Chapter Text
He mooed, it wasn’t a cute sweet one, it wasn't an angry one, no it was a long drawn out moo, one that made his throat hurt and his optics water. But that was desperation, depravity, pure honest torture! The way it all felt, how overwhelming it was for him, for the sensation to be so close and yet so far?
“Shhhh, shhh, be a good heifer, that’s it.” The bull panted down, his big spike dripping, only out of reach, his servo rested lower and lower, trailing between Ratchet’s aft cheeks. “That’s it, just enjoy yourself, that’s my good girl.”
He whined out, optics shutting tight as he heard it first, then his frame registered it, the faint hiss, the push, the press against his valve calibers. It was dangerous, the plug inside of him, how it’d stretched him out, how it would trick his processor, his frame. This wasn’t fair!
Heifers provided 2 things, milk and calves, easy, simple, wonderful, unless you were a medic, then you only could provide one thing. Milk. Not just any milk high grade, heavy metal medical milk.
The constant suction on his teats reminded him of that, the never ending need to be filled with a spike, or a calf reminded him of his purpose. Right now what he’d do to sit on Dreadwing’s spike and finally after all this time become a carrier?
War crimes, he would commit several war crimes.
”Shhh, that’s it, good girl.” The flier hummed, resting his servo on Ratchet’s aft, pushing the heifer forward, the plug was deeper now, pinned against his chamber.
Ratchet mooed out, his tail slapping the walls, drool trailing down his chin, his processor was fuzzy now. He was so close to an overload. His teats were almost drained, and they reduced in size (that was to the medical trained optics) his nipples throbbed, they’d be sore tonight, and tomorrow.
Dreadwing’s servo rested against the swollen bulb in his valve, then he rocked against it, letting it fuck into the heifer. “Go on, enjoy yourself, imagine this is a spike, or some large frame’s knot inside you. You’d be a perfect carrier, when your time is done here, every bull that’s ever had your milk will hunt you down.” He chuckled.
Ratchet moaned, his legs shivering, thankful that the harness kept him up, he'd surely be on the floor with this treatment. He wanted it, needed it, a bull, one that’d give him a calf, one that would mount him, breed him. His hooves curled under him and he rocked his hips, trying to sink it in deeper, but it was fruitless. It always was. “P-please, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good carrier~”
TWACK!
He moaned out, his optics rolling back when the crop hit his backside. “Sorry girl, you know the rules, and so do I. No calves for you.” He rested his claws on Ratchet’s chamber, pushing up, making Ratchet’s whole wiring system scream with charge, the plug inside him was unbearable!
”Please!” He sobbed out.
Dreadwing sighed, then stepped away, twisting the nob next to the pump, the plug deflated. “Sorry, medic.”
He whimpered as it left his valve, his aching valve petals throbbed, his node hard. The panels clicked back into place and he forced himself to vent, that was it, he wasn’t getting an overload, his panels were locked thanks to his bull.
It was almost a daily ritual, simple constant milking, and teasing him, making his heifer frame beg and break under the cruel touch of a bull?
Truthfully Ratchet would do anything for a bull, one good strong bull.
This was chaos, one moment he was expecting Sentinel’s guards to rush in with wounds, but the next he saw old elite guard bulls stomping in with burns and bent metal. He rushed to the door, grabbing the nearest warrior, an older racer bull, his helm wobbled side to side, his optics flicked.
“What happened?” Ratchet snapped.
”Sentinel Prime has fallen,” Starscream, the Winglord of the elite guard, stomped in, his own wing bent at a painful angle. “The Elite guard returned, and we have a new Prime, Optimus Prime.”
Ratchet reset his optics, then his audio receptors. “Huh?”
”We won.” The racer drooled on his chassis, wrapping his arms around Ratchet’s waist, taking a long deep inhale, his nose ring was broken, unpolished, and energon bled from it. He looked up at Ratchet, golden optics (which means this bull was low on fuel, lead and copper, but also could mean a possible processor injury). He stared up at Ratchet, golden optics wide. “Frag, you’re a pretty heifer.”
Ratchet ignored him and dragged the bull towards a medical berth. “What happened to him?”
”Deadlock?” Starscream trailed behind. “Got thrown through a building then took the brunt of that train to his face and his back, besides that…he’s fine?” The Winglord shrugged.
”HE’S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!” Ratchet gawked, sure the racer had some heavy armor but no one would make it through any of that. Then he paused, once more reset his audio receptors. “D-D-Deadlock?”
”That’s a’me~!” He joked with a thick dead end accent and jabbed a thumb at his chassis, all too proud to not be smiling. “But you, oooooh, you’re pretty.” He was fast, clutching Ratchet’s wrists. “Frag- so pretty I’d love to make some-“
”Deadlock.” Starscream growled.
”Eh, I already have processor damage.” He shrugged, then pulled Ratchet in, dragging the heifer into his arms, chassis to chassis, the older bull huffed Ratchet’s milky scent, his tail thumped. “Frag you’re to pretty not to kiss right now. Sorry doc.” He winked, and his hot lip leaned in too close.
“Hey-mmm!” Ratchet almost jumped out of his plating, the kiss tasted like energon, but it was a kiss, it was tender, soft, needy, there was some hot tears against his cheeks, a pleasant rumble of a high octane engine. The tongue slid into his intake, lapping at his, and he…he lapped back, played with the bull. It was savory, sweet, it made his spark ache, his valve throb, his teats hard and wet.
A good strong bull? Deadlock? That DEADLOCK?!
“Mmmmwahhh!” Deadlock collapsed on the berth, a smile on his face, optics wet and he stared up at him with something untamed in his optics. Something burning and hot, not lust (Ratchet knew that all too well) but something else, hope perhaps? “Sorry doc, needed to kiss you to make sure this was real-“
”Deadlock!” Starscream snarled, his vents puffed out smoke and he flared his nose in embarrassed frustration. “You know better then to assault a worker on his job-“
”And you act like you don’t like big heifers, please, you’re as horny as I am, poor bull hasn’t seen a breedable heifer in ages.”
Ratchet cleared his throat, then started moving. “We need to put you in a coma, your systems need a hard reset.” He popped off panels, connecting wires, inspecting damages. “D-Deadlock, do you have any-“
”Drugs in me? Sorry doc, can’t get anything good on the surface, been clean for awhile, which means I’m in peak health.” he winked, again.
”Just put him down.” Starscream hissed.
He vented, applying the code to the racer’s network. “You’ll wake up when you’re ready.”
”Wait!” The claws were fast, but didn’t dig, didn’t puncture, and rested on Ratchet’s servo. “You’ll take care of me?” It was soft spoken, small, scared. A far cry from his cocky self before, perhaps this was the real Deadlock.
He nodded, resting his other servo on Deadlock’s. “I promise.”
A sweet not cocky smile spread across his intake and Deadlock lulled back as the code assaulted his processor and his frame started to slump. “One more question doc, what’s your name?”
”Ratchet, it’s Ratchet.”
”Mmmm, pretty heifer like you? I’ll need a new ring for sure.” he licked his lips, the energon staining his face. He stilled and his optics closed, he was in a coma now, unable to wake up until his frame was fully repaired.
Ratchet sighed and rubbed his helm, that would be a new problem. He pushed the berth to a private room, one that wasn’t highly trafficked, one that he could work on Deadlock’s repairs on his own time. The berth was locked into place, the wires connected to the fuel lines on the wall.
Ratchet stared at the muddy warrior, his spark racing in his chassis.
2 things became painfully clear, 2 new sensations he’d never expected to have in his lifetime. 1, his panels were open, not locked, which means that Dreadwing was no longer with them, and he was pure freedom. 2, he’d never been kissed before.
Ratchet rested his digits on his lips.
Strong kind bull-Deadlock, the famous deadly high guard? No you’re insane, besides he’s a recovering drug addict! he wouldn’t be a good sire.
He had work to do.
He’d focus on Deadlock later.