Drift gazed up at him, optics wide and lips parted and so fragging gorgeous that Ratchet could hardly think straight.
Actually, thinking had been relegated to the lowest level on his priority list for a while now. Who wanted to think when he was finally kissing Drift? And these weren't stolen kisses–these were willing, enthusiastic, passionate kisses that the swordsmech had clearly enjoyed just as much as Ratchet if his gasps and whimpers were anything to go by. Even his obvious inexperience was a turn-on. It meant that he was giving Ratchet something he'd given very few others. It meant that kissing Ratchet like this was special, this was new, this was something no one had taken from him and twisted and corrupted until it was more to be endured than enjoyed. And Drift liked it, liked it enough that when Ratchet had offered him anything, it was the very first thing he'd asked for. The fierce surge of pride and joy that filled him at that request had almost overwhelmed Ratchet and he'd eagerly done as requested. Oh, kissing Drift was every bit as good as he'd dreamed it would be–no, frag that, it was better.
But right now that smile of his was in serious competition for the sexiest thing Ratchet had ever seen. Drift invited him to his berth and then smiled, smiled like all his best dreams were coming true, and if this was a dream, Ratchet never, ever wanted to awaken. "Then lead the way," the swordsmech said, and Ratchet could hardly think for wanting him.
Letting go of the speedster was truly difficult, especially after how long he'd been aching to get him into his arms like this, and that smile didn't help him find anything like self-control. Ratchet couldn't resist one more kiss first. Drift all but melted into him when their lips met and Ratchet forced himself to keep it short. I can kiss him more in the berth, he reminded himself, his fans struggling to cope with the heat that thought produced. I can kiss him all over in the berth.
Ratchet pulled away with a deep groan at the thought of it even though he reminded himself not to assume anything. Maybe we could find a berth was a much different invitation than lay me down and lick every inch of me and let's spend the next two days 'facing until we can't move. He would only go as far as Drift let him. He truly hoped that the swordsmech had the same thing in mind that he did, but he would never push Drift for more than he was ready to give.
And standing here thinking about it wasn't going to get him any closer to having any of it. "Come on," the medic gritted, turning toward the exit with Drift's hand firmly caught in his. Drift laced his fingers between his as he followed. Ratchet had to inhale sharply to keep his equilibrium at the sensation of their fingers sliding together. It was a simple thing but somehow still so very intimate, and that was without even taking into account the sensitivity of a medic's hands. Ratchet quickened his pace and was pleased to note Drift stayed right on his heels.
The shuttle was small and it didn't take much searching to find the shuttle's single berthroom. Ratchet pulled Drift to the side of the berth and stopped there. He didn't want to–he wanted to drag him onto the berth, cover that lithe, streamlined body with his, scatter kisses all over his plating and do his level best to make him scream, but Drift was still in charge and that meant what Ratchet wanted took a backseat. So he stopped there, urged Drift into his arms, and contented himself with more of those incredible kisses.
When he pulled away some time later, both of them were venting hard. He murmured against Drift's lips, "We found the berth. Now what?"
Drift answered by hooking one pede behind the medic's knee, planting his hands on Ratchet's shoulders, and shoving him backward to land on the berth.
Ratchet smiled fiercely and didn't fight it. He bounced on the soft surface as Drift followed with considerably more grace and dignity, and Ratchet couldn't tear his optics away from the sight of the swordsmech crawling onto the berth to settle above him. When Drift went still over him, hands beside his head, knees planted on either side of his hips, caging him with his body and grinning down at him, Ratchet thought he'd never seen anything hotter. "Surely you don't need a road map for this little trip," Drift teased as he raised one hand to trail his fingertips along Ratchet's chevron.
Ratchet's back nearly came off the bed–that chevron was sensitive, and from the look on Drift's face, he had long suspected it and having it confirmed thrilled him. He repeated the caress and Ratchet couldn't help it, he grabbed Drift's thighs and held on tight, needing to ground himself. Drift smiled, smug as the pit, and leaned down to run his glossa over the metal.
"Frag!" Ratchet's optics rolled back in his head and Drift chuckled low and pleased.
It sent the most distracting vibration through his chevron imaginable. Primus, he had to say this now before Drift made him forget that words existed. Ratchet's first attempt at coherent speech dissolved into a moan as Drift's glossa played along the sharp edge of his chevron again, slow and hot and Vector Sigma he's killing me here, but Ratchet gritted his teeth and tried again.
