StormGlitch

There are two things that are simultaneously true when it comes to sex with Ratchet.

1) It is mind-blowing.

2) It is rare.

It’s not just past experience that makes him so good in bed. As an older mech, he’s not only accumulated experience but also the patience to draw out your pleasure. Even if you belong to different species, Ratchet’s keen optics sensitise him to every minuscule detail of your pleasure, making him a quick study. It sends a rush of pleasure through you to think about the fact that he’s not just a quick learner when it comes to any human body, but yours specifically.

Also, alien dick is huge. Optimus dwarfs near everybody, but him aside, Ratchet is not a small mech - broad and stocky, holding his own among the other Autobots - and naturally, when it came to you, he might as well have been a giant. The first time he revealed his spike to you, you’d stared at it for so long that he started to get nervous. He’d glanced off to the side and sullenly mumbled something about not being enough, and your confused-horny brain finally pulled itself together long enough to realise he’d made an attempt to study the intricacies of “human interfacing rituals” and drawn the entirely wrong conclusions (AKA humans chose mates based solely on their prowess like animals - and had misinterpreted your open-mouthed silence as dissatisfaction). After frantically convincing him that no, there was nothing wrong with it, and no, Ratchet, it’s adequate! I meant it’s more than enough! Way more than enough, in fact!, it finally clicked in his processor that it was quite the opposite. Ratchet’s entire demeanour changed after that - even now, he only needs to smirk lazily at you to remind you of the time he’d made you come so many times on his glossa you swear you met Primus himself (and shook his hand and thanked him for creating the absolute sex-god that was one Ratchet of Vaporex).

However, Ratchet was always busy. For good reason, too - you were reluctant to bother him when he was working on important things and unfortunately for you, that tended to be more often than not. The past few months had been especially hectic for the Autobots. Decepticon activity had been detected near an Autobot energon source, and the bots had been working round the clock to defend their supplies. With the pressure to secure fuel more acute than ever, Ratchet’s efforts to research a synthetic energon source had ramped up. You wished you could do more to help him, even ease the tension in his frame a little, but you didn’t want to distract him at such a crucial time - endlessly frustrated that you were too small to bring him energon cubes, too small to massage his shoulders, or drop a kiss on his faceplate without stealing too much of his attention away. At least that was one thing you could do - not be a distraction. Glumly, you roll over in your little nest of blankets on a corner of Ratchet’s berth. For the nth time in months, you take in his empty habsuite and despite your best efforts, fail to keep the loneliness at bay. You miss Ratchet - the way he’d huff when you press a goodnight kiss to his faceplate, yet be unable to stop a soft smile when you snuggle into his side. He way he’d carefully arrange you beside him with warm, gentle servos, and the rumble of his chassis as he bid you goodnight in return. On other nights, when you both weren’t ready to fall asleep yet, talking quietly together in the dark about everything and anything, Ratchet’s servo cupped around you as you basked in the turquoise glow his optics cast onto the ceiling.

There was no helping it, though. Ratchet had more pressing matters to attend to. However, as you tossed and turned in your little blanket pile, you became increasingly aware of a problem of your own - you were really, really horny. Burying your head in the blankets, you attempt to hide the flush of shame that bloomed on your cheeks. The bots were fighting a war, and here you were, fighting your own impulses.

It had been an impulse purchase, made on a weekend where you were back in your own apartment - a bright red and white striped silicone dildo. As soon as you saw it, you immediately thought of Ratchet. It was a little thicker than what you normally went for, but that only made it all the more perfect. The flaming blush on your face did little to stop you from adding it to your cart and purchasing it with expedited shipping.

You’d actually intended on revealing your purchase to Ratchet quite early on, thinking that he could use it on you while preparing you to take his spike - but your first encounter had you utterly convinced that magic was real, and it resided in Ratchet’s servos. You’d taken his spike with barely any discomfort the very first time you slept together (probably down to the fact that he’d spent hours eating you out and working you open on his servos until you were an incoherent mess). That said, you’d never actually gotten the chance to tell Ratchet about your purchase, much less use it. After all, why settle for the inferior option when Ratchet was right there and willing?

Ratchet might be willing, but as of present, he is not here. And based on the past few months, he probably won’t be for a while. You’d often stirred awake in the wee hours of the night to Ratchet wearily settling in berth beside you, and the only reason he was there was probably because Optimus had sternly insisted on his taking a break.

With another long night stretching ahead of you, what better time to put your purchase to the test?

You’d shoved it somewhere deep in your pile of belongings kept at base, still completely unopened in its package. Digging it out, you tear the box open to reveal the dildo in all its red-and-white striped glory. Less awe-inspiring than Ratchet’s spike, but you supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers. Anyway, it had been a while since you’d taken Ratchet and without the meticulous care of his magic servos, it was for the best that you were starting small. Well, smaller. You can’t help but blush when you remember that, when you first purchased this, you’d thought it was intimidating. Man, Ratchet had really ruined you for anyone and anything else.

