I had an anon asks for this on tumblr: inushiek . tumblr post/72786892449/aaaaaaa-thats-understandable-its-best-to-take-your
Megatron/Ratchet
nsfw
"Megatron…!"
The warlord smirks down at the medic. "I merely wish to thank you for your continued cooperation, Ratchet," he says, gently scraping his claws against the Autobot's chest as he scissors his digits in his valve.
"You can thank me by hurrying up! I may be old but I'm not that rusty," Ratchet grumbles, planting his feet to give him the leverage to tilt his hips up.
"Aren't doctors supposed to be patient?" Megatron asks as he presses down on his chest.
"You know slag well that I'm not," Ratchet retorts. "Do you really want to waste time here that I could be using to work on the synth-en?" The medic didn't really expect the ploy to work, but it was worth a try. Megatron was never a patient mech, but if he'd set his mind to dragging this out, there wasn't much Ratchet could do to change it. Not that having the warlord slowly working a third finger into him while twisting and curling them wasn't slag well blowing his fuses, mind you.
He fails to bite back a loud cry when the large mech spreads his fingers apart, and Ratchet clutches at the forearm that's pinning him down.
"Comfortable, doctor?" he asks with a smug smile.
Refusing to dignify that with a response, Ratchet instead clamps his mouth shut and arches his back as Megatron's fingers strike a sensitive node.
"So tell me, if you aren't rusty, then who is it you share a berth with in that little team if yours?" the warlord inquires casually as he spreads his digits wide.
With a quiet groan, Ratchet squints up at the larger mech. "For your information, I take care of business myself," he hisses as Megatron bends down low enough that his broad chest brushes against his stiff spike.
"That seems so unfair. You take care of those ungrateful Autobots, and they can't even so much as spare you some attention."
Ratchet opens his mouth to argue, but cries out and curls forward when Megatron's fingers are gone from his valve and suddenly are squeezing and stroking his spike.
Megatron presses the Autobot back down to lie flat on the floor once more as he shifts, positioning himself to have the best angle. When he opens his panel to finally allow his own spike freedom, the warlord is pleased to hear Ratchet's vents hitch and see fresh lubricant drip from his valve. "Eager are we, Ratchet?"
"Excuse me I'm not the one with lubricant dripping down his spike," he says with a pointed glance down to the gray mech's crotch.
With a sound of dismissal, Megatron grasps the medic's hips with both hands and lifts them up.
Ratchet doesn't have long to celebrate his victory before he feels a very thick spike stretching his valve. Megatron leans down a bit, occupying most of Ratchet's field of vision. "Frag-!" he gasps, suddenly struck by just how much larger the warlord is than him as that spike continues to press deeper into him.
Once he's finally hilted in the medic, Megatron grinds his hips in a circle as he uses one thumb to stroke the underside of Ratchet's spike, and he's pleased that such small actions have the Autobot arching sharply beneath him and gasping for air to cool his systems.