillows closer and burying his heated face into it, shifting his knees until his aft was up in the air. Shivered and jerked when Deadlock touched his frame, his senses becoming more fine tuned as the coding took over. Servos roamed over his back and sides, Deadlock snagging one more pillow and forcing it under his windshield. 

“It will get to a point where I won’t be able to, but if you tell me to stop I will try my best.”

“It’s okay.”

“Ratchet, I mean it.”

Turned his helm slightly, blue optic peeking out from the pillow. The ache was setting in, his spike weeping with fluid. “You won’t hurt me, I know you won’t.”

A huff from the mech behind him, Deadlock finally getting into position behind him. A claw was pulling his entrance open, pink lubricant amongst the white silicone, red interior nodes blinking inside the channel. Rubbing the head of his spike against Ratchet's anterior node a few times, watching that exposed entrance ring contract, inviting him in. Slapped his spike head against the entrance, snickering to himself with the thoughts of ‘knocking before entering.’ Pressed into his entrance slowly, muffled noises from Ratchet driving him nuts. The smell was intoxicating, pheromones and lubricant a heady scent that filled all of his senses. Deadlock could still taste it, the sweet lubricant with the buzz of charge on his glossa, grinning as the head of his spike disappeared from view. 

Ratchet was tight, perhaps that was his fault for not stretching him longer. But his valve begged for more, gripping him and trying to pull him deeper, calipers squeezing his spike head as he sank deeper. Ratchet was trying to rock back against him, speed up the process on his own. “Behave or I will spank you for real.”

A rush of charge along his nodes had Deadlock hissing, spike halfway in when Ratchet suddenly overloaded. Crying out into the pillow, frame shaking with the sudden release of held tension. Gritting his denta as he stilled, left optic twitching as the charge ran up his lines. Just needed to hold on a bit longer, be a little more patient and Ratchet would be all his.

The trembling had ceased, smaller tremors internally as calipers loosened up, Deadlock sliding in with ease now. Ratchet was panting again, back arching under his touch. The press of white outer valve mesh against his array housing had the medic twitching, spike buried deep now.

Ratchet felt full, calipers stretching and easing Deadlock in. His spike still felt hot, warming his valve mesh up even more. Gentle kisses along his spinal strut, Deadlock rolling his hips slowly as he gave Ratchet time to adjust. It felt so good, the buzz of charge passing through their connected nodes. He wanted to stay like this, enjoy the shared connection and the fullness. 

“That was one overload, ready for another?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.” Deadlock pulled Ratchet's hips back and ground into him slowly, working that last caliper open. The slick slide as he started a pattern of thrusts, ample lubricant making it easy. “You feel so good Ratchet, nice and warm. So tight for me.”

The squelch of fluids filled the room, soft pants from Ratchet and grunts of pleasure. Focused on his movements, holding Ratchet's hip with his right servo while flat palmed the base of his spinal strut. A little more pressure, a slight speed increase, Ratchet hiccuping when his ceiling node is struck.

Deadlock was a machine…..no slag he was a machine they both were. The precision and timing of his thrusts, they were effortless. The mech could probably go on like this all night, fragging Ratchet at a steady pace into the morning. A benefit of being a warframe he guessed, the extra weight giving him an advantage. Another noise escaped him as his ceiling nodes was struck in succession, spike working its way deeper. He could feel the heat building in his forge, the numbness in his thighs kicking in. The palm on his back slid upwards between his shoulder plates, pinning him to the berth. Deeper thrusts now, each one grazing his ceiling nodes.

“Haaaanf….there…right..there….more….!”

