Work Text:
Optimus had informed the autobots that there was going to be a meeting that afternoon, which was nothing out of the ordinary—they often held debriefings a couple of times a week, mostly to communicate any problems uncovered while out on patrol or to brainstorm solutions for issues that had arisen around the base. Ratchet was preparing himself for another mandatory hour of time-wasting spearheaded by Optimus.
The Prime insisted that meetings like these helped to boost morale and keep everyone alert, but Ratchet disagreed strongly . For example, their last meeting had been hijacked by Miko, who was adamant that they should all be putting more effort towards ‘cool explosions’ during decepticon confrontations.
Despite obviously having better things to do, the medic went along with these pointless assemblies for the sake of his Conjunx Endura.
Ratchet was currently standing in front of the console adjacent to the ground bridge, tapping at the keys and hoping to get some work done despite the bots beginning to congregate in the main room.
“Ratchet?” Optimus called to him. “Aren’t you joining us?”
The mech wasn’t extremely far away, but still notably disconnected from the rest of the group.
“I’m right here. I’ll still be able to hear you, so go ahead and start the debriefing. I’m just finishing up some work,” Ratchet replied, in no way eager to join them. “It’s not like I’ll be missing much, anyway…” He muttered, continuing to type away.
Optimus looked like he wanted to argue but resigned to begin the meeting.
“Well, then—Bumblebee, what do you have to report?”
Ratchet could hear Bumblebee chittering away, something about street racing, when he finally tuned out and focussed fully on the task before him.
This is a complete waste of time, he thought. Anything of importance wouldn’t have been left unspoken until a meeting. These gatherings are utterly useless.
Ratchet abruptly began to feel a tingling of static in the back of his processor, trying to shrug it off the best he could.
:I miss the way you quiver above me when you overload,: came Optimus’s voice suddenly.
Ratchet jumped and whipped his head around, taking a few kliks to realise that the words had been spoken over his and Optimus’s private commlink.
Optimus appeared to be nodding thoughtfully at something Arcee had said, offering a reply before handing the conversation back over to the femme.
Ratchet grumbled to himself and turned back to the console, shaking his head to clear it.
:Don’t you miss it, too? The feeling of my intake around your spike, swallowing it down until I’m almost choking…:
This time Ratchet’s cooling fans clicked on preemptively at the comment, but he had half the mind to shut them back off before anybody could notice. He could feel his frame becoming stuffy with the trapped heat and tried to discreetly ruffle the plates of his armour to dispel the charge that had begun to settle.
:Or maybe my valve? It has been feeling so neglected lately, without a thick spike like yours to fill it up; my hands simply aren’t the same.:
Ratchet couldn’t help but picture Optimus splayed out on his own berth, legs spread, valve dripping with arousal as he pumped three digits in and out of it and mewled pathetically for his Conjunx. Just the thought of Optimus’s tight, wet heat stretching to accommodate his desperate movements made a charge of pleasure shoot directly to Ratchet’s interfacing panel.
The medic suddenly felt inexplicably hot with embarrassment despite the fact that nobody else could hear what Optimus was saying, or what he was thinking, and would have surely felt completely scandalised if any of the children were present—thankfully, they were all at school today. Not that this fact mitigated any of his embarrassment, mind you.
:I can’t stop thinking about you crowding me against your workbench, bending me over, fragging me until I overload and make a mess of myself...:
Ratchet hadn’t noticed how weak his knees had gotten until he all but stumbled over nothing, half-falling to the ground before steadying himself on the console with an obnoxious scraping of metal.
It was too late though, the loud noise had already alerted the entire group to his movements and they all turned to look at him.
“Ratchet, old friend, are you quite alright?” Optimus asked innocently.
:Don’t you ‘old friend’ me, Prime,: Ratchet snapped over their commlink. He could hardly process what was happening, this was very unlike Optimus. It took Ratchet a few nanocycles to realise that the rest of the team was waiting for some sort of response.
“Fine. Just slipped, that's all.” Everyone shared a look, Arcee appearing the most suspicious of the lie, but they all turned back to what they were doing regardless.
“Right… Anyway, as I was saying,” Bulkhead continued after a moment.
Ratchet exvented, somewhere between frustrated and aroused, painfully aware of the fluid that was dripping through the seams of his valve and onto the modesty panel of his interface array.
He spared a glance at Optimus and the mech seemed absolutely unphased by all of this. If anything, Optimus appeared to be the pinnacle of cool, calm, and collected, explaining a new patrol route to the group so nonchalantly that it almost made Ratchet angry.
