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22m

LIKE CATS AND DOGS

SUMMARY:

Hot Rod is Orion Pax’s dearly beloved pet cybercat. Rescued from the streets of Nyon as a kitten, he has more than a little separation anxiety and doesn’t do all that well alone.

When Orion Pax leaves Iacon for a month on a work trip, Hot Rod needs someone to look after him and is left in the care of Orion’s close friend, Ratchet. And, luckily for Hot Rod, Ratchet has a pet of his own—Deadlock, an unusually wild cyberhound—who seems quite taken with the little cat.

OR: Dogboy Deadlock x Catboy Hot Rod. That’s it, that’s the fic.

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Read it on Ao3 or here below ↓

NOTES:

unoriginal title but the only title i had before that one was “dogboy deadlock x catboy hot rod” which, while certainly evocative, isn’t like . that good of a title. um. anyways,

i’m gonna keep it So real with you guys, this shit is probably Kinda Poorly Written. i wrote the front half of this half-asleep and horny and i wrote the back half while a little sick so i do not think it is probably very good by any means, but i wanted to write it so whatever lol ¯_(ツ)_/¯

welcome to kink world, world for the purposes of kink. i’m me so there’s actually some crazy worldbuilding happening in the background of this bad boy, but most of that doesn’t really matter because i wrote this for the purposes of writing niche kink smut. so all you really need to know is that in this universe, the rules on what constitutes a sentient, sapient creature on cybertron are wayyyy more stringent. hot rod and deadlock are very humanoid (c. cybertron…oid…?), but are considered to be animals because they have tails (among other features) and don’t have the vocal components to reproduce the sounds required for cybertronian language. this isn’t gonna ever be taken too seriously because, at the end of the day, this is just porn lol

. this was supposed to be just porn but i got distracted 😔 sorry for the 3k opener 😔

Hot Rod does love Orion Pax, even though his owner can be so overbearing sometimes. He’s fun to play with, he gives the best pets, and sometimes he’ll even let Hot Rod have a little bit of bot energon instead of the ground up crystals that make up Hot Rod’s usual meals. Orion is… less cool when he’s, say, taking Hot Rod to the vet, but Hot Rod knows that Orion just worries about him.

But Hot Rod’s probably always going to love him. He remembers well what it was like back with the colony in Nyon, the way everyone was always hungry and always sick. He remembers what it was like to leave his dilapidated den and get shooed and kicked by bots on the street. Most of all, he remembers a huge blue and red bot lifting him out of the hell hole he’d called home.

It was Orion Pax who’d given him food, who’d given him a place to sleep, who’d kept him healthy and happy all this time later. He’d always love Orion for that… but a part of him will always worry that loving Orion won’t be enough. That one day, Orion will leave and never come back and Hot Rod will be alone again. Hungry and cold without a safe place to sleep.

Orion calls it anxiety. Hot Rod calls it embarrassing.

But it means that, with the looming threat of Orion Pax’s month-long visit to Kaon for the purposes of work, Hot Rod needs a place to stay. He’s usually pretty good at being left alone for short lengths of time—he once took care of himself for a whole week, clumsily taking his own energon from the dispenser—but a whole month is an entirely different beast.

So, with no Orion Pax around to look after him, Hot Rod needs somewhere to go. Luckily for him, Orion has no shortage of dear friends in Iacon. Hot Rod had been apprehensive, but Orion had scooped him up and driven him on down to a friend’s habsuite.

They’re met at the door by an ambulance done up in white and red with touches of black and Hot Rod is introduced to Ratchet, who’s apparently a doctor that works at a nearby hospital. Ratchet takes one look at him and says, “Primus, he’s tiny. What are you feeding him, crumbs?”

Orion lets out an affronted noise, hefting Hot Rod higher against his chest. “He eats plenty, Ratchet, he’s just small. He’s been this way since he was a kitten.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he still was.”

Hot Rod glances down at himself. He’s not that small, really. He just seems small compared to Orion Pax, who turns into an entire truck.

“You said he’s friendly,” Ratchet says, eyeing Hot Rod, “but do you know how he is with other mechanimals? I think I’d prefer to know before he tries picking a fight with Deadlock.”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Orion says, following after Ratchet as he leads them out of the narrow entrance to his hab. “I think the most he’s seen of other mechanimals since I took him in are when there are other pets in the waiting room at the vet.”

Ratchet heaves a sigh. “So you have no idea, great. You couldn’t have gone to Ironhide? He’s got those two hounds, doesn’t he?”

“I’m sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker would get along famously with Hot Rod, but unfortunately for the both of us, Ironhide refuses to let a cybercat into his habsuite.”

Ratchet snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He thinks they’re all little demons, doesn’t he? Is that what you are Hot Rod? Are you a mean kitty?” Ratchet addresses Hot Rod with that one, his voice pitching up as he uses a digit to scratch underneath Hot Rod’s chin, and the cybercat can’t help the purr that rises in his throat at the touch.

“He’s always been sweet with bots,” Orion says with a laugh. “I just hope that means he’s good with mechanimals too.”