A snicker and deeper still Deadlock went, now fully pressing on his nodes. Charge raced up his lines, the warning pain of a spike going too deep turning to full on pleasure. Just how big was Deadlock's spike? His hips were angled up more and Ratchet was being bent in half, optics rolling as Deadlock hammered into him. Overload crashed into him again, a keening moan escaping him as Deadlock kept up the pace. His frame was trembling, plating flaring out to expel steam and excess heat. A jolt of pain/pleasure shot up his spinal strut as his forge entrance was struck, spike head aiming right for the closed spiral and pounding against it. Ratchet wailed with the contact, the pleasure turning painful as the entrance refused to budge. Knees collapsing under him Deadlock took on his weight, both arms wrapped around his waist as he kept knocking, spike head bruising itself in its insistence.

A sharp pain at his neck made Ratchet lock up, fangs digging in deep as Deadlock bit and held on. Warnings were flashing across his HUD, valve integrity compromised and overheat warnings cascading across his view. The demand at his entrance was too much, port finally spiraling open and spike head locking into place. Ratchet was making some gurgling noise as oral solvent spilled over his lips onto the pillow. 

The first jet of molten transfluid burned in his forge, he could feel it splash against his internals. Some internal coding executed and Ratchet went bowstring tight, Deadlock biting even harder as he thrust against his forge entrance. Trying to work himself deeper through that narrow port, brute forcing his way in. Ratchet couldn’t vent, digits tearing into the sheets as his system surged into overload again. Optics flashing white everything went dark, Ratchets systems crashing in processor overload. 

Ratchet could hear his fans running on high, drives clicking as his systems and processors rebooted and came back online. Opening his optics he stared at the ceiling, frame reclined back onto something warm. His own frame was heated, plating flared out to dispel the excess heat. Shivered as something stroked along his outer valve, a jolt of charge racing up his lines. He felt overheated and numb from his windshield down, his thighs numb and felt tight. Something was pulsing inside him, burning him with searing heat. Looking down at the sensation again, helm moving slowly. A large black servo with claws was tracing over his valve, white lips spread wide over a bulging spike.

“Fraggg.”

There was rhythmic panting in his audial, grey and black legs stretched out in between his own. Sitting up the room spun, the servo at his valve reaching up to cross across his abdomen and steady him. The movement sent shocks of pleasure up his frame, Ratchet grabbing onto that arm as his vision swam. There was a rather large spike locked and knotted in his valve, the movement pulling on his calipers, his own neglected spike oozing and forming a puddle in his left hip joint.. He could feel the movement of fluid in his forge, it felt like something heavy was moving about inside his core.

“Easy medic, not quite there yet.”

That voice, the claws holding his side. He had gone to a bar and been picked up buy a nice war frame, the words stumbling in his processor. Nice? War frame? That didn’t make sense. “Unnnh….Deadlock….”

“Feeling it now hm? One more cycle and you should be good.” One more cycle? Which kind of cycle, the fog seeping back into his processor and slowing down his thoughts. He was in the midst of a heat protocol, frame working on bare minimum as it concentrated on other needs being fulfilled. The warmth at his back moved away as Deadlock reclined back onto the berth, strong servos now tucking Ratchet's bent legs against his side, pointed knee armor coming up as Deadlock resituated his legs. Blindly reaching out for that armor, using it to keep himself upright as strong servos took hold of his hips. A drawn out moan escaped him, internals being tugged and rearranged. Deadlock used his grip to move Ratchet's hips in a slow grind, watching the red and white frame in his lap tremble and shake. The rippling of calipers spurned him on, those drawn out noises from the medic turning him on. His spike hurt, the tight valve gripping him tight. 

Biting his lower lip he held Ratchet still and thrust up into him, knot at the base of his spike tugging hard at the entrance calipers. White back bowing with the movement, helm rolling back as Ratchet panted harder, digits gripping his knee armor tightly. Deadlock kept up the pace as his strength drained, the pressure and tight seal at the forge entrance steadily growing more and more painful. His processor was focused on breaching that point despite the pain, to run his tanks dry until that forge was full. 

