Work Text:
Surely the engex was to blame.
There was no other reasonable cause for Ratchet to eavesdrop on the conversation going on down the bar. Talking about fragging, of course, because if you coop up enough mechs on a ship and give them enough engex, it’ll always come back to fragging.
Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Ratchet would have likely eavesdropped anyway. It was half the fun of going to the bar and insisting on drinking alone.
But then Swerve laughed and stated, “There’s no way you can overload from giving someone else head. Trust me, if anyone could, it would be me.”
And for some truly idiotic, definitely engex-fueled reason, Ratchet commented, “You could probably manage it with the right interfacing aid.”
A small crowd worth of helms snapped his way – the regular array of faces that Ratchet would expect to have that sort a conversation – but Swerve was the one who actually shook his helm.
“If you’ve already got a vibrator up you or something, sure. But we’re talking just from the blowie.”
Ratchet should have let it drop but—
“Still seems possible.”
“No adding C-fibers to the mechanoreceptors in your intake lining either. Only fully integrate a tenth of the time anyway, and the upkeep when the rest of the time it fritzes out is an expensive and painful nightmare.”
“A tenth of the time is generous,” Ratchet replied with a snicker. It had been eons upon eons since he had the time and resources to install interfacing mods, and even then had rarely done any that weren’t tried and true. Too many horror stories of mangled and forever scarred interface arrays and sensory nets for his taste. “I hadn’t realized you had done your homework.”
“Please, who didn’t procrastinate on studying for exams by researching interface related medicine instead?”
The group Swerve had been talking with tittered among themselves, openly eavesdropping, but despite that Ratchet also felt something warm bubble up in his chest. Being reminded of Swerve’s past experience as a metallurgist was reassuring in a way Ratchet couldn’t fully put into words.
Maybe it was just to see that it was possible to move onto a normal life despite a medical past.
“Touché. That’s not what I meant though.”
Swerve grinned as he took a step down the bar Ratchet’s way, fist braced on his hip.
“Alright then, wise guy. What do you suggest?”
“Considering your previous work, I have to assume you’ve worked with conductive fluids before.”
“Obviously.”
“And you’ve no doubt used some when integrating new parts and plating to a mech’s frame.”
“Easiest and most reliable way to get it all up and running like they were forged with it.” Swerve was now right in front of Ratchet, with just the bar separating them. “But I’m going to stop you right there, because if you think I haven’t gargled charge conducting fluid in a desperate attempt to chase an oral overload, you deeply underestimate the lengths I’ve gone to.”
Ratchet rested his elbow on the bar and his chin on his palm.
“Well, of course not. Sounds like it was far too fluid. Unless you’re completely immersed in the fluid inside and out, that won’t do any good. You need it to be thick enough to stick.”
“And stand up to oral lubricants?”
“While you would have to do some amount of reapplication regardless, using a water-based formula would probably stand up better against our naturally silicone-based lubricants.”
“Water-based? You can do that?”
“I learned a thing or two while on Earth.”
Ratchet was unsurprised by the way Swerve’s grin widened at the reference to his favorite little alien planet. But he was a little taken aback by the way Swerve pressed his servos to the bar and leaned in, bringing their faces rather close.
Taken aback, but not opposed.
“If I didn’t know you had higher standards, Doc, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”
With a quick glance at his mostly empty cube of engex, Ratchet hummed before shrugging.
“Well I’ll be damned. I think you’re right.”
“About?”
Ratchet placed the cube down so he could lift his now free servo between them, idly shifting his digits in a lazy wave, catching Swerve’s attention as the light behind his visor tracked them.
“You ever have medic hands, Swerve?” he asked instead.
Swerve pursed his lips before replying, “Noooo? Not in the traditional sense anyway. I got higher end upgrades for chemically sensitive receptors, but that’s it. Specializing in a way that required good mechanically sensitive receptors was pretty much just for mechs forged with ‘em.” His digits drummed a bit on the bar surface. “Can’t really complain though. At least I can still use the upgrade for mixing drinks.”
“Oh?”
