RoboPeriod Adventures

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Title:  A ‘Medic’al Procedure

Universe: G1

Rating: NC17

Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker

Warnings: Dubcon for heat like symptoms

A/N:  Part of my ‘RoboPeriod’ Series

I apologize for the crap that this is.  Seriously.  

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been testy, on edge all day.   The yellow twin snapping more than usual at mechs that passed by, the red one with an uncharacteristic scowl tugging the corner of his mouth.  Belligerant, off color, they did the minimum their duties called for, tossing obscene remarks to anyone who passed by and finally an exasperated Jazz told them to go see if Ratchet could remove the rock from their exhaust pipe.

Sideswipe slunk through the door, his brother baring denta at a startled First Aid, and they sniped at each other, leaning against the wall, until Ratchet bellowed at them to take it to one of the private rooms, following with a heavy step and a huffed vent of air.

“Out with it then, if Jazz is done with you two it can’t be anything easy.”

They just glared, not a single word between them, leaning back against the medberth.

Ratchet huffed again, catching a whiff of something, and ran his scans.  Nasal sensors expanding and contracting unconsciously as he drew in the strange smell again and again,  finally stopping expressly to vent in air.  The twins leaned back as Ratchet leaned in, his hands pressing against the berth on either side of them, optics dilating as he realized what he was scenting.

“You two weren’t active, were you.”

A defiant expression came over Sunstreaker’s face, Sideswipe shifting his legs a little closer together, pressing a little closer to his twin.

“Lot of mechs weren’t.”

Ratchet gave them a deep, spark vibrating growl that set off their protocols, lubricant dripping through the seams on their valve panels in thick rich drops.  The medic reaching a hand down to catch one, taking his time as he licked it off, repeating it with the other twin.  His optical lenses were blown wide,  mouth open as he vented in air in a deep huff.

A beep sounded and they realized that he’d locked the door to the room they were in with his code, one that only he and the Prime could unlock.

“Lots of mechs aren’t as troublesome as you two.”

Another subsonic growl and their panels snapped open, Ratchet dropping to his knees with a clang that rang through the room.  His glossa resting between parted lips as he vented.  Drawing the scent over the taste receptors that lie there and purring in response.

“Can’t leave you running around now, you’d cause even more trouble.  Best to take care of business now.”

With that he dove in to thrust his glossa into Sunstreaker’s valve, a hand with creeping fingers stroking the inside of Sideswipe’s thigh just where they met pelvic plate.  Swirling and tasting, grinding his denta lightly against the anterior sensor node.  Switching to the red twin and tasting, noting the minute differences between their lubricant, and their conductive gel.

Sideswipe keened, his knees faltering, and Ratchet stood.  Pulling Sunstreaker to sit on the medberth, plopping his twin right in his lap and going back to tasting, first one, than the other, in a dizzying pattern that neither one could even begin to follow.

Ratchet pushed Sunstreaker to lay back, growling at Sideswipe to turn over, and smacking his aft hard when he wasn’t obeyed quickly enough.  Sideswipe jerked and keened, the blow sparking his gel and sending zings of pleasure through his valve, turning and laying fully against Sunstreaker, their still tabbed spikes brushing.  Flushing in embarrassment that his brother was the cause of such a feeling, but any effort to move back being met with increasingly heavy blows to his aft that ground him against his twin.

Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker’s legs up on the berth, planting his pedes flat against the foam, and situated Sideswipe over top, heat coming from his uncovered spike as he looked at the nearly touching valves presented for him.  Thumbing the rims of each, electricity sparking between them, and watching as they gasped and writhed against each other.

He plunged in to Sideswipe first, hands clamped over the red twin’s aft to keep him pressed flat against Sunstreaker.  Alternating valves in a harsh rhythm that had them arching and squirming against each other, each subsequent gasp sending his own arousal higher and higher, conductive gel dripping to cover the edge of the berth, both of their array housings and leaving a puddle on the floor.  Ratchet’s spike slamming in, making it spark and buzz with charge and Sideswipe let out a keen as his valve spasmed around Ratchet.  The medic only keeping his own overload in check from vorns of practice, thrusting in and out until Sideswipe collapsed back onto his brother before going back to the yellow twin.

Working to a nice, steady rhythm, Sunstreaker trying and failing to rock his hips,  pinned as he was by Sideswipe.  His hands grasping, clutching at nothing as they tried to hold something, anything to keep him grounded.  Ratchet slowing down, each thrust full and deep.  The cables in his thighs tightening and loosening visibly every time he moved into Sunstreaker, finally stopping to grind in a circle, transfluid shooting out to hit the back of  Sunstreaker’s valve, the yellow warrior convulsing against Sideswipe  in his own overload.

Ratchet pulled out and wiped himself down with a rag, running an affectionate hand over his spike before tucking it back into its housing and clicking his panel closed. Turning and walking out of the room without a backward glance at the debauched brothers still on the medberth.

“Get cleaned up and get back on shift.  I’ll let Jazz know that you won’t be any more trouble.”