“Scrap,” Ratchet cursed quietly, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to recompose himself. This was mortifying. He felt like he couldn’t move an inch without unintentionally stimulating himself, his spike housing so taut that he supposed it might burst.
:I need your glossa on my valve, on my spike—you know all of the most perfect ways to tease me into overload.:
“Shut up,” Ratchet bit out, not realising he’d said it aloud until Bumblebee beeped at him.
“Yeah, Bee’s right—what’s gotten into you, Ratchet?” Arcee sounded annoyed.
“Nothing, I-I just—I’ve got better things to do right now!” He barked. It took Ratchet’s processors a moment to communicate with his frame through the desire clouding his drivers, but eventually he began to move past the group and towards an exit.
“Ratchet, please, I must implore you to stay. We mustn’t take assemblies like this for granted,” Optimus said, and Ratchet almost swore.
“Would you mind sharing with us what is so important that you must attend to it immediately?”
Ratchet bristled. His mind went blank and he sputtered for a moment under the watchful eyes of his team, glimpsing the small restrained smile that had slipped onto Optimus’s face.
:You think you’re so funny, don’t you?: He snapped, but the Prime didn’t offer a response other than his continued smirk.
Ratchet suppressed a shudder, ignoring the way his systems beeped and alerted him that he should be better regulating the temperature of his frame. Instead he grumbled and crossed his arms over his chassis in defeat.
“Thank you,” Optimus nodded appreciatively. “We should be finishing up soon, then you can return to whatever seems to be distracting you so earnestly.”
Ratchet bit down on his glossa, stopping himself from blurting out something unsavoury around the other autobots.
“Now that you’re here , would you mind sharing with us the report from your last patrol?” Optimus asked sweetly.
Ratchet didn’t need more than a nanoklik to realise he wouldn’t be able to recall that report even if his life depended on it. His processors were teeming with lust, and rather explicit images of his Conjunx Endura, and anything unrelated seemed to be pushed to an irretrievable corner at the back of his mind.
He scraped his mainframe in an attempt to uphold a single semblance of professionalism but was unable to remember even what day he’d been rostered on patrol. Scrap, he was a wreck .
“W-Well, everything was fine. If it wasn’t, I’d have let you know right away,” Ratchet finally replied. Optimus hummed, a deep rumbling sound in his chassis that Ratchet had to fight his circuits not to keen at.
“That's all?” Bulkhead sounded confused. Ratchet felt like his spark might explode.
“Yes, that’s all! ” He retorted. “I’m not sure what all of you get up to on patrol, but I do my job, and I do it well!“
“Bumblebee said that you guys ran into trouble with some ‘cons the other day,” Bulkhead pointed out quietly.
“I-I mean, it wasn’t an issue, really—and I’m certain I’d already informed Optimus of the situation, so I felt no obligation to bring it up now!” Ratchet floundered.
“You seem distracted, Ratchet,” Optimus started slowly.
“Of course , I am!” the medic exclaimed, huffing and puffing a few times while he recalled the situation he was currently in. “I-I mean—I told you all that I have work to do, so obviously I can’t help but dwell on the thought.”
Bumblebee chirped something along the lines of “Can we go now? I don’t think Ratchet is going to contribute anything else to the meeting, ” and Arcee and Bulkhead quietly agreed.
Optimus dismissed everyone and Ratchet wasn’t sure if he wanted to flee in embarrassment or kill the Prime where he stood.
Once the other autobots had left the room Optimus slinked closer to Ratchet, wrapping his arms around the smaller mech’s waist.
“Something wrong, sweetspark?” He teased, and Ratchet grabbed a hold of Optimus’s servos to prevent them from wandering.
“By the Allspark , Optimus—what were you thinking , doing something like that?” Ratchet gritted out.
“I think you’re more aware than anybot about exactly what I was thinking.”
At that Ratchet’s head began to spin from how long he’d been aroused for, the sensation bordering on painful if he didn’t get some relief soon. Despite this, it didn’t go unnoticed when Optimus had begun to slide his hands behind the medic.
“If you even think about touching my aft after all that nonsense, I will personally see to it that you never overload ever again,” Ratchet all but growled. The Prime’s hands stilled at the threat but Optimus still appeared to be rather happy with himself.
“You are going to fix the mess you made, you hear me?” Ratchet snapped, removing a servo from Optimus’s so that he could point accusingly up at the mech.
Optimus grabbed Ratchet’s hand and placed a gentle kiss against his palm, and Ratchet couldn’t help the full-body shiver of pleasure that rocked his frame.