“I sure hope so,” Ratchet grumbles as he pushes open a door to a big room. Hot Rod glances around at the plain furniture before his gaze locks onto the figure lounging on the couch. Long finials perk up and red optics seem to bore into him. The mech steps off the couch with a predatory sort of grace, his movements all smooth and confident. He moves to stand by Ratchet, optics flicking between Orion Pax and Hot Rod in his arms.

Hot Rod has never seen anything like him before. He remembers seeing the occasional cyberhound in Nyon. Strays, mostly, who’d snap at him if he ever got too close. But even the pet hounds with their pristine plating have nothing on this guy. For a start, he’s kinda huge, with a bulky frame that could probably make him pass for a real mech, if not for the obviously mechanimal parts—namely the fangs poking out from his lips, the tail swishing idly behind him, even the blunted claws on the end of each digit.

There’s also just… something in those optics. A sharpness that Hot Rod recognizes well from his time on the streets. It’s a hunter that he’s been brought before, a survivor. And Hot Rod has never been more curious about another mech in his life.

He scrambles out of Orion’s arms, ignoring the squawk he gets for it, and leaps down to the floor so he can make a probably-not-cautious-enough approach to the biggest cyberhound he’s ever seen. The collar about his throat is a bright red, same as Hot Rod’s, but unlike his brass tag, the hound’s is a steely gray. Deadlock, it reads. Hot Rod bets that on the other side of it is Ratchet’s comm code.

Deadlock eyes him as he pads forward, and Hot Rod decides to do what’s worked on all the bots he’s met since being taken in by Orion; he headbutts Deadlock.

Both Orion and Ratchet move to separate them, but Hot Rod is too busy nuzzling his face against Deadlock’s chest to care much. He’d have aimed higher, but Deadlock is kind of really unfairly big. Deadlock, though, seems to show some pity by leaning down to sniff at Hot Rod’s face.

Hot Rod lets out a chirp and stands on the very tips of his pedes so he can stretch up as high as he can to rub his cheek against Deadlock’s. The hound startles slightly at the move, jerking back out of reach. Hm… maybe not working as much as Hot Rod thought it would… plan B!

Hot Rod flops onto the floor.

Deadlock stares at him, optics roving over his frame. From where Hot Rod’s blue optics peer up at him all the way down to where the tip of his tail is flicking back and forth. Hot Rod stretches out, taking on a languid posture and fully turning away from Deadlock. Look at how chill I am, he’s telling the cyberhound. Look at how chill things are. Let’s chill together.

He hears the sound of shifting metal and peeks over his shoulder to watch Deadlock kneel down to sniff at him some more. The hound snorts at the soot-smell in Hot Rod’s vents, but pays particular attention to the base of his tail, nosing at the appendage. Hot Rod goes very carefully still at the touch, especially as it’s accompanied by a huge, clawed hand on his hip.

Orion sometimes pets or scratches at the base of his tail. It’s a very… sensitive spot, one that feels really fragging good to be touched, but he’s never had someone brush so gently over it. A strange warmth pools in Hot Rod’s gut as little puffs of air hit the sensitive plating, Deadlock venting lightly over the spot.

Eventually, though, he moves along, traveling up the length of Hot Rod’s frame to finally meet him nose to nose. Deadlock smells like… metal, mostly. Good energon, the kind that real bots drink, the kind that Hot Rod so seldom gets a taste of. A sharp smell that Hot Rod can’t name, but one that follows Ratchet around much stronger.

He’s a little surprised when the next thing that Deadlock does is to lick a stripe up one of his cheeks. Hot Rod makes a little trilling sound, scrunching up his face as Deadlock repeats the action on his opposite cheek.

“Aw, look, Ratchet, they’re friends…” Orion coos off to the side.

“… Yeah. Huh. Deadlock’s usually pretty stand-offish,” Ratchet says, reaching out to pet over Deadlock’s helm. “I guess I’ve never seen him with a cybercat before.”

Deadlock pauses in his dampening of Hot Rod’s faceplate to lean up into Ratchet’s servo, optics shuttered in bliss.

Since this whole thing seems to be going great, Hot Rod rolls over onto his back to bat at Deadlock’s face. The cyberhound startles, looking back down at Hot Rod. He makes a few more playful swipes—without claws, of course—and Deadlock seems to pick up that this is play quick enough. He makes a rumbly noise and lunges forward with his fangs bared.

He gets a face full of paw for it. Hot Rod makes a delighted noise and scrambles to his pedes as Deadlock shakes off the redirection. He lowers himself, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Deadlock grins, all sharp teeth and promise.

Hot Rod bolts, but he can’t even cross the room before he’s tackled, pinned under the weight of the cyberhound. He squirms, trying to twist around, before jolting at a warm wetness laving over his scruff. Deadlock laps at the nape of Hot Rod’s neck, nuzzling against the back of his helm. Again, that strange warmth returns to Hot Rod’s innards.

He feels… an odd urge. A desire to push up into the touch, a want for… something. Something Hot Rod can’t name.

He never even gets a chance to act on it, though, because Deadlock hefts Hot Rod into his arms and carries him over to the couch he’d been lying on before Hot Rod and Orion’s arrival. Hot Rod is deposited onto the soft material and he lets out a purr and flexes his claws against it as Deadlock climbs up to lay beside him, helm resting over Hot Rod’s spinal strut.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Orion says, lifting Hot Rod’s jaw with a hand to scratch under his chin. “I was worried about what I’d do if they didn’t get along.”

