FIC: Do You Want to Play? (Transformers)
Title: Do You Want to Play?
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Optimus/Ratchet
Warning(s): Holoforms
Notes: Like Attention Getting Device, this is a Human Series AU, for my own amusement. I think it might be a sign that series is too long when you start writing your own spin-offs. *G*
I'll be getting back to the regular series after this one, only I just had company leave and I'm celebrating having no one in my house by writing...well, porn. This was somewhat inspired by the latest pervy picspiration on the Perv Pack's Smut Shack, because gosh, they have some purty pics. ;) If you've been reading Human Series, you'll get this just fine. If you haven't...well, the porn is still here, so you can give it a shot. ;)
Summary: Optimus can't rest. He's not the only one.
~~*~~
It was rare that Optimus was unable to cycle down into recharge.
Worries plagued him, to be sure, but unlike their human brethren, Optimus understood that denying himself rest would not solve problems any faster. For him, insomnia was unheard of. For all that they had to accomplish, in the end, they had all the time in the world. As for his safety, Optimus entrusted it to the mechs on night guard; it was, after all, their duty.
It was not an opinion all his comrades shared; Ironhide for one, he knew, couldn't settle into a decent recharge without spending a short time patrolling beforehand. Nothing so complex was keeping Optimus from his recharge this night.
Tonight simply felt like a night for walking. It was considerably cooler than normal, the dipping temperature a sharp contrast to the burning heat of the day and it felt…good. Years of space travel had accustomed them to cooler climes than this earth desert had to offer. A rare breeze was blowing tonight, a simple caress against his metal plating and if he'd had the option, Optimus would have cast aside his armor and basked in it in his base form.
Ratchet would give him a permanent dent to the helm if he did anything of the sort, Optimus thought with wry humor and instead he settled for lowering his facial mask, allowing the soft, sweet breeze access to the more sensitive parts. As quietly as he could, Optimus made his way through their city, not patrolling, only enjoying the gentle quiet.
To his surprise, Optimus noticed a light was on in the humans' recreational center. It was never officially closed but at this hour of the night it was almost always empty. Curiosity drew him and in the end, Optimus transformed and parked near the entrance, choosing to enter the smaller building as a holoform.
The sight that greeted him was so unexpected that he nearly rebooted his optics and never mind that he didn't actually have optics in this form. It seemed more likely he was in some sort of bizarre recharge-induced visualization than standing here, watching Ratchet's holoform playing on the human's Xbox.
Correction; he wasn't exactly playing on it. It looked more like he was going to war with the small, insentient machine. The scowl on his face was usually one reserved for mechs who'd managed to injure themselves in spectacularly stupid ways. Optimus had seen it directed at him a time or two. On his human face, the very face that Optimus had designed for him, that scowl was particularly disarming.
As focused as he was on the game, Ratchet had yet to notice Optimus and he leaned against the doorframe, half in the shadows as he indulged in the rare opportunity to see Ratchet in an unguarded moment.
No matter what his form, Optimus would know Ratchet. He had never met another mech who was such a fascinating contrast of visible temperament and deeply secretive emotions. They were beings who could easily conceal themselves in most environments and yet Ratchet was always...Ratchet. A highly combustible temper packaged in with a brilliant mind, a volatile mixture that few would risk and Optimus was more than willing to be scorched.
Right now, visibly perched just on the edge of a full-fledged screaming fit, he was utterly adorable and Optimus silently promised himself he'd never let Ratchet know that. The human form Optimus had gifted him with matched him well. The thin wire frames of his glasses were perched on the end of his nose, hazel eyes narrowed in concentration as he glared at the television as though the technology itself had betrayed him.
Optimus spared a glance at the screen and blinked. Perhaps it had. Optimus only rarely spent leisure time with their human comrades but even he knew Ratchet's score was on the low end of pathetic.
"Enjoying the show?"
The acid in Ratchet's voice was not unexpected and Optimus offered him a rueful smile in apology. "If I say yes, will I regret it?"
"I'm not sure there's a word you could speak right now in any language that you wouldn't regret, but go ahead, give it a shot; see what happens."
