*clank* *clank* *clank*

Ratchet does anything but soothe, keeping his detached and professional demeanor no matter how painfully hard his own spike pressurizes behind his modesty panel.

"You're very sensitive. I can see why you've refrained from doing this yourself." The medic says clinically.

He stops stroking them, keeping his other servo tracing gentle circles over their tip with a digit. They nearly sob.

"So noisy..." He clicks his glossa and shakes his head.

With a squeeze to the base of their twitching spike, their spinal strut clicks as they arch and overload all over their abdominal plating.

Optimus Prime who has his newest recruit splayed out on his desk, sweetly allowing him to keep abusing their valve with something that should not fit inside.

His newest, most eager to prove themself recruit, because they want to distance from the horrific reputation of their former commander. The recruit that walks like Megatron, talks like Megatron, and has even unknowingly picked up a few mannerisms that have come to haunt Optimus from the past. Prime blames it on the poor thing being exposed to that violent mech for so long, they have no idea that they're doing these things, it's not on purpose.

Optimus doesn't know what possessed him to act this way, he's not one to jump other bots like this. Maybe it was the gradual build up of stress. Maybe it was the extensive boredom from staring at datapads all day. Maybe it was the conversation about the new recruit's time with the war-lord digging up old memories, but it definitely couldn't have been the way the new recruit had laughed, and how eerily similar it had looked and sounded to a younger version of his archenemy. So uncanny to the same version he'd used to call his good friend so sickeningly long ago.

Even while pounding into the closest thing he'll ever get to what he wants, he feels guiltier and guiltier the longer he thinks about it. They have no idea.

Really, the Autobot wants to get caught. They are completely devoted to Optimus and the Autobot cause—really, they are!

But no matter how hard they try, they can't keep their valve from leaking so much that it seeps through the seams of their modesty panel when they hear the war-lord growl out commands. And they definitely can't help how drooly and painfully pressurized their spike gets when they watch him overpower and pin frames even larger than his to the ground with no effort at all...

So now they're hiding behind crates. Or at least what they think are crates, in what they think might be a storage room. Because the thought of being held down, having 'filthy Autobot' growled into their audial, and getting stuffed so full of spike by Prime's biggest enemy that they hard reboot makes it hard to even register their surroundings with how much processor power they're devoting to keeping their panels from popping.

Whining and attempting to form the words to tell him that it's too much, that he can't take much more, but all that comes out of his vocalizer is static and broken Cybertronian. Megatron seems to understand what he means anyways.

"Giving up so soon, Archivist?"

Megatron mocks as he lifts his hips again, grinning at the broken cry that comes out of his amnesiac arch-rival. He deliberately clamps down, walls dragging against the spike he should hate buried inside his valve as he moves up up up.

He ignores the way Optimus Orion trembles and whines and scratches his paint as he pushes himself back down onto the smaller mech's overworked array, pressing down on the blue and red bot's abdominal plating to hold him still with the clawed servo that isn't pinning Orion's other wrist to the berth.