“If anything, it looks like you’ll have a tougher time getting Deadlock to let him go,” Ratchet huffs out a laugh. Both mechs come to sit on the couch as well, chatting with each other while petting over the cybercat and cyberhound. Hot Rod purrs as loud as he’s physically able and feels Deadlock nuzzle into his plating, arms coming up to wrap around his waist.

See? This friend slag is easy.

Hot Rod is sad to bid Deadlock farewell when the time to leave comes. He gives his own lick to Deadlock’s cheek, nuzzling their nasal ridges together. Then he’s being lifted up into Orion’s arms and carried off. Deadlock makes a soft noise of farewell and Hot Rod waves over his owner’s shoulder.

That night, he dreams of Deadlock. Deadlock’s tongue swiping up his cheeks, over his neck. Deadlock’s weight pressing him into the floor. Then, something that never happened—Deadlock’s teeth in his scruff, one of his servos petting down Hot Rod’s spine, massaging over the base of Hot Rod’s tail.

He wakes up with that same odd warmth in his guts. That same desire without knowing what it is he even wants. Deadlock himself, maybe?

It’s only a week or so later, though, that Hot Rod gets to see his new friend. Orion gathers up much more than just his cybercat, though, packing up Hot Rod’s bed and bowl and treats, even the leash he only wears on the rare occasions Orion takes him on walks down the street. Hot Rod watches with a certain nervousness as his life with Orion is tucked away into a trailer and hauled over to Ratchet’s hab.

He’s… a bit more nervous than last time. This time he knows Orion’s going to be leaving him. Maybe forever, a traitorous part of his processor thinks. So, instead of doing something stupid like sinking his claws into Orion’s legs and trying to keep him rooted to the spot so he won’t leave, Hot Rod skitters off to find Deadlock.

The cyberhound perks up at the sight of him, but seems surprised when Hot Rod is quick to tuck himself against Deadlock’s side, curling into a tight ball and… well, and holding himself. Bots can’t parse mechanimal fields, but Deadlock can certainly feel the tangle of fear-dread-longing-shame in Hot Rod’s spark.

Arms wrap around him and a warm frame curls around his, Deadlock pressing his nose to the top of Hot Rod’s helm. That’s how Orion and Ratchet find them, a tight tangle of limbs just… holding each other. Orion makes a little heartbroken noise, sneaking a servo into the mess to pet over Hot Rod’s spoiler.

“It’ll be alright Hot Rod,” his owner tells him, “I’m sure with Deadlock here, the time will fly by so fast you’ll be begging to stay longer by the time I get back.”

Hot Rod twists his helm to peer up at Orion.

“I will come back, Hot Rod. I promise.”

Hot Rod reaches out with a servo that Orion takes in his own. A moment later, though, the bot is letting go and turning to speak to Ratchet. Hot Rod doesn’t bother to listen, tucking himself back into Deadlock’s hold. He hopes Orion’s right, hopes that he won’t even notice the days, hopes that this month will be the quickest month in his life.

He hopes Orion comes back for him at the end.

He does follow Orion when he leaves, leaning into his hand when he leans down to give Hot Rod a few last pets before the door shuts behind him and Hot Rod is left alone.

… Well, not alone, alone. Deadlock hovers at his back and Ratchet ushers them both back into the hab proper.

The doctor treats him… differently than how Orion does. He talks to Hot Rod more than Orion does, chatting at him and Deadlock despite the fact that neither of them can respond in his tongue. He’s also… a lot less touchy than Orion is. Which isn’t to say that Ratchet doesn’t give him a whole heaping load of pets, but there’s a lot less picking him up and moving him around.

Which, admittedly, would be more difficult for Ratchet than Orion, but not impossible by any means.

He’s also fairly hands-off where Orion would be overbearing. In fact, after giving him a midday meal—which had turned out to be a blend of liquid energon that was the same kind bots drank, woah—Ratchet simply sits himself on the couch and lets Hot Rod and Deadlock entertain themselves. Which means a lot of tussling on the ground once Hot Rod’s actually in the mood for play.

While Deadlock basically always manages to get Hot Rod underneath him, he’s still quite gentle with Hot Rod’s frame. Playful nipping that never actually stings, sharp claws holding him without ever sinking in, a heavy weight pinning him without crushing him to the floor. And all the while as they play, Deadlock keeps sneaking in little licks over Hot Rod’s warming plating.

It gets to the point that Hot Rod finally just grabs Deadlock’s helm to try and groom him back, licking up the length of his finials. Deadlock makes a startled sound and stiffens slightly before melting under Hot Rod’s ministrations. Hot Rod takes the reaction as a good sign and continues grooming Deadlock’s helm, only stopping when the cyberhound gets a little too relaxed and lies down almost entirely on top of Hot Rod.

Only then does Ratchet step in, telling Deadlock, “Primus, kid, let the poor thing up, you’re gonna suffocate him.”

