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“How long until we get back to base?”
“I’ve told you about a hundred times, Doc. A few hours or so.”
Ratchet visibly tensed at the nickname. “And I’ve told you about a thousand times to stop calling me that.”
Wheeljack let out a sound of dismissive amusement, but thankfully didn’t comment further.
Ratchet grumbled a few things under his breath, turning his focus to the side. He leaned away where he sat, a scowl still adorning his expression.
They had gone out to retrieve a relic before the Decepticons did—and succeeded, but at a cost. Whilst they had managed to obtain the relic and retreat back into the Jackhammer, Soundwave had groundbridged them to another planet, somewhere where their comm links didn’t work, either.
Now, they had to sit in agonising silence, slowly making their journey back to earth. It was already irritating enough for Ratchet, but the pairing made it even worse for him.
Wheeljack chuckled, his gaze flickering over to Ratchet. He knew all too well how much the other mech hated each and every nickname he gave him, and of course, as any good friend did, he teased him relentlessly for it.
The fact that Ratchet was annoyed was just a bonus. Wheeljack found the grumpy medic extremely amusing, and loved to get a reaction out of him.
He leaned in, his smirk growing wider.
“Aw, c'mon, Doc. Lighten up. I'm just joking around."
Ratchet bristled at the sound of Wheeljack's chuckle, his irritation only growing with each passing moment.
He shot a sharp glare in Wheeljack's direction, his expression hardening.
“This is not a joke,” he chided. “We're stuck out in the middle of space with no comms, no knowledge of where we're going, and no idea when we'll get back. This isn't the time for your asinine humour."
Wheeljack rolled his optics, his smirk never leaving his face. He had to admit, Ratchet was adorable when he was angry.
He feigned innocence, widening his optics and throwing his hands up in faux surrender.
"Relax, Doc. You always have to be such a downer? It's gonna be fine. We've been in worse situations."
He leaned closer, just to irk Ratchet further, not backing down so easily.
"Besides, you can't tell me you don't love spending quality time with me."
Ratchet's patience was wearing thin, his temper flaring further at Wheeljack's nonchalant attitude.
"Oh, yes, because being stranded in deep space with you is my absolute idea of a good time," he snapped sarcastically, his frown deepening.
He leaned back, crossing his arms defiantly.
"You and your constant jokes and teasing,” he muttered, shaking his helm. “Ever consider being serious for once in your life?"
Wheeljack chuckled again, enjoying a little too much how easy it was to rile Ratchet up.
"Where's the fun in being serious all the time?" he retorted, a cheeky glint in his optics. "You're just no fun at all, Sunshine."
He scooted closer, closing the little distance still remaining between them.
"But I'll tell ya what. We've got a few hours to kill, and I have an excellent suggestion for passing the time. It includes you not being such a buzzkill.”
Ratchet narrowed his optics at Wheeljack, his irritation flaring again at the nickname.
Sunshine, he mentally repeated, his tone dripping with disdain.
He watched with a mix of annoyance and curiosity as Wheeljack moved closer, his expression turning skeptical—even more than it usually was.
"Oh, I can't wait to hear this brilliant idea of yours," he retorted sarcastically. "Dare I even ask what it involves?"
Wheeljack chuckled again at Ratchet's tone, enjoying this moment far too much. He relished in the way he could so effortlessly rile up the medic. He knew how to press all his buttons, and, oh boy, did he love it.
He shifted closer, their thighs almost touching now.
"Relax, I'm not gonna throw you out the airlock or anything," he teased, a cocky smirk on his face. "In fact, you might even enjoy it. If you can manage to keep your grumpy face at bay, Sunshine.”
Ratchet’s optic twitched at that. His frame tensed again, annoyance flickering over his expression.
“Stop it,” he huffed. He shot a glare over at Wheeljack, before staring off at the wall next to him, as if that would shut the other mech up. “Stop calling me that.”
Wheeljack smirked, thoroughly enjoying the way Ratchet was reacting. He loved getting under his plating—especially when it made him this flustered.
"Or what?" Wheeljack challenged.
He leaned in just a little closer—close enough that if Ratchet turned his helm even slightly toward him again, their faceplates would be inches apart.
“Gonna scold me like I'm one of your bots who messed with the medbay equipment?"
His tone dripped with playful teasing as he watched for any reaction from the medic.
"You know you can't resist me."
Ratchet froze. Wheeljack was just too good at playing his buttons. The way he leaned in, the cocky and smug aura that practically oozed from him... it was simultaneously infuriating and attractive—but Ratchet would never tell him that.
"Shut up,” he grumbled, stubbornly refusing to look back in Wheeljack's direction.
Despite his annoyance, there was a hint of embarrassment in his tone now, his optics avoiding the other's gaze.
"You're insufferable…”
Wheeljack’s smirk widened—oh, this was too good. The way Ratchet refused to look at him, the slight edge in his voice…
He shifted just enough for their shoulders to brush.
"Insufferable?" he repeated with a laugh. "Or charming as hell?”
A beat of silence passed before Wheeljack tilted his helm slightly toward Ratchet's line of sight—close but not quite touching.
"... Admit it," he murmured, tone laced with smugness and something else entirely unspoken beneath the teasing surface. "You like me."