"I don't need a map," Ratchet managed through a vocalizer that wanted to do nothing but spit static, "but I'd like to know if we're heading to the same destination." So far all they'd done was make out, and if that was all Drift wanted, Ratchet would somehow force his libido to behave.
Drift went still and finally pulled away. "Ratchet," he said, looking down at him and going unexpectedly serious, "I have wanted to get close to you for something like four million years. If I have a chance to 'face with you now, there's no way I'm not grabbing that before you change your mind."
Ratchet groaned at the idea that this amazingly gorgeous mech had been carrying a torch for him for so long. That was the kind of revelation that had a way of wiping out all his higher processor functions. "No way in hell I'm changing my mind," he rasped, stroking those shapely thighs and kicking himself for not overcoming his fear of rejection and doing this much, much sooner. Then, remembering how Drift's eyes had gone wide when he'd offered to let him take the lead, Ratchet smiled slow and suggestive. "How do you want me?" he asked, both because he wanted Drift to know that he was still in charge and because it would be sexy as hell to hear him say what he wanted the medic to do to him.
Drift's optics widened just as Ratchet had hoped, his expression caught between desire and disbelief, but instead of answering, his gaze slid away and his field contracted. Ratchet felt the withdrawal in his body and field and instinctively wrapped his arms around the speedster, pulling him down for an embrace that was more comforting than sensual–he didn't know what he'd said wrong but he hated himself for stealing the happiness that had been saturating his EM projections only seconds ago.
Before he could kick himself too much for it, Drift finally answered. "I don't know," he whispered, what Ratchet could sense of his field still thick with desire but now tinged with something that felt a lot like shame. "I don't know what to tell you. I…"
Ratchet didn't need him to finish that sentence to know how it ended–interfacing had been a duty for so long that Drift hardly knew how to do it for actual pleasure. He thought his spark might shatter but pity was the last thing the swordsmech needed. "Lucky me, then," he said, forcing his tone to stay light. "I get to help you find out."
Drift glanced at him and seemed surprised to see him smiling, and his field hesitantly reached out again. Ratchet met the cautious touch with a determined wave of honest desire from his own field, and Drift finally ventured a smile again. "You're off to a good start with the kissing," he offered, and Ratchet could take a hint when he heard one. He reached up and pulled Drift into a long, deep kiss, and Vector Sigma, Drift was a dangerously quick study. The swordsmech wasn't the only one panting when Ratchet pulled away several long and very pleasant minutes later. "I'm open to more suggestions, should you think of any," Drift whispered against his mouth, and Ratchet could take that hint, too.
Drift was putting himself quite literally in Ratchet's hands, trusting him to make them both feel good.
For a moment, it was almost too much. Ratchet's head spun with all the things he wanted to do to Drift, a list of fantasies he'd spent far too long denying and trying to repress, and now that he was here, he hardly knew where to begin. "I'm sure I can come up with something," he murmured, and he caught Drift's laugh against his lips in another kiss.
That kiss turned into another, and another, and when Drift's hands started moving over him as he shifted restlessly atop Ratchet, the medic groaned deeply and savored the way Drift shivered in response. He couldn't help but notice Drift's reaction to every sound he made. Despite wholeheartedly kissing Ratchet back and exploring every part of the medic that he could reach, Drift was surprisingly restrained when it came to making any sounds himself. That made every little whimper or sigh Ratchet did provoke that much more precious.
But Ratchet was greedy. He wanted more, and that earlier thought returned insistently. I can kiss him all over in the berth…
Moving for the first time since Drift had shoved him onto his back, Ratchet caught Drift around the waist and rolled with him until their positions were reversed. The way Drift had been crouching over him now meant that Ratchet's body was pressed between his spread thighs, and that was enough to make his optics haze with desire. Drift clutched him tight and gasped at the abrupt change, but Ratchet didn't hesitate. He kissed his way down Drift's neck, nibbling at the delicate Energon lines and cables, tracing them with the tip of his glossa. Drift's fans spun higher, heat pouring off his frame as Ratchet took his time exploring Drift's throat. "Do you like this?" he murmured, as if he couldn't tell from the tension in Drift's body and the way he pressed his head against the berth, trying to arch and give Ratchet even more access.
One of Drift's hands slid up to toy with Ratchet's chevron again, sending heat dancing along his spinal strut. "Yes," Drift whispered, and the word came out satisfyingly breathless but Ratchet wanted him to moan it.
