Note to Self: upload the correct document *facepalm*
This chapter contains sticky. If that's not your cuppa, please don't read it.
"He'll be fine," Ratchet said quietly, giving Sideswipe a brief glance, then turning to survey his handiwork with tired optics as he cleaned the energon from his hands. Sunstreaker was fully repaired at last, though the golden menace was going to have to live with a sub-par appearance until he could acquire a fresh coat of paint.
Appearance wasn't Ratchet's concern at the moment, however. "Let him get in a full recharge cycle and I'll clear him for light duty in the morning," he continued, starting to clean and put away his tools, no longer really noticing Sideswipe's presence, even though he was the only other mech in the medbay.
Just as he was laying the last tool in its place, however, a warm, gentle black hand on his own stilled him. He looked up with a soft, startled gasp to see Sideswipe's face very near, his expression fierce with sincere gratitude. Still, Ratchet could not for the life of him understand what possessed the red mech to do what he did next, and the medic could only blame his confusion and exhaustion for not belting the frontliner in the face for it.
"Thank you," Sideswipe said in a low voice—and then he kissed him.
Ratchet froze, processor scrambling to make sense of the situation. Sideswipe was kissing him. It took Ratchet a few stunned moments to realize that he was kissing back.
A small voice inside him protested, said that this wasn't right, wasn't fair to pull this slag on him when he was already half-shattered with stress and weariness. The rest of him told it to shut the frag up because it felt fragging amazing—almost felt like something he'd been waiting for, except that didn't make any sense either.
Sideswipe pulled him close against his frame, his arms encircling the white medic as he kissed him, and Ratchet trembled, reminded of how good it felt to be held by another mech, and how long it had been since the last time he'd allowed himself to experience this. Sideswipe's hands were everywhere, first cupping his helm tenderly, then sliding down his frame, as though trying to memorize the feel of his plating and the shape of his body. Ratchet could only manage to cling to Sideswipe, his hands clutching the red mech's shoulders as he allowed himself to be seduced.
He forgot everything but the taste of Sideswipe's mouth and the feel of his hands on his plating, not even noticing when the red twin began to back him out of the medbay and across the hall to his quarters. He had a moment of confusion when Sides asked him for his keycode, but he gasped it out readily enough when the red mech turned his attention to nipping and suckling at his neck and shoulders.
Sideswipe was kissing him almost desperately when they tripped over the berth, Ratchet falling backward with the other mech on top of him. Sideswipe grunted softly as they found themselves horizontal, but he didn't waste any time. He parted Ratchet's thighs with one of his own, and Ratchet couldn't stifle a cry when he felt the heat rolling off of Sideswipe's interface panel as the red mech pressed firmly against him. He bucked up into Sideswipe's thigh, instinctively spreading his legs a little further, inviting more contact.
The red mech vented a shaky sigh, and then he was nestling himself entirely between Ratchet's parted thighs, their interface panels pressed intimately together, his hips rolling gently against Ratchet's own as though he were already inside him. Then, without any more warning than a quick shudder, Sideswipe's control broke and his panel clicked open, his spike rising from its sheathe to press hot and hard and needing between them. Ratchet's valve clenched with an answering rush of lubricant at the alluring nearness of it, feeling achingly empty and desperate to be filled.
Sideswipe didn't say anything, didn't demand or beg for Ratchet to open up for him, as though he knew that speaking would fracture the fragile web of desire stretched between them. He simply pressed his spike firmly against the medic's closed panel, rubbing in long, sinuous strokes, gasping softly in pleasure at the delicious friction.
It proved to be Ratchet's own breaking point, and he could feel himself trembling as his panel clicked open, exposing his greedy valve; he was hyperaware of Sideswipe's spike so dangerously, tantalizingly close. Sideswipe abruptly stilled as he became aware of the wet heat suddenly pressing against his painfully hard spike—then, tentatively, he began moving again, rubbing gently, and it almost seemed an accident when the blunt tip of him found Ratchet's clutching entrance, making both of them utter soft, breathy cries. The white mech found himself arching up instinctively, and Sideswipe only hesitated for a moment before pushing inside, groaning as he sank into Ratchet's slick, welcoming valve.
Ratchet's optics offlined, his head tilting back as he moaned at the feeling of Sideswipe penetrating him, filling him in a way that he hadn't been in what felt like a lifetime, the slow stretch of his entrance painfully exquisite. The red mech's spike felt thick and heavy inside him, and his valve clutched at it, tightening around it until it felt as though their interface equipment was molded together.
Sideswipe kept still above him, panting softly, optics offline as they both adjusted to being so intimately joined. Then they snapped on, something like surprise and wonder shining in them as Ratchet wordlessly looked at him, winding his arms a little tighter around the red mech, and tentatively arched his hips up in a clear plea to feel Sideswipe moving above him and inside him. With a ragged gasp, Sideswipe obliged him. His hips pulled back and then surged forward, driving his spike into the silken clutch of Ratchet's valve with gentle urgency while the white mech moaned beneath him.
Pleasure bloomed through all of Ratchet's systems, spreading outward from the slick friction in his valve, and he spread his thighs further, trying to take Sideswipe ever deeper inside him, until it felt as though the tip of the red twin's spike was bumping up against the entrance of his reproduction chamber. Sideswipe gave a hoarse groan at the new depth, his head falling to Ratchet's shoulder as his thrusts hitched briefly then sped up.
Ratchet was vaguely aware enough to be glad that Sideswipe didn't seem interested in drawing this out, because he wasn't sure he was going to last much longer. Ecstasy burned in his lines and he was quickly growing unable to contain it. He could feel his overload approaching like the rush of an oncoming train. He felt completely powerless to stop or even slow it, and when it hit he bucked so hard he nearly threw Sideswipe off, crying out the pleasure of his release. His valve fluttered and clutched around the spike inside it, and he distantly heard Sideswipe raggedly whisper "Oh Primus Ratch…" before a rush of liquid heat filled him, black hips jerking against his own as the red mech overloaded deep inside him.
Slowly, the intense rush of pleasure began to fade, leaving rising warmth and lassitude and a delicious ache in his valve where Sideswipe's spike was still buried inside, and by degrees Ratchet allowed himself to completely relax beneath the red twin. His body felt heavy and sated, anchored to reality by the warm, firm presence of the mech above him, and he kept him held as close as he could with the strength he had left.
Sideswipe, for his part, seemed content to burrow in, his face pressed into Ratchet's neck, and supporting his own weight just enough to keep from crushing the medic under him. After a few moments, though, his spike retracted, and he grunted softly then sighed as he rolled off to the side. Ratchet frowned, but before his mind could really process anything, he found himself being pulled to a broad red chestplate, Sideswipe tucking him against his frame with strong arms, curling around him, cuddling him. At that, Ratchet's mind decided that it couldn't handle any more strange and unexpected events tonight, and shut him down into recharge in exhaustion and self-defense.
Sometime later, he was awakened by the feel of someone else creeping into his berth—Sunstreaker, he realized groggily, as the yellow mech crawled up close to their entwined forms, wrapping his own arms around Ratchet from behind and pressing his face into the medic's back. Feeling impossibly, incongruously safe between the two warm bodies at either side of him, Ratchet lay in the dark and wondered when he'd lost his damn mind.