“That was my plan all along, dearest.”
Ratchet had to fight with his higher processors to retain a single ounce of anger. It was so terribly hard to stay upset with his Conjunx when Optimus looked at him like that.
Then Ratchet was suddenly overcome with another wave of desire, grabbing hold of one of Optimus’s windshields and using it to yank the taller mech down so that he could smash their intakes together. Optimus let out a noise of alarm that came out as a strangled groan before melting completely into his lover’s embrace, allowing Ratchet to handle and position him however he pleased.
The medic had pushed the Prime back until he was pressed up against something solid and began palming at Optimus’s interface panel, tracing the seams with his digits. Then Ratchet pulled away from the kiss and Optimus staggered forward slightly, trying to chase the loss.
“Looks like you weren’t as unaffected as you made yourself out to be,” Ratchet’s voice was rough, and he took a moment to reboot the drivers in his vocal synthesiser while he lifted his servo from between their frames. He was swirling lubricant between the pads of his digits and Optimus felt his systems flare with heated embarrassment—his valve was so wet that he was practically leaking through his panels.
Optimus buried his face in the crook of Ratchet’s neck. “Can we move this to one of our berths? Please ?” He had to use every ounce of restraint in him to not whine.
It’s not like any of the other autobots were present at the base; after being dismissed, Bumblebee and Bulkhead had decided to start their patrol early while Arcee had ‘gone for a drive’. Really, they were all trying to avoid Ratchet, wary that he was in one of his famously foul moods after how he’d behaved in the debriefing. Little did they know the full extent and origins of this particular ‘mood’.
And while Optimus knew that the base was otherwise empty, even if only distantly in the back of his foggy processors, he preferred the comfort and sacred intimacy that was so heavily associated with interfacing on a berth. Though, he also knew that Ratchet would worship him wherever they interfaced, and if the medic so wished then Optimus was prepared to drop to the floor where he stood and get spiked into oblivion.
Ratchet started to delicately kiss along one of the Prime’s tall finials, drawing Optimus out of his thoughts as he let out a low rumbling moan at the sensation.
“Mmh,” Ratchet hummed, and Optimus wasn’t quite sure if the medic was acknowledging what he’d said or not. “Fine.”
Ratchet pulled away all at once and Optimus heard himself whimper quietly as a result. But before he could process what was happening, Ratchet had begun dragging him hurriedly by the servo towards where their private quarters were located. Optimus was so out of sorts, he didn't even realise that they were in his berthroom until he found himself lying back on the familiarly large berth.
Optimus instinctually spread his legs and his interface panel slid open at the first sign of secluded privacy. Ratchet tutted.
“If you genuinely think that I’m going to frag you after all of that, you’re seriously glitched in the head,” he chided.
Optimus’s expression became almost pleading, staring up at the mech with wide optics and his finials flicked back in submission.
Ratchet let out a shaky exvent at the sight. “Maybe, just maybe , I’ll frag you if you can make it up to me,” he said, and Optimus had already perked up. “First we’ll see how good of a job you can do.”
Then Ratchet’s own interface panel slid away and his spike pressurised near immediately, making him shudder at the pleasant release in tension.
“Come on, sweetspark,” Ratchet husked, noting the Prime’s hungry expression. “I think I distinctly remember something about ‘swallowing down until you’re choking’ .”
Optimus gulped away his apprehension but didn’t think for even a moment to regret having said those words. Instead, he moved so that now he was kneeling on the edge of the berth, his legs spread slightly so that it was easier to line up his intake with Ratchet’s spike.
“Good mech,” Ratchet purred, stroking the side of Optimus’s helm affectionately.
Primus , Optimus could already feel himself dripping onto the berth below.
“You look so pretty, like this… maybe I’ll just keep you here forever,” Ratchet said.
Optimus took this opportunity to reach forward and flick his glossa along the tip of Ratchet’s spike, making the medic squirm slightly. Then Optimus gently wrapped his servos around Ratchet’s hips, easing him forward and into his awaiting intake.
That was when Ratchet gripped Optimus’s helm and slammed him forward suddenly, stuffing the rest of his length down the Prime’s throat. Optimus gurgled out a noise around Ratchet’s spike as his optics stung with solvent.
“Much better,” Ratchet beamed, playing with Optimus’s audial flares to relieve some of the discomfort he’d caused. “Is it everything you’d ever hoped for? Choking on my spike like the good little mech that you are?”
Optimus groaned, the vibrations making Ratchet shudder again, but couldn’t find it in his spark to be upset at his lover.