Ratchet moved again, sliding down Drift's body, so different from his own blocky frame, trailing kisses over the aerodynamic panels of his shoulders and chest. When he reached the bare spot at the center of Drift's chest where his Autobot symbol–and before that, the Decepticon one–had once adorned the place above his spark, he paused and nuzzled the metal. Then he flicked his glossa out and traced little nonsense patterns over his chest plates as his hands returned to Drift's hips. Ratchet teased his fingertips over those flexion seams and Drift whimpered, a little victory Ratchet savored. "Do you like this?" he whispered against his plating, kissing inexorably down Drift's body as his fingers traced his hip seams without ever once slipping inside.
"Oh Ratchet yes," Drift moaned low and gorgeous.
Oh, he did like it when Drift moaned his name like that. Ratchet finally let his fingers play over those hidden sensor bundles again and kissed down to Drift's abdomen as the swordsmech shuddered on the berth. Ratchet could feel the heat of his closed interface panels against his chest now, so close, so close, but he didn't let himself rush. Every inch of Drift's abdomen received the same slow, thorough attention, the medic suckling the flexible mesh between his lips, savoring the taste of his lover and the anticipation of reaching his goal. His hands slid along Drift's hips, fingertips stroking those sensor cables, thumbs resting on his upper thighs, rubbing circles on the thinner metal as Ratchet finally nuzzled just above his pelvic armor. "And this?" he murmured, making sure to pitch his voice low so the rumble of it in his chest would transmit the vibrations along the heated panels beneath him. "Are you enjoying this, Drift?"
When he didn't get an answer, Ratchet glanced up to see Drift's eyes closed, one fist pressed to his mouth while the other knotted in the sheets. Ratchet paused to brand the sight in his memory of Drift lying beneath him so blatantly aroused that the medic could hardly believe he still hadn't opened his interface panel. The swordsmech's self-control was simultaneously enormously frustrating and sexy as hell. He looked like he was on the edge of overload already and Ratchet slid even further down the berth, gaze fixed on Drift's face as he kissed a slow path along one of those hip seams that clearly affected him so. "I said," Ratchet purred, punctuating it with a flick of his glossa over that hidden sensor bundle, "do you like this, Drift?"
Drift gave a wordless, needy cry and bit his fist, but it wasn't until Ratchet started to pull away, wary of pushing too far, that the swordsmech nodded a bit frantically. Ratchet's worry eased into satisfaction. "I like it, too," he whispered like a confession, and Drift groaned as Ratchet bent to his task again.
Drift's body was almost rigid with the effort he was putting forth to keep control. Ratchet stroked his hands up and down his thighs, over his hips, long, smooth caresses to try to soothe his tension. Drift panted and shook beneath Ratchet's hands but his thighs fell further apart, and even though Drift was still stifling his moans behind his hand, Ratchet had to admit that he was thoroughly pleased with the result. He rubbed his cheek over Drift's thigh plating, taking a moment to just watch his lover's pleasure. "So beautiful," he whispered, then pressed his open mouth to the high inside of Drift's thigh.
Drift keened behind his fist as Ratchet pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses all over his inner thighs. Ratchet's hands moved again, slipping down to curl around Drift's knees and urge them wider apart so he could settle his body between them more comfortably. "Look at me, Drift," Ratchet purred, nuzzling the swordsmech's hip. Drift's shaking increased but his optics met Ratchet's again. The vivid desire in those glowing blue depths made Ratchet's own hands tremble. Then, holding his lover's gaze, Ratchet lowered his head and pressed a single kiss to the center of his panel.
It was finally more than Drift could resist. His overheated panel retracted with a hiss and Ratchet couldn't have stopped from moaning at the sight of his interface array if his life depended on it.
He didn't even try to resist temptation. An instant after Drift's fully-pressurized spike emerged from behind its panel, Ratchet swooped down and sucked it as far into his mouth as it would go.
Drift almost shot right off the berth. "Ratchet!"
His hips bucked as his EM field blazed in a shocked flash of absolute ecstasy, and Ratchet moaned around his spike. Drift's silence was forgotten now–his stillness, too, as well as every last bit of his control. Ratchet braced one arm across his hips and slowly, slowly pulled off, fluttering his glossa along the underside of Drift's spike the whole way. Drift panted, whining with every exvent, and Ratchet swallowed him down again.
