Warnings: dub-con/non-con, forced pleasure
Prompt: - Transformers (IDW), Sixshot/Ratchet (see IDW's Devastation): predator/prey, forced pleasure – "You thought you could outrun /me/?"
Word count: 7, 709
Summary: The Autobot was giving himself entirely solely for the sake of his comrades and it was a siren song he couldn't resist.
A/N: This was once of the prompts over at the LJ community Spring Kink I accepted and wrote for.
Also, if there's any wonky formatting going on in here, I'd greatly appreciate it if they were pointed out. I went over it a few times already, but with FFnet you never know.
Beta: A huge deal of thanks goes to ink in hand for helping me beta this thing and making it even better.
Heat enveloped their backs as red-hot shrapnel from the escape pod rained down, the one mech and two humans quickly making their way from the crash site. Ratchet's processors kept screaming at him, Sixshot, Sixshot! Repeatedly, in a vaguely embarrassingly hysterical way. Couldn't let on how utterly terrified he was, it would serve no purpose to get Jimmy and Verity more upset than they already were. The truth of the situation was bad enough; he'd stand a better chance of going after Megatron with silly string. Speaking of, what was Megatron thinking of sending in Sixshot? They had barely entered Phase Two of operations for Primus' sake. Every sane mech knows he's one of the last cards played. And for good reason, too. Least of all for his lack of subtlety, his function as a S.T.A.G meant he typically meant the end of the world for whatever planet they happened to be inhabitating at the time. And that was one scenario he never wanted to see befall this little world.
If they're lucky, they'll somehow make it out of here more or less intact. If they were extremely lucky, little or none of this will end up on the evening news.
Hopefully, the crash of Ark-19 would make their pursuer think they had all gone down with it, keeping him far from them. At the very least, giving them some amount of time to hide and plan. After all, he was only a little old medic with two humans who probably didn't even register on Sixshot's radar, if he even noticed them at all. Grimly, he explained the situation to his companions, stitching up one as the other looked on in ill-concealed worry. They were remaining calm sitting inside him for the most part, while he repaired Verity's various injuries, and that was more than could be said for most of their species would have done in their place. Many would balk at the prospect of him treating their wounds, solid light holoform or no. It was flattering how they trusted a being so different in physiology to heal them.
Cruising down the deserted desert highway, he allowed himself a small breath of relief. It had been near a cycle since their crash, it looked like they were small enough to have escaped notice. Now, they only need worry about the rest of the Ark crew and getting into contact with them. The ground next to his wheel exploded as laser fire skimmed past his side, close enough his paintwork nearly melted. Ratchet swerved sharply, unable to help the rough handling of his patient, wincing as Jimmy and Verity cried out and were thrown about his cab. Descending from the clouds like a bad omen, Sixshot took position directly behind them, almost like some laughable excuse for an overgrown kite following their lead.
Ratchet's pumps skipped a beat at the form steadily gaining on them. He'd heard the stories, but never realized how truly massive Sixshot was in reality. The fact they weren't smoking craters in the ground spoke of their phenomenal luck. Now, if it would only hold out a little longer.
If all this wasn't enough, their problems only escalated with the involvement of the local military. Like his conscious needed more beatings as it was, had to get people completely unaware of the situation involved and Jimmy's beseeching expression wasn't helping matters at all. The fools, going after Sixshot, even unknowingly, will be the last thing they'll ever do. Ignoring his conscious yelling at him to do something, anything, for the others, a task he was getting disturbingly better at over time, the best thing to do was use the precious time given to them and not let the human's sacrifice be in complete vain.
Flipping on his turbo boosters, fuel and energon rushed though his lines at double time in a frantic attempt to put as much distance behind them as possible. Jimmy and Verity were pushed back into his seats in what must have been an uncomfortable position for them. He couldn't entirely help the small amount of amusement creep through him, bet they'd never known an ambulance, or any ground vehicle really, that could outrun a space jet.
With the distraction of the human pilots, and the aid of his boosters, they somehow managed to loose sight of Sixshot. Not that it gave any of them; Ratchet most of all, much comfort. Consulting his GPS, Ratchet plotted the fastest course to the sight of the downed Ark-19. Of course, the path simply had to be through a fairly populated area, not that it could much be helped, it still annoyed him on some small level.
The miles steadily passed under his tires, at one point; Jimmy stuck his head out a window, scanning the skies for the remotest sign of danger. "I don't see anything. We in the clear?"