You don’t even need lube at this point - you glide the cool silicone over your slick folds, hips jerking as the ridged head catches on your clit. You can’t help your breathy moan when it fills you up, inch by inch, every sensitive nerve ending singing to life until you sag back into your blanket nest with the satisfaction of feeling full. You close your eyes and imagine that it’s Ratchet’s spike filling you up. He doesn’t necessarily jackhammer into you unless you specifically request it - he doesn’t need to. Powerful, purposeful thrusts have you writhing beneath him, crying out his name as he drives deep, looking at him through teary eyes to see the affection for you in his optics. You pick up the pace, driving the dildo deeper into your weeping hole, arching your back as you try to hit that spot Ratchet always seems to find effortlessly. The biolights along his spike drag deliciously against your walls, nudging your clit on every stroke - whereas this dildo is smooth. Once upon a time, it would have been more than enough to tip you over the edge. Now, you find yourself missing Ratchet more and more, and yourself further and further from orgasm. Blowing your hair out of your face and frustratedly kicking the blankets away, you let your legs fall apart once more and exhale as the blessedly cool air of his habsuite hits your overheated body. You screw your eyes shut again, clenching around the dildo. Reaching a hand down to rub your clit, you fall into another memory - one from your first time together, of Ratchet eating you out. You press the dildo deeper inside you, breath hitching as it sets off a wave of pleasure that cascades through your body. You’d practically spasmed in his hold when he pushed his glossa into you - eagerly mapping out the sensitive spots that would make you sob with pleasure, curling his glossa against your walls in a way that had you thrashing against him. Angling the dildo just so, you bite your lip as the head brushes a particularly good spot - more heat rushes to your face as you remember when Ratchet first fingered you open, not letting up once he’d found the spot that made you scream -

“Y/n?”

All at once, your eyes shoot open as a familiar, rumbling voice calls out to you. Ratchet of Vaporex, Autobot medic and sex god extraordinaire, stands in the doorway of his habsuite, optics huge as he takes in the sight of you absolutely debauched on his berth.

“Um,” you squeak, mortified. “Welcome back?”

His vocaliser audibly resets with a click. “Optimus - he told me to, ah.”

You chance a look at him when you hear the low hum of static in his voice. Ratchet’s still in the doorway, servos clenching at his sides as he takes in your flushed face and spread legs.

Well. You didn’t expect him to be that interested. Maybe there’s a way to save this, after all. Fighting your raging embarrassment, you meet Ratchet’s optics and slowly, exaggeratedly, slide the dildo out until just the tip is inside you. Ratchet takes the bait - his optics snap to the movement of your arm, your hand, and finally, you can audibly hear his optics hyperfocus on the thick, red dildo that splits you open.

“Y-You-” he rasps, vocaliser spitting static, and it’s all he can get out before his cooling fans kick on with a high-pitched whirr.

“I missed you,” you say, and your voice is no better - wrecked, just at the thought of him.

His fans kick on impossibly higher, but to his credit, Ratchet recovers quickly.

So you’ve gotten a bot in your bed… or vis versa. What now? That depends.

Perhaps this was all your idea, a test of a bond with a Cybertronian. The ultimate consummation of love and trust. Why deny your natural right to want sex from the person you love most. While your partner has perhaps heard of sex, you will have to guide them regardless. Show them where it feels good. Tell them what you want.

To dominate your helpless body.

To accept and trust you as you are.

To make you come.

All the dressings of cloth you wear will be off by any means. Slowly and tenderly? With care and reverence? Or will you be stripped hungrily under piercing red (or blue) optics.

So many questions to answer.

There has never been an opportunity for a Cybertronian to know a human quite this closely before. You best believe that nothing will be left undiscovered tonight. No inch of your skin will go without being kissed. You will be licked and mouthed over mercilessly. You will be shown pleasures so far outside of the earthen idea of “normal” you will question the very memory of the experience.

But don’t forget this isn’t all about you. Intimacy is deeply meaningful for their kind. It’s been so long. Primus it’s been so long they could be this true with someone. It takes a single kind whisper for them to open their spark chamber. You’d bath in the literal afterglow of the light that animates them. Coming down from an explosive orgasm your endorphins flooding into a hot pumping bloodstream enhancing every sensation. You can FEEL their spark enveloping you with light.

And they can feel you. The threads of consciousnesses that bring you two to life wrapping and coiling around eachother for the most pleasurable experience of their lives.

After, you can almost recall the night through their optics. Imagery flashes through your mind. Imagery of their digits plunging into you, their dentae nibbling your ear, all while being cupped in their warm servos. The memory of the act through their perspective vanishes as soon as its remembered. An echo in your mind of what their spark felt.

—

Wow I have not written freaky stuff before I hope you guys think this is good.

Summary:

Jazz huddles in the cockpit, turns on the comm channel, and habitually ignores the static

“This is 1061. I don't know if you guys can hear me, but I have news. I've found other mechs in space! But..”

He taps nervously on the console panel

“I am not sure they're piloted by humans.”

---------

Jazz isn't sure at what exact moment his life turned into anime completely. It was probably when a huge monster appeared in the sky above his home? Yeah...it must have been then.