Ratchet’s vent hitched, but he refused to react otherwise, even as the gradually-closing distance was growing more and more obvious.
He turned further away, though where he sat didn’t allow for much movement.
“Puh-lease,” he scoffed dismissively, arms shifting where they were crossed over his chassis. “As if.”
Wheeljack chuckled again. Oh, he loved how much this was getting to the medic.
He knew Ratchet was just being difficult—he always was. The fact he wasn't outright throwing him across the room by now meant he was actually enjoying this, to some extent.
He leaned closer again, this time letting his shoulder brush against Ratchet's, their frames almost pressed together.
"You're a terrible liar, Sunshine," he teased, the smirk on his faceplate growing wider. "You know you can't resist me, no matter how much you deny it."
Ratchet's engine stuttered once more at the repeated use of that damned name, but he kept himself otherwise still, helm turned away.
His spark thumped in its chamber a little faster, and he forced himself to take a few measured vents to calm it down.
He stubbornly refused to look at Wheeljack, even though the other mech was so close he could feel the smugness radiating off him, see the smirk in his optics.
"… You're delusional,” he grumbled again.
Wheeljack laughed, thoroughly enjoying the way Ratchet was reacting to his every word and move. He could tell he was getting to him, and it only fuelled his desire to keep going.
The subtle stutters in Ratchet's engine, the tension in his frame, the way his spark was quickening—it was incredibly satisfying.
He shifted even closer still, their tibulen now pressed right together.
"I'm right and you know it."
His voice dropped to a lower, almost purring tone as he added,
"You want me, Sunshine."
Ratchet's frame stiffened at the sudden change in tone, the low purr of Wheeljack's voice sending an unidentifiable shiver down his spine.
He hated how easily the other mech could wind him up, how effortlessly he got under his plating. But what he hated even more was how much he secretly liked it.
He took a few more measured vents, trying and failing to calm the thudding of his spark.
"Stop it," he muttered again, the sternness in his tone completely lacking. He still refused to look at Wheeljack.
Wheeljack chuckled, his smirk growing even wider as he heard the subtle shift in Ratchet's voice. The stubborn mech was trying so hard to keep up the act, but the small hints of vulnerability were all that Wheeljack needed to know he had broken through a layer of his defenses.
He reached over, gently grabbing Ratchet's chin with slender digits and guiding it towards him, but the medic quickly shifted out of reach. Wheeljack tsked in playful disappointment.
"Come on," he teased, his tone still low and sultry. "Don't be so difficult."
Ratchet's vent hitched again at the sudden contact—the way Wheeljack grabbed his chin so easily was doing things to him he couldn't describe.
He leaned further back, but Wheeljack kept following him, closing the gap. He could feel the heat from his frame, the subtle hum of his engines. And it wasn’t long before he was practically pinned to his seat, with Wheeljack standing over him.
Ratchet grumbled, the stubborn facade faltering the longer they kept this up.
"Stop,” he snapped again, though there was no sternness in his tone that time. Just barely-concealed weakness.
Wheeljack chuckled again, the smirk on his faceplate widening further.
There it was.
He knew he'd broken through that cold and stoic shell, and now that he had... oh, he'd have a damn good time.
He leaned closer still, practically looming over Ratchet as he watched the medic's expression. His servos braced on either side of him, trapping him and preventing him from escaping.
"Mmm, nah," he drawled in a deep, purring tone. "Can't do that."
His gaze wandered across Ratchet, lingering on his exposed neck cables.
Ratchet’s own optics flicked down, suddenly realising just how close they were; their faces only inches apart, Wheeljack's servos pinning him in against the seat, their frames practically pressed together...
He felt his spark flutter again, and he silently cursed himself for it.
"You're ridiculous,” he mumbled, though the usual bite in his voice had all but vanished.
Wheeljack hummed again, tilting his helm to the side as he drank in the sight of the flushed medic below him. There was something incredibly alluring about seeing Ratchet so vulnerable, so exposed. The way his optics kept fluttering away, the subtle stutters in his engine, the way he had lost the edge in his tone...
It was wonderful.
He shifted even closer, closing the distance between their faces even more. His faceplate hovered just above Ratchet's neck cables, his voice a low, sultry purr when he spoke again.
"But you like it."
Ratchet's spark stuttered again at the sultry tone of Wheeljack's voice, the medic swallowing thickly. His servos trembled just slightly, his frame fighting the sudden urge to just pull the other closer.
But no. He couldn't give in. Not to Wheeljack. That cocky, insufferable, annoyingly charming glitch.
He refused to.
He let out an annoyed sigh, doing his best to sound as grumpy as possible.
“You're impossible," he muttered. But the lack of bite in his tone made the words sound almost... fond.
Wheeljack chuckled once more, thoroughly enjoying the way Ratchet was reacting—or rather, trying not to react. He could practically see the battle going on in Ratchet's processor, the stubborn and logical side and the side of him that clearly found Wheeljack reluctantly enjoyable to be around, fighting a battle.
And he intended on getting the funner side to win.
He shifted closer, their frames pressed flush together now, trapping the grumpy medic between him and the seat.