But in the blink of an optic the projections from Drift's field flashed from overwhelmed pleasure to spark-rending distress. "Ratchet, Ratchet, no," Drift choked out, but Ratchet was already pulling away before the words even left his vocalizer.
Ratchet moved quickly up the berth and pulled Drift into his arms, holding tight. "I'm sorry," he said in the swordsmech's audial. His voice was rough and staticked with his own desire but he made sure the words were clear and backed it up with his EM projections. "I'm sorry, Drift, I should have asked first, I'm sorry."
To his very great relief, Drift clung to him instead of pushing him away. Ratchet didn't try to kiss him or caress him, just held him close, and after a few minutes he felt the speedster start to relax in his arms. "I'm sorry," Ratchet whispered again, cursing himself for pushing too hard and hoping like hell that he hadn't just screwed up his only chance with the swordsmech. "That's on the don't like list. I'm sorry."
Drift laughed shakily against his chest. "Primus, Ratchet, don't apologize. I never said I didn't like it," he said hoarsely, catching Ratchet completely by surprise. "But you didn't have to… when I opened… I didn't mean…" He stopped, reset his vocalizer, tried again. "Ratchet, you don't ever have to do that. Not for me."
The medic frowned at his vehemence. There was something here that he wasn't understanding, something important. He didn't want to upset Drift any more than he already was but he needed to know what he'd done wrong to avoid any other minefields. "If we both were enjoying it," Ratchet said slowly, making sure to keep his voice low and calm, "why can't we do it?"
Drift shifted in his arms and looked up at him like he was the one who wasn't making sense. "Come on, Ratchet, no one likes doing that," he said as though it was an established fact. "When I… when my panel opened with you right there like that, I wasn't trying to… you didn't have to do that, I wasn't–"
Ratchet dropped a kiss on his helm crest to conceal his expression. "Actually," he interrupted, "I do like doing that. I'd even go so far as to say that I love it."
Drift jerked in his arms and Ratchet pulled back to find the swordsmech staring at him in complete disbelief. Ratchet had to bite his glossa to keep from smiling at just how stunned that statement had made him, but he didn't want Drift to think he was laughing at him. "Why is that so shocking?" he asked gently. But when Drift still didn't seem to be able to find words, Ratchet tried a different tactic. He scowled, making sure that Drift could see the teasing glint in his optics, and said, "Oh, let me guess, you thought the Hatchet would be dull and boring in the berth. Old, decrepit Ratchet, probably can't even remember what goes where without looking it up in a medical textbook–" Drift was giggling now, wrestling with him, trying to get a hand over his mouth, and Ratchet dodged with a skill learned from millennia of grappling with patients who hadn't realized the fight was over by the time they got to him– "he's so stuffy his panel's probably welded shut, and even if you got under his plating, he'd be all rusty from disuse and he'd probably fall asleep in the middle of–"
Drift was laughing hard enough to snort by this point and he finally succeeded in planting his hand firmly over Ratchet's mouth to make him stop. "Oh, stuff that slag, you idiot. Never once in all my life have I thought you'd be rusty and boring in the berth," he said, and even though Ratchet really had been joking with that… mostly… it did him good to hear it.
And the way Drift cuddled closer and stroked his shoulders as though he just couldn't help himself helped even more. Ratchet was not the kind of mech that others normally couldn't keep their hands off, and he usually didn't care, but when it came to Drift, none of his reactions were usual.
He kissed Drift's palm and the speedster sighed as he let his hand slide away. "Then what's the problem?" Ratchet persisted when he could speak again. Normally he would never have pushed so hard, but that jolt of shocked ecstasy in Drift's EM field when he'd swallowed his spike had been one of the most amazingly sexy things he'd ever experienced. He couldn't think of anything better than giving his lover that kind of pleasure. He needed to know why Drift was denying himself something that he had even admitted that he'd liked.
But even though Drift didn't answer, a possible explanation for Drift's disbelief dawned on him and hit him right between the optics. Drift had been a buymech. Yes, the worst of it had been before the war, and he hadn't had to do any of those things since leaving the Decepticons, but that was the kind of thing that no mech could ever fully forget. One of the fastest and easiest ways for a buymech to satisfy their customer was a quick suck-off in an alley. To Drift, the idea that Ratchet would voluntarily do that was unthinkable, and for the medic to actively crave it was too bizarre to be believed.
