“You’re maybe the stupidest mech I know,” Deadlock hissed.
“So you decided to shoot me about it?” Hot Rod asked, wincing slightly as Deadlock’s subsequent snarl had him pressing harder against the bullet wound in the Autobot’s gut.
“I only shot you because you were stupid enough to jump in the line of fire!”
“That’s not my fault!” Hot Rod yelped. “I didn’t know you were there! Just—ugh. How bad is it?”
Deadlock’s growls relented and he peeled his servo back, revealing the origin point of the bright pink mess spilling down Hot Rod’s stomach onto his thighs. Hot Rod let out a whistle.
“Damn. That’s—heh, that’s pretty big, isn’t it?” Hot Rod asked, an edge of hysteric fear-humor in his voice.
“Yeah,” Deadlock murmured. And it was only there because he’d been careless. Because he’d gotten spooked and fragging shot Hot Rod.
“You could fit, like… at least two whole fingers in there, probably.”
Deadlock’s helm shot up and he stared incredulously at Hot Rod. Hot Rod, though, was still looking down at his bullet wound. He’d wrapped a hand around Deadlock’s wrist and drew his own servo back towards the wound.
“Hey… we still gotta pull the bullet out, right?” Hot Rod asked. There was a breathless quality to his voice that hadn’t been there before that had Deadlock’s processor reacting in… strange ways. “Your hands are bigger, but i bet your claws would give you some pretty good… dexterity or something. Like tweezers.”
“I…” Deadlock stared down at the puckered mesh, sluggishly oozing out bright energon. “Won’t that… hurt…?”
“Please Deadlock?” Hot Rod breathed out. “I need—I really need that bullet out…”
Deadlock swallowed around drool pooling in his mouth and, carefully, slowly, eased a single digit into the wound. Hot Rod gasped, his vents sucking in air and… and Deadlock could feel the way his innards cooled slightly with it.
“Frag,” the Decepticon whispered. Hot Rod let out a tiny little laugh that turned quickly into a pained grunt as the sound jostled Deadlock’s digit in… inside him. Deadlock pressed deeper until his claw tapped the back end of the bullet. Well. At least he knew where it was.
Carefully, he drew his digit back out, trying not to think of how it looked completely coated in the vibrant pink of Hot Rod’s energon. Then, he pressed back inside with two fingers, pressed tight together to avoid… stretching out the wound too much.
“Oh, frag, Deadlock…” Hot Rod whined, hands flexing against Deadlock’s plating.
“Sorry,” Deadlock blurted, but Hot Rod was already shaking his head.
“Don’t—don’t apologize. Feels—mmgh…”
Hot Rod’s soft little moan ended with a sweet little hitch of his vents as Deadlock managed to grab hold of the bullet between two claws. He drew backward as slow as he could, but swore as the bullet slipped out of his grasp. Hot Rod let out a strangled noise when Deadlock reached back in.
This time, he managed to draw the bullet out in its entirely, letting it drop to the ground with a wet clink. Hot Rod jolted as it left his frame, a fresh little spurt of energon painting a new trail down his frame and Deadlock—
Deadlock—
“Frag,” he repeated, louder this time. He shoved Hot Rod to the ground, pinning him with a hand on the chest as he leaned down and licked a trail up his energon-stained stomach until he could get his mouth on the bullet hole. Hot Rod wailed, arching up into his touch. Deeply distracted by pressing his glossa against the jagged edges of the wound, he almost missed the click of Hot Rod’s panels opening.
He most certainly not miss when Hot Rod’s spike poked against his collar plating as it pressurized. With his free hand, he reached blindly for the member until he could wrap it up tight in his servo, squeezing it and getting another strangled moan out of Hot Rod.
“Oh, Primus,” Hot Rod wheezed, “Deadlock…”
Deadlock pumped the spike in his hand and licked up the smeared energon around Hot Rod’s wound. He tasted like a dream, sweet and intoxicating, filling Deadlock’s entire frame with warmth.
“Deadlock, Deadlock,” Hot Rod was panting out, reaching down to clutch at Deadlock’s helm, petting over his finials, pressing him harder against Hot Rod’s midsection. “‘M gonna… gonna—”
Deadlock dipped his tongue just barely inside the wound, tasting fresh energon seeping out from the sudden pressure and Hot Rod broke under him, sobbing as jets of transfluid spilled from his spike.
Deadlock lifted his helm, blood and spit trailing from his tongue. He shoved himself up Hot Rod’s frame until he could slot their mouths together. It tasted like blood, like dust and dirt and smoke, like Hot Rod. The little Autobot moaned into his mouth, clawing at his shoulders.
When Deadlock finally pulled back, Hot Rod looked beautifully debauched. Drool and energon smeared over his intake, optics flickering like he was on the verge of recharge.
Or.
“Oh shit,” Deadlock hissed. “Um, hold on, Roddy. I’ve—I’ve got a patch here somewhere—”
Hot Rod let out a little giggle that made him sound like he was overcharged. “That was good. We gotta… we gotta do this again sometime, ‘Lock.”
“Maybe not in the middle of a battlefield next time? Primus—Roddy do not go unconscious on me right now or so help me—”
arcee and hot rod have the vibe in my head of siblings that constatly roughhouse with eachother to the point where when theyre covered in random dents everyone just assumes they got bored and beat other up
