XFMR - A Femme with Friends
Title: A Femme with Friends
Fandom: Transformers (G1 wat)
Characters/pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet, Ironhide/Optimus Prime
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ironhide's mind and spark is forcibly inserted into a femme frame. Prime and Ratchet take notice. Porn ensues.
Warnings: Porny McPornface. Sticky.
Notes: KinkMeme delorking. Not sure why, except that I wanted to. WHATEVER PORN TIEMS.
Table of Contents
o o o
They'd seen this before, of course. Some of the Decepticon's were sick bastards, and there never had been many femmes around in the first place. Forcing a mech's spark and processor into a femme body had been done since the beginning of the war, giving the 'Cons one more way to humiliate and hurt their captives. It was reversible, but spark transfers were always dangerous, and since the mech's original body was usually at least partially used in the creation of the femme body, an entirely new body needed to be built. Really, it was no laughing matter.
Which definitely didn't stop Jazz and Wheeljack's hysterics when they caught sight of Ironhide after his stay with the Decepticons.
Ironhide, as a femme, was rather pretty, in a 'I will break your face in' kind of way. Jazz, leaning on Wheeljack as he laughed himself sick, made sure to take plenty of pictures to send back to Chromia. He - he'd threatened to smelt the first mech who even thought about referring to him with femme pronouns - was still tall, still bright red and still powerfully built, but he had curves. And not just 'mechs are boxy, femmes have curves' curves, but 'these hips could teach you things you can't possibly imagine' curves. His face, though patterned after his mech form, had been slimmed and refined. Whoever the Decepticon was that had done this, he'd clearly taken great pains to make sure his victims still looked and moved like themselves. His transformation sequence was even still the same, albeit to a smaller alt mode.
And his personality matrices had all transplanted seamlessly, as evidenced by his temper snapping and his trying to force-weld his fists to Jazz and Wheeljack.
While a femme's grace and speed were on his side, strength was not. First Aid caught him and held him back easily while Jazz and Wheeljack got out of striking range, still sniggering. Abruptly, First Aid seemed to realize that he was holding a femme rather tightly against his chassis and he let go of Ironhide, stammering and apologizing enough to drag Ironhide's attention away from the giggly officers. "Drop it, First Aid," he said after listening to the Protectobot stammer himself into a corner. "I ain't about to start getting offended at every little touch."
"Oh, really?" Jazz purred, sidling up next to Ironhide and sneaking an arm around his waist. "You wanna take that new alt mode for a test drive, then?"
Ironhide wrapped a hand around the main energon line in Jazz's throat and dug his fingers in. "But for you, I think I'll make an exception," he added casually.
"Enough," Optimus said firmly. The two officers separated, one glaring and one grinning rakishly.
"Ironhide, it's going to take me some time to rebuild your body," Ratchet said briskly. "More if you decide to injure every mech who hits on you until then. For now, I suggest you get used to being a femme, and think up any modifications to your old blue prints that you may want. The rest of you, scram. Ironhide isn't spontaneously combusting, and I have work to do."
The others filed out (not without Jazz blowing him a kiss back over his shoulder) and Ironhide turned back to Ratchet, intending to indulge in some good-natured bitching about the 2IC. But Ratchet was already heading back to his office, gesturing at First Aid as he walked. "A full programming scan," he said. "I want to know exactly what I have to re-write and what I don't. Call me if anyone else comes in."
Ironhide felt a little... snubbed. Ratchet had been his friend for millenia, and the medical officer had always preferred performing any kind of medical work on his closer companions, instead of shifting the load to his assistant. But since his rescue, Ratchet had barely looked at him, aside from a cursory examination, and while Ironhide wasn't a very emotional mech, the avoidance stung. Disgruntled, he lay back on an examination table, allowing a very flustered First Aid to scan his programming and try to not invade his personal space at the same time.
o o o
By the end of the week, Ironhide felt VERY snubbed. While the rest of the base took his change well (very well, and the number of serious interfacing offers he'd gotten surprised him) both Ratchet and Optimus Prime were avoiding him. It surprised him how used to having one or the other around he was, and how (he didn't want to use 'hurt', because it sounded so damn weak, but it was the only word that fit) he was when they weren't.
Annoyed (and, okay, yes, he could admit to being hurt) he stalked over to medical, neatly avoiding the slap to the aft that Sideswipe attempted to give him as they passed. First Aid looked like a cyberdeer in the headlights when he walked in, already reverting straight to stammer-mode (really, the bot was too shy. He made a note to ask Arcee about helping First Aid out of his shell and put him out of his mind for now) Ratchet, across the room, didn't look at him once.