A quick radar check confirmed the young man's observations. "We seem to have lost him, for the time being. It'd be best to relax and recuperate while we're able, no telling when he'll pick up the trail again." And he had no doubt they'd be seeing the six changer again all too soon.
Ratchet wasn't afraid to admit that the careful movements of the occupants in his cab helped sooth him. They were in the clear with Jimmy and Verity stable enough to playfully snipe at each other, consuming some of the human ration he kept in himself for emergencies like this. A little of the tension drained from him, he settled in for the trip.
All too soon they arrived at the outskirts of Pensacola, Ratchet carefully picking his way around the debris and chaos left in the Ark's wake. An internal alarm went off, alerting him to the large red dot on his radar that was quickly gaining on their location. Mulling over his available courses of action, Ratchet suddenly pulled over and flung open his doors.
"No arguing, no misplaced heroics. You know where to go and I'm not risking your lives more than needed."
Reluctantly they crawled out, regarding him rather sulkily. Both looked ready to verbally challenge his order, if not for the tone of panic detected in his vocalizer, he was sure they'd have started protesting immediately. Even before he pulled away, Verity was taking stock of the situation and Jimmy was making a thoughtful face at the group of local police cars and officers clustered together.
Hand on her hips, remembering the map Ratchet showed them of where the Ark should be, Verity announced her plans. "We're going to need a boat."
Well, at least he had visual confirmation of the Ark-19's passage over the region. He grumbled quietly to himself, unhappy about the fact he'd have to pass through here. A large city with news crews clamoring for the leading story and bystanders who were too nosy for their own good crowded the streets. Something he really just didn't need to deal with right now. His luck wouldn't be complete without having to try and not arouse the native's suspicions while they were on high alert. At least Verity and Jimmy will be relatively safe where he left them. With a tracking device on each of them, plus the young woman's natural inclination to follow where she wanted no matter what others may think, he had no doubts that they'd meet up soon. That is, if he survived the coming hours of course.
Creeping his way through the city was an ordeal, having to act as if he had a patient and studiously ignoring the humans imploring him to pull over. At the heart of the city, where the heat damage from the Ark's decent was the greatest, he zipped over to the pool of parked ambulances, slumping on his wheels. Hiding here would allow him a few moments rest and time to gather his wits before he was forced off again. Shifting ever so slightly, he became acutely aware of his appearance compared to the other vehicles around him. He felt the faintest wisp of embarrassment for the sorry state pf his plating. Hopefully, none of the humans would question why one ambulance was so much more beat up and dingy compared to the others. Almost physically shaking himself out of his stupor, he told himself to knock it off, he's getting to be as bad as Tracks. Next thing you know, he'll be lamenting the fact the hadn't had a good wash and polish in...Come to think of it, he couldn't even remember the last time he had more than a basic sanitary wash.
Intakes huffing his annoyance, Ratchet took a moment to clear his CPU, sorting his thoughts and taking better stock of the situation. The moment of reprieve didn't last long, as an unusual colored tank burst through a small building, brinks harmlessly sliding off it plating. Almost immediately, it systematically started to take out each ambulance lined up beside him, most likely hoping to flush out his quarry. Ratchet's engine sputtered in alarm. The Pit did that walking gun turret think he was doing? Of course, this particular mech would be brazen enough to completely forgo the usual rules of engagement and blow his cover, not that he had to worry about such things before. Like the humans could ignore a tank. Especially a teal and purple tank. For that matter, did the humans even have one with that color scheme? He'd have to search Teletraan when all this was over. Mentally slapping himself once again, he stuffed that particular voice into a dark corner of his CPU. Honestly, his processors pick some of the oddest times to wander.
Well, the tactic of blowing slag up certainly worked. Before more needless damage could be done, Ratchet activated his boosters, shooting out of the parking lot and past the startled onlookers. As soon as he revealed himself, the tank transformed and a wolf stood in its place, quickly bounding after its prey.
Dread slowly creped through his meta, now there was nothing to distract Sixshot from him, the deep bay of a wolf chasing him sending jitters across his plating. Speeding down an empty coastal road was his best option, with few onlookers to hurt and bringing him ever closer to the Ark's location. His movements were surprisingly steady while a corner of his CPU quietly panicked at the unremitting approach of the wolf behind him. Zigzagging across the road, he barely had time to avoid a paw attempting to sweep his tires out from under him. Sixshot now close enough Ratchet could feel the hot 'breath' of his intakes huffing against the back of his cab.
