Never Did Run Smooth (Ch. 25)
Thing With No Talent
Pairings: Dinobot/Rattrap, mention of Terrorsaur/Waspinator and others
Summary: Shakespeare was right, love is never easy. Especially with these two...
Warnings: Oh, the usual. Drama, drama, innuendo, drama, some violence, swearing, drama, angst, drama, epic snark, abuse of the English language and probably way more sex than there needs to be. Did I mention drama?
Notes: Blame school. Also, blame my lack of experience writing actual serious sex scenes. Do not ask how many times I had to rewrite this chapter. I think it was worth it; we'll see what public opinion says to that.
(Warnings this chapter for heavy abuse of Rattrap… and ellipses.)
- - - - -
"--And this is my room. You can come in, but it's kind of a mess… o-kay. Never mind, just make yourself at home."
Mimic (who had reverted to beastmode) bounded in before Cheetor had even finished the sentence, looking around, moving from one item of interest to another. She seemed unable to sit still for more than two seconds. Cheetor winced when she grabbed a datapad he'd left lying on his desk and brought it to her mouth, but she only sniffed it and cast it aside, quickly losing interest. He retrieved it from the floor, then picked up two or three other small items that swiftly followed it… "Whoa, hey! That's my stuff, okay? Be careful."
She paused -- finally -- and gave him a quizzical look. Obviously she knew he was telling her something, but couldn't understand. Cheetor sighed and set his junk back on the desk. "It's okay. I trash this place pretty good sometimes myself. Here, you want something to do, I got some games you can play."
He called up a fairly simple game on one of the datapads, the sort he might play during a boring shift of monitor duty. When he handed it to Mimic, she immediately became transfixed by the colorful graphics and started pressing buttons, seemingly at random. Cheetor tried to show her what the object of the game was and how to play, but she turned her back on him and resumed figuring it out on her own. He shrugged. Suit yourself. "I'll be over here if you need me," he told the indifferent primate, and headed for his dispenser.
He needed to recharge, badly. The problem was that, between Mimic and Tigatron, his processor was running nonstop in circles. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to relax anytime soon. At least he could refuel, though. He hadn't been lying to Tigatron about his reserves being low, though he had managed to catch a couple of rodents and a lizard that afternoon. Organic fuel did the job, just did it slower and didn't yield quite as much energy.
He filled a cup of energon and drank it sitting on the edge of his berth, watching his new friend. The sight brought him a little bit of reassurance. At least something had gone right for once. His chest still twinged where Terrorsaur'd hit him, but his internal repairs were already underway, and Rhinox had already determined the injury wouldn't require time in a tank. All in all, he could've paid a much higher price for what he brought back.
He was thankful that Optimus, while quite obviously proud of him, had decided not to embarrass him this time by gushing about it. Three days ago, when he'd almost single-handedly saved Rattrap and Rhinox, both the engineer and Primal had heaped praise on him while he stared at the floor and mumbled that it really wasn't such a big deal. He hadn't had time to think about being a hero then; he'd just done what he had to do. Any Maximal would. They only seemed to think it worth mentioning because he did it, and to Cheetor, that said more bad things than good. He wanted to be somebody they could expect this sort of thing from all the time. Nobody fell over themselves praising Dinobot for holding off Megatron by himself while getting the slag beaten out of him. They didn't treat Rattrap any different since he got himself barbecued swiping Tarantulas's plans. Cheetor used to feel starved for praise, but now he just wondered why everyone was so amazed every time he did something right.
Honestly, he'd been more pleased with Rattrap's reaction. The spy had thanked him sincerely… and then immediately gone back to teasing him, saying that this didn't mean he owed the kid one after all the times he'd saved Cheetor's hide. That statement made them feel almost equal. It was refreshing.
A sudden clatter drew him back to the present. Mimic had tossed aside the datapad and was standing on her hind legs to look at the posters Cheetor had tacked up on the walls. She seemed to be slowing down, thank Primus. It occurred to the feline to wonder if she'd gotten any sleep out in the wild. She had just as much reason to be worn out as any of them did.