Wisely, Optimus chose to remain silent. Matrix-bearer he might be, but it didn't take the knowledge of the Ancients to know that bating Ratchet right now would end poorly on his end. Instead, he stepped into the room, crossing behind the large sofa and settling himself on the other end.
"If I could ask..." Optimus began, slowly, but Ratchet quickly interrupted him.
"What am I doing? Research, that's what."
"Research?" Optimus repeated, dubiously.
"Yes, research!" Ratchet snarled. "I was curious to see what it was like-" he broke off with a curse, the tiny image on the screen gurgling yet another horrible death. Optimus winced; even an imaginary death held no appeal to him. He'd seen entirely too much of the real kind. "Some of the humans are obsessive over their gaming units; they treat it like some kind of mental masturbation."
Ah. Now that made some sense. Ratchet had a ceaseless curiosity about the mating practices of other species. As personality quirks went, Optimus had seen worse. After wincing his way through the death throes of two more of Ratchet's little onscreen characters, Optimus weighed his options. Much as he disliked it, he had played this game before with much better success than Ratchet. He could show Ratchet how to play it properly. But the odds of that ending poorly were at least sixty percent, with an added probability of his not getting any for at least a week afterward, possibly longer depending on Ratchet's temperament. Or he could remain silent, allow Ratchet's frustration at losing increase and…end pretty much the same way.
Well, the humans did say that a coward died a thousand deaths…
"If you don't mind me saying so," Optimus said, and he was proud he managed to keep his cringe entirely internal, "You aren't playing right."
Ratchet went utterly, disturbingly still, his character toppling off yet another cliff to a gruesome death as he slowly turned the force of his glare to Optimus.
"I think I can manage to play a child's toy," Ratchet said, coldly. Bemused, Optimus thought it was entirely possible that if there had been any moisture in the air, it would have frozen beneath the arctic temperature of those words.
Well, in for a cube, in for a barrel.
"Of course you can, my apologies," Optimus said, solicitously. He settled back into the sofa and redirected his attention to the television, where a sorrowful message informed them that their character had died and asked if they would like to retry the level.
Even without looking, Optimus could feel as the cold of Ratchet's glare intensified to the dark iciness of deep space, stating clearly without words that he was not fooled.
"You think you can do better." It was not a question.
Optimus held out a hand, "Would you like me to try?"
It was a good thing their tolerances were higher than a real human's because Ratchet slapped the controller into his hand with enough force to fracture bone.
With easy enthusiasm, Optimus took on the task of maneuvering his small character through the dangers of its world. Absently, he decided he knew why Ratchet was having difficulty. As a medic, Ratchet's reflexes were sharp as a razor, his reaction times were as close to instantaneous as was possible in a Cybertronian form. Whereas a human Xbox was not and therefore, couldn't maintain Ratchet's response time. He'd have to tell Ratchet to adjust for the machine's lag times. After he beat Ratchet's score.
Optimus was so focused on the game, that at first, he didn't register the soft pressure on his leg. Only when it slid upward, warm fingers teasing his upper thigh, did he startle, his much-abused character gargling through yet another simulated death as Optimus blinked down at his lap.
With a raised eyebrow, he glanced at Ratchet. Who looked back innocently, then gave his straying hand an askance look, as though it were moving without his permission.
"I thought you said you were curious about mental masturbation practices," Optimus said, rather proud of the steadiness to his voice as Ratchet's hand slid higher, no longer on his thigh proper but stroking sensitive flesh that was already hardening beneath that touch.
Not that desiring Ratchet had ever required much in the way of stimulation.
"Maybe I want to play a different game," Ratchet murmured, and just the rare hint of coyness was enough to send a shiver of want through Optimus. Eagerness made him clumsy, made him fumble his attempt to set the controller on a nearby table but Optimus didn't look as it clattered to the floor, only reached for Ratchet. Grabbed his upper arms and pulled him in to cover that smirking mouth with a kiss.
Surprisingly pliant, Ratchet allowed Optimus to push him back, covering that slimmer body with his own. For all his interest in the mating practices in other species, humans included, it was rare that Optimus could get him to indulge in them himself. Where other Autobots were delighted to enjoy the pleasures the universe had to offer, and offer back pleasure in return, Ratchet always held back from it.