Ratchet went serious, remembering what Drift had said–not I don't want it but you don't ever have to do that. "Drift," he said, cupping his cheek in one hand, "if you don't want me to do that to you, I won't. This isn't about just making your body feel good. I want you to feel good here and here, too." He touched Drift's forehead, then his chest over his spark. "So if this doesn't make all of you feel good, we won't do it. But Drift… if you stopped me because you're trying to spare me, or you stopped me because you think I don't like it or I'd find it shameful, believe me when I say that you couldn't be more wrong."
Drift was silent for a long time. Ratchet's body ached with arousal but he stayed still, just holding Drift and waiting for his verdict. Several times Drift's lips moved like he was about to speak but nothing came out, until finally he met Ratchet's gaze and whispered, almost too quietly to be heard, "How could you possibly like doing that to someone?"
Ratchet closed his eyes in relief that he'd guessed correctly. "I enjoy pleasing my lover," he said, arousal picking up again at the vivid memory of Drift's spike on his glossa, the way the previously nearly-silent speedster had shouted his name. "Feeling how much they love what I'm doing in their EM field, hearing the sounds they make. I love the trust of it, and the taste. I love it when I look up and see them watching me with that look on their face like what I'm doing is the only thing that matters in the universe. It's… honestly, it's a power trip, too, I won't lie. Their overload belongs to me and they get it when I decide, not a second before." He licked his lips, mouth watering just thinking about it. "Sometimes I'm generous and let them off easy, but sometimes I'm selfish, take my time and savor it, drag it out until they can hardly move from the pleasure…"
When the medic opened his optics again, he found Drift looking at him with wide optics and jaw dropped. Ratchet shifted a little, suddenly acutely self-conscious. "What?" he said defensively, wondering if he'd said too much. Why the hell had he gone into such detail? Drift probably thought he was a complete pervert now–
"I don't think I've ever been more turned on in my life than I am right now," Drift interrupted his thoughts, and Ratchet's optics flew back to his. "Whatever else you are, Ratchet, you are not boring in the berth."
That surprised a laugh out of the medic. Starting to feel a bit hopeful now that he hadn't completely messed this up, he brushed a kiss over Drift's mouth. Drift responded enthusiastically and even locked his arms around Ratchet's neck and refused to release him the first time he tried to pull away. When they finally broke apart, venting hard, Drift pressed his forehelm to Ratchet's and whispered, "I've always wondered what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that."
The thought that he was the first one to do that to Drift was enough to make Ratchet groan aloud. "And what's your verdict?" he asked because this was information he needed.
Drift pulled back and made a show of thinking it over. He hmmed and stroked his chin until Ratchet pinched him and growled impatiently, and then he grinned and said, "It was the most incredible thing I've ever felt in my entire life, Ratchet." He held Ratchet's gaze and hesitated only an instant, just long enough for the medic to see the nervousness he couldn't quite hide, before he finished in a rush. "If–if you really do want to–if you're sure–maybe we could try it again?"
Ratchet shuddered as his own spike throbbed behind its panel. "Oh Primus, Drift," he breathed, almost overwhelmed with anticipation. "I'm gonna make you so damn glad you said that."
Drift stared at him for an instant, quite obviously still stunned that Ratchet wanted to do that so badly, then dragged him in for the first kiss he'd actually initiated. Ratchet went eagerly. Mouths clashing, glossas slick and hungry, the kiss spun on and on until the medic's control over his own panel started to fray at the edges. Frag, he wanted them open now, but he made himself wait.
No way was he going to miss out on this.
Finally breaking away from Drift's mouth, Ratchet kissed his way down his lover's throat again. This time he knew what got a reaction from the swordsmech and he focused his attention there, frequently glancing up to see Drift's face as he made his way over his chest and abdomen. Drift didn't seem to be able to tear his gaze away from Ratchet and the closer he got to his hips, the more tense his body went. Ratchet nipped the flexible metal mesh between his abdominal plates and Drift bit his fist again, muffling a strangled little sound that Ratchet really wished he'd let out.
Well, he fully planned to make him shout again in the very near future. The lower his kisses went, the more shallow Drift's venting became, until the plating beneath his hands bypassed warm and edged toward worryingly hot. "You're overheating. Breathe, Drift," Ratchet murmured against his stomach, medic programming that demanded he stop and let Drift cool down warring with the rest of Ratchet that would rather they both melt than stop for a single instant.
