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Pt. 29: "Chastity"

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Grimacing and squirming didn't free him of the lock on his chest. It wasn't large, but it felt bigger than it was, sitting squat and cold where his plating should split apart. That was no longer an option he had. Ultra Magnus had ensured the youngest Autobot wouldn't be smearing the purity of their faction's reputation by jumping in and out of mechs' beds.

Ratchet had shared an exasperated look with Wheeljack for that statement behind their defacto leader's back, but they raised no objection. Both Wrecker and medic were of the opinion that Smokescreen could use some restraint. This was a rather literal interpretation of that opinion, but oh well. Better this than nothing.

"It itches," Smokescreen muttered after Ratchet installed the lock. Rubbing at it with the heel of his hand, he swung his legs over the edge of the medical berth while indulging in a full-body sulk as only he could.

"You'll get used to it," Ratchet told him.

"It itches!"

"So scratch it," Wheeljack told him later after pulling him aside. The Wrecker cast a quick look around for any watchers, then leaned in and traced a surprisingly delicate circle around the lock.

Smokescreen inhaled sharp enough to be a gasp as irritated sensors flashed in sudden relief.

"Oh."

Wheeljack grinned. "Yeah."

Smokescreen stopped grimacing about the lock soon after. The squirming, however, picked up.


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