Or almost always.
Tonight, Ratchet met his kisses eagerly, almost fiercely, parting his legs and all but pulling Optimus between them as he twined his ankles behind Optimus's knees, holding him there. Perhaps his simple frustration at the human game still burning through him, perhaps something else. Whatever it was, Optimus had no processor space left to consider it, not with Ratchet's hands already between them, yanking at the fastenings to his pants. Hastily, Optimus released them, following the push as Ratchet shoved him away, scrambling up to kneel in front of Optimus as he tugged the pants down and out of the way.
Hot, hard simulated flesh sprang free, eager for the touch that Ratchet offered. The slick heat of his mouth made Optimus groan, one hand gripping the back of the sofa for balance as Ratchet sucked him with firm, perfect pressure. They had done this so rarely, and Optimus would never stray to another, that the sensation was still unfamiliar, the staggering pleasure of a tongue flicking at the flared head, laving abstract patterns against the sensitive skin.
The sudden coolness of the air against his wet skin as Ratchet released him almost made Optimus cry out a protest, the words muffled against the fierceness of Ratchet's mouth against his. He barely had a chance to respond, tasting the swollen heat of Ratchet's lips before he pulled away again, the heat in his eyes a goad.
"I want you inside me again," Ratchet panted out, already pulling back, his clothes vanishing as he rolled to his knees. As though Optimus could, or would, protest, dismissing his own simulated clothes as he moved to kneel behind Ratchet, stroking a hand down the pale, silky line of his back.
That it was Ratchet beneath him, on his knees, his head pillowed submissively on his arms, made unholy heat rise in Optimus, of the like a holoform shouldn't be able to feel. Ratchet who was never passive, who always followed orders but rarely hid his grudgingness. Ratchet, who had acquiesced to do this as humans did only once before, for him, was shamelessly spreading his legs and arching the sweet curve of his hips up in easy desire as Optimus moved over him.
Optimus caught those slim hips with one large, trembling hand, used the other to guide himself and he felt as much as heard Ratchet's soft gasp as he sheathed himself in that tight, merciless heat.
"Optimus-" Ratchet gasped, biting the word off on a soft whimper. The heat of his borrowed form, the slick tightness surrounding him forced Optimus to pause, resting his forehead between Ratchet's shoulder blades as he struggled for control. This rare opportunity was not to be wasted in haste, yet Optimus was helpless to stop, drawing out slowly only to thrust harshly back in, listening to Ratchet's pleading gasps as Optimus moved inside him in too-quick, aching rhythm.
"Beautiful," Optimus whispered, helplessly, because it was true, beautiful to hear Ratchet's voice begging him for more, Primus, please, beautiful to watch his spine arch, pale skin damp with simulated sweat as he writhed between the soft give of the sofa and Optimus's less forgiving form. Beautiful as he submitted, begging to be taken, to be possessed, an eager participant in his own surrender.
For this one moment, Optimus did not need to coax or persuade, he only closed his eyes, covered Ratchet's slimmer body with his own, and obeyed the rush of lust pooling between his legs as he took, held this much-loved being close to him no matter what the form.
He knew the moment Ratchet's pleasure peaked, felt the exquisite grip of his body tighten to near pain as a sweet, soft cry escaped him, left him trembling in Optimus's strong arms.
Optimus leaned back, pulling Ratchet with him until he was straddling Optimus's lap, legs spread wide as Optimus drove up into his unresisting body. Weakly, Ratchet whimpered, hands clutching at Optimus's tight grip almost desperately.
"That's it, pretty," Optimus whispered harshly, struggling against the rising tide of his own pleasure, "Come for me again."
"Don't…call me…" Ratchet tried, breaking off on another cry as Optimus thrust up hard, one hand sliding between Ratchet's legs to find the slick length of his erection, already hard again and eager for his touch.
"But you are," Optimus murmured. "So pretty, begging me." He slid his hand deeper between Ratchet's legs, back to where they were joined, felt himself sliding inside in this strange, human style of interfacing.
