Chapter Text
Typing the codes into the panel for his room, Ratchet slipped in before letting the door completely slide open. Sitting there off to the side of his quarters, his berth called inviting to his aching joints. Locking the door behind him, the medic staggered towards the berth before lowering himself front first into the padding. Pillows and heated blankets made his struts relax, rolling onto his back as he welcomed the warmth. Ratchet ex-vented as his optics shuttered. His frame let out low groans and pings as the plates shifted and his struts stretched. A servo reached behind him and fluffed the body pillows he had up near the headboard. He sat up and moved
The base was quiet and the smell of his sweet spark still filled the room. Optimus had left for a mission with Skyfire, Bumblebee, and Jazz to a country on the other side of the world. For what exactly, he had no clue. What he did know, was that he had been gone for several orns with no contact.
Ratchet could already feel a charge running through his circuits, heating up his chassis and interface panel. Every inch of him craved his lover’s touch, the thrum of his spark sounding against his as they curl up on the berth. The sensation of large servos roaming over his chassis’ windows, trailing down to his grill plate as they traced the sensitive seams. The mech had a way of making him squirm. Always so careful, teasing him to the point he felt he might just shoot someone. The thought of his gentle lover trailing his servos down lower, lower until they slowly rubbed circles onto his panel until it snapped open.
The actual sound of his panel sliding back pulled Ratchet from his thoughts. “I suppose I needed this more than I thought.” He hummed to himself. A servo was moved to his chest plates as he turned off the sensation in the finely tuned digits. As they were moved down his plating, his vents hitched as a low pulse of charge started to flow. They traced along transformation seams, digging down into the crevices to pluck at the wires. Static built along his plating as he teased himself, his fans quickly kicking in to cool the rapidly heating medic. Still the digits moved, drawing paths along the metal until they reached Ratchet’s grill plating. There the palm was laid flat, running along the surface as it gradually reached the crotch plate. Without the sensation in his servos, Ratchet could pretend the hand was Optimus’s as his hips bucked up against it, feeling it pass his aching spike to drop lower. Where the folds of his valve eagerly awaited.
Gasping as the first digit traced along the outer rim, Ratchet took his unoccupied servo and turned up the sensitivity. It was raised to his lips, his glossa lapping at the tips of his pointer and middle digit before taking them into his mouth. As the sensation flowed through him, his body rattled with a shudder. The sensors in his digits sent pulses of pleasure from their tips through his servos and all the way to his neural receptors. The digits near his valve slowly slid between his folds, brushing the entrance to his depths. A quick stroke, then another, before one used the lubrication it collected and slowly pressed in. The digits squelched as they moved within the valve, making the old bot moan static around his digits. Every movement was careful, teasing certain nodes while leaving others alone. Letting himself go to the sensations, Ratchet shuttered his optics and imagined it was his sweet spark. Optimus with his solid frame, laying down on the berth next to him as he slowly fingered him. Those soft blue optics watching his faceplates more than his valve as he worked him into overload, always making sure Ratchet was enjoying himself. With his optics shuttered as they were, he could almost feel Optimus watching him now.
Fervently his digits continued their movements, thrusting into the valve. His dente bit softly on the digits in his oral cavity, his fans kicking on as he starts feeling a charge start to build. Lubricant dripped down from his valve and onto the berth, creating a small puddle as his digits kept moving. A low gasp left his intakes as his helm thumped back against the wall, working his digits deeper into his valve. Ratchet’s pedes began to shake as he tried to lift himself off the berth, arching his hips up to bury his digits deeper. The old medic was brushing the edge of a deep node before a sudden pain racked through him. Straightening out his pedes, he cursed as he turned the sensitivity back on in his fingers. Digging one of his digits under the plating of his inner left thigh, Ratchet grumbled as he rubbed the offended cord. “Slagging old frame. Outdated and falling apart. If I wasn’t useful, they would have scrapped me by now.” Ratchet huffed before changing his position. Moving with metallic groans and creaks, the old medic managed to turn himself around to brace himself against the wall. On his knees, Ratchet leaned forward as his servo returned once more to his valve. Two digits traced around the lips to collect the lubricant once more. Once coated in a thick layer of viscous fluids, Ratchet thought about the transfluid that would overflow his valve when he interfaced with Optimus. The taller mech holding his hips as the transfluid filled him in short bursts, in time with his mate’s spark pulse. It helped to bring about his new wave of arousal. His lubricant running freely as he spread himself and eased his fingers inside.
Shuttering his optics, Ratchet sighed as the digits finally re entered his valve, and pressed inside to tease at his nodes once more. Turning off the sensors in his fingers once more, Ratchet ex-vented to alleviate some of the pent up heat in his chassis. Pulling up a memory file of Optimus, he moved his fingers in tandem with the memory. Ratchet moving his fingers as he rode his mate’s spike. The Prime’s servos on his hips as he was lifted and dropped, helping the older bot move on top of him. The memory had Ratchet’s fans whining loudly, trying to counteract the heat coming from the medic as his digits plunged into his valve. This position seemed to work better, allowing him to rock his hips as he filled his valve. Static filled moans began to leave Ratchet’s vocalizer as the noise of wet squelching became louder. The sound of Optimus’s voice so clear inside his mind as he asked, begged, for him to go harder. As the careful movements continued, Ratchet let out a pained sob. He could feel his valve twitch and begin to tighten around his digits, but overload stayed just out of reach. Within his CPU, Ratchet modified the memory file to put his mate under him, grabbing him by his hips as he moved up into him. Having him move faster, rougher, trying to match it to the speed he needed. With his optics still shuttered, he was relieved when everything started to fall into place. The muttered sweet nothings as Optimus moved under him, raising the charge in his circuits.
As overload seemed close, the medic melted into his own touches and the vision of his mate. His lubricant pooled on the berth once more as he worked himself toward an overload.
“My little pet, so wanton, so pathetic.” A rasping voice whispered up from under him.
A shudder passed through him as Megatron appeared in his mind. The gladiator warlord glaring up at him in contempt, fingers digging into his plating as the Decepticon’s spike pounded into his valve. The image was so crisp, it almost seemed as if he was there. The heat in his valve increased, ignited by the thought of the gladiator fragging him.
Ratchet let out a long moan as a powerful overload washed through his body. Every circuit in him sparking as lubricant streamed out from around his digits. The medic felt strutless as he rolled over onto a unsoiled part of the berth. He had overloaded at the thought of Megatron — the bot they’ve fought with for orns. How could he even think of that? Not to mention still be aroused by the very same thought.
What had made that idea even come to mind?