Annoyed slipped right into angry, and Ironhide stormed over, grabbing Ratchet by the shoulder to spin him around until they were face to face. "What the slag did I do wrong, Ratchet?" he demanded, not at all liking the close, guarded look on the medic's face. "You've barely said ten words to me since I came back."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Ratchet said dully, shouldering past him to walk out of the receiving bay. "I've just been busy, is all."
Ironhide stared after him for a moment, outraged, then chased after. "Like hell you have been," he shouted at Ratchet's back, reaching out to grab him by the arm again. "You can't even look at me right now, and Prime's been avoiding me, too, and-"
He was cut off by Ratchet grabbing his arm and pushing him against the wall, optics blazing and his body way too close in general. "Neither of us thought," the medic growled tightly. "That you would appreciate it if either of us just threw you down and interfaced you until you screamed, like we've wanted to since you came back."
Oh. Ironhide felt a slow curl of heat in his lower belly at the very thought. "Well," he managed. "I would have, if you asked first."
Ratchet yanked him inside of a private examination room and pushed him up against the wall again, an entirely different motive behind his touch now. "Please tell me that was consent," Ratchet rasped, almost but not quite touching him. "Primus, Ironhide, tell me that I, that I can."
"After as long as we've known each other," Ironhide growled. "You think I'd tell you no?"
Ratchet groaned in relief and kissed him. They'd fooled around before; they couldn't exactly interface, as neither of them had a valve, but the casual petting-induced overloads were a relatively common thing among mechs. This was entirely different. Ratchet had never kissed him before, had never pressed the entire length of their bodies together and ground against him, slow circles of his hips making Ironhide shift restlessly against the wall. And Ironhide was pretty sure he'd never desired the medic like this, clutching and clawing at the white mech's back to keep that wonderful friction going.
Ratchet broke the kiss, moving to follow the line of Ironhide's jaw guards with his glossa. "Primus, you had no idea," he whispered, his hand dipping under Ironhide's chest armor to tweak at his wiring. "Both of us, ever since you were rescued. Optimus confided in me, told me he couldn't even think straight with you in the room. I couldn't blame him, you were, you are, just-" He broke off, his knee pressing between Ironhide's thighs.
"Yeah, well," Ironhide was rather proud that his voice sounded a lot steadier than the medic's. "You could have just said something, like everyone else has been, instead of acting like a glitch all week." He allowed his legs to be spread, arching his back to press his panel against Ratchet's thigh, and the medic groaned again, pressing his face to Ironhide's neck. "Idiot."
"Didn't think you'd accept," Ratchet admitted, mouthing at the wires in his neck. "You turned down everyone else."
"And since when are you everyone else?" Ironhide prodded. Ratchet laughed raggedly, standing upright to pull Ironhide over to the room's berth. Ironhide went willingly enough, allowing Ratchet to direct him to sit on the edge of the berth. Ratchet dropped to one knee, and Ironhide raised an optic ridge, fondling the medic's chevron. "Planing something?" he asked mildly.
Ratchet grinned wickedly, spreading Ironhide's legs with a hand on each thigh. "Wouldn't be fair," he said lightly. "If you didn't get to experience everything enjoyable there is to being a femme before we changed you back." Ironhide opened his mouth to reply but the only sound he made was a choked cry as Ratchet bent his head and traced the edges of his panel with his glossa. The sensation was different than the same experience as a mech; sharper, somehow, little spikes of pleasure instead of a steady, pleasant ache.
Ratchet tapped on his panel with one knuckle and Ironhide allowed it to open, shivering as cool air passed over his valve. He'd explored his new equipment, of course, and Ratchet had seen it during that first examination after he'd returned, but the look on Ratchet's face now was very different from then. Ironhide felt a little thrill course through him at the hungry way Ratchet was looking at him and he shifted a bit, leaning back on his elbows and arching his back. As a mech, he'd been driven to distraction by some of the simplest ways a femme could move. He tried them now, twisting on the berth just the slightest and feeling a little silly right up until Ratchet's optics blazed. Pleased with himself, Ironhide gave his hips a little roll, drawing Ratchet's attention back to his valve. He gave Ironhide a smirk and ducked his head, pressing his lips to the edge of Ironhide's valve in an almost chaste kiss.
Ironhide jerked at the touch. He hadn't known what to expect, how a femme's pleasure differed from a mech's, but he was learning quickly. Ratchet mouthed at the edges of his valve, shifting the delicate plates in a way that made Ironhide squirm, before he carefully pushed his glossa inside.