As he narrowly avoided yet another paw swipe, Ratchet had the eerie feeling that instead of becoming frustrated with the long chase and setbacks like many a Decepticon would, Sixshot seemed to be enjoying this. Ratchet could have sworn the last swipe was nearly half hearted in its attempt to wound him. The large wolf acting much like one of those small felines he saw residing alongside humans would play with a ball of tin foil.
Irritation flashed through Ratchet at the thought. He was not about to let himself become the plaything for some 'Con's amusement. Purposely lagging, he waited the sparkbeat it took for Sixshot to close the little distance separating them. As the muzzle was microns away from biting into his hide, he charged his boosters one last time, scorching the wolf's mouth, using up the last of that particular blend of fuel in deliberately pissing off one of the strongest Decepticons.
'Ratchet, you are such an idiot.' His processors supplied for him, almost giggling hysterically at the sound of an enraged yowl from behind. 'At least before, you had the slim possibility of this ending quickly. Now, not so much.'
Changing to root mode mid stride and activating his own boosters, Sixshot performed a flying tackle, grabbing at Ratchet as he transformed in an attempt to shake his grip. Sending both of them tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust, leaving a gash of turned up earth in their wake. Both lay still for a moment, processors needing to catch up to the sudden cease of movement. A powerful engine rumbled throughout Ratchet's entire frame, making him shiver unconsciously as he hunched over in a vain attempt to protect himself. The larger mech's energy field was almost tangible in the air around them, pressing against the medic's and nearly suffocating him with its thick aura. Ratchet shivered, the arms wrapped tightly around him would have no issue with crushing him like so much scrap without a second thought.
Unexpectedly, the small mech began struggling in Sixshot's grasp, doing his best to fight his way to freedom. The medic's energy field was a curious combination of stubbornness, fright and calm. Later, it would be this reason Sixshot would tell himself that made him pause that fraction of a second longer. Not that it also had to do with the fact that this little Autobot medic had also given him a harder time than most hardened criminals. The least he could do was make it quick and painless. One hand slithered it way up the white chassis, toward the neck and primary nervous column. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the pale throat, feeling the steady pulse of energon lying just beneath the surface. A quick squeeze and it would all be over.
Sudden sharp pain lanced through his neural net, surprise more than anything else caused Sixshot's grip to slacken. In vague bewilderment, he watched as the Autobot jerked away and transformed, tires peeling out, pebbles pinging off teal armor, in his haste to get away. Still on his side, he brought his left palm to lay flat on the ground in front of him, elbow now at optic level.
Gradually reaching over, he picked something out of his elbow and stared at it perplexedly: a scalpel. He studied it a moment longer, as if he's never seen an artifact like it before, idly noting out the corner of an optic as his target fled ever further from him.
A shimmer of pink riveted his gaze to a small puncture wound, slowly welling up and then sliding down his arm to drip to the ground, the scalpel had managed to slide through a small chink in his armor, clipping a main energon line in his arm enough to be a possible deterrent in the future. Under his mask, lip components stretched over his sharpened denta in a feral grin; Sixshot clutched the tool in his hand, transformed to wolf mode and with an exultant howl, shot off.
Ratchet's luck finally ran out as he took a wrong turn. For in front of him was nothing more than a small turn around and the wide-open ocean. Skidding to a halt, transforming to root mode and patiently waiting for the end to come. Sliding his pistol out of subspace and into his hand, the least he could do was give his all and make Sixshot work that little bit more for his prize.
Lazily loping to the cornered mech, Sixshot stalked up to him, wolf head bowed and shoulders raised in a clear sign of dominance, his muzzle looking like it was grinning at him in satisfaction. Sliding to a ready stance, Ratchet braced himself for what he was certainly sure would be a very short battle. Measured paces brought him closer, and before Ratchet could so much as pull the trigger, Sixshot was in root mode and pinning him to the ground. One large hand gripped the red fist holding the pistol, squeezing until gears strained to move and plates crunched together. Forcing Ratchet to drop his weapon as pain, piercing and swift, shot up his arm and strait to his CPU.
Sixshot towered over the other mech, not bothering to conceal his supremacy. Gathering the other hand scrabbling uselessly at his side, he brought them together to hold in a single fist. Placing his right hand at the center of the Autobot's chest, Sixshot could almost feel the wild beating of the spark though the thick layers of protective armor. Ratchet squirmed beneath him, legs inadvertently rubbing his thighs in a way that sent pleasant sparks along his sensor net. Silently observing the continued ineffective struggles of the Autobot, Sixshot found himself unexpectedly reluctant to end this.