Drift sucked in a breath and let it out in a shuddering moan as he closed his eyes hard. "Can't," he gasped behind his hand, scalding air washing over Ratchet as Drift's fans and vents finally started working again, kicking into overdrive to disperse the heat. "You're too damn hot, you are fragging unreal, there's no air in here."
Ratchet's hands tightened on his hips at that. He knew damn well what he looked like–functional, plain, boxy standard medic build, perfectly serviceable but nothing special. Nothing to make anyone take note except for his hands. Compared to a mech like Drift, with his deadly grace and stark beauty and that sleek sportscar frame and powerful, wickedly fast engine… well, stand the two of them in a room and if anyone noticed Ratchet was even there, he'd be stunned, and he couldn't blame them. The thought that such a gorgeous mech would even look twice at him was already incredible enough, but to say something like that to him, and with every appearance of actually meaning it…
… well, that deserved a reward, that was what.
And Ratchet was in the perfect position to give him very, very nice one.
But first, one final thing. "If you change your mind, if this isn't completely good, if you want me to stop," he said, gaze fixed on Drift's face, "promise you'll tell me. I only want to do this if you want it. Promise me."
Drift's reply came in the form of a whimper, an emphatic nod, and a surge of eager anticipation from his field that was nearly strong enough to white out Ratchet's vision. Oh yes, Drift wanted this, all right. Ratchet scooted lower, slid his palms down Drift's thighs in a slow, firm caress that made the speedster bite his fist harder. "Drift," Ratchet murmured, "watch me."
"Oh Primus," Drift whispered, but he opened his eyes. Ratchet held his gaze, let him see the desire in his optics and the smile that felt a bit too hungry, and then slowly, with the utmost care, brushed a kiss over the tip of his spike. Drift whined and panted, his optics huge, and Ratchet was very pleased with the picture he made. "Are you–are you feeling generous or–or selfish today?" Drift managed, and now Ratchet knew his smile was downright predatory.
"Oh, love," he purred, gaze narrowed with intent. "If I have my way, you are going to be here for a very long time." Drift keened, already so charged up that his biolights pulsed erratically and sparks crackled between his protoform and armor.
And then, making sure that Drift could feel his own eagerness in his field, Ratchet took his spike fully into his mouth again.
Drift made a strangled noise that didn't even sound possible. Ratchet hummed a long, low, satisfied moan of approval at the heat and taste of Drift on his glossa, knowing damn well that the vibration would feel incredible, and drew back until just the tip remained between his lips. He fluttered his glossa over the tiny slit at the end and had to grab Drift's hips to keep him from bucking hard enough to throw the medic off the berth. It was exactly the kind of reaction Ratchet had been hoping for, and he rewarded his lover by dipping his head to take him deep.
"OH!" Drift cried as his spike bumped the back of Ratchet's intake. Ratchet suckled, pulled off, teased the little slit, then did it all over again, and fragging pit, he was delicious. The medic took his time on the next downstroke, glossa playing over every part of Drift's spike, tiny discharges of electricity jumping from the overheated metal to his glossa. "Oh Primus, oh Primus–"
Ratchet smirked to himself–no more fist-biting now, he thought victoriously–and made sure he had a good grip on Drift's hip with one hand before wrapping his other around the base of the swordsmech's spike. Drift's hands knotted in the berth coverings as his head dropped back, his optics shuttering, every last bit of his processor wrapped up in the sensations of what Ratchet was doing.
The medic pulled off, sucking hard the whole time, and Drift let out a desperate cry. "You're not watching," he said, then licked a long, slick stripe down the side of his spike.
"Can't," Drift panted through static again as Ratchet licked his way all the way around his spike. "Can't, oh Ratchet, I won't last if I do, don't want this to be over yet, ahh fragging Primus!"
That glorious bit of blasphemy was in response to Ratchet drawing the tip back into his mouth and thoroughly exploring it with his glossa while he stroked the rest of Drift's shaft in his hand. ::Who says I have any intention of stopping after your first overload?:: he commed the swordsmech, not wanting to stop what he was doing just to speak.