Ironhide shrieked and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. He was pretty sure it was normally physically impossible for him to make such a high-pitched noise. Ratchet didn't seem to mind, thrusting his tongue inside of Ironhide's valve, occasionally pulling back to mouth at the edges again. The pleasure was sharper than he was used to, more focused, as if his new valve had more sensors than his cord had. He briefly wondered if the Decepticon's had done that on purpose, had wanted to make sure their victim felt everything they had planned on doing to him, but Ratchet drove the thought from his mind by sliding a finger inside him alongside his glossa. Ironhide bucked, muffling himself behind his hand as Ratchet prodded the inner walls of his valve, his other arm across Ironhide's hips to hold him down.
It took Ironhide a moment to figure out that his overload was a lot closer than he'd thought, and he reluctantly removed his hand from his mouth. "Ratchet," he managed. The medic slowed, and his optics flickered up at him. "Keep that up, and I'm going to overload right here." Ratchet paused, then went right back to what he was doing, working even faster than he had been. Ironhide gave up and his overload slammed into him, a short cry escaping his mouth.
Ratchet's mouth kept in contact with his valve until the last of his shudders worked their way through his frame. The medic slowly stood up, running his hands up Ironhide's chassis as he went, and Ironhide could see that Ratchet's panel was open, his cord already extended. Ironhide stilled at the sight. Casual interfaces between mechs didn't involve their cords at all, and Ironhide was a little unsure at the idea of touching another mech's cord. Fortunately for him, Ratchet seemed completely uninterested in foreplay, leaning down to kiss him and rubbing his cord along the outside of Ironhide's valve. Ironhide hooked one leg around Ratchet's waist and tugged, pulling the medic's hips closer.
"Impatient, hm?" Ratched laughed against Ironhide's jaw, reaching down to guide himself. Ironhide tensed as Ratchet's cord pressed against his valve, then the tip was inside, stretching him like Ratchet's glossa and finger never could have. Ironhide's hips bucked again, the movement causing Ratchet to all of a sudden be a lot deeper, and Ratchet moaned, his hands tight on Ironhide's hips. Ratchet moved back, sliding almost completely out of Ironhide before pressing in again, allowing himself to go as far as he could, their hips snugged together.
Ironhide's fingers scrabbled against the berth, looking for something solid to anchor himself with. Primus! He'd never thought, never been able to even imagine, the hot press of Ratchet's cord inside of him, Ratchet's voice in his audial whispering how good it was, the sliding ache as Ratchet slowly began to move. Ratchet moved slowly, each careful thrust taking long seconds to complete, and the sensation was driving Ironhide up the wall with need. "Damn it, Ratchet," he hissed. "Move, damn you!"
"If I go any faster," Ratchet growled against his neck, punctuating the statement with a harsh jerk of his hips. "I am not going to be able to stop myself and I am going to overload far before you will."
"Do I look like I care?" Ironhide snapped back, wrapping his arms around Ratchet's shoulders as far as he could. "I already overloaded once, so will you just move?"
Ratchet growled and nipped at Ironhide's neck, but complied, easing his cord out of Ironhide slowly, only to shove back in, eash potent thrust sending shockwaves through Ironhide's body. Ironhide cried out, his back arching right off the berth, and Ratchet moved faster, pounding into Ironhide's valve, his fingers denting the armor over Ironhide's hips. Ironhide tried clenching his valve around Ratchet's cord in time to his thrusts, and Ratchet cried out, his entire frame shuddering as he overloaded deep inside of Ironhide. Ironhide couldn't help a disappointed little moan as Ratchet retracted his cord, and Ratchet kissed him gently. "Sorry," the medic murmured against his lips. "But I did warn you."
"I hope I am not interrupting?"
Ironhide's head snapped up to look over Ratchet's shoulder. Optimus Prime stood against the closed door, his arms folded across his chest. "What are you doing here?" Ironhide demanded. Primus, if Ratchet had privately called him in to just watch, Ironhide was going to kill him.
"First Aid called me," Optimus replied, not moving. "He was firmly convinced the two of you were going to try and kill each other, and he determined that I would be the only one able to separate you." He shifted a little, his optics watching Ironhide. "Forgive me, if I had offended you by not speaking up until now."
Ratchet leaned over Ironhide, his lips brushing against Ironhide's audial. "Look at him," Ratchet whispered, sending not-unwelcome shivers across Ironhide's circuits. "You two have been friends for longer than most of the crew has been alive, and right now, he wants you so badly it's probably killing him to stay where he is."