"Well, what are you waiting for, an invitation?" Ratchet decided that if his life was going to end painfully, he shouldn't do things by half and proceeded to royally slag the 'Con off. "Either kill me now or do us all a favor and just let me go."
The sudden introduction of a rough voice yelling at him interrupted his thoughts. Abruptly focusing his full attention at the Autobot who was currently lying limp beneath him, intakes panting as they tried to cool heated internals. It was Ratchet's turn to freeze when he became the focus of the six changer, somehow sensing that there was more going on in that helm he was sure he wasn't going to like. 'If he's suddenly decided to pick up some of the more sadistic tendencies of the other 'Cons he hangs around, the next few moments were going to be very unpleasant.'
Leaning down, Sixshot actually nuzzled his facemask against Ratchet's cheek, making him flinch away, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the 'Con to simply tear him limb from limb.
"You thought you could outrun me?" He growled into a white audio receptor, engine still running hot from the chase and slowly gunning even higher.
Sixshot tipped the white helm back with the point of a claw, running the sharp appendage lightly up and down the fuel lines in the gray throat. A quiet 'shink' and his facemask retreated into his helm. Burying his nose in the wires, Sixshot inhaled deeply, shuddering at the scent presented to him. The blends of oil and grease and hot energon rushing just under the surface with the charge of personal electrical fields that composed this mech was a surprisingly heady aroma.
Trying to gain as much distance between them as possible, Ratchet actually attempted to burrow back into the sand. The fine particles of grit and soil dug uncomfortably into his back, working their way into seams to grind against gears and wires. The smell of the ocean and hot metal from their frames and something else Ratchet didn't really want to think about as it filled his olfactory sensors. Carefully taking a fuel line between his denta, Sixshot rubbed his lips up and down the line until a pleasant static charge built between the components, leaving the metal around his mouth tingling.
Sixshot couldn't help the pleased purr his engine emitted as he felt the full body trembles go through his target. He had never really thought of doing anything like this before. Then again, this was turning out to be an assignment full of surprises.
"What...what are you doing?"
The voice was breathless and possibly meeker sounding than what the originator had intended. But oh, did it do wonders for his sensor net, an involuntary shudder rattling his plates as he soaked up the sound.
One massive shoulder shrugged in answer. "I was going to make this quick, but decided to add a little extra. After all, you deserve it."
Backing off slightly, he pinned the wriggling form with a piercing stare, watching as red hands clenched and unclenched in uncertainty. Methodically, Sixshot unfolded the one hand he had abused earlier. Lightly rubbing his thumb over seams in the red palm, clawtip almost shyly dipping into the joints to softly caress wires hidden under protective plating. Purposely seeking out the medical nodes that made those hands such specialized tools, sending shocks of unfettered sensation through his captive.
Ratchet jolted at the feelings going through him, disbelief running rampant through his meta, praying that somehow his optics sent him a horribly detailed hallucination. Disbelief froze his motor relays making him slow to react; all Ratchet could do was numbly watch as Sixshot brought the hand up to his face, slowly taking a digit into his mouth. Glossa swirling around the finger, dipping into each seam, joint and mar, Sixshot laved first one and then each digit in turn with a meticulousness typically reserved for disarming a bomb.
"No, don't!" Ratchet bucked violently, when he realized that yes, Sixshot intended to carry out his plan.
"You've drawn energon. Do you know how long its been since someone last did that?" He growled, enjoying this far too much.
The energon ran down his arm in little shinning rivulets, only now was it beginning to dry and flake off. Transferring the red hands to the grip of his wounded left arm, Sixshot gathered some of the precious fluid on the tips of his fingers. Scratching at the nearly healed wound to acquire even more. He brought his fingers up between their faces, both of them almost hypnotized by the shining fluid on teal claws. Sixshot traced the trembling gray lips, smearing pink across Ratchet's mouth. Then he dipped a finger into the medic's mouth, making him taste his life blood.
Little sparks danced along his glossa where the energon landed, making Ratchet groan. High grade, he thought muzzily, he runs on high grade. It made sense though, considering his configuration and how much energy only three forms consumed and the stress it puts on a mechs body, let alone six. No wait, it was something other than high grade, had to be if if it sent his processors swirling at merely a few whiffs of fumes and a few splatters on his glossa. He jerked as Sixshot bit his fingertips in retaliation of his wandering thoughts. The sixchanger smirked at him over his own hand trapped in those jaws, daring him to say anything of his treatment. Another groan escaped him as his finger was sucked back into that mouth, glossa again delving into every little joint and seem in the digit.