A strangled noise escaped Deadlock as Ratchet tensed up and keened, calipers bearing down tight and locking with the spike plates, the hooks on the bottom of his spike keeping both in place. The deep throb of fuel lines and transfluid pumping in his spike, spurt after spurt of molten liquid into the nearly full forge. 

Charge ran up his lines from Ratchet, the medic overloading once more. They were becoming weaker, a sign they were nearly finished. Deadlock's plan had worked, tricking his systems into a false heat. Tears streamed down Ratchet's face, grey facial plates flushed deep with energon as he open mouthed panted. Drool trailed down his chin, optics bright and sparking. 

Everything felt amazing. Overheated and oversensitive, every little touch and movement sending his processors an ecstatic response. This was the only positive side to heat cycles, the overwhelming pleasure he got to feel for a few moments. A new warning blipped on his HUD, Ratchet incomprehensible and not understanding. The heat and pressure in his hips was too much, frame collapsing and being held by Deadlock.

The mech quickly sat up to support him, the position change making Ratchet's optics roll as he groaned. The heavy panting in his audial was back, Ratchet sinking strutless in his hold. Fluttered his optics and grunted as a warm face nuzzled the side of his helm and neck, a servo rubbing his abdomen.

The sensation had Ratchet shaking, optic twitching in overstimulus. His glossa felt swollen and wouldn’t work, words not connecting in his processor. Looking down again he watched those claws trace the white and grey plating, swollen and distended. The slightest pressure as Deadlock dragged the pads of digits across the bulge, a gurgled noise coming from Ratchet.

“My good medic, taking all of it and not spilling a drop.” He was filled to the brim, overfilled even, the warnings in his HUD coming into focus. Deadlock had pumped him so full of transfluid it was stretching his forge. “Your forge is begging to be sparked, ready to work with all the transfluid filling you up and create a protoform.”

“I want…I want to graduate. I want to be…a medic.” The words sounded hollow even to Ratchet.

“Oh you will, I’ll make sure of it. Put a whole litter in you so they can gestate while you finish your schooling, and then I’ll raise them while you become the best medic Iacon has ever seen.”

The words went straight to his coding, red digits scrabbling at the arms holding him tight. Sparklings, he would have so many sparklings!

“And when you are rested and recovered I’ll put another in, fill you up over and over. Start our own facility, all the Doctors and Nurses we would ever need. All trained by you, the best of the best.”

“I am…the best. I will be the…best medic ever…!” Claws held his sides as fangs nipped at the bite on his neck, Deadlock lifting him and fucking the knot even deeper in his valve. Ratchet was whiting out again, overfill and mesh integrity warnings spilling over his HUD, crying out with each upward thrust as he bowed against Deadlock. It felt like his spinal strut snapped with how far his frame arched, drool spilling down onto his chest as his systems crashed again, smile wide on Ratchet's face.

—-----------------

Coming too again he was sandwiched between hot and cold surfaces, the unforgiving solid wall on his front drawing the heat away from his heated face. He was being held up again, it didn’t feel like his legs existed. There was the rush of fans in his audials now, the sensation of something pouring over his side and back.

He still felt overheated and numb, but the unrelenting need and strange compulsions in his processors was gone. Swallowing and blinking his optics, the tile wall of the washrack came into focus. Deadlock was holding him up with arms wrapped under his shoulders and across his chest, heavily venting into the back of his neck, cold solvent pouring down over them. Sensing that Ratchet was awake, Deadlock moved him away from the wall and more into the spray, the medic shivering in his hold at the sensation against heated plating. Looking at his logs he had been conscious for a few kliks, moving autonomously with assistance. 

“Did my legs fall off?” His voice was full of static, internal diagnostic telling him that he had strained it and systems were prioritizing self repairs.

“Afraid not. But it is not uncommon for them to feel numb during a heat cycle.”