Ironhide didn't answer, his optics locked onto Optimus over Ratchet's shoulder, but it was easy to see that the medic was right. Optimus was all aching tension, his fingers digging into his upper arms hard enough for the metal to protest, his optics fierce and hot over the top of his face mask. Ironhide's valve chose that moment to remind him that Ratchet had overloaded before him, aching in want, and the idea of the Prime satisfying that need was enough to make his engine rev. "Well," Ironhide said, just loud enough for Optimus to hear. "If he wants me, he'll have to come over here and say so."
Optimus slowly unfolded his arms and straightened, crossing the floor to the berth. Ratchet almost reluctantly moved, his hands lingering on Ironhide's armor as he shifted around the berth. Optimus briefly dropped his gaze to Ironhide's still exposed valve, his fists clenching tightly. Ironhide sat upright again, his spark thrumming nervously in his chest as Optimus approached, and he barely noticed when Ratchet crawled up on the berth behind him, red hands steadying on his shoulders. Optimus stopped between Ironhide's knees, just shy of touching him, and leaned down to look him in the optic. "Would you allow me to interface with you?" Optimus rumbled quietly, as polite as he ever was, but, Primus, the want in his voice was near enough to make Ironhide overload right there.
Ironhide laced his fingers around the Prime's neck and pulled him down, pressing his lips against his face mask in a clumsy kiss. "I'd be damn disappointed if you didn't," Ironhide drawled.
Optimus groaned, his face plate clicking back so that he could kiss Ironhide properly, almost desperately. Ironhide shuddered, leaning back to rest halfway in Ratchet's lap, and Optimus settled his hands just above the swell of Ironhide's hips, stroking the interlocking plates with his thumbs. It took Ironhide a moment to work up the nerve to reach down and brush over the front of the Prime's panel, but it was well worth the way Optimus moaned into Ironhide's mouth, his frame shaking in response.
Ironhide grew bolder, tapping the panel lightly until it opened. He traced around the head of the recessed cord and Optimus broke the kiss, bowing his head and clearly trying to retain some semblance of control. Ironhide grinned to himself, stroking the cord head again, just to watch Optimus shake. The cord extended from it's casing, nudging into Ironhine's hand, and Ironhide grasped it with only a few reservations. It wasn't too different from what he was used to; the angle was backwards, and the Prime's cord felt a lot thicker in his hand than his own had, but he could attribute that to his hands being smaller as a femme. Optimus rocked his hips, and Ironhide obligingly stroked along the heavy cord, briefly caressing the edge of the casing at the bottom before moving back up. Optimus leaned forward, mouthing at Ironhide's chest plates as he was fondled. Ratchet wasn't idle, either; his fingers were under Ironhide's shoulder armor, plucking at the wiring and energon tubing.
Ironhide abruptly decided he'd had enough of foreplay, and he locked his legs around the Prime's waist, tugging him forward. Optimus went willingly and Ironhide guided the Prime's cord to his valve, rubbing the tip against the sensitive edge. Optimus took a tighter grip on Ironhide's hips and pushed, seating himself completely in Ironhide's valve. Ironhide's head fell back against Ratchet's chest, his hands gripping Optimus somewhere along his forearms. Optimus was larger than Ratchet, stretching the walls of his valve almost to the point of pain. Ironhide wiggled a little, trying to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure, but Optimus held his hips still, almost gently pulling out and thrusting back inside him.
Ironhide gasped, the metal of his helm squeaking against Ratchet's windshield when he arched. He didn't bother trying to get Optimus to move faster, as he had Ratchet; the constant stretch of the huge cord inside him was enough to liquefy his struts, even as slow as Optimus was moving. His impending overload built in slow, aching waves, his valve rippling around Optimus's cord with every movement. Optimus kissed him again, his rhythm slow and deep and immensely satisfying, and Ratchet massaged his shoulders, mouthing along the neural cabling at the back of his neck. Between them, Ironhide could barely move and he didn't care, rubbing as best he could against them both, caressing Ratchet's neck and shoulder joint with one hand, and the tall fins on the Prime's helm with the other.
His overload surprised him, rolling through him in a slow, overwhelming wave. He cried out, an incoherent electronic noise, the sensation heightened and extended by Optimus no longer holding back, slamming into him with vigor, and a secondary overload gripped him when Optimus finally overloaded. He shook as Optimus gently thrust inside him, milking out the last few tremors of pleasure, before the Prime's cord retracted.
Ironhide spent a long, silent moment, contemplating, stroking the helm resting against his shoulder. "Ratch," he said, twisting a little to look up at the medic. "How long until you rebuild my body?"
Ratchet stiffened a little, disappointment flickering across his face. "About a month," he said quietly.
"Hm." Ironhide pulled Ratchet's head down, kissing him soundly. "Best make the most of this, then. And when you do get it done, don't throw this one away."