His dermas hovered just above the sensitive wiring in Ratchet's neck, hot vents lightly ghosting over the sensitive cables.
Without another word, he leaned just a little closer, closing the remaining gap and lightly nipped the medic's sensitive neck cables.
The reaction was immediate—Ratchet's frame tensed and his engines let out a low, stuttering hum, the sound almost sounding like a purr.
Wheeljack couldn't withhold a grin.
"Mmm, just as I thought," he murmured against the exposed cables.
His servos shifted from the seat to Ratchet's hips, gently caressing the edges.
"You do like it, Sunshine."
Ratchet's frame went tense, the nip combined with those words sent a sharp rush of electricity through his frame. He found himself desperately trying to regain his composure.
This is Wheeljack, he silently reminded himself, stubbornly trying to ignore the feeling of the other mech's servos on his hips.
His own servos gripped the edge of the seat, desperately grasping for control. He was not going to let Wheeljack win this.
“Shut up," he grumbled, his voice slightly strained.
Wheeljack couldn't help grinning even wider at the sound of Ratchet's voice. The strain in his tone, the way he tried desperately to remain in control... it was delicious.
He wanted more. He wanted to see the grumpy medic fall apart in front of him, to make him admit just how much he enjoyed his presence.
He leaned closer again, lightly nipping Ratchet’s neck cables once more, then purring out another sentence in a sultry tone.
"Mmm, you're adorable when you try to play hard to get."
Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “I am not—“
He was cut off by a sharp gasp from his own intake. His optics widened, his frame freezing up, tensing as he felt Wheeljack’s glossa against the sensitive cables.
He felt it drag up his neck again, and a shiver rippled through him. He couldn’t keep in the soft noise that left him, a servo coming up to the back of Wheeljack’s helm. It rested there, almost as if debating whether to push the other mech pff or pull him closer.
Wheeljack knew that sound. He had heard it before, in the quiet hours of the medbay when they were alone.
And now, he wanted to hear it again—louder this time.
He let out a pleased hum as he felt Ratchet's servo on his helm. Wheeljack smirked against his neck cables before dragging his glossa up them again, moving deliberately slow.
"You can't even lie right," he murmured between licks and nips at the exposed wiring beneath his dermas—each press of dentas calculated for a reaction from stubborn medic below him.
Ratchet's grip on Wheeljack's helm tightened, a noise akin to a whimper leaving him, though he would never admit it.
His frame was growing hotter at an alarming rate, and the rational side of his processor was starting to grow increasingly more panicked as they continued.
No, he repeated internally. Don't give in. Don't submit. Don't—
But then Wheeljack’s glossa found a particular sensitive wire, and Ratchet let out a strangled gasp.
"Frag, Wheeljack—“
His servo instinctively pulled the other mech closer, his legs parting to allow Wheeljack to stand between them.
Wheeljack let out a pleased, low growl as he heard the medic finally break. The way his grip tightened, the way his frame was practically burning up now—it was all so damn satisfying. He wanted to push Ratchet even further over that edge.
His servo slid from Ratchet's hip down to one of his legs. He gently spread them wider, nipping at another wire with sharp dentas.
"Say my name like that again,” he demanded in a deep murmur against the cables. His voice was rough and laced with something far more heated than mere teasing this time.
Ratchet could have been mistaken for overheating just by that tone alone. His faceplate already felt like it was on fire, his thoughts all a fuzzy mess. Ratchet was never the type to give in—he couldn't.
But oh, Primus, did he want to submit. The way Wheeljack growled at him, the way he held—no, dominated him, the way he commanded him so easily… it was all too much. He found himself unable to refuse.
His voice was quiet, a desperate, almost pleading edge to it.
"Wheeljack…"
The sound of Ratchet actually, finally breaking and saying his name like that sent a spike of satisfaction through Wheeljack's frame. It took all his willpower not to grab the medic and throw him down and take what he wanted right then and there for the way the stubborn mech looked right now.
But he was more patient than most people thought.
His servo slid up the inside of Ratchet's thigh, coming to rest against the inside of his pelvic plating.
Ratchet’s frame was absolutely burning up, and Wheeljack could feel it. His digits traced over the edges of his interface panel, teasing at the seams—not enough for it to open, but enough for Ratchet to know exactly what he was doing.
He pulled back from his neck cables, staring at Ratchet with an intense glint in his optics.
"You have no idea how hot you look like this," he purred, the words low and rough, practically dripping with lust.
Ratchet had never felt such an intense rush of heat before. His entire frame already felt like it was about to overheat, and Wheeljack was only making it worse. The way he touched him, the way he spoke—frag, what that voice did to him…
He was barely holding onto what sanity he had left, desperately clinging to any last remnants of his stubborn personality.
He managed to find his voice, but it was weak, raspy.
"Stop—teasing," he choked out. "Frag, just… just do it already…"
That did it.
At the sound of the medic's voice—the raw need and desperation in it—Wheeljack had officially had enough.
He couldn't take it a moment longer, not when Ratchet was practically begging him to do what he had been imagining for far too long now.
He pushed the medic down against the seat, looming over him as he grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his helm.
His faceplate hovered a single inch from Ratchet's, his expression a perfect mix of lust and smug satisfaction.
