tempting misery, love's guilty labyrinth
transformers ;; ratchlock ;; wc: 527 ;; NSFW, heatfic, breeding.
back to writing! read it on tumblr!
Sparks fly off of Ratchet’s plating, bouncing between him and Deadlock before fizzling out. He resets his vocalizer, then his optics, then his vocalizer once more. His fans are blasting, warm, radiating heat being expelled from every vent. His pants come out laced with static, EM field projecting an intense need. His servos lay uselessly around Deadlock’s shoulders, clasped loosely behind his neck. Around the assassin’s spike, his valve clenches down, leaking.
“So good,” Deadlock tells him, “doing so good for me, Ratch.” Deadlock’s own voice is low, strained. His spike twitches inside Ratchet’s valve, his own plating crackling with charge. “That’s three now. You’re so good, so– you’re so beautiful, giving me three.”
“Deadlock,” the medic moans, rocking his hips down, forcing his valve to open back up for the large spike. “Deadlock, it’s not enough, I need– I need one more, one more, please. It’s not enough.”
“Not stoppin’,” Deadlock sighs, dragging a servo down Ratchet’s midriff. “I’m not stopping. Not gonna stop until I can fill you up, doc.”
“P–please,” Ratchet lets out, vocals still glitching, cutting out. They likely won’t stop glitching until his heat is over.
“Want that?” Deadlock asks, claws raking against the medic’s plating ever-so-slightly– not hard enough to do any damage, but enough to make the medic shiver underneath him. His servo grabs at the medic’s thigh, lifting it up, and he rolls his hips, slotting deeper into Ratchet’s valve. “Want me to fill you with my transfluid? I wanna give it to you, Ratch. Wanna fuck you full of it.”
“I want it,” Ratchet babbles, shuddering. His calipers shift, once again stretching to accommodate Deadlock’s spike after his third overload. “Want you to overload in me, I want– hah,” he tries, only to get cut off by his own moaning.
“I’m gonna give it to you, doc,” Deadlock groans, pulling his spike out before slamming it back in again. “Gonna give you all of it.”
“Deadlock, I want you to spark me,” Ratchet cries out, and the assassin’s engines stall.
“Ratch,” Deadlock starts, “Ratch, you can’t say that.”
“Please,” the medic begs, “I need– I need you to spark me, need you to give me a sparkling, need– Deadlock–!”
Deadlock picks up a brutal pace, hammering away at Ratchet’s already overworked valve, and the medic can feel the beginning of a knot right against him with each thrust. “Can’t fuckin’ say that,” Deadlock growls, claws digging into Ratchet’s plating, “I– I can’t– I can’t. But if you keep talkin’ about it I fucking might.” He says this, but he knows that it couldn’t actually happen, even if he wanted it to. Ratchet has protection, has had it as long as Deadlock could remember. Despite this, the idea of it, the thought of giving Ratchet a sparkling, a permanent reminder, a permanent claim– it wraps around Deadlock’s processor. His spike meets Ratchet’s gestation tank with every thrust, but the entrance stays closed. He thrusts harder in a futile attempt to break through.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Ratchet tells him, between obscene pants and moans. “If it was you, I wouldn’t mind.”
Deadlock’s knot splits the medic open, and he overloads.