Ratchet tried to balance himself, forcing a connection to his pedes. There they were there, undamaged and fully intact, his neural net had just disengaged hepatic feedback and sensory flare. Yeah, he remembered this part of the whole affair all too well. He was going to be sore, a definite bow to his legs when he returned to the facility in another cycle.

Remained still in Deadlock hold for a few moments, letting his frame cool off further in the spray. His diagnostics came back, things stretched and mistreated as usual, nothing out of place for the party ambulance. Deadlock took another step back, allowing the spray to focus on his hip and thighs, the numb sensation growing into a tingling feeling.

Daring a glance he looked down, watching rivulets of solvent stained pink and silver swirl over the red of his thigh paint. Looking back up and sighed, focusing on the nozzle on the wall. “Deadlock….”

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

“The fun part.” A soft snort, nasal ridge rubbing along the back of his helm. Deadlock was such a sweet mech, Ratchet confused at how the mech ran so hot and cold at times. He definitely had triggers, and had been through a rough life prior to making a positive change. Perhaps under all that armor and sneer really was a gentle spark, whoever conjunxed him would be a lucky bot.

A tremor through his frame as he braced against the wall and claws eased his hips back, whether from the touch or thoughts in his helm he would never admit. Turned his face into his arm as Deadlock messed with the showerhead controls, warm solvent splashing over his thighs as he held the nozzle and waited for it to warm up. Blushed hard when he felt claws gently tease his entrance open and work the nozzle in, the rush of warm solvent into his valve enticing a noise from him.

“Hurts?”

“No.”

“You know what comes next. One more overload, causes the forge to contract.”

“Sure you aren’t lying to me and you were some kind of medics assistant?”

“I told you, been there done that. None of this is new to me.”

“How old are you exactly?” A palm was rubbing on his belly, the nozzle angled slightly until Ratchet hissed, a tremble in his held out arms as his internal nodes were flushed. Mech definitely knew what he was doing, this was something that was learned and not entirely instructed. You learned from suffering, not from a holodisk dryly explaining the motions.

“Not sure exactly. Maybe Solar cycle 17Y238? Memories are a bit corrupted.”

That would put Deadlock a good 17,000 years older than him, pressing his heated cheek harder into his arm. It wasn’t that much of an age difference for a Cybertronian since they seemed to have life spans that easily went into the hundreds of thousands of years, some prominent members already surpassing 2 million years. A flicker of history flashed through Ratchet's processor, the realization of what time period Deadlock would have been forged into.

“Primus, the tail end of the Primal civil war.”

“Possibly. Like I said, memory banks are a bit scuffed, lost a few thousand years. Doesn’t matter, nothing worth remembering.” The pressure on his belly increased, Deadlock shifting his hold on the nozzle just enough that he could rub the edge of his servo against his anterior node. Ratchet tensed up with the increased sensation, a soft moan heard over the splashing solvent.

“No teasing this time, nice and easy. Whenever you feel it just let it happen, nothing I haven’t seen or heard before.”

“The pit you been all my function?!”

“In the pits themselves it seems.”

“Not a good mech my aft! No one has ever treated me this well.”

“Never know Ratchet, someone is out there for you.”

Rising up onto the tip of his pedes as he felt his charge crest weakly, frame trembling in one final overload. Something uncoiled in his core, held tension and overstressed internals relaxing. The slick feeling as something heavier dripping through his valve and down his thighs, the metallic scent of transfluid filling the washrack. Biting his lower lip again as Deadlock worked the nozzle deeper, the sensation of warm solvent filling his forge and flushing him out. It was intimate and hard to describe, something he normally did on his own as his partners were recharging.

A flicker of regret over his spark, the fleeting thought of his chance at a sparkling. It was absurd, he was in no state to carry. Let alone even wanting to be a carrier. Ratchet had a long life ahead of him, there would be plenty of time to reconsider things in the future. The servo on his abdominal plating rubbed soothing circles, forge settling back into position and going offline once more. Another flush and he would be good, exhaustion suddenly overcoming him. Optics sliding closed he allowed Deadlock to manipulate his frame, he couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment.