Ratchet's spark was racing as he found himself suddenly pinned beneath Wheeljack. The sight of him hovering over him like that, staring down at him like prey—it did things to him, and it made the burning inside him flare hotter. He felt heat pool in his frame, and his panel started to feel almost painfully tight.
He tugged at the wrists restrained in those strong servos, squirming slightly.
"Let—let me go," he panted out, though the way he spoke made it seem like he was only talking back for the sake of doing so.
Wheeljack chuckled, the sound deep and rough, his own frame growing hotter at how Ratchet was struggling beneath him. The way he squirmed, the way he tugged at the servos restraining his wrists, the way he panted for him—he loved every second of it.
And he could tell how much Ratchet craved his touch, how desperately he needed him, even if he refused to admit it.
He took a second to simply take in this moment, memorising the way Ratchet looked at that moment.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"No."
The response sent another wave of heat through Ratchet. His optics flickered over Wheeljack’s faceplate, his venting growing more ragged.
He squirmed against Wheeljack’s frame, both rubbing against the other mech and attempting to struggle against the hold—though his efforts were half-hearted at best.
His grip on Ratchet's wrists tightened, his thumb tracing along the inside of his wrist. He could practically feel how on edge the medic was, and it was driving him wild.
He knew how desperately Ratchet wanted to touch, to feel him, and the thought alone had him practically aching to give in to his own urges.
But he also knew the satisfaction that would come from giving Ratchet exactly what he so clearly needed—a reminder that he was the one holding all the control.
He leaned forward, a smirk on his faceplate.
“You need something, Sunshine?"
Ratchet bit the inside of his derma his frame growing even hotter under Wheeljack's intense gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing.
And the way he used that damn nickname every time—frag, the smugness in his voice was both infuriating and... incredibly attractive.
He tugged weakly at the wrists restrained in Wheeljack's servo, attempting a glare up at him.
"You know fully well what I need," he shot back, his voice already breathless.
A low, almost primal groan left Wheeljack at the sound of Ratchet's voice, his engine growling in response. The sound, the sight of the stubborn medic struggling but completely at his mercy...
Primus, it was driving him crazy.
He shifted their positions, spreading Ratchet's legs even more, and settling between them. He leaned down, his faceplate hovering directly above Ratchet's, their helms almost touching.
He took a few moments to savour this sight, his smirk wider than ever.
"Say please."
Ratchet’s processor was going into a frenzy. The way Wheeljack growled so low, the low purring coming from his engine, the sheer heat coming off of him— it was all so overwhelming.
And that final command, that had sent a jolt of heat straight through him.
Ratchet was stubborn by nature, and he prided himself on his control. But right now, with Wheeljack looming above him, his frame burning with desire, all he could manage was a desperate plea.
"Please…” he choked out.
That single word was all it took.
The sound of Ratchet pleading, the desperate edge to his voice, the need seeping through his tone—he couldn't take it anymore.
With a deep, hungry growl, he crashed his dermas against Ratchet's, the kiss rough and messy, and completely driven by raw need.
His servo slid up from the other’s interface panel, instead roaming across his frame. His touch was greedy and rough, wanting to touch and feel as much of the medic as possible.
Ratchet's intake made another desperate noise against Wheeljack's dermas, his frame arching up into the touch, the medic almost desperate for more.
He wanted, needed, more of Wheeljack's hands on him, more of him, period. Being pinned and completely at the other mech's mercy was making his frame burn even hotter, his interface panel feeling so damn tight.
He desperately returned the kiss, pushing back against Wheeljack with just as much fervour, his servos still straining weakly against the ones pinning them above his helm.
Wheeljack groaned into the kiss, his servos continuing to roam over Ratchet's frame, needing to touch and feel every inch of the medic. He felt the other mech straining against his grip, and the way his frame arched against his own was nearly driving him crazy.
The way he kissed back so desperately, the way he tried to touch Wheeljack despite being fully trapped in his power—frag, he loved every second of this. He couldn't get enough.
He pulled back briefly, panting, his voice rough, "I need you."
Primus, hearing those words...
Ratchet's breath hitched, his servos tugging at the ones restraining his wrists, still craving the touch. The way Wheeljack panted, his voice rough and heated, and the sheer need in his tone—it was driving him crazy.
He needed more, needed to feel him, touch him, have him.
He swallowed, his own voice low and raspy.
"Then frag me already, you bastard."
The sound of Ratchet speaking like that was more than enough to nearly break the last remnants of Wheeljack's restraint. The need in his voice, the way he squirmed and tugged at his grip, and that damn curse...
Primus, he wanted to do nothing more than to just take him right then and there, to make him come undone and scream his name.
And so that was exactly what Wheeljack intended to do.
"With pleasure."
Wheeljack wasted no time, pressing his dermas against Ratchet's again in a deep kiss as he worked one hand down to their interface panels. He didn’t bother with teasing—he just slid it open and pushed into him without warning.
The sound of Ratchet gasping, hissing and groaning in pain was music to Wheeljack's audials The combination of that and how tight and wet the other mech had almost sent him off the edge right there and then. He groaned at the sensation, already thrusting into him roughly—because he knew that was what this stubborn mech needed right now: no patience, no mercy.