"Oh…oh, Primus," Ratchet wailed, his nails digging into to Optimus's arms in a sharp, stinging little pain as he convulsed, tipping over again into trembling pleasure. The sudden tight clench of his body dragged Optimus with him, the rush of orgasm sparking through him as he groaned, held Ratchet tightly to him as the hot sweetness of it overwhelmed him.
As one, they sagged back to the sofa, Optimus's much larger form covering Ratchet, crushing him into the soft cushions. After a moment, Ratchet shifted uncomfortably.
"You do realize that you're heavy, no matter what form you're in," Ratchet muttered darkly.
"I'm sorry," Optimus husked out, heaving himself up on shaky arms until he could roll off of Ratchet's slighter body. Primus, but Bumblebee had programmed the human holoforms well. To his surprise, Ratchet didn't move away, only squirmed back into his arms, resting his head against Optimus's chest. Not one to question benevolence, Optimus held him close, resting his chin on top of Ratchet's head and closing his eyes.
"That was not the kind of game I was expecting to play tonight," Ratchet said softly, wry amusement in his voice.
"Hmm," Optimus sighed, softly. "I think I liked this game better."
"You would," Ratchet retorted, but there was no heat in it.
Optimus stroked one hand down the soft, bare skin of Ratchet's back. "This game has much better sound effects, pretty."
"Oh, please don't start calling me that," Ratchet groaned. "All I need is for the twins to hear it; I'll never get a moment's peace."
But he didn't argue that it wasn't true and Optimus's spark soared. "Just between us," he murmured in promise, brushing a soft kiss against Ratchet's cheek.
For a short time, they lay there, cooling slowly in each other's arms until finally, Ratchet pulled away, Optimus reluctantly letting him go. Only to raise an eyebrow as Ratchet only claimed the controller again and sank back against him.
"I need to figure this game out!" Ratchet defended, at Optimus's look. "It's for my research."
"Of course," Optimus said, agreeably, and promptly decided his own research would be better served by not telling Ratchet what he was doing wrong.
Surely it would be better if Ratchet figured it out for himself, even if it left him frustrated in the interim. It was, of course, how one played the game.
-finis-
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Optimus/Ratchet
Warning(s): Holoforms
Notes: Like Attention Getting Device, this is a Human Series AU, for my own amusement. I think it might be a sign that series is too long when you start writing your own spin-offs. *G*
I'll be getting back to the regular series after this one, only I just had company leave and I'm celebrating having no one in my house by writing...well, porn. This was somewhat inspired by the latest pervy picspiration on the Perv Pack's Smut Shack, because gosh, they have some purty pics. ;) If you've been reading Human Series, you'll get this just fine. If you haven't...well, the porn is still here, so you can give it a shot. ;)
Summary: Optimus can't rest. He's not the only one.
~~*~~
It was rare that Optimus was unable to cycle down into recharge.
Worries plagued him, to be sure, but unlike their human brethren, Optimus understood that denying himself rest would not solve problems any faster. For him, insomnia was unheard of. For all that they had to accomplish, in the end, they had all the time in the world. As for his safety, Optimus entrusted it to the mechs on night guard; it was, after all, their duty.
It was not an opinion all his comrades shared; Ironhide for one, he knew, couldn't settle into a decent recharge without spending a short time patrolling beforehand. Nothing so complex was keeping Optimus from his recharge this night.
Tonight simply felt like a night for walking. It was considerably cooler than normal, the dipping temperature a sharp contrast to the burning heat of the day and it felt…good. Years of space travel had accustomed them to cooler climes than this earth desert had to offer. A rare breeze was blowing tonight, a simple caress against his metal plating and if he'd had the option, Optimus would have cast aside his armor and basked in it in his base form.
Ratchet would give him a permanent dent to the helm if he did anything of the sort, Optimus thought with wry humor and instead he settled for lowering his facial mask, allowing the soft, sweet breeze access to the more sensitive parts. As quietly as he could, Optimus made his way through their city, not patrolling, only enjoying the gentle quiet.
To his surprise, Optimus noticed a light was on in the humans' recreational center. It was never officially closed but at this hour of the night it was almost always empty. Curiosity drew him and in the end, Optimus transformed and parked near the entrance, choosing to enter the smaller building as a holoform.