His internal sensors told him that he was moving, his frame was randomly vertical. Something hot and thick seeped into his pedes and legs, then his hips and the rest of his frame. Opening his optics wearily as Deadlock leaned him back in a tub, the steamy hot oil seeping down deep into his joints and transformation seams. 

“There is no way you are in the Vanguard.”

“So convinced of that are you Ratchet?”

“It is some cosmic joke. You are a Prime in disguise, or some upper crust senator playing pretend with us commoners!”

“What a vivid imagination you have, but alas I am just plain old trash from the bottoms who worked themselves up into something useful.” A servo reached up out the oil, Ratchet looking at Deadlock seriously as he held onto the mech.

“Not trash. Don’t say that about yourself.”

“Are you going to give me a lecture?”

“No, but I don’t think you should think that way. Don’t deserve to mistreat yourself like that.”

“The voice of reason in my life. How I will think of you as I get sent out on some boring aft assignment.” Pressed Ratchet back down into the tub before standing up, watching the medic sink down into the oil. The price for the oil was worth the look of contentment, Deadlock taking an internal capture.

Stepping away to allow Ratchet to relax, returning to the washrack. Turned the showerhead on full blast and turned the temperature cold, pressing his forehelm into the tile. Ratchet had sucked him dry, a burning sensation and pain as his spike pressurized once more. He was hooked, the pheromones still trapped in his olfactory sensors. Ignoring his spike he doused himself in cleanser and scrubbed at his frame, trying to erase any errant scent of the medic from his frame. He didn’t need any other mech picking up the scent, tracking the medic down and taking advantage of him. The thought of another bot fragging Ratchet had him snarling into the tile, gripping the base of his spike hard.

“Even after all that, still not enough?”

“Trust me, there is nothing left to give. Frame has other ideas though.” Braced an arm on the wall and stroked himself briskly, wanting to get it over with quickly. Turned his helm slightly under the spray, watching Ratchet out of the corner of his optic. Red and white arms lifted out of the oil and were held up, digits rubbing the oil deeper into seams and cables. Slim digits and delicate wrists, Deadlock could probably hold them tightly together with one servo. Pinning them onto the berth, red thighs opening wide to accept him. “Oh the things I would do to you Ratchet.”

It was quiet but Ratchet caught the words, smiling to himself before sitting up in the tub, getting up onto his pedes. His legs felt shaky and weak, but held his weight. Ratchet was glad he was turned in the opposite direction, face gone pale with the fear he was going to collapse. Stupid idea! Reached up for a brush on a shelf above the tub, arching his back and pressing his hips back, he was sure the barest exposure of his valve to the room. Knew he had made the right move at the groan that escaped Deadlock, the splatter of solvent as he stroked his spike even faster in the stream.

Sitting back in the tub Ratchet feigned innocence, catching glimpses from the war frame. Bent against the wall, black claws furiously stroking over dark grey spike plating, red biolights and node bright with charge.

“And what would you do to me? Pretty sure we went through it all this evening.”

“A shame I rinsed you clean. Erased my scent from you. A warning to others, a promise that you belonged to me. The gelling transfluid in your forge, your frame absorbing the minerals for future use.”

A twinge up his valve, the memory of the heavy fluid being flushed out. Ratchet leaned back again and rolled his helm, watching the mech work himself up. “Is that all?”

“I’m an officer in the Vanguard. I’m allowed a companion or pet. Imagine my own medic, how jealous they would all be. Keep you in my quarters, the best tutors and mentors you could ever want. You would be the Primes doctor. A coveted position, one of power, your command supersedes all others.. And then at night I would polish that red and white plating and feed you jellied energon cubes, pounding your tight valve night after night until it only responds to my spike.”

“Sounds dreamy. Possessive but dreamy.”