“Now, do you want me to frag you, or not?” Ratchet said, swaying his hips suggestively.
Optimus had recovered enough to catch onto what his Conjunx meant, slowly sliding halfway off of his spike before diving back down again in one swift motion, reclaiming the length he’d lost.
Ratchet relaxed his servos to cup Optimus’s faceplate while the mech continued to bob up and down.
“You’re acting like you’ve never sucked my spike before,” Ratchet whined, though his voice was still hoarse with arousal. The Prime was setting far too slow of a pace after all of that teasing he’d done.
Ratchet bucked his hips in a needy manner before continuing. “Or—Maybe you don’t want me to frag you as much as I thought you did,”
At that Optimus dug the tips of his digits into his lover’s hips, laving his glossa along the underside of Ratchet’s spike and using the tip of it to trace every detail that he’d already committed to memory. Then he slid off of Ratchet slightly, deciding to pay more careful attention to the head of his spike, moving one servo to grasp the rest of the length and continuing to pump it.
“That’s more like it,” Ratchet praised, and it seemed like he wanted to say more but was cut off by the sound of his own moaning. So, instead, he stammered out a string of syllables that could hardly be defined as speech.
Optimus dipped his glossa into the slit of Ratchet’s spike, savouring the taste of his Conjunx’s pleasure, squeezing with his servo to coax out more prefluid.
“ Scrap ,” Ratchet breathed, tipping his helm back as he soaked in the sheer rapture of the moment. “I almost forgot how adept you are with that glossa of yours.”
Optimus hummed, making Ratchet jolt, before pulling off of his spike with a wet pop .
“Are you going to overload down my intake?” Optimus asked, flitting his glossa in and out of Ratchet’s tip while he waited for a response. The medic knew that his words were supposed to be an encouragement more than anything.
“I’ll overload wherever I damn please,” Ratchet growled, but the sentence ended more with a whimper due to the Prime’s continued ministrations. “You’re hardly in any position to be making requests.”
Truthfully, Optimus’s throat is exactly where Ratchet was planning to overload, but like pit was he going to tell him that.
“Speaking of which, I don’t remember telling you to stop ,” Ratchet scolded, and Optimus quickly lapped the head of his spike back into his intake.
“You’re lucky I entertain your shenanigans,” Ratchet groaned.
Optimus resumed licking and sucking over Ratchet’s spike, stroking the base with one servo while the other trailed its way from the medic’s waist to his interface array. Ratchet’s thighs were soaked with his own arousal and Optimus was easily able to glide one digit through the lips of his valve.
Ratchet wasn’t really a valve-mech, not in any sense of the term, and much preferred to be the one spiking his partner, but the Prime knew that his Conjunx still enjoyed when he paid some regard to it every now and again.
Optimus dragged his thumb along the length of Ratchet’s valve to gather more lubricant before gently circling his anterior node, making the bot above him whine miserably.
“ Frag ,” Ratchet gasped. “I’m not going to last much longer, if you keep that up…”
This only served to embolden Optimus, who flattened his glossa against the spike in his intake before he began to take it deeper again. He still kept one servo wrapped around the base of Ratchet’s spike, speeding up both his bobbing and his jerking, while his other servo continued to paw eagerly at the wetness of Ratchet’s valve and anterior node.
These actions in tandem were becoming too much for Ratchet, and for a moment he feared that he would hit the point of overstimulation before he could climax, the charge in his frame coiling up so tight he thought he might short-circuit. But not another moment had passed before Ratchet finally overloaded with a loud cry, holding Optimus’s helm flush to his interface array while his spike emptied its reserves down the mech’s intake.
Optimus gulped down the transfluid as it hit the back of his throat, the liquid quickly filling up his mouth cavity despite how feverishly he seemed to be swallowing it. Before long there was transfluid seeping out from around Ratchet’s spike, dribbling down Optimus’s faceplate and collecting in a small pool on the berth.
“Primus,” Ratchet keened softly, shivering as his systems slowly recalibrated themselves after the intense overload.
Optimus slowly removed his dermas from around Ratchet’s spike and licked the appendage clean as he went.
He now sat in front of the medic in a puddle of his own lubricant, his face still dripping transfluid when Ratchet realised that Optimus had also overloaded at some point; the evidence staining his midsection and still leaking from his twitching spike.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Ratchet managed to bark through the bliss in his circuits. The embarrassed look he received held all the information he needed, but Optimus spoke anyway.