The sight that greeted him was so unexpected that he nearly rebooted his optics and never mind that he didn't actually have optics in this form. It seemed more likely he was in some sort of bizarre recharge-induced visualization than standing here, watching Ratchet's holoform playing on the human's Xbox.
Correction; he wasn't exactly playing on it. It looked more like he was going to war with the small, insentient machine. The scowl on his face was usually one reserved for mechs who'd managed to injure themselves in spectacularly stupid ways. Optimus had seen it directed at him a time or two. On his human face, the very face that Optimus had designed for him, that scowl was particularly disarming.
As focused as he was on the game, Ratchet had yet to notice Optimus and he leaned against the doorframe, half in the shadows as he indulged in the rare opportunity to see Ratchet in an unguarded moment.
No matter what his form, Optimus would know Ratchet. He had never met another mech who was such a fascinating contrast of visible temperament and deeply secretive emotions. They were beings who could easily conceal themselves in most environments and yet Ratchet was always...Ratchet. A highly combustible temper packaged in with a brilliant mind, a volatile mixture that few would risk and Optimus was more than willing to be scorched.
Right now, visibly perched just on the edge of a full-fledged screaming fit, he was utterly adorable and Optimus silently promised himself he'd never let Ratchet know that. The human form Optimus had gifted him with matched him well. The thin wire frames of his glasses were perched on the end of his nose, hazel eyes narrowed in concentration as he glared at the television as though the technology itself had betrayed him.
Optimus spared a glance at the screen and blinked. Perhaps it had. Optimus only rarely spent leisure time with their human comrades but even he knew Ratchet's score was on the low end of pathetic.
"Enjoying the show?"
The acid in Ratchet's voice was not unexpected and Optimus offered him a rueful smile in apology. "If I say yes, will I regret it?"
"I'm not sure there's a word you could speak right now in any language that you wouldn't regret, but go ahead, give it a shot; see what happens."
Wisely, Optimus chose to remain silent. Matrix-bearer he might be, but it didn't take the knowledge of the Ancients to know that bating Ratchet right now would end poorly on his end. Instead, he stepped into the room, crossing behind the large sofa and settling himself on the other end.
"If I could ask..." Optimus began, slowly, but Ratchet quickly interrupted him.
"What am I doing? Research, that's what."
"Research?" Optimus repeated, dubiously.
"Yes, research!" Ratchet snarled. "I was curious to see what it was like-" he broke off with a curse, the tiny image on the screen gurgling yet another horrible death. Optimus winced; even an imaginary death held no appeal to him. He'd seen entirely too much of the real kind. "Some of the humans are obsessive over their gaming units; they treat it like some kind of mental masturbation."
Ah. Now that made some sense. Ratchet had a ceaseless curiosity about the mating practices of other species. As personality quirks went, Optimus had seen worse. After wincing his way through the death throes of two more of Ratchet's little onscreen characters, Optimus weighed his options. Much as he disliked it, he had played this game before with much better success than Ratchet. He could show Ratchet how to play it properly. But the odds of that ending poorly were at least sixty percent, with an added probability of his not getting any for at least a week afterward, possibly longer depending on Ratchet's temperament. Or he could remain silent, allow Ratchet's frustration at losing increase and…end pretty much the same way.
Well, the humans did say that a coward died a thousand deaths…
"If you don't mind me saying so," Optimus said, and he was proud he managed to keep his cringe entirely internal, "You aren't playing right."
Ratchet went utterly, disturbingly still, his character toppling off yet another cliff to a gruesome death as he slowly turned the force of his glare to Optimus.
"I think I can manage to play a child's toy," Ratchet said, coldly. Bemused, Optimus thought it was entirely possible that if there had been any moisture in the air, it would have frozen beneath the arctic temperature of those words.
Well, in for a cube, in for a barrel.
"Of course you can, my apologies," Optimus said, solicitously. He settled back into the sofa and redirected his attention to the television, where a sorrowful message informed them that their character had died and asked if they would like to retry the level.