Fandom: Transformers (G1 wat)
Characters/pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet, Ironhide/Optimus Prime
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Ironhide's mind and spark is forcibly inserted into a femme frame. Prime and Ratchet take notice. Porn ensues.
Warnings: Porny McPornface. Sticky.
Notes: KinkMeme delorking. Not sure why, except that I wanted to. WHATEVER PORN TIEMS.
Table of Contents
o o o
They'd seen this before, of course. Some of the Decepticon's were sick bastards, and there never had been many femmes around in the first place. Forcing a mech's spark and processor into a femme body had been done since the beginning of the war, giving the 'Cons one more way to humiliate and hurt their captives. It was reversible, but spark transfers were always dangerous, and since the mech's original body was usually at least partially used in the creation of the femme body, an entirely new body needed to be built. Really, it was no laughing matter.
Which definitely didn't stop Jazz and Wheeljack's hysterics when they caught sight of Ironhide after his stay with the Decepticons.
Ironhide, as a femme, was rather pretty, in a 'I will break your face in' kind of way. Jazz, leaning on Wheeljack as he laughed himself sick, made sure to take plenty of pictures to send back to Chromia. He - he'd threatened to smelt the first mech who even thought about referring to him with femme pronouns - was still tall, still bright red and still powerfully built, but he had curves. And not just 'mechs are boxy, femmes have curves' curves, but 'these hips could teach you things you can't possibly imagine' curves. His face, though patterned after his mech form, had been slimmed and refined. Whoever the Decepticon was that had done this, he'd clearly taken great pains to make sure his victims still looked and moved like themselves. His transformation sequence was even still the same, albeit to a smaller alt mode.
And his personality matrices had all transplanted seamlessly, as evidenced by his temper snapping and his trying to force-weld his fists to Jazz and Wheeljack.
While a femme's grace and speed were on his side, strength was not. First Aid caught him and held him back easily while Jazz and Wheeljack got out of striking range, still sniggering. Abruptly, First Aid seemed to realize that he was holding a femme rather tightly against his chassis and he let go of Ironhide, stammering and apologizing enough to drag Ironhide's attention away from the giggly officers. "Drop it, First Aid," he said after listening to the Protectobot stammer himself into a corner. "I ain't about to start getting offended at every little touch."
"Oh, really?" Jazz purred, sidling up next to Ironhide and sneaking an arm around his waist. "You wanna take that new alt mode for a test drive, then?"
Ironhide wrapped a hand around the main energon line in Jazz's throat and dug his fingers in. "But for you, I think I'll make an exception," he added casually.
"Enough," Optimus said firmly. The two officers separated, one glaring and one grinning rakishly.
"Ironhide, it's going to take me some time to rebuild your body," Ratchet said briskly. "More if you decide to injure every mech who hits on you until then. For now, I suggest you get used to being a femme, and think up any modifications to your old blue prints that you may want. The rest of you, scram. Ironhide isn't spontaneously combusting, and I have work to do."
The others filed out (not without Jazz blowing him a kiss back over his shoulder) and Ironhide turned back to Ratchet, intending to indulge in some good-natured bitching about the 2IC. But Ratchet was already heading back to his office, gesturing at First Aid as he walked. "A full programming scan," he said. "I want to know exactly what I have to re-write and what I don't. Call me if anyone else comes in."
Ironhide felt a little... snubbed. Ratchet had been his friend for millenia, and the medical officer had always preferred performing any kind of medical work on his closer companions, instead of shifting the load to his assistant. But since his rescue, Ratchet had barely looked at him, aside from a cursory examination, and while Ironhide wasn't a very emotional mech, the avoidance stung. Disgruntled, he lay back on an examination table, allowing a very flustered First Aid to scan his programming and try to not invade his personal space at the same time.
o o o
By the end of the week, Ironhide felt VERY snubbed. While the rest of the base took his change well (very well, and the number of serious interfacing offers he'd gotten surprised him) both Ratchet and Optimus Prime were avoiding him. It surprised him how used to having one or the other around he was, and how (he didn't want to use 'hurt', because it sounded so damn weak, but it was the only word that fit) he was when they weren't.
Annoyed (and, okay, yes, he could admit to being hurt) he stalked over to medical, neatly avoiding the slap to the aft that Sideswipe attempted to give him as they passed. First Aid looked like a cyberdeer in the headlights when he walked in, already reverting straight to stammer-mode (really, the bot was too shy. He made a note to ask Arcee about helping First Aid out of his shell and put him out of his mind for now) Ratchet, across the room, didn't look at him once.