“N-No, it’s… I-I just… you look so beautiful when you overload, I simply couldn’t help it…”
Optimus had overloaded completely untouched, entirely enthralled enough with Ratchet’s pleasure to climax all on his own. He turned his head away guiltily, lapping at the transfluid still covering his faceplate and wiping off the excess with the back of his servo.
Ratchet had nearly fully repressurised just from the Prime’s confession, feeling a zip of charge spiral through him at the thought of Optimus getting off from his partner’s gratification alone.
“You’re such a naughty little prime,” Ratchet breathed. “What ever am I going to do with you?”
Optimus had moved his servos to grip at his own thighs, closing his optics and sitting back with a contorted look of arousal on his faceplate.
“And you still want more ,” Ratchet grinned. He put a servo on Optimus’s chassis and slowly guided him to lay back on the berth, until Ratchet was slotted between the Prime’s legs.
“You did so well, I suppose I can do you the favour of cleaning up the mess you made…” Ratched hovered over Optimus’s midplating and gently slid his glossa over the metal, licking up every drop of transfluid that had been splattered there.
Optimus moaned, staring down at Ratchet with half-shuttered optics as the medic slowly made his way lower. Ratchet moved to lave his glossa over Optimus’s inner thigh, savouring the combined mix of transfluid and lubricant that had settled there and humming to himself.
Optimus mewled whorishly, his unattended interface array all but aching despite having overloaded once already.
“Please, Ratchet,” he begged quietly.
“It would do you well to learn some patience, love.” Ratchet stroked his glossa along the precipice of Optimus’s valve, just barely touching the outer lips of it, and could feel the Prime wriggle as his port cycled down needily on empty space.
“ Please ,” Optimus whined again.
Ratchet sat up suddenly and leaned forward, putting his servo over Optimus’s intake to shut him up.
“Did you listen to a word I just said?” He asked irritably. Ratchet’s question was returned by the feeling of Optimus sliding his glossa up against his palm. The medic tried his best to stay stoic despite the renewed arousal that washed over him.
“Fine, then, I’ll give you something to do while you wait.” Ratchet uncovered Optimus’s faceplate before prodding at his dermas with two digits. Optimus warily opened his intake and let Ratchet intrude further, running his glossa along his fingers.
Ratchet trembled slightly at the feeling of it, the way that Optimus knew he would, because his servos were particularly sensitive; this was due to him being a medical bot, of course, and his Conjunx often took advantage of that fact.
Optimus had even begun sucking lightly on the digits in his intake, and Ratchet surrendered himself to the pleasure for a klik. Optimus used this distraction to reach down between them and grab hold of Ratchet’s spike again, but the medic snapped back to his senses and ripped the hand away.
“Keep your servos to yourself,” Ratchet muttered, and then added much more affectionately, “The next time I overload will be deep in your valve. And if you want that to happen soon, you’ll do exactly as I say.”
Optimus arched up into his partner at the promise, grinding his interface array against Ratchet’s and moaning desperately around his digits.
Ratchet immediately used his free servo to slam Optimus’s hips back into the birth, the abrupt sound echoing around the room slightly.
“Watch it,” he grunted. “I think you underestimate just how long I can drag this out for.”
Ratchet felt Optimus’s spike twitch against him at the admonishment but chose to ignore it, for he had other plans in mind.
“Keep licking.”
Optimus promptly continued teasing Ratchet’s fingers while Ratchet began to knead the metal around the Prime’s waist, slipping the tips of his digits between transformation seams to caress the protoform beneath. Every now and again he would skim over a wire or a sensitive bundle of cabling, making Optimus keen below him, and Ratchet took satisfaction in knowing that this wasn’t even the main attraction.
He relished the intermittent panting from Optimus as the mech desperately tried to compose his systems; the loud whirring of his cooling fans betraying just how much he was overheating.
Then Ratchet leaned down to nibble at his Conjunx’s throat, teasing an energon line between his denta when Optimus’s engine revved suddenly.
The action was completely involuntary, Ratchet realised, if only by the way Optimus moved one servo to obscure his optics from view.
“It’s alright to be excited,” Ratchet couldn’t help but purr. “It’s been so long since I’ve fragged you last, hasn’t it?”
Optimus groaned in agreement, feeling Ratchet tenderly lick at the cables on his neck. Then the medic began to withdraw his digits from Optimus’s intake, a line of oral lubricant dribbling between them as they parted.
Ratchet continued to nip at the exposed neck in front of him, Optimus’s moans more audible now that his intake was clear, the Prime even turning his helm away to offer his CMO more room to explore.