Ratchet turned his head away, ashamed of the pleasure he was getting out of this. As Sixshot expertly manipulated the nodes in his hands, sending flashes of static dancing down his neural network, Ratchet buried his face into his shoulder armor, hoping to hide the small moans that disobediently escaped his vocalizer. Sixshot licked a broad path across the open palm, and then gently puffed air from his cooling systems across it, greatly enjoying the minute shivers this wrung from the medic. The contrasting sensations from hot glossa to cold air most likely confusing the nodes and sending him all sorts of data and input.
Switching hands, Sixshot started at the wrists this time, seeing if he could find any other weaknesses to exploit. Giving little nips from one side to the other, he paused as he came across a small indent at the bottom of the wrist. Bringing the hand up to optic level, he studied it a moment and discovered, to his delight, that it was a port and data jack.
"Oh, what's this then?"
The dark purr brought Ratchet's attention back to him, normally blue optics fluctuating between indigo and a paler color, most likely from anger. When Ratchet saw what exactly Sixshot had found, he began fighting with a ferocity that was stunning for a mech his size. Easily keeping the mech from moving around too much, Sixshot flipped open the panel, swirling his glossa around the border of the port, leaving behind a glistening trail of oral fluids. Sliding the other panel open, Sixshot took the gold tipped jack into his mouth, laving it with as much attention as he had those red hands. Amused as the claspers behind the jack's head lightly scraped against his cheeks, seeking the indents around a port that helped hold them together.
Alternating between port and jack, Sixshot wasn't satisfied until he had the medic moaning unabashedly against his chest. Ratchet was making these little gasping sounds, trying to hide his face in the bulk of the mech above him as Sixshot switched to the other hand. The sensations running through him were too great, his CPU blasted with so much data and feeling Ratchet couldn't even gather his wits to turn off his sensors.
Suddenly, his hands were pinned back above his head, and before he had a chance to clear his head, Sixshot was attacking his chevron. Ratchet groaned, body betraying him as it rocked against Sixshot's, seeking more pleasure. How the six changer knew exactly where to go, what nodes to twist and wires to pull were beyond Ratchet. And he wasn't entirely sure at this point if he was thankful or not of the others knowledge of his body type.
Lapping and sucking the tip of a red chevron, Sixshot could nearly feel the sensors buried in the metal humming against his lips. Curious as to what the medic could have modified his body with to make it that much more sensitive than usual. Sensory projections on the helm were useful in many ways, containing anything from state of the art radar to primitive radio channels. To up the ante, so to speak, his chevron's capabilities peaked Sixshot's interest, and he was halfway tempted to take the medic back as a prisoner so he could satisfy his curiosity.
Then, wanting to be as thorough as possible, Sixshot dragged his hand down one side of the white chassis. Clawtips tweaking open armor, digging below plating, and skittering over everything he could reach with a single-minded determination to leave nothing untouched. Ratchet's body spasmed, some small part of him still putting up a fight. Sixshot went as far as lifting one leg, fingers diving into the knee joint and becoming inordinately pleased with himself when the reaction he got was almost the same as when playing with the medic's hands.
Toying with a section of nonessential armor, he 'accidentally' crumpled a small piece of armor, amused as the joint first flinched at the unexpected pain and then pressed even harder into his palm. Optics offline, Ratchet's face was twisted away from him, mortified at the gratification he somehow obtained from this, as his body responded to the harsh treatment against his will.
Testing his theory, Sixshot ran his claws down a transform seam in the leg and across wires under it harder than before. Chuckling as the red and white chassis pressed closer to him, Ratchet's mouth moving soundlessly, unvoiced pleas never leaving his lip components. Still, the medic managed to give voice to a few strangled sounds, would be pleas beseeching Sixshot to stop went unheeded, the whimpered words conversely serving to work him up that much more.
Optics unfocused and staring at the sky, Ratchet allowed his helm to fall back against the ground, Sixshot peppering his jaw line with harsh nips and bites. One teal hand slid under the bumper, Ratchet going as far as stretching his torso to allow the fingers more room. Sixshot groaned his approval, fingers playing with wires to wring out more of those little sounds of pleasure his captive unthinkingly made. Ratchet's strangled cry at having the metal of his protoform stroked was wonderfully sinful.
They could both feel the charge building in each others body. Soon, they both knew, the energy would peak and this would all be over.
So wrapped up in their own little world, neither noticed the break in the waves, or the five figures emerging from the water. An unexpected sting from an energy rifle brought the six changer's attention to the rest of his quarry standing conveniently beside him.