Annoyed slipped right into angry, and Ironhide stormed over, grabbing Ratchet by the shoulder to spin him around until they were face to face. "What the slag did I do wrong, Ratchet?" he demanded, not at all liking the close, guarded look on the medic's face. "You've barely said ten words to me since I came back."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Ratchet said dully, shouldering past him to walk out of the receiving bay. "I've just been busy, is all."
Ironhide stared after him for a moment, outraged, then chased after. "Like hell you have been," he shouted at Ratchet's back, reaching out to grab him by the arm again. "You can't even look at me right now, and Prime's been avoiding me, too, and-"
He was cut off by Ratchet grabbing his arm and pushing him against the wall, optics blazing and his body way too close in general. "Neither of us thought," the medic growled tightly. "That you would appreciate it if either of us just threw you down and interfaced you until you screamed, like we've wanted to since you came back."
Oh. Ironhide felt a slow curl of heat in his lower belly at the very thought. "Well," he managed. "I would have, if you asked first."
Ratchet yanked him inside of a private examination room and pushed him up against the wall again, an entirely different motive behind his touch now. "Please tell me that was consent," Ratchet rasped, almost but not quite touching him. "Primus, Ironhide, tell me that I, that I can."
"After as long as we've known each other," Ironhide growled. "You think I'd tell you no?"
Ratchet groaned in relief and kissed him. They'd fooled around before; they couldn't exactly interface, as neither of them had a valve, but the casual petting-induced overloads were a relatively common thing among mechs. This was entirely different. Ratchet had never kissed him before, had never pressed the entire length of their bodies together and ground against him, slow circles of his hips making Ironhide shift restlessly against the wall. And Ironhide was pretty sure he'd never desired the medic like this, clutching and clawing at the white mech's back to keep that wonderful friction going.
Ratchet broke the kiss, moving to follow the line of Ironhide's jaw guards with his glossa. "Primus, you had no idea," he whispered, his hand dipping under Ironhide's chest armor to tweak at his wiring. "Both of us, ever since you were rescued. Optimus confided in me, told me he couldn't even think straight with you in the room. I couldn't blame him, you were, you are, just-" He broke off, his knee pressing between Ironhide's thighs.
"Yeah, well," Ironhide was rather proud that his voice sounded a lot steadier than the medic's. "You could have just said something, like everyone else has been, instead of acting like a glitch all week." He allowed his legs to be spread, arching his back to press his panel against Ratchet's thigh, and the medic groaned again, pressing his face to Ironhide's neck. "Idiot."
"Didn't think you'd accept," Ratchet admitted, mouthing at the wires in his neck. "You turned down everyone else."
"And since when are you everyone else?" Ironhide prodded. Ratchet laughed raggedly, standing upright to pull Ironhide over to the room's berth. Ironhide went willingly enough, allowing Ratchet to direct him to sit on the edge of the berth. Ratchet dropped to one knee, and Ironhide raised an optic ridge, fondling the medic's chevron. "Planing something?" he asked mildly.
Ratchet grinned wickedly, spreading Ironhide's legs with a hand on each thigh. "Wouldn't be fair," he said lightly. "If you didn't get to experience everything enjoyable there is to being a femme before we changed you back." Ironhide opened his mouth to reply but the only sound he made was a choked cry as Ratchet bent his head and traced the edges of his panel with his glossa. The sensation was different than the same experience as a mech; sharper, somehow, little spikes of pleasure instead of a steady, pleasant ache.
Ratchet tapped on his panel with one knuckle and Ironhide allowed it to open, shivering as cool air passed over his valve. He'd explored his new equipment, of course, and Ratchet had seen it during that first examination after he'd returned, but the look on Ratchet's face now was very different from then. Ironhide felt a little thrill course through him at the hungry way Ratchet was looking at him and he shifted a bit, leaning back on his elbows and arching his back. As a mech, he'd been driven to distraction by some of the simplest ways a femme could move. He tried them now, twisting on the berth just the slightest and feeling a little silly right up until Ratchet's optics blazed. Pleased with himself, Ironhide gave his hips a little roll, drawing Ratchet's attention back to his valve. He gave Ironhide a smirk and ducked his head, pressing his lips to the edge of Ironhide's valve in an almost chaste kiss.
Ironhide jerked at the touch. He hadn't known what to expect, how a femme's pleasure differed from a mech's, but he was learning quickly. Ratchet mouthed at the edges of his valve, shifting the delicate plates in a way that made Ironhide squirm, before he carefully pushed his glossa inside.