Even without looking, Optimus could feel as the cold of Ratchet's glare intensified to the dark iciness of deep space, stating clearly without words that he was not fooled.
"You think you can do better." It was not a question.
Optimus held out a hand, "Would you like me to try?"
It was a good thing their tolerances were higher than a real human's because Ratchet slapped the controller into his hand with enough force to fracture bone.
With easy enthusiasm, Optimus took on the task of maneuvering his small character through the dangers of its world. Absently, he decided he knew why Ratchet was having difficulty. As a medic, Ratchet's reflexes were sharp as a razor, his reaction times were as close to instantaneous as was possible in a Cybertronian form. Whereas a human Xbox was not and therefore, couldn't maintain Ratchet's response time. He'd have to tell Ratchet to adjust for the machine's lag times. After he beat Ratchet's score.
Optimus was so focused on the game, that at first, he didn't register the soft pressure on his leg. Only when it slid upward, warm fingers teasing his upper thigh, did he startle, his much-abused character gargling through yet another simulated death as Optimus blinked down at his lap.
With a raised eyebrow, he glanced at Ratchet. Who looked back innocently, then gave his straying hand an askance look, as though it were moving without his permission.
"I thought you said you were curious about mental masturbation practices," Optimus said, rather proud of the steadiness to his voice as Ratchet's hand slid higher, no longer on his thigh proper but stroking sensitive flesh that was already hardening beneath that touch.
Not that desiring Ratchet had ever required much in the way of stimulation.
"Maybe I want to play a different game," Ratchet murmured, and just the rare hint of coyness was enough to send a shiver of want through Optimus. Eagerness made him clumsy, made him fumble his attempt to set the controller on a nearby table but Optimus didn't look as it clattered to the floor, only reached for Ratchet. Grabbed his upper arms and pulled him in to cover that smirking mouth with a kiss.
Surprisingly pliant, Ratchet allowed Optimus to push him back, covering that slimmer body with his own. For all his interest in the mating practices in other species, humans included, it was rare that Optimus could get him to indulge in them himself. Where other Autobots were delighted to enjoy the pleasures the universe had to offer, and offer back pleasure in return, Ratchet always held back from it.
Or almost always.
Tonight, Ratchet met his kisses eagerly, almost fiercely, parting his legs and all but pulling Optimus between them as he twined his ankles behind Optimus's knees, holding him there. Perhaps his simple frustration at the human game still burning through him, perhaps something else. Whatever it was, Optimus had no processor space left to consider it, not with Ratchet's hands already between them, yanking at the fastenings to his pants. Hastily, Optimus released them, following the push as Ratchet shoved him away, scrambling up to kneel in front of Optimus as he tugged the pants down and out of the way.
Hot, hard simulated flesh sprang free, eager for the touch that Ratchet offered. The slick heat of his mouth made Optimus groan, one hand gripping the back of the sofa for balance as Ratchet sucked him with firm, perfect pressure. They had done this so rarely, and Optimus would never stray to another, that the sensation was still unfamiliar, the staggering pleasure of a tongue flicking at the flared head, laving abstract patterns against the sensitive skin.
The sudden coolness of the air against his wet skin as Ratchet released him almost made Optimus cry out a protest, the words muffled against the fierceness of Ratchet's mouth against his. He barely had a chance to respond, tasting the swollen heat of Ratchet's lips before he pulled away again, the heat in his eyes a goad.
"I want you inside me again," Ratchet panted out, already pulling back, his clothes vanishing as he rolled to his knees. As though Optimus could, or would, protest, dismissing his own simulated clothes as he moved to kneel behind Ratchet, stroking a hand down the pale, silky line of his back.
That it was Ratchet beneath him, on his knees, his head pillowed submissively on his arms, made unholy heat rise in Optimus, of the like a holoform shouldn't be able to feel. Ratchet who was never passive, who always followed orders but rarely hid his grudgingness. Ratchet, who had acquiesced to do this as humans did only once before, for him, was shamelessly spreading his legs and arching the sweet curve of his hips up in easy desire as Optimus moved over him.
Optimus caught those slim hips with one large, trembling hand, used the other to guide himself and he felt as much as heard Ratchet's soft gasp as he sheathed himself in that tight, merciless heat.