Meanwhile, Ratchet’s lubricated servo drifted down Optimus’s frame until it hovered just above his port. Ratchet slid his digits against the valve, teasing it, circling the first outer ring of callipers but not quite pressing hard enough to penetrate.
“Be quiet for me, won’t you?” Ratchet murmured as Optimus writhed below him. “Can you be a good little Prime and do that for me?”
Optimus nodded shakily and Ratchet shifted to brush his anterior node, making the mech below him startle from the sudden rush of stimulation.
“Good. Otherwise, I’d have to punish you—and I’d simply hate to stop after getting this far already,” Ratchet smirked, and his Conjunx mewled dismally at the idea.
Ratchet wandered his servo lower again, dipping just one digit into the threshold of Optimus’s valve. Optimus bit down a whine; he longed so desperately to be filled , filled by something so much bigger than what he was being offered; he needed Ratchet to frag him so deep that his circuits hurt in the morning; frag him with that lovely, girthy spike that Optimus couldn’t help but fantasise about, late at night when all he had at his disposal were false spikes that couldn’t even come close to competing with his beloved Conjunx Endura.
Optimus moaned out half a syllable before he remembered the command he had been given, slewing the rest of the word into a desperate, nonsensical whimper when suddenly Ratchet had his dermas on Optimus’s again.
If he had the clarity to think logically, Optimus would have realised that Ratchet was so desperate to frag him that he was now actively doing his best to stop the Prime from breaking the rule he had set. Optimus, however, lacked such clarity, and instead began to feverishly return the kiss.
Ratchet swallowed down every pathetic noise that Optimus made, moving his digit in and out of his valve and revelling in the way the callipers desperately attempted to pull him in further.
He soon added a second digit, making Optimus groan deliciously against his glossa as Ratchet began to work him open. Then the medic grew impatient and added a third near immediately—not that Optimus couldn’t easily take it; he was so wet and pliable that Ratchet didn’t doubt he could spike him without preparation, but he promised himself he would take this slow—or, slow er— savouring every moment as the scene etched itself into his memory banks.
“Scrap, you’re so—” Ratchet moved to straddle one of Optimus’s thighs, grinding against him as he sputtered needy sounds into the Prime’s intake.
“So—So perfect, I can’t wait to frag that tight little port of yours until you’re screaming my name,” Ratchet all but whimpered, pushing his glossa back into Optimus’s mouth, nipping intermittently at his dermas and becoming more and more overwrought by the second.
“Ratchet,” Optimus whined the next moment they’d parted even slightly. “Please, please— in me—need you in me— now, oh, please ,” he begged desperately, and Ratchet couldn’t find the strength in himself to humour the idea of punishing his Conjunx like he’d threatened to.
“Oh, fine,” Ratchet huffed, the sound of his whirring fans almost too loud to bear.
The medic crawled hastily back between Optimus’s legs and lined himself up with his soaking wet valve. Then Ratchet gave a few quick pumps to his spike to smear lubricant over its surface before burying himself fully into Optimus’s port.
They both let out shaky moans of mixed relief and ecstasy, and Ratchet sat still for a moment while they both adjusted to the change.
“Mmh, move ,” Optimus pleaded, his optics squeezed tight as he rolled his hips needily. Ratchet groaned helplessly at the action, steadying himself with his servos on either side of Optimus’s waist, pulling out and slamming his hips forward again. He loomed over his Conjunx, looking down at where they were connected as he continued to slowly frag into him.
Ratchet listened to the sounds of lubricant squelching and the slight scraping of metal between them, taking a deep breath through his olfactory system to cherish the heady, sweet smell of their interfacing. He sped up little by little, every sensor full to the brim with expressions of their love, until he’d eventually set a quick pace.
Optimus wrapped his legs around Ratchet’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer, making their frames collide fully with each thrust in shrill clanging noises and rather uncouth transfers of paint.
“Frag,” Ratchet moaned, stuttering his movements for a moment as he lost his grip. Then he unhooked Optimus’s legs from around him, pressing the prime down by his thighs until he was all but doubled over beneath him with his knees by his helm.
Ratchet couldn’t help but smile as Optimus mewled under him. “That’s better.”
He resumed his thrusting, feeling himself slide so much deeper than before, the head of his spike butting against Optimus’s interior node as he relentlessly split the Prime open.
“F-Frag—Ratchet!” Optimus keened. A moan began to reverberate deep in Ratchet’s chassis; the way his name fell so lewdly from his Conjunx’s glossa was music to his audials.