Deadlock reluctantly rolls off of Hot Rod, but gathers him up in his arms to snuggle with him on the soft, carpeted floor. Hot Rod purrs as loud as his frame can manage and tucks his helm under Deadlock’s, getting one last lick against the column of his throat. Deadlock’s arms tighten momentarily around him before relaxing again and smoothing down his back.

Hot Rod jolts as clawed digits almost perfectly follow the path they’d taken in his dream. But instead of rubbing over the base of Hot Rod’s tail, they stop short at the small of his back. Hot Rod feels… disappointed, maybe? And warm. But he doesn’t let on that he’s feeling any of that and just nuzzles closer to Deadlock’s frame. He smells… really good.

Hot Rod begins to think he might actually enjoy this month.

That night, he’s set up in a room Ratchet’s made into Deadlock’s. His bed gets dragged in here, but when Ratchet’s gone off to recharge in his own room, Hot Rod winds up gingerly stepping up onto Deadlock’s huge and soft bed and curling up next to him. Deadlock makes a pleased noise and wraps his arms around Hot Rod’s middle.

He wakes up the next morning alone in Deadlock’s bed, but he realizes quick enough that it’s because Ratchet takes Deadlock on walks absurdly early in the morning. Hot Rod isn’t too pressed about it. Certainly he isn’t going to be joining them. He’ll lounge in bed for as long as he wants, thank you very much.

His second day in Ratchet’s hab is spent largely without Ratchet present. He has a job that he has to go to almost every day, same as Orion, but he leaves Hot Rod in capable servos. Deadlock is both tall enough and dexterous enough that he can get energon out of the dispenser without ever spilling a single drop. And, rather than just handing him a cube, Deadlock tilts Hot Rod’s head back and guides the drink to his lips.

It does nothing to help the warmth that’s been growing under Hot Rod’s plating for the past week, especially not when Hot Rod winds up catching Deadlock’s fervent red gaze pinned on him. Hot Rod’s tail sways behind him, anxiety pricking at his spark. Or… maybe not anxiety. Anticipation, perhaps. Something’s coming for him, but Hot Rod just doesn’t quite know what.

On the morning of Hot Rod’s third day away from Orion, he finally figures out what.

Because he wakes up hot. Extremely hot, which is saying a lot coming from him. And also wet. He can’t fathom why, though, and twists around to try and figure out what’s going on. What he finds are his panels folded back, his array bared to the world around him, drooling lubricant onto his soft bed. Oh, Hot Rod realizes with a start. I’m in heat.

He’s only had one heat before. He’d been much younger, hungry and scared and lonely, and he’d yowled and yowled and yowled for relief. But despite the molten desire coursing through him, he’d been more terrified when other cybercats actually approached him. He’d hiss and spit and, if they didn’t take the hint to back off, he’d melt their damned plating off.

But Hot Rod isn’t hungry now. He’s fuller than he’s ever been before, drinking the good energon that bots get. And he isn’t scared, safe within the confines of Ratchet’s hab.

… He is a little lonely, but not for long.

Because shortly after he wakes, Deadlock appears in the doorway.

He’s just returned from his walk, smelling of weird outside smells, and since he’s back, it means Ratchet’s probably gone off to work. Deadlock, however, is here to stay.

Red optics look to Hot Rod, and he swears he can feel the weight of that gaze. It travels down his frame until it lands at his bared array and Deadlock visibly straightens at the sight. His tongue slips out of his mouth for a moment, as if he can taste Hot Rod on the air.

He… probably can, actually. Hot Rod lets out a whine as a pulse of warmth goes through him, pressing his hips forward against Deadlock’s bed, sighing then as the spines along his spike catch ever so slightly against the soft material. Deadlock lets out a growling sound and stalks towards Hot Rod. He climbs up onto the bed and positions himself just behind Hot Rod so he can—

Oh, frag… So he can swipe his tongue over Hot Rod’s valve. Hot Rod’s entire frame lurches and, running on pure instinct, he scrambles onto his hands and knees before bowing down his front. His tail is held high, his array proudly displayed before the cyberhound who breathes hotly over it before diving back in to lap at Hot Rod’s folds.

The sensation sends charge rushing up through his frame, made worse (better?) by the way Deadlock’s clawed servos wrap around Hot Rod’s hips. On the next lick up through his slick, Deadlock presses his glossa into Hot Rod’s valve and he lets out a strangled noise. He has no words with which to beg Deadlock for more, so he can only speak with his frame, pressing back against Deadlock’s face.

Unfortunately, Deadlock pulls away a moment later. He presses his lips to Hot Rod’s valve one last time and then climbs up on top of him. Hot Rod shivers as Deadlock’s warm frame covers him, as his weight presses Hot Rod’s front further into the bed. Deadlock’s codpiece bumps into Hot Rod’s valve and he wheezes out a sharp vent.