"Hey, uh… Mim?" Wide yellow eyes looked at him. "I can show you your own room now, if you wanna rest or something."
Right on cue, she yawned. Cheetor smiled and stretched a little in sympathy. "Yeah, okay. Good plan." He stood, and Mimic followed him out of the room without protest.
He kept talking as he led the way down the corridor, knowing she probably couldn't understand a word, but not wanting to seem too unfriendly with silence. Anyway, it wasn't as if he ever needed much excuse to talk. "We were running with a skeleton crew when we crashed, so there're plenty of empty rooms. We use a couple for storage, but there's not much to store, really. You can bunk wherever. Guess it should probably be close to my room, though, so I can sorta keep an eye on you." He glanced back at her. She seemed to be listening and trying to look at everything all at once. Her eyes were all over the place. Cheetor chuckled a little. She looked like him the first time he'd set foot on a ship, and it made him feel older and like a kid again at the same time.
"Here, this one'll work. It's… well, it's almost empty, anyway." There were a couple of supply crates in a corner of the room in question, but they didn't seem to hold anything important or dangerous, and at least they provided a little decoration. The bare floor and sterile walls didn't look very warm and inviting, certainly not for the inquisitive new Maximal. But it would do for now. She could put whatever she wanted in it later.
Cheetor turned back to Mimic. "Well?" he said hopefully. "You like it okay?"
She seemed to understand at least the meaning of the question. She looked down at the dusty floor, scuffing it with a toe, then walked over to the nearest open supply crate and peered in. Finally she looked back at Cheetor and shrugged.
"Uh… is that a yes?"
There was no further response. The vervet monkey leaned over and started rummaging through the contents of the crate, ignoring him again. Cheetor sighed. "Okay, I guess you'll be busy for a while. Just let me know if you need anything." He turned and left, the sounds of digging and of clattering objects following him down the corridor.
It wasn't until he was back in his own room that he realized just how tired he was. Looking around at the mess Mimic had left, he decided it could wait until later. He transformed, hopped onto his bunk and flopped down. One of the great things about having a cat mode was that he could get comfortable in almost any position. Forelegs folded under his chin, tail hanging off the edge of the berth, he let his eyes close and felt his processor start to drift.
He must have dozed off for only a few minutes when he was awakened by movement. Something pressed against his flank, startling him once he regained his senses. He jerked his head up to find Mimic curled up next to him.
"Huh? What? You need something?"
She just stared back, then yawned again, showing large canine teeth. She was lying in a pose approximating his own, hindlegs bunched up and forelimbs stretched out in front. It looked pretty comfortable… Wait.
Cheetor sighed. "You've got your own room, remember?"
This time he could swear Mimic understood. She frowned and glanced away from him, tail curling tight around her body. Cheetor's Spark softened. "I mean, if you're lonely, I can understand that. You've been out there on your own since the crash…" He trailed off. She still wasn't looking at him, and she wasn't leaving either. He thought of the monkeys, the real monkeys that lived in the valley where she'd been staying. They never slept alone. He'd seen them a couple of times at night, huddled in the trees in little clusters, almost invisible. He wondered if they'd let her join them, or if she'd had to sleep by herself…
Finally he made a decision, curling his own tail around both of them. Mimic churred happily and reached out to scratch the fur on his shoulder. Cheetor tried not to give in to the smile that tugged at his muzzle.
"Just to warn you, though," he told her, "I snore."
A few minutes later, both Maximals were snoring as if in competition.
- - - - -
Dinobot all but nailed Rattrap to the berth with his claws, drawing another piercing squeal as they punctured armor. Instead of protesting, the spy arched into him and pulled Dinobot's head down so that those long teeth could sink into his neck again. Already the thick rubber sheathing that protected his throat cables was torn, and exposed wiring sparked as it brushed the gnashing fangs, sending Rattrap's body into spasms. He was panting, uttering low needy sounds and shrill whines that bore no resemblance to speech, rather vocalizations of raw feeling. The warrior responded in kind, snarling loud enough to reverberate through the vermin's entire frame.