Drift's response to that was an instant overload that clearly took him completely by surprise. His body bowed on the berth, the weight of Ratchet's body over his legs the only thing keeping him from throwing himself right onto the floor as he writhed. Ratchet moaned in appreciation and swallowed him down, relishing Drift's taste and his cries of pleasure. ::So good,:: he purred over the com, not slowing down for an instant as Drift's overload finally began to ebb. ::Oh love, you are so good.::
Ratchet could feel it in Drift's field when the stimulation on his spike became too much, felt the ecstasy of his overload turning to discomfort, felt his disappointment that he was about to have to ask Ratchet to stop, and that last bit made the medic want to shout with triumph. Drift had gotten off and still wanted Ratchet, wanted the closeness and this intimacy. It was amazing and mind-blowing and Ratchet had been completely serious about not stopping with his first overload, so he released Drift's spike and zeroed in just below it instead.
Specifically, on Drift's anterior node, that beautiful bundle of ultra-sensitive cabling right at the front of his valve.
Drift cried out when Ratchet closed his lips over the little node, and Ratchet had to grip his hips very firmly or risk losing his place as the swordsmech very nearly thrashed on the berth.
And then, since his hands were right there anyway, Ratchet slipped his fingertips into those flexion seams and stroked the sweet spots hidden there.
Any possible notion of silence or restraint was long gone now. Drift moaned, gorgeous little noises rewarding Ratchet for every flick of his glossa over his anterior node, every stroke of his fingers over his hip seams. Ratchet growled and pulled Drift closer, tilting his hips exactly how he wanted them, suckling his node and already beginning to feel those telltale little zaps of charge jumping from Drift's frame to his again. Primus, he was such a responsive lover! Ratchet redoubled his efforts, losing all track of time in his determination to thoroughly rock Drift right into orbit.
Drift was very nearly incoherent now, a steady stream of cries tumbling from his lips, heels digging into the berth, writhing beneath Ratchet as pleasure wracked his frame. He lifted Drift's hips and thrust his glossa into his valve as deep as it would go, seeking sensory nodes inside, teasing them with his glossa, then pulling away and deep-throating Drift's spike instead as his fingers took over inside his valve. "Oh Primus oh Ratchet please oh please more, don't stop Ratchet don't stop oh frag oh Ratchet please–!" It was without a doubt the sexiest thing Ratchet had ever heard, and he clamped one arm over Drift's wildly surging hips to hold him still and returned to his anterior node, rolling it on his glossa like an Energon candy while his fingers thrust in and out of his tight, wet valve. Drift shouted his name through a burst of static and overloaded again, valve clenching on his fingers, electricity sparking between them, and Ratchet could no longer override his own panel's cover from snapping open. Moaning at the vivid pleasure throbbing through Drift's field, he pressed his hips to the berth in search of some relief for his own aching spike.
Drift's overload passed and left the swordsmech shaking. Ratchet's arrays ached and his fans were straining and his own temperature was edging close to redline, but Ratchet was by no means done with his lover yet. Back to his spike now, sucking him deep, growling at Drift's strangled shout at the feeling of Ratchet's very hot mouth around his spike. ::One more,:: he commed Drift as his fingers slid over his external node again, circling and flicking just like his glossa had only minutes before. ::Overload for me one more time, Drift.::
"I can't," Drift panted, vocalizer hoarse, optics blown wide with pleasure as he watched Ratchet swallow his spike again and moan with pleasure. Drift echoed that moan and bit his lip this time–both his hands were occupied with holding a death-grip on the berth as if afraid he was going to float away. "I can't, oh Primus Ratchet your mouth, fragging pit, oh Ratchet…"
Ratchet moaned around his spike again and savored Drift's aching cry. ::You can,:: he told him, redoubling his efforts and wishing he had a free hand to stroke his own spike, which was weeping from the lack of attention. But oh, it was worth it to see Drift like this, splayed out before him and very nearly senseless with pleasure, that lean, gorgeous frame arching in an attempt to get closer, get more of the delicious things Ratchet was doing to him. He slipped his fingers into Drift's valve again, stroked every single sensory node his fingertips could locate, rubbing his thumb over his anterior node, head bobbing as he worshiped Drift's spike with his mouth the entire time. ::You can, Drift, you can, overload for me, love, you can do it.::
Drift's head thrashed on the berth and this time Ratchet didn't complain that he wasn't watching because it was clear that he was far beyond seeing anything. "Ratchet, Ratchet," the speedster moaned over and over as Ratchet made love to him with hands and mouth, delicate precision-forged fingers and eager, worshipful glossa. He could feel the tension building again in the swordsmech's frame, the excess charge slower to build but far more intense. By the time sparks began to fly from his plating again, Drift's cries had become almost desperate. Ratchet curled his fingers inside his valve, finding a new ridge of sensors, and Drift went over again.