Please, please, please, Hot Rod begs in his processor. Deadlock’s servos wrap around his waist and pull him back. The hound’s panels are so warm against Hot Rod’s dripping array. Deadlock’s warm for him, Deadlock wants him. He’ll have Hot Rod if only he could just—

Hot Rod jolts as he hears the soft snk of panels folding away, gasps as a stiff member extends between his thighs. His range of movement has been significantly hindered by Deadlock’s tight hold of his waist, but he still does his best to rut his valve against the spike. Deadlock nuzzles the nape of his neck and then—

And then bites down and Hot Rod goes limp and strutless as Deadlock pulls his hips back enough to press his spike against Hot Rod’s aching hole. He goes painfully slow as he sinks the very tip in, his growl rumbling through Hot Rod’s frame. Hot Rod lets out a mewling sound, his tail swinging around to press against Deadlock’s side.

Deadlock’s hips move in tiny circles, teasing the tip of his spike in and out of Hot Rod’s valve. Hot Rod squirms under the heavy frame blanketing him, wishing Deadlock would just… just frag him already. He lets out a pointed little chirp and feels Deadlock huff against his neck. Then, shifting his weight, he presses forward.

Hot Rod’s entire frame quivers as he’s split open on the hound’s spike. It’s so fragging big, it feels like Hot Rod could break apart around it. But Deadlock stays careful and gentle, a slow back and forth slide of his spike through Hot Rod’s heated innards. Each press inward has Hot Rod taking a little bit more of that spike, until Hot Rod is so full he’s sure his abdominal plating must bow out from the weight in his gut.

But finally, Hot Rod feels Deadlock’s hips meet his. The cyberhound’s entire spike sheathed in Hot Rod’s valve. He lets out a breathy noise and Deadlock’s mouth lets go of his scruff so the cyberhound can lean down to lick Hot Rod’s cheek. Hot Rod lets out a slightly strangled purr, leaning up into the touch.

For Hot Rod’s first time with anyone, it’s pretty nice.

Deadlock makes it even sweeter by staying slow and gentle, making little rolling motions of his hips that only serve to stir up charge in Hot Rod’s frame. His spike is so heavy inside Hot Rod, a warm and wet weight that presses him apart and nudges almost lovingly against his deepest nodes.

Hot Rod lets out a soft little sigh each time Deadlock’s spike pushes against his forge. He’s so gentle, so mindful, like he can feel how Hot Rod is on the verge of coming apart around him. One of Deadlock’s hands migrates down to rub his padded digit soft and slow around Hot Rod’s anterior node and the cat keens, clutching at the bed.

Hot Rod feels dizzy with his charge, feels like his processor must be melting in his helm. And Deadlock… Deadlock just keeps making slow, shallow rolls of his hips. Drawing his spike out by the barest amount before pressing right back in.

And it’s… it’s nice but… Hot Rod’s innards pulse with aching warmth, a burning desire making its home in his spark. He doesn’t just want Deadlock’s spike in him, he wants Deadlock’s spike fragging him. He wants Deadlock to ravage his internals, he wants Deadlock to move quick and sharp.

He remembers the burning hot seasons where every cybercat in Nyon seemingly collectively went into heat. He remembers seeing the older mechs get pinned down, their partners taking them fast and rough, heedless of their pained howling. It had been a terrifying sight, but Hot Rod so desperately wishes he could feel it just once. Could feel Deadlock fragging him without a care for Hot Rod’s own wants.

Primus, Hot Rod wishes Deadlock would just make it hurt.

Hot Rod kneads the plush material of the bed and tries to push back against Deadlock’s next forward slide. He doesn’t get very far, but Deadlock lets out a sharp huff, his servos tightening minutely around Hot Rod’s waist. He shifts his weight and his next thrust is a thrust. Nowhere near as quick or rough as Hot Rod yearns for, but Deadlock’s decided to pick up the pace.

His digit moves quicker over Hot Rod’s node and Hot Rod feels a sudden tightness in his belly. Oh Primus, he thinks, Oh, please, please, please—!

Deadlock’s hips snap forward against his, the tip of his spike bruising Hot Rod’s ceiling node, and at the same time he pinches Hot Rod’s anterior node between two digits and Hot Rod—

Hot Rod yowls, a horrid snarling sound that probably isn’t attractive at all, but he doesn’t care because he’s overloading, he’s overloading, he’s overloading—!

And Deadlock just fucks him through it, his pace quicker than before but still gentle and slow in the grand scheme of things, his spike lighting up Hot Rod’s internal nodes, sending ever more pleasure crashing through his sensor net. Hod Rod shudders through it, but on the other side he finds only more heat.

He lets out a hiccuping sob and Deadlock nuzzles against his cheek, his hand leaving Hot Rod’s swollen anterior node to pet over his heaving chassis. Deadlock slows to a stop, his field pulsing reassurance, affection, question?

But there’s no question about it; Hot Rod needs Deadlock. He needs more.

That need-want-DESIRE is practically screamed out through his jagged field, and Deadlock pulls back to press his derma to the back of Hot Rod’s neck before scruffing him once more.

He’s got me, Hot Rod thinks, his tail shivering with delight. He’s gonna take care of me.

One of Deadlock’s servos drifts towards the base of his tail and Hot Rod goes rigid. Deadlock pauses, before slowly, sensually dragging his claws over the spot where his spinal strut meets his tail and Hot Rod lets out a high, needy noise. Deadlock wraps his hands tight around Hot Rod’s hips and he starts his thrusts anew.

