Every kink is a writing challenge this author hasn't met yet. I dared Tumblr to bring it on.

Title: Predilection

Warning: Kinks. All of them I could write.

Rating: R

Continuity: IDW, G1, Prime

Characters: I tried for as many different pairings as I could cram in.

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play. I deserve cookies for writing this but have yet to receive any. TnT weeeeh.

Motivation (Prompt): "Reblog with your personal kink/fetish. Not in the notes; you put that sucker right in the reblog where it can be seen, fraggit. And don't reblog off somebody else's reblog. Come back to the original so I can see it." 42,000 words, 65 separate kinks, from Dec. 12 to just under a half an hour until Dec. 25, I dared Tumblr to bring it on, and they did, but I wrote everything thrown at me! Ha! Ahahaha, I win!

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Pt. 1: "collars"

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He noticed, because of course he did, but he didn't understand what he was seeing for days.

Prowl, with a wide choker in softest black velvet, no marker or apparent closure. It was simply a solid band around his neck that appeared out of nowhere. Ratchet wouldn't have even seen it if Prowl hadn't been holding his head high in absentminded display, proud but distracted.

Jazz, with a gaudy, ill-fitting, bright red plastic ring bedazzled in chinzy silver studs and hung with dogtags that chimed with every step he took. Ratchet swore the master of stealth and sabotage put an extra bounce in his step to make the tags jangle and ring as the collar swung around and around his neck. He beamed brightly at the medic but jingled away before Ratchet could process just what he'd seen.

Ironhide, with barbed wire cinched shut by an iron padlock, vintage metal dull against aged neck cables. The barbs did little but scratch already dinged cabling, but Ironhide always had liked a bit of pain. The quiet sound of metal-on-metal alerted Ratchet to the oddity like a constant reminder that there was something there.

Wheeljack, with a collar of bubblewrap and duct tape, optics squinched up in amusement as he walked out of the Prime's office. He nodded to Ratchet in passing. The medic turned to gape after him.

Fingers stole around his neck from behind, the warmth of a taller mech stepping close to his back sending anticipation shivering down his struts. "Is it my turn?" Ratchet asked in a husky voice.

Optimus Prime nuzzled the side of his neck, leisurely stretching length of bandage around his throat, holding the ends tight for a moment as though to pull Ratchet backward against him. The hint of pressure was all the urging Ratchet needed, and he leaned back against the Prime as the bandage was tied into a tidy bow. Thin and white, the gauze barely showed up against his neck.

Optimus' hands lingered, stroking the vulnerable cables of his throat, and a more visible mark of possession really wasn't necessary.

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