Neither one was thinking. In Dinobot's case, thinking would lead to doubt and hesitation, or a trip down memory lane which he was anxious to avoid. Instead he bit and clawed, crushed the small body beneath him, focused on the sharp flashes of sensation that jolted him every time Rattrap moved. There was certainly plenty to focus on -- clawed feet raking his hips, slender fingers jabbing into his arms for a hold, keen metal incisors nipping his face and helm and whatever else was in reach. He bit back, catching them momentarily in a mouth-lock that was less a kiss than a contest. His fangs left silvery gouges in the coppery metal of the spy's face, and energon leaked from from his own lip as Rattrap bit through it. The flash of pain was just another sensation, neither pleasant nor unpleasant but strong, intense, distracting. Just what he needed.
That's it, take him! Take what you want! You've waited long enough -- DEVOUR him!
For once, he didn't stop to argue with the inner voice. The Predacon warrior in him was fully aroused, the velociraptor in him maddened by his prey's squeals. Whatever small, sensible part of his mind might have raised an objection was utterly drowned out. He tasted mech fluid and instead of pulling back, plunged savagely on.
Rattrap did nothing to resist this. Indeed, his body language screamed encouragement, urging the saurian to ravage him. Not content with mere submission, he participated actively in his own mauling, retaliating just enough to bring a fiercer assault upon himself.
When his fingers slipped under the ring of armor that protected Dinobot's shoulder, digging deep into sensitive wiring, the raptor nearly bit his face off. Growling, Dinobot jerked his head back and raked Rattrap's chestplate with his claws, leaving visible wounds. The spy cried out and arched up off the berth, scrabbling at Dinobot's chest in response.
"Yeah!" he burst out. "Tear me the frag up!" His desire reeked, an intoxicating blend of hot wiring and musky fur. "C'mon, smelt you, make the filthy little Pred-lover scream!"
The words -- which had the ring of a challenge or command, not a plea -- inflamed the warrior's excitement, overriding what little restraint he still possessed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he sensed that they were calculated to do so, and a tiny mental alarm began to sound. The Predacon within him tried to drown it out, leaping up and snarling, You heard the vermin! Don't hold back -- show him what you REALLY are!
"Be quiet!" he snapped aloud, to both himself and Rattrap. He clamped a hand over the spy's mouth, holding the incendiary words at bay, his fingers nearly encircling the spy's head.
Rattrap bit him.
Lightning pain flashed through his hand, the pinch of sharp metal incisors as sudden and shocking as a betrayal. Dinobot roared, and the sound rolled through both mechs' bodies like thunder. He slammed Rattrap's head down against the berth and bit back, blindly. His fangs met in one of the rat-ears protruding from the furry chestplate, slicing through it with alarming ease. The spy bucked violently underneath him and screamed into his hand.
YES! Destroy the little beast!
But another voice sounded: No, STOP. You're not in control. Pull back, now!
He tried, releasing the now nearly-severed ear and rearing back. "Rattrap…"
"Don't go!" came a desperate plea. The rat's slim legs wrapped around his waist in a death-grip, his fingers latching onto the rim of Dinobot's chestplate with painful force. "Don't stop now, ya big stinkin' lizard! Finish what you started!"
He pulled himself up to press against Dinobot, maximizing contact, squirming to overstimulate the surface sensors on their beastmode flesh. The friction of fur and scales was an exquisite fire. Dinobot could have pushed him off, could have torn free, but his body ached with hunger for the long-awaited touch, and his instincts clamored. For once, doubt and uncertainty had little hold on him; there was only want and need and an eager, wiling victim…
"All right." The words were hot gravel in his throat. "All right."
His claws gripped the rat's midsection firmly, digging into the seams of his waist, nicking wires as the spy's body twitched and shivered tantalizingly. Rising to his knees, Dinobot lifted him up and shoved him against the wall, one hand under his seat for support, leaving the other free. He dragged his talons up and down Rattrap's flank, savoring the way he writhed in torment and the near-ultrasonic cries of pleasure and pain, then bent to mouth the ear he'd all but ripped off a moment ago. The taste of mech fluid was electric, and he lapped at the torn flesh, tasting the prey he'd pursued for so long. Rattrap groaned loudly, arching his whole body into it, as eager to be devoured as the raptor was to devour him. Words spilled from him with abandon.