“Keep going,” Ratchet encouraged breathlessly. “I— slag , you take my spike so fragging well,” he crooned.
Optimus let out a long, needy noise. “Please, Ratchet—more, I need more— overload inside me, frag me deeper! Use me, please, ” the Prime wailed.
Ratchet curled his digits into Optimus’s thighs, enough to leave divots in the metal, moaning with every breath he took as he listened to Optimus whine out plead after plead.
Ratchet leaned forward and nosed his way to Optimus’s neck, desperate to elicit even more noises. He licked his glossa along one of the more prominent energon lines and bit gently at the other cables of Optimus’s throat, and sure enough, the mech began to keen and arch up into Ratchet almost immediately.
“Ratchet!” Optimus exclaimed. “I’m so close—”
“Don’t you dare ,” Ratchet snapped suddenly.
“But—”
“You don’t get to overload until I say so, got it?”
“I-I can’t—I’m going to—”
Ratchet stopped moving then, taking a moment before pulling out almost entirely from Optimus’s valve.
“Ratchet, please,” Optimus groaned.
“Please what ?”
Optimus whimpered, feeling his overload slipping away little by little as Ratchet held him in place. “Oh, Primus. Please frag me ,”
“Are you going to behave yourself?” Ratchet asked, wrapping his servo around the Prime’s spike and slowly beginning to stroke it.
Optimus squirmed, nodding his head frantically.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. I said, are you going to behave yourself? ”
“Frag, yes– yes , Ratchet, I promise,”
“Well, you didn’t seem so certain before,” Ratchet teased, starting to stroke even slower.
Optimus’s legs began to shake and he let out a ragged, desperate moan. “Ratchet!”
“Alright, alright… I suppose I’ll have to believe you.”
Ratchet had a stupid grin plastered on his face, in Optimus’s opinion, as he slowly slid back into the Prime’s valve.
And to Optimus’s dismay, Ratchet began moving at a much more leisurely pace than before, obviously wary of how far he was going to wind his Conjunx up.
“Please, faster,” Optimus rasped.
“I thought you said you were going to behave,” Ratchet replied tersely, and Optimus let out another reedy noise. “Besides, you can’t expect me to let you overload so easily after that horrid debriefing .”
Optimus wasn’t sure if he regretted his actions or not. His circuits were too hot to properly execute any worthwhile logic functions, so he supposed that since he was in the middle of being fragged, that everything had probably worked out for the best.
“Do you want me to apologise?” Optimus asked breathily.
“Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” Ratchet punctuated his sentence with a harsh thrust that made Optimus whimper. “I don’t think you’re really that sorry , anyway.”
“Not really, no,” Optimus replied cheekily. Ratchet gave another rough thrust that made his sparkmate keen again.
“And you expect me to let you overload when you’re like this?” Ratchet chided. “At this rate, I’ll be leaving you to self-service your own climax.”
Optimus whined his disapproval. “It’s not the same,” he whimpered. “I need you .”
“What? You need me to frag you? What a whorish little Prime you are, begging for my spike like that.”
Despite his words Ratchet began to move in and out of Optimus at a slightly faster pace.
“ Yes— more, please, Ratchet!” Optimus gasped, the drag of Ratchet’s spike against the inside of his valve was surging charge through the Prime’s frame again.
“Is this what you want?” Ratchet asked in a low hum. “To take my spike like a good bot? For me to fill you up with my transfluid and leave you as a weeping mess on the berth?”
“Please,” Optimus begged. “That’s exactly what I want.”
Ratchet pressed down hard against the back of Optimus’s thighs, moving to angle his hips in a slightly different direction as he continued to thrust.
“A-Ah!” Optimus yelped, feeling as Ratchet bumped against his ceiling node again—but this time around, it was with a certain kind of purpose. “S-Scrap—!”
“Don’t forget yourself,” Ratchet breathed. “Your overload still belongs to me ,” he reminded the mech. Optimus moaned and fought with his circuits not to give in to the pleasure, or he would surely find himself disobeying Ratchet’s command.
Ratchet groaned and Optimus could feel the twitch of his spike inside his valve. His processors spun at the prospect that Ratchet was going to overload inside him, the mental image of his overflowing port unintentionally bringing him closer and closer to an intangible release.
Optimus’s valve clenched tight around Ratchet suddenly, and the medic faltered as the charge in his tanks peaked into a searing overload.
“Frag!” Ratchet cried, continuing to slam into Optimus through his state of euphoria.