“It’s how I can make hundreds of drinks without ever getting tipsy. Don’t have to taste test anything when you can just swipe a digit through what’s leftover on the sides of the shaker to know you got the chemical composition right for a perfect Screwdriver.”
“Clever,” Ratchet said. “Unfortunate though that you can’t use them for more… recreational use.”
Swerve’s visor brightened.
“So the rumors are true?”
“Depends on the rumors.”
“That all of you nasty forged doctors get off on sucking each other’s digits.”
Ratchet snorted.
“I wouldn’t say all of us, and we’re still limited by the need for a conductive fluid to facilitate the exchange of charge. So I can honestly say of all the things I’ve done, getting my digits sucked off until I overloaded isn’t one of them yet.”
For such an unassuming, easygoing little mech, Swerve could still manage a pretty shrewd look.
“Yet?”
There was no helping the way amusement tugged at the corner of Ratchet’s lips.
“Yet.”
Swerve’s visor glowed a more vivid blue as he glossa peaked out to wet his lips.
“I close up in a couple hours.”
“I’ll whip up something I think will work in the meantime then.”
“Great. Cool. Cool, cool, cool…” Swerve’s lips twisted up into a frankly goofy smile and, whether it was the engex that had gotten him into this or not, Ratchet couldn’t say he minded either way.
“You sure that’s frame safe?”
“You didn’t seem that worried about it before.”
“I’ve had a couple hours to overthink it since then.”
Ratchet gave his final concoction a swirl – if it could be called that considering how sluggishly the mixture moved – before turning back towards Swerve. The minibot was perched on the edge of another worktable, legs swinging with either eagerness or anxiety or both.
“As have I. And this time while sober.” He poured about half of the mix into a small glass which Swerve tentatively took from him. “I assure you that if this doesn’t work, the worst outcome is you just have a tank full of lube and no overload to show for it.”
Swerve nodded, and it was only because Ratchet knew what to look for that he noticed the way the metallurgist casually slipped a digit past the rim, skimming the fluid surface with a sensor-laden pad. Apparently satisfied with whatever chemicals he detected, the tight press of Swerve’s lips eased.
“I’ve had worst frags. So I just throw this back?”
“Hold it in your mouth,” Ratchet instructed, enjoying the subtle shiver of Swerve’s plating. “And don’t swish. The less we mix it with your oral lubricants, the higher likelihood we can get it to conduct enough charge to reach the overload threshold.”
“Here’s hoping then. Bottoms up!”
With a tip of his helm, Swerve emptied the glass into his mouth. There was a beat as he sat there, lips closed, visor flickering with consideration.
A short-wave comm request hit Ratchet’s communication array and he accepted without question.
::Not the worst tasting thing I’ve had in my mouth, so, so far so good.::
“Good. No pain?”
::Nah. A little tingly though.::
“Good tingly?”
::Kinda like how my valve feels when I’m wet and starting to build charge down there, so I think we’re on the right track.::
Ratchet let a smirk slip as he moved in closer, thighs bumping up against Swerve’s knees.
“Already building up charge?”
::Like you aren’t,:: Swerve retorted before letting his lips part so Ratchet could see the pool of lubricant held within. The bartender was well known for his big mouth, and looking at it closely, Ratchet wondered if they all hadn’t overlooked how attractive that trait was. Minibot or no, Ratchet doubted he’d have much problem taking his whole fist if Ratchet really wanted to push their luck.
“Point taken. Let me help you with that,” Ratchet said as he reached out to catch the dribble that was escaping out one corner of Swerve’s mouth with his thumb. He scooped up the trail and enjoyed the drawn-out process of spreading the conductive gel across Swerve’s bottom lip and then around the top. Lips already soft and pillowy, the added slickness took the already erotic sensation to obscenely decadent levels.
And a zap of charge traveled between them.
Swerve whined so quietly that Ratchet nearly missed it before the minibot cut it short.
“Initial results seem promising,” Ratchet mused teasingly as he circled Swerve’s lips again. The game came to an end though when Swerve’s glossa peaked out to meet Ratchet’s thumb and another small shock of pleasure curled in Ratchet’s palm.