Ironhide shrieked and immediately clapped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. He was pretty sure it was normally physically impossible for him to make such a high-pitched noise. Ratchet didn't seem to mind, thrusting his tongue inside of Ironhide's valve, occasionally pulling back to mouth at the edges again. The pleasure was sharper than he was used to, more focused, as if his new valve had more sensors than his cord had. He briefly wondered if the Decepticon's had done that on purpose, had wanted to make sure their victim felt everything they had planned on doing to him, but Ratchet drove the thought from his mind by sliding a finger inside him alongside his glossa. Ironhide bucked, muffling himself behind his hand as Ratchet prodded the inner walls of his valve, his other arm across Ironhide's hips to hold him down.
It took Ironhide a moment to figure out that his overload was a lot closer than he'd thought, and he reluctantly removed his hand from his mouth. "Ratchet," he managed. The medic slowed, and his optics flickered up at him. "Keep that up, and I'm going to overload right here." Ratchet paused, then went right back to what he was doing, working even faster than he had been. Ironhide gave up and his overload slammed into him, a short cry escaping his mouth.
Ratchet's mouth kept in contact with his valve until the last of his shudders worked their way through his frame. The medic slowly stood up, running his hands up Ironhide's chassis as he went, and Ironhide could see that Ratchet's panel was open, his cord already extended. Ironhide stilled at the sight. Casual interfaces between mechs didn't involve their cords at all, and Ironhide was a little unsure at the idea of touching another mech's cord. Fortunately for him, Ratchet seemed completely uninterested in foreplay, leaning down to kiss him and rubbing his cord along the outside of Ironhide's valve. Ironhide hooked one leg around Ratchet's waist and tugged, pulling the medic's hips closer.
"Impatient, hm?" Ratched laughed against Ironhide's jaw, reaching down to guide himself. Ironhide tensed as Ratchet's cord pressed against his valve, then the tip was inside, stretching him like Ratchet's glossa and finger never could have. Ironhide's hips bucked again, the movement causing Ratchet to all of a sudden be a lot deeper, and Ratchet moaned, his hands tight on Ironhide's hips. Ratchet moved back, sliding almost completely out of Ironhide before pressing in again, allowing himself to go as far as he could, their hips snugged together.
Ironhide's fingers scrabbled against the berth, looking for something solid to anchor himself with. Primus! He'd never thought, never been able to even imagine, the hot press of Ratchet's cord inside of him, Ratchet's voice in his audial whispering how good it was, the sliding ache as Ratchet slowly began to move. Ratchet moved slowly, each careful thrust taking long seconds to complete, and the sensation was driving Ironhide up the wall with need. "Damn it, Ratchet," he hissed. "Move, damn you!"
"If I go any faster," Ratchet growled against his neck, punctuating the statement with a harsh jerk of his hips. "I am not going to be able to stop myself and I am going to overload far before you will."
"Do I look like I care?" Ironhide snapped back, wrapping his arms around Ratchet's shoulders as far as he could. "I already overloaded once, so will you just move?"
Ratchet growled and nipped at Ironhide's neck, but complied, easing his cord out of Ironhide slowly, only to shove back in, eash potent thrust sending shockwaves through Ironhide's body. Ironhide cried out, his back arching right off the berth, and Ratchet moved faster, pounding into Ironhide's valve, his fingers denting the armor over Ironhide's hips. Ironhide tried clenching his valve around Ratchet's cord in time to his thrusts, and Ratchet cried out, his entire frame shuddering as he overloaded deep inside of Ironhide. Ironhide couldn't help a disappointed little moan as Ratchet retracted his cord, and Ratchet kissed him gently. "Sorry," the medic murmured against his lips. "But I did warn you."
"I hope I am not interrupting?"
Ironhide's head snapped up to look over Ratchet's shoulder. Optimus Prime stood against the closed door, his arms folded across his chest. "What are you doing here?" Ironhide demanded. Primus, if Ratchet had privately called him in to just watch, Ironhide was going to kill him.
"First Aid called me," Optimus replied, not moving. "He was firmly convinced the two of you were going to try and kill each other, and he determined that I would be the only one able to separate you." He shifted a little, his optics watching Ironhide. "Forgive me, if I had offended you by not speaking up until now."
Ratchet leaned over Ironhide, his lips brushing against Ironhide's audial. "Look at him," Ratchet whispered, sending not-unwelcome shivers across Ironhide's circuits. "You two have been friends for longer than most of the crew has been alive, and right now, he wants you so badly it's probably killing him to stay where he is."