“Possessive….” The words died on Deadlock's lips as he tensed and gripped his spike hard, Ratchet wincing at the motion. Denta bared as Deadlocks helm rolled back, finials pinning flat as a trickle of transfluid leaked over black digits, quickly disappearing in the torrent of solvent. Steam and smoke rose from Deadlocks vents, the mech standing still staring at the ceiling for several moments before growling loudly and tossing his helm.

“I’m impressed, managed to produce transfluid that fast?”

“Guess I better start saving back up, won’t self service for a few weeks until you comm me, your real cycle hitting.” Ratchet rolled his helm away and flushed, crossing his legs in the oil. They had staved off the inevitable, buying Ratchet enough time to finish his internship. It would hit him hard, the stress and workload leaving with graduation. Perhaps spending it with Deadlock wouldn’t be so bad, they could spend cycles together taking their time. Moaning low in his intake Ratchet ran an oiled servo over his face, feeling the heat burning beneath it.

Deadlock has spared him some alone time, going into the other room and allowing the medic to enjoy the heated oil. Finally realizing how exhausted he was he forced himself to get out, the mech appearing with a towel. The mech was quiet, skillfully but carefully toweling the medics frame down, soaking up the excess oil. The touch relaxed Ratchet further, processor slipping into a sated state. Yelped when he was lifted up and carried, surprised at how easily Deadlock manipulated him. Medics were forged heavy, it took serious strength to lift and hold him with such ease. 

Turning his helm at the berth when they entered into the main room, blue optics widening at its cleaned and tucked in state. “Did you clean?”

A low chuckle against the side of his frame, that low engine purr easing him. “No, the service droids are quite efficient.” Placed Ratchet on the edge once more, pulling at the blanket and wrapping him up. A black digit was held out, tapping on Ratchet's nose once.

The mech left him to sort through a cooler, the snap of a can opening and the glug of liquid being poured. Ratchet was slipping away, the sweet scent of energon waking him up. Opening his optics a full glass was held out to him, tentative digits taking hold. He sipped at it slowly, the sweetened liquid quieting the last of the heat in his core. Holding out the empty glass he was leaning backwards, Deadlock chuckling as he took the glass from him. The sheets were cold and the blanket was warm, Ratchet moaning as he curled up in the center of the berth.

“That good hm?”

“Tired of my thin single berth.”

“Get some recharge. I paid for the room until the next cycle. You can spend it relaxing.” The voice was drifting off, Ratchet sitting up straight on the berth. Deadlock had already moved off further in the room, approaching the door. Helm turned at the sudden movement, Deadlock looking at him in question.

“You’re leaving?”

“If I stay little medic, I cannot promise I won’t ravage you again.”

“Then ravage me!”

“Ratchet, you need to rest. I am not conducive to that kind of thing.”

“Something special you are, frags me into the berth and still has the energy to run away.” Still wrapped in the blanket Ratchet slid off the berth, padding over to the mech. Now that he was clear headed and not under the influence of engex or protocol he got a good look at Deadlock. At least two helms taller, bulkier frame wider than Ratchet. “Slag, you are pretty handsome.”

“Am I?”

“In that bad mech kind of way. But also a sweetness to you, I know that now.”

“Don’t be giving my secrets away Ratchet.” A red servo reached out, tugging Deadlock back towards the berth.

“Stay. Just for a bit.”

“Ratchet….”

“You have to be tired! I can feel every strut and joint, I can’t imagine how you feel!”

Gentle nuzzle against his chevron, lips kissing lightly from the center to the tip.Ratchet looked up in red optics, tugging the mech closer. Back stepped until they reached the berth, Deadlock huffing before conceding. Pushed Ratchet down onto the berth and rolled him in the blanket, curling up behind him in the center of the berth. Listening to Ratchet slip into recharge, growling into the back of his neck. 

“I’ll let you wander for now medic, let the world shape you as you grow up, but you belong to me. Remember that.”