He’s less soft now. Hot Rod’s opened up for him, and is more than wet enough to take his spike with ease. Each backwards pull takes most of Deadlock’s spike with him, before he pushes it all right back in and Hot Rod goes from achingly empty to painfully full. And it’s all so fragging good. Hot Rod’s maybe going a little insane from it.

Struggling through the instinctual limpness from being scruffed, Hot Rod moves one of his servos down his own frame, his digits sliding past his anterior node to rub softly at where his rim is stretched wide around Deadlock. The cyberhound’s thrusts stutter at Hot Rod’s touch, and he makes a growly noise against Hot Rod’s nape.

Hot Rod rubs clumsy digits against his anterior node then, jolts of pleasure making his calipers ripple around Deadlock’s spike. The hound’s growl rises in volume as he shoves his hips hard against Hot Rod’s. Hot Rod’s stuttering purrs get louder in turn as he plays with his node. He thinks if he kept going just a little more he could…

Mmnf, yesssss… Hot Rod lets out a giddy little chirp as he shivers through a second overload. This one is… smaller than the last, far less intense. His insides squeeze around Deadlock’s spike, his frame still hungry for more. Deadlock’s vents puff out hot air and he feels surprised in his field.

Hot Rod drops his hand from his node, falling into the sensations of Deadlock’s spike pressing against his forge at the end of each quick thrust. He’s… he’s getting quicker, actually.

He’s close.

Warmth floods Hot Rod’s frame as he comes to the realization. He’s just come down from an overload and he already feels on the verge of another. But he wants something else first. He wants Deadlock to frag his forge open, he wants to feel Deadlock overload into him, he wants Deadlock to breed him.

Hot Rod squeezes his calipers down around Deadlock’s spike, wordlessly begging for it. He can feel the entrance of his forge loosening with each thrust and lets out a long keening sound when it opens wide enough to take the tip of Deadlock’s spike. The hound’s vents audibly hitch and Hot Rod can feel as his charge reaches higher and higher. Deadlock snarls and shoves his spike as deep as he can get, latching on harder to Hot Rod’s scruff and making him mewl. He’s gonna overload, Hot Rod thinks. Deadlock’s gonna overload in me.

It’s… different than how he thought it’d feel. There’s supposed to be spines, he thinks. Ravage told him about the spines. But there’s none of that, just this—oh, fuck, just this pressure stretching his hole wide around Deadlock’s spike. It borders on being painful, really, but he’s distracted from the pain with licks and kisses against the back of his neck, Deadlock soothing the harsh bite mark he’d left there.

Deadlock pants as his spike swells further with charge, plugging Hot Rod up. It feels so full, so heavy. The first warm pulse of fluid into Hot Rod’s forge has him finally tipping over once more into overload. His calipers squeeze down around the swollen base of Deadlock’s spike, and he swears can feel the transfluid pumping through it. Deadlock groans against his nape, grinding forward into Hot Rod’s squirting valve, but it’s not exactly like he can go anywhere.

Deadlock’s overload feels like it lasts an eternity, and Hot Rod is just stuck following it, writhing around the cyberhound’s spike and sobbing as his forge swells with warm transfluid. Deadlock wraps his arms fully around Hot Rod’s frame, holding him tight against the hound’s front. When both of them finally finish, Deadlock shakily eases Hot Rod down onto the bed.

A moment later, he grabs Hot Rod’s thighs and begins shifting him first onto his side and then onto his back. Hot Rod winces as he’s twisted around, the movement pulling at their tie and sending another little shiver through his frame. Deadlock’s spike twitches, but the mech himself seems to have no interest in doing anything relating to their connected arrays. Instead, he takes Hot Rod’s face in his servos, peering down at him with a soft smile that makes warmth bloom in Hot Rod’s spark.

Deadlock’s mouth slots over his and Hot Rod feels a heady rush as he realizes what the hound is doing. They’re kissing, like how real bots do it. Hot Rod has no idea what to do, but he follows Deadlock’s lead, opens his mouth when a tongue presses against his lips. He whines softly and Deadlock swallows the sound down as he licks into Hot Rod’s mouth.

It’s… new. Novel, in a way Hot Rod wasn’t ready for. He’s… he’s never seen two mechanimals kiss. To have Deadlock’s mouth on his, Deadlock’s servos cupping his face, it makes Hot Rod feel…

Like a person. Like he’s finally being seen for once in his life.

When Deadlock pulls back, Hot Rod leans up after him, and Deadlock makes a soft airy noise of amusement. His hands trail down Hot Rod’s frame to wrap around his waist again, making sure he’s situated firmly in the hound’s lap as he sits back on his haunches. Hot Rod wraps his legs tight around Deadlock’s middle and trembles at the thought of Deadlock testing their tie.

But Deadlock does not try to yank his spike out from Hot Rod’s clutching valve, nor does he press deeper. He simply takes Hot Rod’s hands in both of his, hovering over Hot Rod’s frame. He traces a strange pattern over Hot Rod’s palm and… and mouths something. Hot Rod squints, but he can’t quite make it out…

Deadlock repeats the motion with his hands and mouths words along with it each time until Hot Rod realizes with a start what exactly he’s saying.

