#bbko

There’ll be more Optiratch sketches but I needed to also draw my two other gays

Don’t touch me I love BBKO 😔😔

A Quiet Tryst

“We have to be quiet,” Bumblebee murmurs into the crook of his neck. 

Knock Out snorts and shifts further forward, notching himself against Bumblebee’s torso, knees bracketing the yellow mech’s hips. “I’m not the one who can’t keep his mouth shut.” 

Bumblebee chuckles, and his fingertips do clever things to the mount for Knock Out’s dorsal doors. Knock Out shivers, charge curling along his substructure, heat pooling southward, spreading through his limbs. 

“You’re talking now,” he teases, mouthing at the curve of Knock Out’s jaw with insistent presses of his denta -- too soft to scratch, he knows better. 

“So are you,” Knock Out retorts, and pinches the nearest tire within reach, squeezing the malleable rubber with a blunted talon. 

Bumblebee’s engine rumbles. 

“Shh,” Knock Out hisses. 

“Can’t help it,” Bumblebee says, and his hands cup at Knock Out’s aft, yanking him so close their armor skreels together, his hips rocking up, a volcanic heat radiating from his closed panels. “What’s the worst they’ll do?” 

Knock Out locks his panel in place on principle alone. It won’t do to let Bumblebee think he’s the one in complete control here. “Lock us in separate cells for fraternization.” 

“It’s not fraternization. It’s…” Bumblebee hums and nibbles at the edge of Knock Out’s audial, making him shiver. “It’s making peace.” 

Knock Out breathes a laugh. He can’t imagine either of them standing in front of Ultra Magnus and Ratchet and the other surviving Autobots, claiming this is about establishing peace and not two mechs who can’t seem to keep their hands off each other despite regulations stating they should. 

The war is, technically, over. 

Technically being the operative term here. 

“Sure,” Knock Out drawls, arms over Bumblebee’s shoulders, one hand teasing the back of Bumblebee’s neck, making his field stutter with building heat. “Peace.” 

Bumblebee pauses and he looks back, searching Knock Out’s face. “Does it bother you that we’re a secret?” 

It’s a complicated question. 

Knock Out chews on it, rolls the answer around in his mouth, tastes the shape of the easy glyphs and the harder ones. He only has complicated answers. 

“No,” he says, at length. “I’m a survivor. It’s what I do.” 

Bumblebee hums and kneads his aft. “I’ll tell everyone as soon as I safely can. I’m going to walk around with the prettiest medic on my arm, and everyone will be jealous.” 

Knock Out tries to hide his pleasure, but it must ricochet in his field, because Bumblebee looks up at him, smug and satisfied. Damn clever Autobot with his honeyed glossa. 

“You won’t have that medic for long if you don’t make use of this opportunity,” Knock Out challenges to hide the fluster. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Bumblebee purrs, and they don’t have much room for conversation after that, since all their focus is on keeping quiet so as not to be overheard. 

Bumblebee, once again, is much too loud, and Knock Out lets himself dream of a day in the future that won’t be a worry. 

But for now, he smirks with pride. 

***