Wheeljack gripped his wrists tighter so they couldn't move an inch whilst he was being utterly filled by him over and over again.
"Mmmh—That feel good?"
“Ahn, yes—“ Ratchet panted out, voice already strained and breathless. He was struggling to speak, visibly distracted by both the pain and pleasure jolting through him.
The feeling of being completely dominated, completely under Wheeljack's control—it was like nothing he had ever felt before. He was used to being the one calling the shots, the one in charge. But right now, he was at the complete mercy of the other mech—and he loved it.
He tried to move his wrists again, wanting to touch, to grab.
He let out a desperate noise, looking up at Wheeljack with half-lidded, hazy optics.
"Let… let me touch you,” he managed to gasp out, optical ridges furrowing slightly.
A low, possessive growl rumbled from Wheeljack as he stared down at Ratchet, relishing in how the medic was still struggling beneath him. Even while all spread out and completely filled by him, he was still stubborn as hell.
He leaned down, faceplate hovering above Ratchet's, his voice thick and ragged.
"What's the magic word, Sunshine?"
"Nnnghhh, please..”
Ratchet's voice was nothing but a whimper, desperate and needy, and the way he looked up at Wheeljack—frag, it was such a perfect combination. He was a complete mess, writhing and panting beneath him, desperate to be touched, and to touch Wheeljack.
"Please," he repeated, voice strained, his tone sounding almost like a whine. "Let me touch you—please.”
The pleading tone of Ratchet's voice made something deep within Wheeljack practically purr, the low rumblings from his engine already indicating the effect that hearing the other mech beg so desperately was having on him.
The sight was absolutely beautiful. The stubborn, grumpy, always-in-control medic under his mercy, begging to be touched. To touch him.
Primus, it was perfect.
At the repeat of that single request, he finally loosened the grip on Ratchet's wrists, pulling back slightly.
"Go on," he mumbled gruffly. "Touch me."
Almost immediately, Ratchet’s servos went to grasp Wheeljack. One grabbed at the other mech’s back plating, whilst the other held onto Wheeljack’s arm. They held on tightly, acting as a sort of purchase in the overwhelming sensations.
Ratchet’s helm rolled back against the chair, his optics shutting as he tried to adapt to the feeling of Wheeljack in him. It proved difficult, however, with the quick and precise thrusts from the other mech.
Wheeljack groaned, the feeling of Ratchet's servos holding onto him, as if the medic was trying to grip onto something, almost made him want to laugh. Of course Ratchet would even be grabbing at him for some kind of anchor, and Wheeljack loved it.
The feeling of him beneath him, the whimpers and gasps leaving him, and the sight of him throwing his helm back, exposing his neck cabling—it was all too perfect.
He leaned down, moving a few inches closer, and nuzzling against Ratchet's wiring.
"Mmmm, that good?”
"... Mhm.”
Ratchet's voice was breathless and shaky, his vents and his engine stuttering again as he felt the other mech nuzzling against his exposed neck cabling.
One of his servos slid up to the back of Wheeljack’s helm, as if wordlessly urging him closer.
The sensations were almost too much for the medic, and he found himself trying to move against Wheeljack again, desperate for more sensations. He felt so incredibly overwhelmed; his processor was racing, his engines were revved, and his fans were going on full blast.
But Ratchet, stubborn as ever, refused to give the other mech the satisfaction of hearing him moan.
… Yet, at least.
The fact Ratchet was still even attempting to fight it was both endearing and frustrating in equal measures. Wheeljack could feel him desperately trying to get even more friction against him, but stubbornly staying as quiet as possible.
Wheeljack loved the struggle. The medic was too prideful, too stubborn to give in and let the sounds escape his intake.
Well, damn it, Wheeljack was going to change that.
"C'mon, Sunshine. I wanna hear you," he murmured against the sensitive wiring, voice rough and heavy with need.
Ratchet stifled a moan, feeling those hot vents against his neck. His servos trembled just slightly, and his frame arched Wheeljack’s, pulling himself closer to the other mech.
He could feel Wheeljack shifting between him, the head of his spike now hitting a sensitive spot within him. His entire body jolted, but even then, he refused to make any noise louder than soft pants and quiet groans.
Wheeljack noticed the jolt, saw the way Ratchet's frame tensed up at that particular spot. He knew exactly where it was—and he knew just how to use it.
He shifted his hips slightly, angling himself so that with every thrust forward now, his spike would press right against that sweet little bundle of sensory nodes inside him.
Wheeljack hummed in satisfaction as he watched the reaction from below him—Ratchet, optics shut in bliss as one of his servos went back to grip the chair now, holding firmly onto the headrest, his frame forced back against the seat with each thrust.
The way Ratchet fought to keep himself quiet, to not make a single sound, was both admirable and annoying to Wheeljack at the same time. He wanted to see him break. He wanted to hear his voice, to hear him moan, to hear him scream.
He leaned down, faceplate right next to Ratchet's audials. "You gonna keep fighting it?”
The low, gruff tone of Wheeljack’s voice combined with the proximity to his audials sent a shudder through Ratchet’s entire frame. The words also had an effect on him, and a low whine almost escaped his intake.
