![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fic: Worth it
Prompt: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=10388958&#t10388958
My apologies OP, this turned into something entirely different. :(
Universe: Prime
Rating: NC17
Characters: Ratchet/Bumblebee
Warnings: Dubcon
The fingers slipped around to the back and undid a series of latches, Bumblebee’s external vocal synthesizer component coming off to reveal a bare fuel intake tube. Slender servos tracing the intact upper lip down to the now smooth edges that had been the jagged remains of his cheek plating. Lower jaw completely gone, with neck cables that went nowhere bobbing as his helm was manipulated.
He did shudder when Ratchet turned him, pushing him down on knees to kneel before the ambulance. Unlatching his codpiece and letting his spike extend to bob in front of the yellow scout’s optics, body temperature spiking at the fear and resignation he saw there.
Bumblebee tried to shy away once, but fingers curled into the bare wiring and tubing of his lower face, keeping him in place with nothing but a gentle tug. A reminder to stay where he was put, or there would be consequences.
One thing Bumblebee had learned early on was that the consequences were bad, but being trapped alone with Ratchet during the substantial repair period was worse. No amount of barely preserved dignity was worth that.
He slowly raised his hands and adjusted his intake valve, holding it steady for the inevitable first thrust, wincing as the medic spread a cold, slimy lubricant inside the tube and over his hands, barely keeping the tube from telescoping with the first, almost violent thrust.
It came and Bumblebee fought to keep from gagging, fought to keep his energon from coming back up and spattering them both with purple acid. The feeling of searing hot metal sliding back and forth, burning the occasional piece of tubing when the lubricant spread to thin, or where it had missed a spot. Making sure to swallow around the spike when pelvic plating came flush with his nasal sensor.
Making sure his hands guided. Stroked.
Keeping Ratchet happy so that he would get the end reward, the whole reason for this charade.
A moan rang through the air and red hands gripped Bumblebee's shoulders in a tight grip. Thrusts coming more quickly, more forcefully and Bumblebee had to grip his intake tubing painfully tight to keep it from sliding back inside itself. Working Ratchet's spike with hands and tension cables until finally he felt the relief of hot, nanite laden transfluid spurting out to coat his throat. Immediately affording him a sense of cool flooding the tube, repair nanites already beginning work on repairing his torn and broken vocalizer.
It was worth it, he told himself every time. It was worth keeping this secret from the others, worth every degrading and demoralizing remark Ratchet could make, because of the sweet, blessed cool that stayed with him for days afterward. Repairing something that he'd long lost hope of having again.
His voice.
Ratchet slid out, the remaining lubricant causing a schlucking pop when it exited. A cruel smile on his face as he meticulously cleaned Bumblebee up. The caring of the motions offset by the way his optics glittered with glee at seeing the yellow bot so broken and debauched.
When he was done, he carefully replaced the external vocal synthesizer and mask, relatching the whole component securely to the back of Bumblebee's helm, stroking along it as he walked away and left the scout kneeling on the floor.
"Until next time, little 'Bee."
Bumblebee forced himself to his pedes, walking quickly to his tiny claimed space. Helm held high as his processor whispered three words like a mantra. Soothing to his spark as he curled onto what passed as a recharge berth.
'It's worth it.'
no subject
*huggles bee*
no subject
>.>
It'll be okay?
no subject
Well done ^_^
no subject