Really? Hot Rod wants to ask. Me?

His disbelief must be plain on his faceplate, because Deadlock makes a soft noise of amusement, tracing the pattern one last time and mouthing those words again before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Hot Rod’s mouth.

Hot Rod stares. Then, slowly, clumsily, he takes Deadlock’s hand in his and traces the same pattern of his palm. He doesn’t mouth the words because he’s never spoken in his life and has no idea how to shape them with his intake, but Deadlock grins and presses another kiss to Hot Rod’s cheek.

I love you, Deadlock traces again. A reaffirmation, a correction of Hot Rod’s fumbling attempt.

I love you, Hot Rod repeats back with his digits.

Then he intertwines their hands together and looks up at Deadlock with wide eyes. There’s a hunger in him, for more than just a good spiking now. A yearning that isn’t just for Deadlock’s fangs in his scruff. He wants to learn. He wants… he wants to talk.

Deadlock beams and makes a simpler movement with his hands. Hello, he mouths.

Hello, Hot Rod says back.

Hot Rod learns more words between waves of heat. He learns that Deadlock is teaching him something called chirolinguistics. He learns a simple alphabet—and Hot Rod is deeply proud of the fact that he already knows the basic Cybertronian alphabet—and then learns how to introduce himself by spelling out his name.

And between his lessons, Hot Rod and Deadlock interface over and over and over again. Deadlock takes his hips and frags him into the bed. Deadlock lays him down on his back and sinks into him. Deadlock knots him again and again, stuffing his forge fuller and fuller. And, one time, Deadlock bares his valve to Hot Rod and sits down onto his spike.

The face the hound makes at the first drag of Hot Rod’s spines against his calipers is the hottest thing Hot Rod has ever seen.

Ratchet finally returns from work during one of these heated moments, where Deadlock has his face buried in Hot Rod’s valve, pressing his thighs up against his frame while Deadlock’s tongue gets busy against Hot Rod’s folds. He’s probably just licking up a lot of his own spend, but Deadlock doesn’t seem to mind.

Ratchet does, grabbing Deadlock by the scruff and tugging him off of Hot Rod. The cybercat makes a mournful noise as Deadlock’s tongue is pulled free from his loose hole.

“Primus what did you do to him?” Ratchet asks with no small amount of shock in his voice. Deadlock lets out a whine, leaning back towards Hot Rod who rolls onto his front to push his rear into the air and flash his valve in the hound’s direction. “Hot Rod—Hot Rod stop it. Ugh, why did Orion have to bring you over right as you go into heat?”

Much to both Hot Rod and Deadlock’s disappointment, Ratchet does not let them return to their previous activities. Hot Rod gets locked in the washracks for a short amount of time while Ratchet disappears for a bit. When the doctor returns, he does so with… a gift.

An… interface aid? Hot Rod swallows oral lubricant pooling in his mouth as he holds the false spike in both hands, squeezing the soft toy around its bulbous base—it is, after all, very clearly modeled after a cyberhound’s knotted spike.

“Do not let Deadlock frag you anymore,” Ratchet commands, his voice firm. “I don’t want you going back to Orion with a litter of halfbreeds in you.”

Hot Rod’s valve audibly clenches at the thought and Ratchet makes a displeased face.

Hot Rod spends the rest of his heat stuck in the washracks, thrusting a knotted dildo in and out of his valve. It doesn’t hold a candle to Deadlock’s spike, but it’s nice to be able to imagine it’s Deadlock popping his knot in and out of Hot Rod. Two more days of nothing but heat pulsing through his lines, and then Hot Rod is out on the other side of it all, a deep ache in his array.

Ratchet keeps a close eye on him after letting him out, but Hot Rod… doesn’t really want to frag Deadlock with the hound’s owner around. From there, things return to normal.

… Well, not really. Not at all, truthfully. But they return to… a non-heated state?

Deadlock still sleeps curled around him and goes on walks in the mornings, but he also teaches Hot Rod more chirolinguistics while Ratchet is away at work. More than cuddling, he also presses kisses all over Hot Rod’s frame. Hot Rod always leans into the kisses his hound lays on his lips, drunk on affection.

Over the course of a month, Hot Rod gets good enough to hold simple conversations in hand speak. Over the course of a month, Hot Rod gets used to Deadlock being there to hold him and kiss him and love him.

(Over the course of a month, Hot Rod feels a growing warmth in his forge and wonders at what will happen when this month is over.)

In the end, Orion is right. The month ends, and Hot Rod doesn’t quite want to leave.

Of course he practically throws himself into Orion’s arms when his owner arrives at Ratchet’s hab right on time, but while Orion starts packing all of Hot Rod’s things back up, the cybercat hides at Deadlock’s side. Deadlock doesn’t like speaking hand where bots can see, but he allows Hot Rod to whisper digits against his so he can say his goodbyes.

Orion coos when Deadlock licks a stripe up both Hot Rod’s cheeks, but Ratchet only gives the two of them a dubious look. Hot Rod wonders if he ever told Orion what happened at the front of his stay.

Well. Orion finds out eventually.