He bit his derma, refusing to let it slip. He wasn't going to give Wheeljack the satisfaction of hearing the sound that he so obviously wanted. He may be desperate and needy, but Ratchet was just too stubborn to give in.
"Mff—mnh," was all he mumbled, trying to keep his noises restrained.
Wheeljack hummed at the response, not looking impressed in the slightest. Ratchet was so stubborn it drove him crazy. But he was gonna make him lose his composure, even if it would be the last thing he did.
He smirked, the sound of his engines low and heavy as he leaned just a little closer, the hot air on Ratchet's wiring only intensifying.
“You're stubborn, I'll give you that. But you're gonna break for me, Sunshine." His tone was a rough, dark purr.
Another soft whine almost escaped Ratchet's intake as he listened to that tone. It was doing all kinds of things to him, and not only that, but he was still trying to deny how good it was making him feel, and how much he was struggling to fight it.
Ratchet was still refusing to let anything but small whimpers and grunts through, and Wheeljack was both getting increasingly more turned on by the sounds, and annoyed by the fact he was still trying to be so silent.
Then, without warning, Wheeljack pulled out, leaving Ratchet’s valve clenching around nothing.
Ratchet’s optics focused back onto Wheeljack.
“Wh… what are you doing?”
Wheeljack smirked, watching the flicker in Ratchet's optics as he pulled out. The medic looked almost offended by the loss of his spike—like Wheeljack had just committed some kind of crime against him.
He leaned back slightly, tilting his helm as he studied the medic beneath him with a slow, teasing glint in his gaze.
"Trying something new.”
A pause for effect—then Wheeljack, servos holding Ratchet’s hips still, knelt down, his faceplate aligned with the other mech’s valve.
Ratchet’s optics suddenly went wide, realisation of what the other mech was about to do hitting him almost instantly. His servos gripped at the chair tightly, and a sudden, undignified squeak left his intake.
"You—you aren't— Wait—don't, I—“
He couldn't finish that sentence, however, as Wheeljack’s warm glossa suddenly made contact with his valve, shutting him up almost instantly.
Rather let out a startled whimper, servos almost digging into the armrests of the chair.
The sound of that squeak alone was worth it.
Wheeljack let out a rough, pleased chuckle against the medic's valve as he watched Ratchet's entire frame tense up in shock—his servos gripping the chair hard enough to leave dents, his optics wide and sparking with disbelief.
He dragged his glossa over his hot valve again, moving deliberately slow, before looking up at him from between his legs with a smug smirk.
"Relax," Wheeljack rumbled darkly, “I’m gonna make you feel real good."
He didn't give him another second to protest—he just dove back in properly this time.
It wasn't exactly hard to get Ratchet to react.
Wheeljack was an expert with his glossa; he could be gentle when he wanted to be, or he could be downright ruthless when the mood called for it. He knew exactly how and where to press and swirl and brush his glossa, just how to add the right amount of pressure.
He knew how to play Ratchet’s body like some kind of instrument—and he was pretty damn good at it, if the reaction he was currently getting out of Ratchet was anything to go by.
Ratchet’s venting was erratic and heavy, helm tilted back and legs parting even more to allow more access to his valve. His servos held onto Wheeljack’s helm, practically pressing the other mech’s faceplate into the junction between his legs. His intake was open, soft moans and pleas slipping out before he could stop them.
“Nhgm, Wheeljack…” he panted out, voice breathy and barely more than a murmur.
Wheeljack groaned against him at the sound of Ratchet's plea, his glossa pushing in even deeper as he pressed hot vents right into his valve. The way he held onto Wheeljack’s helm like a lifeline only spurred him on.
He dragged one servo up to grip Ratchet’s thigh, spreading it wider while keeping pressure on the inside of it with rough digits, just to make sure the stubborn mech didn't get any ideas about clenching around him.
"Y’sound so pretty for me," Wheeljack rumbled between licks and sucks.
His free servo went up, positioning two digits against Ratchet’s entrance. Slowly, he massaged the sensitive plating around his valve, taking in the quiet whines he received.
Wheeljack’s audials caught a tiny, sharp gasp from Ratchet—and he moved.
In one rough motion, he pressed his two digits deep into his valve while his glossa curled up against the inner wall. His servo on Ratchet's thigh tightened in warning as he felt him twitch around him.
"Mmmh—frag, you feel good," Wheeljack growled against his frame before sucking hard on a particularly sensitive node near the rim of his valve.
He didn't let up for a second, thrusting those digits relentlessly while keeping pressure with his glossa he knew would drive Ratchet completely insane.
"Hhn—ah, f-frag— Wheeljack, I—“
Ratchet's back arched again, servos tightening around Wheeljack’s helm once again to keep himself grounded. He didn't want to overload just yet, but if Wheeljack kept up this relentless pace, he didn't think he could hold on for much longer.
His frame writhed against both the seat and Wheeljack’s faceplate, his valve involuntarily clenching around the other mech’s glossa and digits.
The feeling of Ratchet clenching around his digits sent a ripple of pleasure right through Wheeljack, making him let out a deep moan against him. His optics flickered, optics narrowing in both desire and determination. He knew exactly how to get Ratchet to overload on his glossa and digits, and he wasn't going to stop until he did.