At the sound of his friends, Ratchet started to come out of his daze. Shame, all consuming and constant, swept through him when he realized they saw what was being done to him. He chose to bury his face against Sixshot's chest instead of meeting the optics of his friends, CPU skittering around the feel of those arms tightening against him and the body above him lowering as if to shield him from sight. His temperature were near critical, intakes heaving as they attempted to breathe in cool air. Thwarted as all he had access to was the air shimmering with heat between them, tasting the charged atmosphere in little bursts of particles against his glossa.
Ratchet could hear the deep rumble of Optimus Prime's voice, as he demanded the release of his medical officer. There were softer murmurs from the others, too. He could hear them speaking softly in the background. He'd failed, he would be the cause of his friends death, all in their attempt to save him. He keened in despondency, if only there was something he could do, anything at all, offer the other something that would be equal in exchange for their safety.
Staring straight at the Prime, Sixshot placed open-mouthed kisses to Ratchet's throat in a direct challenge. Then a small smile quirked the corner of his lips, making the other Autobots hesitate in their rush to save their comrade. None of them liked the look of it, and honestly, it frightened them more than any amount of growled threats could. Sixshot singled out the left primary fuel line, separating it from the others and clamping his denta on it, a clear warning to the others. While the jaws of a Cybertronian were generally weak in comparison to their size and strength, it wouldn't take a great deal of force to slice open the line, leaving the medic to slowly bleed out. When he had their attention, he released the line, making sure they would stay put. He ignored the whimpers the medic made, delight as the Prime's optics nearly burned white with anger, the whole group of them nearly vibrating in place from wound up tension.
"Tell me, how much do they mean to you? What are you willing to give for their lives?" Sixshot breathed into Ratchet's audio receptor. Lightly rubbing their chassis together, to keep the friction and heat between them high.
Jazz jerked forward, the first to think of what their medic would give in exchange for their lives, barely held back by Hardhead and Bumblebee. "No, Ratchet! Don't do it."
Shaking all the way down to his core, Ratchet ceded. Shifting his gaze to the side, there was a soft click that sounded impossibly loud in the near silence. As the whir of gears sounded and his chestplate split apart, moving fluidly to the sides, baring his most vital systems. They all stilled, only the waves and odd seagull cry disturbing the tension. Ratchet turned his attention back to Sixshot, regarding him through half shuttered optics. The spark chamber's protective plating irised open and the entire unit moved forward for easier access.
Sixshot carefully drew a clawtip along the outer edges of the chamber; butterfly touches that made the medic shiver under him. Systems not yet cooled from the forced pleasure of earlier quickly heated under the tender caresses. Claws barely grazed the outer sphere of the spark's energy field, red optics watching intently as the energy swirled and eddied about like mercury.
"Primus..." Ratchet hissed, body blindly arching to encourage those hands deeper into him.
Sitting back, Sixshot beheld the sight of his prey panting beneath him, so many emotions crossing that expressive face, continuously toying with the spark with teasing touches that did nothing to sooth internals run ragged. Ratchet locked optics with the behemoth above him, his spark light washing over his features, making it appear he was blushing. Intakes rattled loudly and body shuddered, as Ratchet seemed to read what was going on behind those fathomless optics. A small growl from deep below a teal chest, a slide of plates, and two sparks merged.
Ratchet threw his head back, denta bared in a silent scream as the hungry spark practically devoured him.
Leaving nothing untouched, Sixshot sought out what made the CMO tick. He growled and dug his fingers deeper into hip plating, uncaring of the dents and scratches left behind. Pushing deeper into the medic, he was startled when Ratchet, who so far had fought with everything he had, gave way. Opening himself completely to the six changer, allowing him entrance where few others had ever been. Sixshot moaned, arms wrapping around Ratchet's middle and crushing them together. The Autobot was giving himself entirely solely for the sake of his comrades and it was a siren song he couldn't resist.
One of Ratchet's hands latched onto a wing, fingers drawing rough nonsensical patterns over the surface. His left hand clamped onto the back of Sixshot's neck. A fleeting thought of a medic's knowledge of physiology and how close those fingers were to very vital equipment flitted through Sixshot's processors and left just as quickly. Bowing his head, Sixshot allowed the hand greater access to his neck, clever fingers working themselves into wires and motor relays, playing merry havoc with his sensors, making his vision wash white in static.
Cables along the edge of his spark chamber slithered out and jacked into Ratchet's ports, the Autobot's own jacks automatically returning the favor. Small clamps directly behind the plug's head unraveled and hooked into matching indents across from them, making sure should things get rough that they wouldn't be pulled out prematurely, connecting the two ever closer together.