"Take it, c'mon, I know ya want it, just take it…"
Past the point of being able to articulate speech, his mouth full of bleeding vermin, Dinobot only growled in reply. Releasing the tattered ear, he moved to take a firmer grip on the chromed ball-joint of Rattrap's shoulder. The armor here was much thicker than on his fingers, resistant to the raptor's fangs. Slowly, agonizingly, they punctured metal as he bit down. Rattrap was shuddering, his legs squeezing painfully tight around Dinobot's midsection, fingertips burrowing under the seams of the scaly chestplate. Dinobot pressed into him more firmly, crushing the rodent against the wall, thrilled by his fragility, by the sheer diminutive size of him. He's yours! cried the Inner Predacon. Do not hesitate! Claim him NOW!
It had been some time since he'd connected with another. No matter. Interfacing didn't require much experience, or even conscious thought. Dinobot hardly noticed the transfer cable extending from his body to Rattrap's.
He noticed once the link was established, though. Primus, did he ever.
Instantly the spy's sensornet bombarded him with signals, overwhelming his buffers, flooding his processor with
(light sound smell taste heat friction pleasure PAIN)
too much to take at once. Rattrap's body seemed to be one great sensor node, so fine-tuned Dinobot didn't see how anybody could stand it. Moonlight was as bright as sunlight, a whisper as loud as a shout, and a breeze registered as strongly as a slap. It was maddening. As for the teeth gouging into his shoulder… Dinobot almost collapsed on the berth from the intensity of it.
His legs shook; he sagged against the wall. Rattrap was crying out shrilly, and Dinobot's free hand fumbled over his mouth, out of a dim fear in the back of his processor that they might somehow be heard. The rodent bit him again, but he hardly felt it this time. The pain was only a drop in a river of sensations…
light
… stars going nova behind his optics, even as he shut them off to cut down on the barrage of stimuli…
sound
… a growl like the ominous rumble of a volcano, less a sound than a vibration running through their very circuits…
smell
… the sharp reek of excitement, of predator and prey, overlying a lingering hint of a previous overload…
taste
… mech fluid running into both of their mouths, the subtly different tastes overlapping as their perceptions blurred and merged into one…
heat
… condensation collecting on their armor as steam hissed from their vents…
friction
… hot metal against metal, fur clashing with scale in a riotous battle of texture…
pleasure
… surges of ecstasy leaping from one to the other and back again across the link, an endless feedback loop, growing ever more intense as new sensations fed into it…
PAIN
… the grating of his own fangs against torn metal, the rasp and scrape of his claws on the vermin's face as sharp incisors bit his fingers down to the wires, the strength and weight of his own body crushing him against the wall… sensations of helplessness, of blind and willing surrender, total submission to a force of death and dismemberment.
Dinobot and Rattrap no longer existed. There was only a single organism now, housed in two bodies which allowed it to be in two places at once, giving and taking, acting and reacting. It tore at itself in abandon as pain and pleasure reached a point where they could no longer be distinguished. Electricity crackled over the surface of its body; the air around it snapped and hummed. It cried out through two vocalizers simultaneously as hyperstimulated sensors reached the point of release.
The overload, like the act of coupling itself, was brief and brutal. Dinobot fell to the berth, dragging Rattrap with him, and they lay in a tangle of limbs as their bodies shuddered and thrashed, out of control. The spy was trying to scream, but could only utter a few faint, shrill cries. The warrior was eerily silent. A few violent surges later it was over, leaving them shivering and twitching like mechs recovering from a lightning strike.
It seemed like hours passed before Dinobot regained self-awareness. The first thing he noticed was the taste of mech fluid that by now he was sure would never leave his mouth. His teeth had slipped out of Rattrap's shoulder sometime during the convulsions of overload, but his jaw ached from the force it had exerted. Hearing the rodent's rapid, slightly uneven respiration close beside him, he brightened his optics to their normal setting.
The sight was like a slap in the face.
"Rattrap!"