He pulled his helm back slightly.
"Look at you," he growled. "So desperate for my attention. It's cute."
His digits twisted crudely, rubbing against the spot he knew would send Ratchet spiralling.
"C’mon, Doc. I wanna taste you.”
The way Wheeljack’s voice was low, rough, and teasing almost pushed Ratchet over the edge alone. The way he pulled away just to give that comment, the way his digits were moving so quickly inside him— it was taking everything he had to keep some kind of control.
Ratchet panted heavily, his servos tightening on Wheeljack’s helm in warning.
"I— I am not cute," he panted, gritting his dentas to hold back a whimper.
"Yeah. You are," Wheeljack chuckled in response, licking his dermas as his thumb moved to rub against a particularly sensitive node near his valve. "All desperate and needy, clenching against me, whining like some kind of over-excited sparkling… you're so damn cute like this."
He curled his digits once more, moving them quicker, rougher now.
"Come on. You know you're going to overload for me in a moment."
He sucked hard on a node.
“Just... give in, Doc.”
Ratchet's frame tensed up as the other mech kept stimulating him. His vents stuttered, his helm tilting back, a strangled gasp leaving him.
Primus, everything was getting to be too much for him. He could hardly even think straight, and all he wanted was more from Wheeljack.
"Wheeljack," he choked out, "I'm— I'm going to—"
He was so close. So, so close. He was so—
Just then, Wheeljack suddenly pulled back. Again.
Ratchet couldn’t keep in the indignant cry that left him. It was loud, desperate.
"Aww, did you really think I was gonna let you overload?" Wheeljack teased.
He licked his digits, watching the absolutely delicious sight of Ratchet beneath him. The way he was whining for more, the way he was practically begging for release, it was all so perfect.
He chuckled, his smirk widening in both triumph and lust, "Oh, I'm not done with you yet."
He suddenly grabbed Ratchet's hips, and yanked him towards the edge of the chair.
He grabbed the medic's legs, spreading them wider for a better view.
Primus, Ratchet looked absolutely perfect like this. Completely out of his element, moaning, whining, desperate.
Wheeljack was loving every second of it, drinking the sight in like a mech starved.
"Look at you, spread out for me."
His servos ran up the medic's thighs, gripping them tightly.
“I think I'm gonna keep you like this for a while.”
Ratchet had never been the most patient of mechs on a good day, and this was definitely not a good day.
He couldn't take it anymore. The teasing, the denial, how slow Wheeljack was being. It was getting difficult to keep that stubborn, stoic attitude when he just wanted to be taken.
“Wheeljack—" he gasped out, a whine lacing with the tone of his voice. "I swear to— Primus, just, I need, please—"
He was begging at this point. All the teasing and edging had brought him to an all-time low.
The sound of Ratchet begging was something that Wheeljack wasn't going to get tired of anytime soon.
The stubborn medic, reduced to a whining and desperate mess, whining and begging him. It was perfect.
He purred, a smirk on his faceplate. "What was that, Doc? Couldn't hear you..."
He ran his servos up Ratchet’s thighs again, teasing the sensitive plating again. He moved up, standing between the other mech’s legs once more. His faceplate was right next to Ratchet’s audial.
"You're gonna have to speak up."
Ratchet gave a strangled noise from his intake in response to Wheeljack moving closer. His servos griped the chair to keep himself grounded.
Primus, Wheeljack was going to be the death of him.
The tone of Wheeljack's voice in his audials didn't help at all, his already-desperate frame twitching involuntarily.
He leaned his helm up to speak, voice still breathy and slightly shaking, "I… I said, I need you… Now."
Another groan left Wheeljack as he heard Ratchet speak. The desperate tone, the way his voice was slightly shaky, the clear hint of need in it.
This stubborn little medic was so beautiful like this. Begging him for more, pleading for more.
His servos kept running up and down Ratchet's thighs as he leaned closer, the tip of his spike brushing against his valve again as he spoke against Ratchet's neck.
"Hmm… I don't know. I'm not feeling convinced yet..."
In one rough motion, Ratchet's servos shot up and gripped the front of Wheeljack’s chassis. He pulled the other mech down, until their faceplates were nearly touching.
His optics were half-lidded, staring up at Wheeljack with both need and frustration. His voice echoed the look, coming out as a foreign whine.
“Do you know how badly I need you right now?” His words were breathless. “How badly I need you to—" His servos clutched at Wheeljack tighter— “frag me?”
Oh, Primus.
That sound, the way his servos clutched him, the way he was staring up at him like he was the only mech on the planet—it all sent a ripple of excitement through his frame.
That was it. All remaining restraint he may have had left suddenly went out the window with those words.
In a low, rough tone, he growled.
“Hold on, Doc."
Ratchet's frame jolted as Wheeljack sheathed himself in one brutal thrust. A sharp cry left his intake.
The sudden stretch, the overwhelming fullness—it was too much and not enough at the same time. His servos scrambled for purchase on Wheeljack’s back plating, digits dragging down as he struggled to process the sensations.
"Oh, my—“ Ratchet gasped out between stuttered vents—his entire frame burning hotter with every passing second of being speared open like this.