As it turns out, a full day of almost nonstop fragging is kind of overkill when it comes to conception. Hot Rod despises going to the vet, but he gets a certain amusement out of Orion’s expression when the doctor breaks out a scanning machine that confirms their suspicions—Hot Rod is very sparked.

Orion is beyond shocked, he’s utterly dumbfounded. Hot Rod listens in on the call he gives Ratchet, listens as his owner confesses he has no idea how this could’ve happened. He knows the exact moment Orion learns what happened by the way the huge truck goes perfectly still before roaring out, “Deadlock did WHAT!?”

Hot Rod is fairly certain that Orion would like nothing more than to keep Hot Rod bundled up in his hab, protected and pampered throughout his entire kindling process, well away from the sire of his kittens. But Ratchet makes some kind of argument that leads to Orion very reluctantly taking Hot Rod on a trip to the doctor’s hab.

Orion takes one step through the door and Hot Rod is trying to squirm out of his arms to run to his hound. The truck does not let his cat jump out of his arms though and very carefully sets Hot Rod on his feet. The moment his hands leave Hot Rod’s frame, the cybercat is off like a shot down the hall.

He finds Deadlock in the living room, lying on the couch. The cyberhound’s helm shoots up as Hot Rod bursts in, though, disbelief plain on his face. He lurches to his feet, stumbling towards Hot Rod and sweeping him up into a hug. Then, a moment later, he pulls back with an even more shocked expression to look down.

Deadlock stares for several long seconds before leaning in to sniff at Hot Rod’s plating. His tail starts wagging as a slow smile spreads across his face. He drops to his knees to start peppering kisses over Hot Rod’s swollen midsection. Hot Rod lets out a breathy little giggle, petting over Deadlock’s finials.

Orion, when he finds them, looks torn between hating the hound’s guts or finding Deadlock’s obvious doting really cute.

Hot Rod is brought over to visit Deadlock more and more—and in quiet moments out of sight, Deadlock teaches Hot Rod how to say sparkling and pup and kitten—until finally, one day, Orion lets out a long-suffering sigh and asks Ratchet if he’s looking for a roommate.

Hot Rod and Deadlock both turn wide, pleading gazes towards the doctor, both of them laying a hand on Hot Rod’s belly. Ratchet sighs.

“I think I’d rather just get a bigger hab than find a way to squeeze you two in,” he admits.

Hot Rod doesn’t cheer only because he can’t make the proper sounds to express the depth of his excitement. As it is, he’s sure to press up against Ratchet and purr as loud as he can.

(… He does admit a quiet fear to Deadlock, when they’re alone in their shared room in the new house. He is, after all, just a mechanimal. He knows what happens to mechanimal sparklings. Faltering and fearful, he admits that he’s terrified that he will have his kittens, have Deadlock’s pups, and then he will have to watch his owner take them away to be handed to some other mech.

Deadlock snarls and holds his hands tight, promising that he won’t let that happen no matter what.)

(In the end, he has nothing to fear. His tiny litter of two are cooed over by Ratchet and Orion both and neither bot wants to send the little things away. Hot Rod gets to keep his kittens, Deadlock gets to keep his pups. They both get to… to have a family.)

(… Admittedly, they maybe should’ve hammered home the lesson of when and where to use chirolinguistics.

… Also admittedly, Ratchet’s face upon the littler sparkling taking his hand and asking for more energon was pretty funny.)

CLOSING NOTES:

i will be honest with u guys . this one got away from me a little. idk i’m just writing some bullshit ✌️

again, this is just porn for the sake of porn (even though it takes me three fucking thousand words to actually Get to the porn gsedtyearggr. i guess it’s more kink for the sake of kink) but for the record, here are some miscellaneous notes and worldbuilding for those who (like myself) want to take kink world way too seriously:

hot rod just once managed to hide away his tail and other obviously mechanimal features and pretended to be a normal bot and went out on the town. it was the first time he had normal energon and the first time he ever kinda felt like a person. someone figured him out though and kicked him out of their store

deadlock (then drift) once was mistakenly brought to ratchet’s clinic instead of a veterinary office and ratchet helped him out <3 later, ratchet found him again in a pound and took him home with him. between these two events, drift mostly lived with gasket who taught him to speak hand. ratchet doesn’t know but he Suspects that mechanimals are much more sentient than is believed.

tbh, deadlock might actually only be half cyberhound. maybe one of his creators was a normal bot

ratchet’s one of those bougie pet owners who feeds his dog steak. okay that’s a lie he acknowledges that normal bot energon is perfectly fine for mechanimals and healthier in the long run so he doesn’t feed deadlock kibble. he judges orion for exclusively feeding hot rod kibble and probably blames his apparent growth issues on it

orion’s going to see megatron in kaon btw. megatron has his little revolution going on underground, which actually does include mechanimal rights. he’s not one, but soundwave is (he can talk! he sounds a little weird but he had a vocalizer installed and can talk, which is what makes him able to hide his origins) and if megatron knew his boyfriend had a pet he’d be sooooooo pissed. orion doesn’t know about that whole aspect of megatron’s little revolution. he’s going to have a breakdown when he does though and poor hot rod is going to get abandoned by his dad out of guilt

#transformers #driftrod #nsft #goated with the sauce

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