Dimly the spy looked back up at him. Mech-blood oozed from numerous thin, jagged gouges in the metal of his face and jaw. More welled from a rip in his neck, where a few sparking wires were faintly visible. His right shoulder was a mess, armor pierced and crumpled and to expose mangled circuitry, and his beastmode's right ear hung off of him in shreds. Long, parallel gashes ran down his furry chestplate, baring the metal substructure, and similar slashes marred his sides and hips. The room reeked of Maximal blood. Though the overload had worn off, he was shivering, and his optics flickered alarmingly.
"Mmm, Ch-Chopperface… that was… really good…"
With a thump, his head fell to the berth as his optics went completely dark.
- - - - -
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uh-oh.
Don't worry, Rattrap's been through worse. Though I hate to think what Rhinox will have to say. "I told you so," for starters.
Of course the first time they had sex was a disaster. That's what happens when you add two characters of questionable sanity and a sadistic author. Besides, it was Rattrap's turn for repairs.
For those of you wondering, Rattrap is indeed masochistic, but it's not the only way he can have fun. His reasons for acting the way he did in this chapter are complicated, and I'll do my best to have it explained later. Stay with me.
Yeah, they have tongues. They'd make a mess eating anything in robot mode without 'em. They don't look much like our tongues, I'd imagine (have to imagine, because there were none in the animation, probably because they would've been a pain to animate). But yes, Dinobot can lick Rattrap's wounds. Because I'm the writer, and I said so.
And they have self-guiding interface cables. Having to fumble around and plug them in manually would ruin the mood. If Megatron's evil Spark-snatching tentacle can wave around on its own, so can these. Nyah.
Now, for the questions-and-comments section that's half as long as this chapter:
Cu-Curee: As you can see, the foreplay was nothing.
SamanthaRose: Never be too nervous to post something. Most of the best writers are highly self-critical and embarrassed by their own work. It's a good sign, trust me.
MJFastlane: Rattrap gets off on a lot of things. In fairness to him, he's gone without for a while. Self-stimulation is all he's had.
Here's more robot sex that hopefully makes sense. I'll have you know the points were delicious, and made a lovely salad.
It's a damn good thing he didn't hack it. That would've completely derailed the story.
Not a typo. Sharp eye!
I love feedback, and yours was very enjoyable. Please don't stop. :)
Panur: Mimic is a vervet monkey, Chlorocebus pygerythrus. They're pretty common over most of Africa, south of the Sahara. Clever little things, and verbal too -- they actually make different alarm calls for different threats, like a chattering noise for snakes and so forth. Very awesome.
Kayasuri-n: By the time Dinobot noticed, they were having a good old time. I doubt he would've cared, though. A year ago, he might've smited the rodent for it (hell, just for being in his room), but not now.
andalitebandit-6: It's a bit less ambiguous now, I'm afraid. Writing botcock makes me laugh too hard. I went with something a bit more techie, but hopefully still easy to identify with.
The "stillness" refers to how quiet Dinobot's quarters usually are. Not so loud when he's making Rattrap scream on the bed. :P
Ember Koramin: Eighteen passwords?! Man, I don't even have a funny remark for that. THANK you.
.machina: I think the semi-masochistic overtones just turned into no-holds-barred HurtsSoGood!Sex. Count on Rattrap and Dinobot not to do anything halfway.
Dragowolf: It's not really full of concrete, it just feels like that to Rattrap. I don't know what it's filled with. I'm not sure I want to.
Sneer: Yeah, it bothered me that that whole thing was just kind of overlooked. Cheetor had to be messed up from that. I decided that he was, and he just hid it. But now it's starting to rear its ugly head.
ocean's pebble: I think this answers your question.
Fayola: Next time, maybe less giving in to primal desires, more safeword?
FluffyBiscuits: Well, he did leave teeth marks…
Mimic can fight pretty well in her own, special way. Dinobot's not giving her enough credit. But he's like that with everybody, it's nothing personal.
lying mongoose: Hopefully you won't get as pathologically addicted to it as I have. It's a curse, I tell you. Day and night, the muses won't leave me alone. (I warn you, Rattrap and Dinobot are at least as gay in the show as I make them out to be. I may have actually toned them down.)