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Ratchet onlined slowly, languidly, but with an insistent crick in his lines. His mobile functions finished booting before his HUD did, so he shifted from his cramped position and felt the telltale shifting of the collar around his throat. Right, no wonder his HUD wasn’t booting, Jazz had locked him out of it when he’d locked the collar in place. With a sigh the medic turned onto his front and went into a full body stretch. His hands and pedes flexed against the pet bed he had napped on, each tiny servo sliding back and forth to lubricate the joints. His aft rose as he stretched arms and legs, curled his back and finally settled back down sprawled on his stomach. His optics had booted sometime during the stretch, as had his audios, and he wasn’t really surprised to be faced with the sight of his master’s pedes in front of him and his pleased hum above him. Jazz loved to watch him stretch.
“Slept well, pet?” Jazz asked and reached down to rub Ratchet’s helm. The medic sighed and nudged up against the touch. He had had a good nap. Even if it had ended with tensed struts all over his frame, again. He rumbled his agreement, a sound that came more from his engine that the patched vocalizer.
Jazz chuckled and stroked a long line down Ratchet’s back before playfully pushing against his hips and then straightening up. “Wanna play?”
Ratchet perked up at the suggestion and pushed himself up to hands and knees again. Playing with Jazz could mean all kinds of delightful things and after his nap Ratchet felt more than ready to lose himself in the physicality of playing with his master. He crawled off the mech sized bean bag and looked up at his master expectantly.
Jazz laughed at him, a musical sound that soothed Ratchet’s audios, warm and pleased with his pet’s eagerness. Ratchet’s engine revved and his vocalizer produced a demanding rumble that only made Jazz laugh more. He had one hand behind his back and Ratchet didn’t hesitate to move in and nudge his helm against his master’s thigh to make him give up the toy he was hiding. With his heavier frame it was easy to get Jazz to stumble back a step and bring his hand out for balance to reveal a ball.
Ratchet didn’t even try to hide his delight. He wiggled his aft and rose to his fingertip so he could try to get at it. Jazz stepped back another step and put his hand on Ratchet’s helm though, a clear sign for him to stop. Ratchet whined and sat back. They were supposed to play.
“Now, pet, you know the rule,” Jazz said sternly. “No pushing me around.”
Ratchet whined again and stayed where he was, pleading with optic and field for his master to make up his mind and throw the ball. After all, as much as he tried he never could let go of his impatience. Not even during playtime. Luckily Jazz didn’t make him wait long.
“Good pet.” With a flick of his wrist Jazz sent the ball flying across the room. “Fetch.”
Ratchet was up before the command was even off his master’s lips. He dashed across the room after the ball, reveling in the pleasure of fulfilling his task. A nice, easy task, with clear directions and no consequences. The ball hit the hallway door and Ratchet caught it before it could roll away again. He picked it up with his mouth and turned around, only to freeze when he saw the open doorway behind Jazz.
Their berth room door was open. It was never open when they played. That room was strictly off limits. It was where Jazz kept toys and treats, and where he went when Ratchet had been bad enough to warrant a period of isolation. Ratchet wasn’t allowed in there and the door was locked. Only now it was open and Ratchet didn’t know what to do with that.
“Come on, pet.” Jazz called, which worked to pull Ratchet’s attention back to where it should be. They were playing. He was supposed to fetch. He didn’t have to think about anything else. So Ratchet crawled back to his master and made sure to keep the mech between himself and the problem. Once there he dropped the ball at Jazz’s feet and looked up at him expectantly.
Ratchet did his best to push the looming doorway from his mind. Whatever was up with that, his master would take care of it – and him. In fact, Jazz’ entire focus seemed to be on Ratchet. He crouched in front of his pet and rewarded him handsomely for bringing back the ball. Ratchet’s engine rumbled in pleasure and he rubbed his head against his master’s hand.
“Good, so good,” Jazz told him and Ratchet basked in the knowledge. This was what they played for. Nothing difficult. No decisions. The assurance that he was doing good, pleasing his master by fetching a ball or tugging a rope or simply resting his head on his master’s lap to be pet. When Jazz picked up the ball again Ratchet stepped back so he could follow immediately. He knew what he was supposed to do, but he still waited for his master’s command just to feel Jazz’s field spike with delight.
***
By the time their game wound down Ratchet had all but forgotten about the open doorway. The light in the berth room was off so it was easy to ignore. Especially since Jazz paid it no attention either. He just made sure the ball didn’t roll through it and left it at that.
As was often the case, Ratchet tired before Jazz did, so he finally dropped the ball at his master’s feet and then flopped onto his side. His vents were running full tilt and he was pleasantly exhausted.
His master sat on the floor and Ratchet forced himself up again to shuffle forward and face plant into Jazz’ lap. It allowed him to bask in Jazz’ field and made it easier for his master to pet him. Ratchet groaned and rumbled and revved his engine as Jazz stroked his helm and shoulders and back, scratched the joints and massaged the tension from his lines.
Ratchet sank into the sensation and reveled in the silence on his HUD. No alerts, no monitors, not even a timestamp. Just him and his master and the quiet hum of his engine idling. His fans were slowing down again, and Ratchet let himself slow down with them. After all that was the goal of the exercise, relaxing him, relaxing Jazz, giving both of them the easy wins their daily live routinely denied them.
Before he could power down fully Jazz nudged him up again. ”Come on, pet, we need to fuel first.” Ratchet wanted to complain about having to move. But he also knew he needed the fuel, even without the fuel gauge on his HUD. And his master had said ‘first’ so maybe there would be more petting afterwards. Ratchet hoped so.
Ratchet followed Jazz to the dispenser and waited dutifully for his master to pour one of the cubes into a bowl. Sometimes he took his fuel directly from his master’s hand, but most days it was like this, Jazz leaning against the wall next to him, sipping his cube and watching through hooded optics as Ratchet licked and slurped Energon from the bowl.