Oh, it was glorious in a way he thought he'd never like. So deep into another being, seeing what they were truly made of, it's something Sixshot was afraid he might become addicted to. Everything the medic was feeling rushed through the bonds, flooding Sixshot's being with everything Ratchet was. His stubbornness, sharp mind and great intellect, loyalty and fierce protectiveness of the two humans in his charge. But most importantly, his empathy for all living beings. In return, Ratchet felt what made up Sixshot. His tremendous power tamed only by his will and indifference to most life forms. The scorn he felt for nearly every Decepticon. And the small amount of vaguely amused, if at times exasperated, ambiguous affection he felt for the Terrorcons.
Finally, Ratchet pushed back, sending a barrage of data though the links connecting them. Shock made him rear back, the medic taking advantage and pushing even farther. Smirk revealing sharpened denta and a groan rumbling in his throat, lips brushing up and down the chevron, Sixshot pushed back, challenging Ratchet, to see how far he'd go. Ratchet snarled, grip tightening, dragging both closer to the abyss. Sixshot couldn't smother the laugh that escaped him, an odd sense of jubilation overcoming him.
He grinned as Ratchet snapped his denta irritably at him in retaliation for the laugh. "My, you're a vicious one, aren't you?" Hazily, Sixshot noted that his voice had taken on almost the same breathless note to it as Ratchet's had earlier.
"You have no idea," Ratchet growled. Then he grinned, nearly matching the one Sixshot wore, sending a tremor of worry through him and the bond before he could catch it.
A high-pitched whine filled Sixshot's audios, one any in the medical field would be extremely familiar with. And before he could connect the sound to the memory of what it was, electricity shot through his body from where the red hands made contact with him.
Defibrillator. Sixshot thought hazily. He's using his tools against me. He almost felt honored that he could make the medic use his tools of healing in such a way. Then his thoughts crashed to a halt as the energy built between them, small bolts of lighting arching to the ground around them, filling the air with the smell of burnt ozone. The point where the two connected feeling impossibly hot while the rest of him felt oddly freezing, electricity crackling over both their bodies as the charge grew higher and higher.
At last, the energy snapped and threw them into overload. Dimly, Ratchet registered his own emergency lights going off, biting the collar armor in front of him to keep from making a sound, hanging on for dear life as it felt like the world was crumbling away from under him. Sixshot showed no such restraint, tossing his head back and howling his release to the world.
As abruptly as it begun, it was over, the two forms sagging against each other. Small tremors going through both bodies as the overload faded. Ponderously extracting himself from his partner and closing his armor, Sixshot eyed the medic, who was unconscious, optics dark. Tracing the jaw line almost tenderly, delicately drawing clawtips over a red chevron, trailing them across facial plates in feather light touches. A shame, it would be, to deactivate this one. Ignoring the shuffling of the other Autobots to his right, he continued his silent investigation. A bright flash of yellow and pain bloomed over his neural network, the smallest Autobot finally fed up with the waiting and getting in a lucky potshot at his side, informing Sixshot he'd have to cut his vigil short.
In the shutter of an optic, he was up and across the space separating them, not thinking clearly, as he swatted the yellow annoyance aside. Snarling with a savagery he rarely felt, he chose to ignore the fact he was so irate at having the moment broken, going straight for the Prime. It was generally unheard of to get Optimus Prime so worked up that he would fight no holds bared, but when you assaulted those under his care in such a way, it was completely understandable.
Prowl and Jazz circled the two major combatants, going for their downed comrade. They knelt by his side, hands ghosting over his energy field, worried at the lack of response but unknowing what they should do. Jazz whirled around, gun aimed at the water and blind reaction leading him to the water's edge at the sound of an approaching boat. Only then did he and Prowl realize they had company, witnesses they currently had no time to deal with. It wasn't until he saw who it was, did Jazz lower his weapon.
Verity and Jimmy beached their boat, running up to Jazz and Prowl clustered around the form of their unconscious friend.
"What happened to him? He gonna be okay?" They stared at the open chestplates, their questions overlapping the others, anxiously watching the spark pulse within its confines. They may not know a whole lot about their alien acquaintances, but exposing a spark like that couldn't mean anything good.
"Sixshot caught up with him." Prowl's voice was even more neutral than usual, causing the teens more worry than if he had a sudden emotional outburst.