He had never been so embarrassingly vocal before in his life. But in this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was far beyond that now, his processor entirely focused on how close he was to overloading.
Wheeljack groaned, the sound rough and primal as he watched Ratchet fall apart beneath him.
The medic was a complete mess—his frame shuddering with every thrust Wheeljack gave him, his servos dragging down his back plating like he was clinging for dear life. The sounds leaving his intake were downright sinful—high-pitched whines and choked-off moans that sent heat straight to Wheeljack’s spark.
"Frag," Wheeljack growled between pants. "You feel so good.”
He braced one servo on the chair beside them whilst keeping the other firmly on Ratchet's hip to keep up the brutal pace.
Ratchet could barely even form a coherent thought at this point, much less speak. His optics had flickered shut, leaving him relying fully on his audals to listen to the sounds around him—the sound of their frames against each others, the murmured praises from Wheeljack, and the cries from his own intake.
His fans were working on overtime, the air in the room practically stifling from how hot it had become. He was gripping whatever he could just to ground himself, but he was quickly losing what little hold he had still had on his processor.
He had fully lost control by now, noises he couldn’t even imagine himself making leaving his own dermas.
Wheeljack was getting more relentless with each passing second. He was addicted to seeing Ratchet like this—writhing beneath him, a whining mess.
His thrusts became even more brutal, his grip tightening on the medic's hip as he watched his frame jolt and shake beneath him. The way he clenched around Wheeljack, how desperate and loud he got with every snap of their hips together—it drove Wheeljack completely insane.
"Yeah?" His voice came out in a ragged growl as he leaned down to nip at Ratchet's neck cabling with sharp dentas. "You like that? Like me fragging you stupid?"
He punctuated each word with another rough thrust into his valve.
If Ratchet had been able to think straight, he might have felt embarrassed about the sounds leaving his intake. As it was, he was so far beyond that now.
His voice was practically a whine. "Primus, yesss…"
He tried to reach out and touch Wheeljack, but all he managed was a weak attempt at gripping at his shoulders, leaving barely-there dents in the metal.
The sight of Ratchet attempting and failing to cling to him sent another wave of heat through Wheeljack's frame.
He could practically feel how close the medic was, his frame already trembling and shaking with the effort of holding back.
He leaned in closer, faceplate once again right next to Ratchet's audials.
“That's it," he growled. "Let go. I got you, Sunshine."
Ratchet's frame arched against Wheeljack’s, his back leaving the seat as he let out something between a cry and a shout. His servos held on so tightly onto Wheeljack it almost hurt.
He came hard, clenching around Wheeljack with every wave that washed over his frame. His fans whined, and coolant began to form at the corners of his optics.
He could feel himself slipping away from his senses, his processor going blank as he felt his overload wash over him.
The sight of Ratchet falling apart beneath him was too much for Wheeljack. He was completely consumed, his frame burning hot, and he almost felt like he was on the verge of overheating.
He came harder than he thought was possible, his entire frame tensing up as he groaned lowly into Ratchet's neck cabling.
He slowly pulled out with a sigh, then collapsed forward onto Ratchet, his servos now resting on either side of the chair. He buried his faceplate into Ratchet's neck, letting out a low, ragged vent.
His servos ran over the medic's frame, wanting to map out every inch of the bot's frame, and he leaned in, placing a soft kiss on the Medic's forehelm.
"That was good," he purred lowly. "You did so well for me, babe."
After a few, long moments of silence, Ratchet finally spoke, his voice coming out hoarse and ragged.
"Don't get used to it," he grumbled in reply. He tried to sound grumpy, but he just sounded completely wrecked.
Despite himself, Ratchet couldn't help how his frame leaned into the touch from Wheeljack's servos. He hated to admit that he enjoyed the gentle caresses on his frame, and the way Wheeljack pressed a kiss against his forehelm.
Wheeljack couldn't help the laugh that left his dermas at Ratchet's attempt at being grumpy. The medic was, in no way, able to pull off a convincing act of being grumpy when his voice was still so hoarse and his frame was trembling ever so slightly.
He continued to brush his servos up and down Ratchet's frame, tracing over the dents and scratches he had left.
The sight of the stubborn, cranky medic so worn and wrecked was almost too good—and it made a part of Wheeljack preen in delight.
"Sure, Doc. Whatever you say."
Ratchet made a half-groan, half-whine at the other mech's response.
He attempted to push Wheeljack off him, trying to at least regain a bit of his composure. But he was still completely out of it, the after effects of his overload still coursing through his frame.
“I mean it," he mumbled.
Despite his words, he still leaned into the touch from Wheeljack's servos, frame still trembling faintly.
Wheeljack ignored Ratchet's feeble attempts to push him off, continuing to brush his servos over his frame, taking in the sight of the medic.
Primus, the mech was a mess. He looked absolutely perfect, and Wheeljack revelled in being the cause of it.
He hummed, watching Ratchet's failed attempts with quiet amusement, a smirk on his faceplate.
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say."
He lifted himself up slightly to kiss Ratchet's forehelm again. Then his cheek, then his neck cabling.
He smiled to himself.
He had all the time in the world to make Ratchet crumble underneath him, and as many times as he wanted.