Once he was finished Ratchet sat back on his heels, looked up at his master and slowly licked his lips. As expected it made Jazz’ engine rev. Ratchet moved closer as Jazz dispersed his cube, but when he leaned in to nose at his master’s interface panel he only met the cool plates of his hand. With a gentle whine he rubbed his helm against the hand.
“No pet,” master said softly. “I know you are tired. We can play more in the morning.”
The words washed over Ratchet like acid solvent. He whined and backed away, not ready to give up the collar yet. Yes, he was tired, but that didn’t mean he was ready to give up the comfort of their scene. Especially since he could still feel the pleasure and traces of arousal running through Jazz’s field.
“Come on, pet. Don’t be scared. I have a present for you. Stay. Good pet.” The voice was soothing, as was his master’s field. But Jazz’ hands kept reaching for Ratchet’s head and the collar that was his shield against the pressure of the outside world. Whining loudly Ratchet kept backing away, doing his best to evade the other’s hands, so focused he didn’t even notice they had reached the berth room, had in fact moved into it, until his master stepped through the doorway.
Ratchet froze, optics widening. Jazz was standing in the doorway to their living room. Which meant he was in the berth room. Where he wasn’t supposed to be. Panic started to rise in the back of his processor. But now that he was here Ratchet couldn’t help but swivel his head to take in the room that looked much different from his position on the floor. Everything looked tilted, the cabinet against the wall, the berth, and then he spotted the cage wedged between the berth and the wall.
A sob burst from Ratchet’s vocalizer as the panic threat dropped from his processing queue, taking most of his energy with it. He sank down to the floor on his front and drew in shaky ventilations. Jazz was by his side in an instant, sitting on the floor with his legs spread out in front of him. Ratchet didn’t hesitate to crawl into his lap so he could nuzzle his master’s helm and lick his cheek to help ease his nerves.
“Shh pet,” Jazz crooned. “You’re alright. I got ya.” He hummed a quiet melody.
Ratchet whined and curled up as much as possible on top of his master, easily flattening the smaller mech with his heavy frame. But Jazz didn’t complain. He just let himself sink back and wrapped his arms around Ratchet to comfort him while his neural net calmed down. He also didn’t stop humming.
Ratchet eagerly soaked in the affection and the praise Jazz was crooning into his audials. He hunkered down on top of the smaller mech and nuzzled at his helm and shoulder to show his gratitude for what Jazz had given him.
“Ready to recharge?” Jazz asked at last.
Ratchet licked a last long line up from his master’s chin up to his visor before clambering off of him. Jazz spluttered and sat up and Ratchet couldn’t help but dart in to nuzzle him again.
“Yeah, pet.” Jazz smiled. “Love ya, too. Now go ahead and check it out. Tell me if ya’re comfortable.”
Ratchet obediently turned and crawled across the floor to inspect the cage. It looked to be firmly attached to the ground and berth and wall. The bars were sturdy metal and the lock was one that was coded to respond only to directed energy signaling, making it virtually impossible to crack unless one was privy to the code. Ratchet pushed against the open door just to feel the weight of the bars pressing against his plating. Once he went inside there would be no getting out without assistance. Lust curled low in his stomach. If he really went in there he would be more than ready to play in the morning.
From behind him he could hear and feel Jazz was praising him with voice and field, encouraging him to explore something Ratchet had never dreamed he could have. After all they had a firm ’no pets on the furniture’ rule, so he had to relinquish the collar before going into recharge. And more often than not there was some urgent message or another waiting on his HUD, demanding his full attention once the collar came off.
But with the cage he wasn’t actually on the berth. Ratchet pushed the door open and put his hands into the cage, shivering. The padding beneath him might be the same as the one Jazz slept on, it sure felt like it. But it was inside the cage, on the floor where he was supposed to be. But also close enough to the berth that maybe his master would reach down through the bars to pet him. Ratchet would be able to slip into recharge with his play patch still active.
Ratchet rumbled in pleasure and crawled further into the cage to spread himself out on the padding. The cage was high enough to crawl into, and barely wide enough to turn around in. Ratchet made the effort though, plates scraping against the bars for the pleasure of watching his master crouch in front of the cage, hand on the door.
“Ready to recharge, pet? Or do you wanna come out?” Jazz offered, voice warm and non-judgmental, willing to accept whatever Ratchet decided. The medic hummed in pleasure and laid down on his stomach. He fixed his eyes on Jazz’ and nodded once, firmly.
“Recharge it is.” Jazz closed and locked the door.
For a moment panic surged through Ratchet as the reality of his captivity set in. What if there was a nighttime emergency? What if he was needed? What if Jazz wasn’t there to let him out tomorrow morning? But before he could work himself into it Jazz reached through the bars and scratched his helm. The gentle hand soothed him and then slid down to tug at the collar. The message was clear and under laid with a data burst to the same effect. The door would respond to the same distress code the collar accepted. Even if Jazz were to leave, Ratchet would not be trapped infinitely. Ratchet smiled and leaned down to lick at his master’s arm just to make the mech laugh.
“I don’t need to wash,” Jazz chided and then got up onto the berth.
Ratchet chuffed in amusement and turned around again so he could rest with his helm close to his master’s. The padding was soft beneath him, molding to his frame much better than the pet bed outside. It was easy to get comfortable like this, even without the frame of a lover to cuddle up to.
“Goodnight pet,” Jazz said after turning off the lights.
Ratchet just let his engine rumble his pleasure and relaxed more firmly into the ground. If he sprawled a bit he could just feel the cool metal of the cage against his arms and pede and he let the feeling of security lull him into recharge.