A/N: Megatron/Ratchet. Crack ship ferfunzies. Ficlet. Nonsticky. Tactile. Plug n play.
Talons clicked against metal, moving up one by one until they were able to curl together around contrasting plates of orange and gray. Seated upon lap, he tensed when claws dug under. It was strangely gentle but enough to get a lick of charge racing up and fizzling out at a shy little antenna.
The medic turned his gaze away, mouth a lopsided line on his faceplate, frame shamefully heated. The hungry servo on his aft only tightened and he awkwardly placed his own hands upon broad shining armor.
Megatron's optics burned into his very spark.
"It would seem the watchdog has lost his bark as well as his bite."
Ratchet squeezed his optics shut, resisting the heavy field trying to swallow him up.
"No," he argued vaguely, just to say something, just to protest. Megatron played with a seam at his lower back and the Autobot turned to face the warlord again.
But he didn't say anything. Just scowled. The Decepticon's optical ridges rose up humorously. Ratchet cut his optics to the side with a grumble, thighs shifting clumsily around the other mech's lap. He moved his knees up to allow his pelvis to angle, and slid his servos to the Con's sharp shoulders.
Megatron watched, corners of his mouthplate pulling, wanting to bare sharpened denta.
He didn't spare a moment once they were connected. A warrior of his size had a system capable of immense charge. Megatron was not the type to hold back.
The force caused Ratchet to seize momentarily, choking on static as a shudder finally shook him. The charge was hot within him, scorching circuits, zapping wires, racing between oscillators and joints. Cables crackled, trying to contain the energy without bursting.
Ratchet gasped and gasped, caught in a breathtaking tremble, barely noticing the talons stroking his head. His optics were shuttered too tightly to see the fanged grin above him. A claw moved slowly over the back of his helm, eerie in its intimacy.
"Come now, medic," Megatron murmured. "You aren't a mute."
Mercilessly he upped the charge and Ratchet lifted his helm with a broken cry.
There. Megatron's grin widened.
Blazing azure optics finally opened, if only a little. They peered up in a charged daze as plating shook loudly. Megatron bit the doctor's mouthplate and tasted hot energon, engine rumbling and vibrating them both.
"Move," he commanded, scraping mouth again and lapping at the spilt fuel.
Ratchet ventilated hard against the warlord's mouth and at first it seemed he hadn't heard the order. But he moved his hips. Slowly. Dragged their pelvic metal together, earning a small squeal of steel. Sensornets prickled and he moved again, scraping forward, using his bent knees to harden the friction.
Megatron growled, both servos snapping to the Autobot's waist, gripping as he rode his lap, driving him in faster and harder, pushing and pulling energy at lightning speed through their interface cables.
The medic's cries were becoming uneven, as was the reading of his energy field. Joints strained and popped from the pressure, grinding and fragging until his frame burst in a loud crackle of static, vocalizer giving out, thighs quivering around Megatron whose gaze bore down as he claimed every twitch, every gasp, every fizzle of the Autobot's overload.
Ratchet found his voice toward the end; a rasped and distorted half-scream as the final crash of pleasurable energy was ripped from his deep in his system.
If Megatron hadn't been holding on to his waist, the bot would've surely fallen backwards off of his lap.
Watchdog to lapdog.