It took nothing to press his thumb between Swerve’s lips and down onto his glossa and have them both softly groaning. Swerve suckled seemingly on instinct, glossa pressing up on Ratchet’s thumb to trap it up against the roof of his mouth as his visor dimmed nearly offline.
Ratchet let Swerve lead for the moment, just enjoying the overly wet heat and suction. It had been far too long since he had had lips wrapped around his sensor-heavy digits, and even then it had never felt quite this good. It was one thing to feel his servo build up charge from the pleasure, but to have the additional exchange of charge was exquisite. It was more akin to sinking into a valve, but Swerve had far more control and dexterity with his glossa.
But it hardly seemed fair to only give him one digit to play with.
Slowly, Ratchet dragged his thumb out of Swerve’s mouth – across his glossa, hooking briefly behind his bottom dentae, tracing the inside of his bottom lip and then tugging at it before finally separating them.
And Swerve just opened his mouth wider in invitation.
“You really want my digits in your mouth that bad, huh?” Ratchet teased, and Swerve’s visor flickered online again.
::Didn’t take you for the type to want your frag buddies to beg.::
“I’m not. Just relishing the fact,” Ratchet said casually as he shoved two of his digits inside, pressing down to make sure Swerve didn’t close his mouth this time, “If you want me to get a move on fragging your mouth, all you need to do is ask.”
The wave of charge that washed over Ratchet’s digits and raced up his arm to flood his processor dragged a purr from his engine that matched the whine of Swerve’s.
::Then this is me asking and begging,:: Swerve insisted as his glossa slipped up and between Ratchet’s digits, laving them with as much attention as he could while held open.
“How’s your control over your gag reflex?”
::I programmed a shortcut to kill those reflexes millions of years ago. I’ve got it well under control. So come on--::
The commlink devolved into a blat of static as Ratchet, having coated his digits to his satisfaction, sank his digits over Swerve’s glossa and into his intake. Swerve’s frame jolted and shuddered, and his intake lining constricted around Ratchet’s digit tips, hot and wet and tight. There was no mistaking the flood of charge that Swerve dumped into Ratchet across the conductive gel or how his hips squirmed where he sat.
“Frag,” Ratchet ex-vented gruffly as he pulled back just enough to push back in again. Swerve moaned in return, and the vibration of it around Ratchet’s digits was so exquisite that he rocked his servo, dragging his digits in and out, over and over, dragging more and more moans out of Swerve.
And when Swerve closed his mouth around Ratchet’s digits and sucked, Ratchet had to brace his free servo on the worktable to ground himself and keep his knees locked.
At some point Ratchet had found his hips between Swerve’s spread thighs, obvious heat coming off them both and billowing in the small space between them.
Slipping a third digit inside to stretch Swerve’s lips wider and fill his intake tipped Swerve over the edge, his servo snapping up to grab Ratchet’s wrist and pull it closer, desperate to take Ratchet deeper as he choked and his visor bleached bright and white.
And the torrential flood of charge that bombarded Ratchet’s sensors had him seeing sparks as he was dragged into a breathtaking overload.
After going through the same process again with Ratchet’s other servo, and then feeding his spike deeper down Swerve’s intake, and then showing his own oral appreciation by eating Swerve out until the minibot was begging for mercy, the two of them found themselves sat on the medbay floor, venting hard, with a now empty container laying sideways a few feet away from them.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a genius, Ratchet?”
Ratchet chuckled, his helm thunking back against the worktable as he took a moment to really appreciate the satiation radiating through his whole frame.
“Rarely for the right reasons. I think we can chalk this one up as a reminder that occasionally engex does actually lead to good things.”
“Frag yeah. You wanna swing back by my bar to grab a bottle to go and then head back to my place? I’m pretty sure I’ve got all the components to make more of that stuff tucked away in my closet.”
“What is there left to test?”
“You think if we both have it in our mouths we could overload just from making out?”
Ratchet barked a laugh.
“You’re a genius, Swerve.”