Ratchet kept up the same pace all the way through Drift's overload, which didn't seem to want to release him. By the end of it, Drift was whimpering with every vent, his entire body shaking. "Ratchet," he rasped, vocalizer blown with shouting, "Ratchet, I want you inside me now, please, I need it, please Ratchet…"
He finally pulled back, Drift's spike falling free of his lips. "Anything you want," Ratchet told him as he crawled up his body, provoking a moan from the gorgeous swordsmech.
And then Drift wrapped his thighs around Ratchet's hips, pulling him down until his spike pressed against Drift's body. "All I've ever wanted was you," Drift whispered, then they were both moaning as Ratchet slowly thrust into that tight, welcoming heat.
It didn't stay slow long–Ratchet was too hot, too eager, had wanted this for far too long, and Drift urged him on with moans and gasps and raised his hips to every thrust, taking everything the medic had to give and demanding more. Ratchet groaned and buried his face against Drift's throat, his overload already tightening his frame, sending sparks to crackle between their bodies like lightning. "Drift," he groaned, trying to hold it off, wanting Drift to overload again even though he knew that was probably too much to ask.
Drift cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. "This is what I want to watch," he whispered against Ratchet's mouth, and that was it.
Ratchet's overload hit him powerfully enough to white out his optics and offline his vocalizer so completely that not even static escaped. Drift clenched his already-tight valve around him and licked his chevron as Ratchet overloaded so hard that he couldn't even move, and knowing that Drift was watching only made it stronger. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him, swamping his processor in ecstasy, making his spark throb and surge in his chest.
"Gorgeous," Drift whispered, and impossibly, Ratchet felt his valve contract with another small overload around his spike. It sent him even higher. "Ratchet!"
Ratchet collapsed atop Drift when it was finally over, too dazed to even worry about his weight crushing the smaller speedster. Drift stroked his back, long, smooth caresses that made him shudder at first–every part of him felt hypersensitive–but that soon became comforting, grounding him. He held Drift tight, face tucked against his neck, trying to get his processor back online after so much pleasure.
Eventually he managed it. Ratchet groaned and managed to roll off Drift so both their vents could get cool air, because his medic programming was seriously nagging him now about proper temperature ranges. "Frag me," he breathed as he collapsed onto his back instead of on top of Drift. "That was…" He couldn't even finish the sentence. He had no words for what that was.
"Yeah," Drift said, just as breathless and stunned. "Kinda wish I'd worked up the nerve to jump you a long time ago now."
Ratchet laughed and shook his head. "Same here," he said. "Same here."
Drift surprised him by reaching out and gathering him close. Ratchet went willingly, cuddling up to Drift and firmly telling his heat warnings to get stuffed. This was worth some scorched wiring. "How long will it take us to get back to the Lost Light?" Drift asked as his fingertips traced glyphs on Ratchet's glass chestplate, glyphs that the medic couldn't really decipher.
But he didn't ask for an explanation. If this was some spiritualist practice, he didn't want to know about it, and anyway, it felt… intriguing. "Two days, maybe three," he answered as his body impossibly started to react to Drift's caresses. "Maybe more if we take the scenic route. We've got the fuel to take us as around the Argon Nebula and back if we really want to stretch it out, but I'm sure you want to get home."
Drift's fingers never paused. "I do like a good nebula," he said thoughtfully, and Ratchet grinned at the thought of more time alone in this shuttle, just the two of them and this berth and whatever they could possibly think of to do in it. Then Drift shifted and looked over at Ratchet. "I never thought I'd ever get up the nerve to say this to you," he murmured. "But I love you, Ratchet. You know that, right?"
Ratchet's spark leapt in its casing. "I didn't know it. I didn't even let myself hope for that–the best I thought I'd get was a sword somewhere that wasn't immediately fatal," he whispered, and Drift snorted. "But it was a price I was willing to pay if I got to finally kiss you. I love you, too, you know. Have for quite a while now, actually."
Drift's entire face lit up in the most joyful smile Ratchet had ever seen. Then he bent and kissed the medic, taking his time about it, making it thorough enough to leave Ratchet breathless all over again. Oh yeah, he was a quick study, all right. "I'm so glad you came to find me," he said when he pulled away. "I'm so glad you kissed me."
Ratchet smiled and tightened his arms around him. "Me too, love."
.
… I don't know how to write short things. *sigh*