Optimus whimpered out a loud moan as Ratchet abused his ceiling node with each subsequent thrust, feeling as every hot spurt of transfluid proceeded to fill up his valve. He was barely hanging onto the edge of his overload by a thread, gripping the side of the berth with an incessant urgency to obey his lover; but oh, he felt so full at last.
The sound of clanking was quickly accompanied by the wet squelching of Ratchet fragging his overload back into Optimus, the excess transfluid pooling below their connected frames.
Ratchet’s movements slowed to a stop and he let out a shaky breath as the last waves of his climax washed over him, his spike still buried in Optimus’s interface array. He blinked his optics back online to see his Conjunx writhing uncomfortably below him.
“Optimus,” Ratchet cooed, sounding out of breath. He reached forward to caress Optimus’s faceplate, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Why don’t you make a pretty little mess for me?”
Then Ratchet captured his dermas in another avid kiss, taking hold of Optimus’s spike and pumping it hard and fast.
At that Optimus teetered over the edge of rapture, finally , letting go completely. His vocaliser exclaimed a rough noise into Ratchet’s intake, barely muffled by their kissing as the medic continued to drag his overload out of him.
Transfluid spattered between them as Optimus’s valve sucked greedily at the spike still nestled in it, making Ratchet squeak from the overstimulation.
Optimus’s overload lasted for several nanocycles and he began to shake under the overwhelming feeling of it. The movements of his valve even drew Ratchet over another edge of overload, pumping Optimus’s already leaking port full of even more fluid.
Then suddenly all external input ceased, and there was a gap in Ratchet’s memory—he must have offlined completely at some point, not surprised if his circuits had overcharged themselves, and he had to take a moment to reboot his systems.
The first thing he glimpsed when he was able to process visual data again was Optimus’s still frame below him, also apparently offlined as a result of their interfacing.
Ratchet slowly pulled out of his valve, ignoring the mess covering them both and depressurising his spike back into its housing. He was going to regret that later, surely, when he had to scrub the dried fluid out of his seams. But right now he didn’t care; he simply needed to be close to his Conjunx.
He laid down on top of Optimus, resting his head on his chassis and staring patiently up at him as he waited for the Prime’s systems to come online.
Then Optimus’s optics glitched and sparked to life, focussing and unfocusing on nothing as they attempted to run diagnostics and self-repair functions.
Ratchet hummed and reached up to pet Optimus’s finials, gaining the mech’s attention. Optimus looked down at him and opened his intake to speak but only managed to vocalise a garbling of static.
“Shh, take your time,” Ratchet said softly, and Optimus leaned into his servo. Even the low purr he let out sounded staticky and glitched, and his optics were still sparking and dimming every other moment.
“Hmm… Maybe I was a little too rough with you,” Ratchet reflected aloud. Optimus replied with more open-mouthed static.
Now Ratchet seemed much more seriously concerned, sitting up after a moment. “Are you alright? Aren’t your self-repair programs able to mend your vocaliser?” He began to look Optimus over, sliding very easily back into ‘doctor-mode’ .
A few moments of quiet passed before Ratchet’s question was answered with more sizzling from Optimus’s voice box.
“Scrap,” Ratchet said, grabbing Optimus’s helm gently in his servos while he examined the mech. “Looks like your optics are fried, too…”
:I’m sure that they will have both been repaired by my internal systems sometime tomorrow,: Optimus reassured over their commlink.
Ratchet couldn’t help but feel amused by the irony of the fact that his Conjunx’s only means of communication was the very thing that had gotten them to this point in the first place.
“Yes, but the others are bound to notice before then. I don’t want them asking any unnecessary questions…” Ratchet gave Optimus a gentle, chaste kiss. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can expedite the process if we pay a visit to the medical bay.”
:I wasn’t worried at all, : Optimus teased. :I’m quite content to continue communicating with you this way, old friend.:
“I’m sure you are,” Ratchet muttered, but he couldn’t help the smile that had settled on his faceplate. “Now, why don’t we go clean ourselves up at the washracks?”
:And continue where we left off?: Optimus asked playfully. Ratchet exvented as he mulled the thought over in his processors.
“No. Err… Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up, I still need to assess the damage already caused to your components,” Ratchet replied much less sternly than he’d hoped.
:That is good enough for me.: Optimus rumbled out more static as he nuzzled into Ratchet’s embrace.
“You’re such a handful, sometimes,” Ratchet chucked. “I often wonder how I wound up being the one responsible for you.”
Optimus wasn’t able to help the wide smile that had washed over his features.
:I love you too, Ratchet.: