country house cabinetry or something
transformers ;; ratchlock ;; wc: 599 ;; NSFWish, tfa ratchlock, not the same as my tfa drift au.
back to writing! read it on tumblr!
There's clicking, tapping, the sound of a window closing. Such sounds are so quiet that they certainly wouldn't wake someone in these dead hours- you would need to be awake to hear it.
Lucky for Ratchet, he is.
He sets his tools down, no need for them right now, and he makes his way to the common area of the small Autobot base. The room is primarily dark- at this point, roughly four in the morning, Bumblebee and Prowl would both be back from patrolling, so there would be no reason to keep the lights on. The only light to filter in would be that of Earth's moon, an unnamed little thing, glittering alone in the sky against a backdrop of distant suns. Somewhere, among them, is Cybertron.
It's there, caked in that faint moonlight, that he finds a separate source of light. It starts simply with the gently pulsing yellow biolights, and then the mech looks up, and Ratchet sees it, that bright, brilliant red.
"Deadlock," he greets.
"Ratchet," the helicopter replies, rising off the ground to his full height. He's every bit as tall and bulky as the medic remembers. A real, no-two-ways-about-it warframe. A Decepticon. "Your base doesn't have great security."
Ratchet shrugs. "You came at a good time."
Deadlock smirks, steadily approaching the medic. "Aren't I lucky," he chuckles, bit by bit closing the distance between them. When he reaches out, Ratchet doesn't flinch. A clawed servo caresses the Autobot's faceplates, cupping his cheek in such a gentle way that Ratchet can forget, for a moment, that Deadlock is a killer, and the claws that caress him are the same claws known for ripping Autobots limb from limb.
Ratchet, of course, does not forget for long, though he still can't seem to be bothered by Deadlock's proclivities. His lack of worry, funny enough, almost makes him worry more. "I missed you," the medic finds himself saying, before his processor can catch up with his intake.
Again, Deadlock chuckles, leaning his faceplates down, closer to Ratchet's. "I missed you too," he replies, voice low, and Ratchet can feel every exvent.
Ratchet, too, reaches a servo up, caressing the Con's helm in return, fingers resting between his cheek and the vents on his helm. For a moment they stay like that, close, together, the two of them in their own little world.
"You gonna get in trouble for this?" Deadlock asks, pressing still just a bit closer.
"Maybe," Ratchet chuckles, tilting his helm a bit further upwards. "Prime won't do anything."
"You sound pretty sure of that," Deadlock scoffs.
"He's let me go before," Ratchet explains, smiling a bit.
Deadlock looks at him in surprise, though the expression quickly shifts into one of vicious glee. "You're a little criminal, huh, doc?" A smirk. "Thought you were better than that."
Ratchet huffs, looking down at the ground. "I wouldn't say that, really."
Deadlock moves his servo from Ratchet's faceplates down to his chin, and he tilts the medic's helm back up, once again locking optics. Without saying a word, Deadlock leans forward, closing that distance, pressing their lips together.
The medic closes his eyes, leaning into it slightly, but primarily he allows Deadlock to maneuver him. He jumps slightly when Deadlock's other servo moves to rest on the back of his neck, claws digging lightly into the transformation seams, but he recovers quickly. He trusts Deadlock, is the thing. Lets him lead. Deadlock won't do him wrong.
When the con's glossa pokes out, sliding along Ratchet's lips, the Autobot opens his intake. He lets Deadlock lead then, too.