Ironhide didn't answer, his optics locked onto Optimus over Ratchet's shoulder, but it was easy to see that the medic was right. Optimus was all aching tension, his fingers digging into his upper arms hard enough for the metal to protest, his optics fierce and hot over the top of his face mask. Ironhide's valve chose that moment to remind him that Ratchet had overloaded before him, aching in want, and the idea of the Prime satisfying that need was enough to make his engine rev. "Well," Ironhide said, just loud enough for Optimus to hear. "If he wants me, he'll have to come over here and say so."
Optimus slowly unfolded his arms and straightened, crossing the floor to the berth. Ratchet almost reluctantly moved, his hands lingering on Ironhide's armor as he shifted around the berth. Optimus briefly dropped his gaze to Ironhide's still exposed valve, his fists clenching tightly. Ironhide sat upright again, his spark thrumming nervously in his chest as Optimus approached, and he barely noticed when Ratchet crawled up on the berth behind him, red hands steadying on his shoulders. Optimus stopped between Ironhide's knees, just shy of touching him, and leaned down to look him in the optic. "Would you allow me to interface with you?" Optimus rumbled quietly, as polite as he ever was, but, Primus, the want in his voice was near enough to make Ironhide overload right there.
Ironhide laced his fingers around the Prime's neck and pulled him down, pressing his lips against his face mask in a clumsy kiss. "I'd be damn disappointed if you didn't," Ironhide drawled.
Optimus groaned, his face plate clicking back so that he could kiss Ironhide properly, almost desperately. Ironhide shuddered, leaning back to rest halfway in Ratchet's lap, and Optimus settled his hands just above the swell of Ironhide's hips, stroking the interlocking plates with his thumbs. It took Ironhide a moment to work up the nerve to reach down and brush over the front of the Prime's panel, but it was well worth the way Optimus moaned into Ironhide's mouth, his frame shaking in response.
Ironhide grew bolder, tapping the panel lightly until it opened. He traced around the head of the recessed cord and Optimus broke the kiss, bowing his head and clearly trying to retain some semblance of control. Ironhide grinned to himself, stroking the cord head again, just to watch Optimus shake. The cord extended from it's casing, nudging into Ironhine's hand, and Ironhide grasped it with only a few reservations. It wasn't too different from what he was used to; the angle was backwards, and the Prime's cord felt a lot thicker in his hand than his own had, but he could attribute that to his hands being smaller as a femme. Optimus rocked his hips, and Ironhide obligingly stroked along the heavy cord, briefly caressing the edge of the casing at the bottom before moving back up. Optimus leaned forward, mouthing at Ironhide's chest plates as he was fondled. Ratchet wasn't idle, either; his fingers were under Ironhide's shoulder armor, plucking at the wiring and energon tubing.
Ironhide abruptly decided he'd had enough of foreplay, and he locked his legs around the Prime's waist, tugging him forward. Optimus went willingly and Ironhide guided the Prime's cord to his valve, rubbing the tip against the sensitive edge. Optimus took a tighter grip on Ironhide's hips and pushed, seating himself completely in Ironhide's valve. Ironhide's head fell back against Ratchet's chest, his hands gripping Optimus somewhere along his forearms. Optimus was larger than Ratchet, stretching the walls of his valve almost to the point of pain. Ironhide wiggled a little, trying to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure, but Optimus held his hips still, almost gently pulling out and thrusting back inside him.
Ironhide gasped, the metal of his helm squeaking against Ratchet's windshield when he arched. He didn't bother trying to get Optimus to move faster, as he had Ratchet; the constant stretch of the huge cord inside him was enough to liquefy his struts, even as slow as Optimus was moving. His impending overload built in slow, aching waves, his valve rippling around Optimus's cord with every movement. Optimus kissed him again, his rhythm slow and deep and immensely satisfying, and Ratchet massaged his shoulders, mouthing along the neural cabling at the back of his neck. Between them, Ironhide could barely move and he didn't care, rubbing as best he could against them both, caressing Ratchet's neck and shoulder joint with one hand, and the tall fins on the Prime's helm with the other.
His overload surprised him, rolling through him in a slow, overwhelming wave. He cried out, an incoherent electronic noise, the sensation heightened and extended by Optimus no longer holding back, slamming into him with vigor, and a secondary overload gripped him when Optimus finally overloaded. He shook as Optimus gently thrust inside him, milking out the last few tremors of pleasure, before the Prime's cord retracted.
Ironhide spent a long, silent moment, contemplating, stroking the helm resting against his shoulder. "Ratch," he said, twisting a little to look up at the medic. "How long until you rebuild my body?"
Ratchet stiffened a little, disappointment flickering across his face. "About a month," he said quietly.
"Hm." Ironhide pulled Ratchet's head down, kissing him soundly. "Best make the most of this, then. And when you do get it done, don't throw this one away."