Jazz slowly reached out, hand shaking the tiniest bit before laying it on the open chestplate. A full body shudder went through him; sensors specialized for his area of work, for detecting the smallest fluctuations in energy signatures and auras, picking up things he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Throwing off the sensation he was somehow violating his friend even more, Jazz attempted to close the plates, but they wouldn't budge. He tried one more time, a little more firmly then looked helplessly at Prowl when the result stayed the same. Jazz sat back on his haunches a few feet from the medic's pedes, he didn't want to injure the other further and he was sure the plates would only close by an internal command.
A groan and optics sluggishly booting up, brought their attention back to their main concern. Ratchet slowly sat up, optics white except for a small ring of blue around the edges. He looked at them, through them, as if he had never seen any one of them before, body shuddering despite itself.
Jazz crouched, easing sideways towards the medic in a crouch, visor directed at the ground in front of him, in an effort to look as unthreatening as possible, hand in a loose fist with his palm facing the ground. He deliberately approached, hand just barely touching the outer fields of Ratchet's aura. Ratchet locked onto him, gaze still unfocused, optic ridges drawing together and leaning away in instinctive defense. The humans approached, trying to see what was going on, questions raining down on Ratchet in a torrent, the organics processors most likely unable to completely think straight and acting irrationally. While Jazz and Prowl attempted to keep them away, and as the humans kept up their pestering of the medic, neither Prowl nor Jazz could stop their own worry from bleeding through.
As they kept asking him, too close, raw energy field cracking against theirs, Ratchet's spark pulsed in alarm. He bared his denta at them in a ferocious snarl, optics flashing white and slashing at them with fingers hooked into claws. He lurched away from their concern, growling low in his chest, nearly stumbling to get away from their touch. As their shock penetrated his fogged processors, all ire immediately washed away, leaving a drained form to be caught between the two black and white mechs, slumping wearily against them. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to. I...sorry."
The sound of a distant helicopter approaching made Ratchet straighten and snap his chestplates shut with a resounding click. He glanced at the battle waging behind them between Sixshot, Prime and Hardhead, wondering why Prowl and Jazz were staring at him and not concerned about more pressing matters. Like the fact that Bumblebee lay in a crumpled heap against a fallen palm tree. Or the message from Prime crackling over their comm. lines about an orbital jump, the human military almost directly atop of them.
"Right then, let's move on. We have more important issues to deal with."
Ratchet grabbed Verity and Jimmy in one hand and held Bumblebee close with the other, waiting for the orbital jump to take them away from the battlefield. Jazz and Prowl had no choice but to follow his lead, though it didn't stop them from throwing one last worried look in his direction. Good thing his humans were such sneaky little creatures, otherwise they would all be slag in a few seconds. The energy beam encased them; the last Ratchet saw of the fight was Optimus giving Sixshot what looked like a broken jaw. Served the fragger right.
Shivering slightly, Ratchet studiously ignored the ghost of sensation across his spark, the feeling of the unfettered power of a six changer in battle.
Head propped up on the knuckles of one fist, Sixshot watched through dim optics as the Terrorcons pleasured themselves in front of him. Two straddling his thighs, shivering as he idly ran his fingers across their backs. Observing them for a long moment with masked indifference, he surged forward and captured one in a bruising kiss, gorging himself on the whimpers and groans he received. Grabbing the wings of the mech sitting on his right leg, he crushed him to his chassis and slammed his plugs into the other's ports along both their torsos. Giving the other no time to adjust to the sudden presence of another mech in his systems, he mercilessly flooded the links with data, hands roughly traveling up and down the orange chassis, fingers scrapping away lines of paint and leaving gouges deep enough for energon to well in the cuts all over the Terrorcon's body. A particularly hard tweak on a bundle of wires, managing to tear some out of their soldering, sent the small 'Con crashing into overload, the energy feedback barely enough to affect Sixshot's sensor net.
Gaze unfocused and unconsciously petting the cooling chassis slumped against him, processors on distant matters; it took a moment to realize the other Terrorcons were staring at him with naked lust in their optics. He smirked, engine rumbling in a subharmonic tone, the vibrations traveling through the ground and through the frames of the mechs at his feet, making them cry out.
He was unable to see it in the stratosphere, but knew it was there. The Ark and her crew of Autobots, an entire group who stood against him and manage to survive the engagement. Moreover, a little medic who gave him the chase of the millennia, standing against him where so many others had crumbled. It was going to be interesting tracking down his group and challenge them all again. He didn't like leaving a job unfinished; it was highly unprofessional for one thing. Even though Megatron had rescinded the order to go after them, he could always go after them on his own time.
For now, he could entertain himself with his 'friends.'