"Optimus-" Ratchet gasped, biting the word off on a soft whimper. The heat of his borrowed form, the slick tightness surrounding him forced Optimus to pause, resting his forehead between Ratchet's shoulder blades as he struggled for control. This rare opportunity was not to be wasted in haste, yet Optimus was helpless to stop, drawing out slowly only to thrust harshly back in, listening to Ratchet's pleading gasps as Optimus moved inside him in too-quick, aching rhythm.
"Beautiful," Optimus whispered, helplessly, because it was true, beautiful to hear Ratchet's voice begging him for more, Primus, please, beautiful to watch his spine arch, pale skin damp with simulated sweat as he writhed between the soft give of the sofa and Optimus's less forgiving form. Beautiful as he submitted, begging to be taken, to be possessed, an eager participant in his own surrender.
For this one moment, Optimus did not need to coax or persuade, he only closed his eyes, covered Ratchet's slimmer body with his own, and obeyed the rush of lust pooling between his legs as he took, held this much-loved being close to him no matter what the form.
He knew the moment Ratchet's pleasure peaked, felt the exquisite grip of his body tighten to near pain as a sweet, soft cry escaped him, left him trembling in Optimus's strong arms.
Optimus leaned back, pulling Ratchet with him until he was straddling Optimus's lap, legs spread wide as Optimus drove up into his unresisting body. Weakly, Ratchet whimpered, hands clutching at Optimus's tight grip almost desperately.
"That's it, pretty," Optimus whispered harshly, struggling against the rising tide of his own pleasure, "Come for me again."
"Don't…call me…" Ratchet tried, breaking off on another cry as Optimus thrust up hard, one hand sliding between Ratchet's legs to find the slick length of his erection, already hard again and eager for his touch.
"But you are," Optimus murmured. "So pretty, begging me." He slid his hand deeper between Ratchet's legs, back to where they were joined, felt himself sliding inside in this strange, human style of interfacing.
"Oh…oh, Primus," Ratchet wailed, his nails digging into to Optimus's arms in a sharp, stinging little pain as he convulsed, tipping over again into trembling pleasure. The sudden tight clench of his body dragged Optimus with him, the rush of orgasm sparking through him as he groaned, held Ratchet tightly to him as the hot sweetness of it overwhelmed him.
As one, they sagged back to the sofa, Optimus's much larger form covering Ratchet, crushing him into the soft cushions. After a moment, Ratchet shifted uncomfortably.
"You do realize that you're heavy, no matter what form you're in," Ratchet muttered darkly.
"I'm sorry," Optimus husked out, heaving himself up on shaky arms until he could roll off of Ratchet's slighter body. Primus, but Bumblebee had programmed the human holoforms well. To his surprise, Ratchet didn't move away, only squirmed back into his arms, resting his head against Optimus's chest. Not one to question benevolence, Optimus held him close, resting his chin on top of Ratchet's head and closing his eyes.
"That was not the kind of game I was expecting to play tonight," Ratchet said softly, wry amusement in his voice.
"Hmm," Optimus sighed, softly. "I think I liked this game better."
"You would," Ratchet retorted, but there was no heat in it.
Optimus stroked one hand down the soft, bare skin of Ratchet's back. "This game has much better sound effects, pretty."
"Oh, please don't start calling me that," Ratchet groaned. "All I need is for the twins to hear it; I'll never get a moment's peace."
But he didn't argue that it wasn't true and Optimus's spark soared. "Just between us," he murmured in promise, brushing a soft kiss against Ratchet's cheek.
For a short time, they lay there, cooling slowly in each other's arms until finally, Ratchet pulled away, Optimus reluctantly letting him go. Only to raise an eyebrow as Ratchet only claimed the controller again and sank back against him.
"I need to figure this game out!" Ratchet defended, at Optimus's look. "It's for my research."
"Of course," Optimus said, agreeably, and promptly decided his own research would be better served by not telling Ratchet what he was doing wrong.
Surely it would be better if Ratchet figured it out for himself, even if it left him frustrated in the interim. It was, of course, how one played the game.
-finis-