The big green thing blew up almost half the city before it was destroyed with so much explosives that the government probably had to empty their pockets to scrape together that much.

In the future, of course, they had to repeat the feat.

And then again.

And again.

Either the government of these monsters had a lot of extra money, or the monsters were free volunteers.

Jazz tried to watch from a distance. Ideally from a place where it would be hard to yank him out. Even with a stick. Even for a massive space monster.

%%%%

If you think about it. This wasn't anime yet. It was more in apocalypse film territory.

The anime started when a smiling man in a surprisingly expensive suit came to Jazz and offered to take a few tests to see if Jazz was suitable for some sort of special earth protection program of his. The pay was suspiciously good, and the list of medical forms was suspiciously long. But last week, a huge shark-like thing had trampled Jazz's last workplace and well...there wasn't much else for him to go to.

The man smiled and looked like a toothpaste advertisement as he shook his hand.

Yeah, the anime definitely started with that.

-----

It's actually amazing how a shitty thing like alien monsters and giant robots can become habitual. Maybe even beloved. Not monsters, of course. No.

But robots? Definitely.

Jazz is one hell of a pilot. One of the best, as his superiors like to say. They don't really have a way to test who's the greatest pilot in the world because the life span of the average pilot isn't usually very long. Jazz doesn't mind. He knows he's good, but he doesn't want to think about how good. Other pilots like to compete for the top of the charts. Numbers, kills, promotions and everything else that goes with it.

Jazz is mostly just vibing.

His early tests don't show very high or impressive potential for compatibility with combat mech technology, but once he's out of the simulator and into the real thing....

Jazz can't explain it. He just feels it. He just stops seeing the dashboard in front of him, stops thinking about how comfortable the pilot's seat is or how to hold the controls.

Jazz gets in the cockpit and stops being human.

Jazz gets in the cockpit and turns into metal and machinery. Rockets and joints. Hydraulics and thousands of sensors.

His hands become huge, able to crush a car. His legs gain new articulations. His body moves in ways completely impossible for a human and it feels so familiar, as if he's always been like this.

It feels like him. Like home.

Jazz isn't interested in promotions because important people aren't allowed to operate mechs. Not allowed to be mechs.

Jazz wants to be a mech.

He's just not ready to trade that feeling for anything else.

————

War gets crazier as time goes on.

Every time Jazz thinks it's going to end now, someone steps on Chekhov's gun in the ceiling.

The aliens aren't going to die out or leave.

Humans refuse to go extinct.

It's a tug-of-war that inevitably leads both sides to think that if they can't win with the ‘pull harder’ method, they should try something new. Something creative.

That’s how Jazz finds himself in the middle of developing a mech capable of travelling through space.

Because whoever is making the decisions up there has decided it's time to get more aggressive and start fighting on more than just their own territory.

The aliens have so far been too comfortable taking advantage of the fact that space is inaccessible to humans. They've always had places to retreat to. Places to hide to lick their wounds. Jazz thinks it makes sense. Sort of. If there's anything left in this world that respects logic.

The development department takes some time and an absolutely obscene amount of money to figure out how to launch a giant robot into space without the human inside it turning to paste.

They show an incredible ability to organize space and play a game of tetris where instead of blocks there are vital systems like air storage and provisions falling from the ceiling.

Jazz, as someone who has been forced to participate in hundreds of their tests and observe their tenacity, is genuinely proud of them.

His pride even overcomes the fact that they have been close to turning him into a paste more times than he is comfortable counting.

They stick him in hundreds of variations of different armor and plating and make him perform the same boring motions a million times to “make sure there's no risk of depressurization”.

Sometimes he's shoved to the bottom of a swimming pool and asked to perform mission simulations without coming out of the water. This is the only part of development that Jazz actually genuinely loves. Swimming is fun when you're metal and don't have to breathe.

%%%%%%%

At the end of the tests, Jazz is left with a hundred or so system upgrades, increased weight by almost half, nice new armor, and added height. His legs now have another joint in them. Some of the pilots complain that it hurts them to even look at Jazz's freakishly bendy legs, but their opinion fades under the weight of delight.

Jazz loves the new joints. New joints mean he can navigate even wackier surfaces now.

For the first official space mission, the superiors choose him without much hesitation.

Space is unfamiliar territory. And no matter how hard you try, you can't fully recreate its conditions without being there. This means that no amount of training and simulations can fully prepare pilots for what will be waiting for them there. They're going to have to adjust. Improvise. Find ways and solutions on the spot.

Jazz is good at that. Exceptionally and impressively good. He also has enough thirst for adventures in him to go along with the idea.

But most importantly, he's undeniably the best when it comes to controlling a battle mech. His ability to “ I don’t know I’m just vibing you know” is envy-inducing and wary at the same time. Mechs are huge and heavy, and in the hands of someone who doesn't fully know what to do, they're pretty damn clumsy.

Jazz is one of the few who can control a battle mech as naturally as his own human body.

In theory that means if he's thrown into a zero-gravity environment, he can handle it just fine. No worse than if he could do it without the mech. Or at least not fail dramatically enough to embarrass the entire engineering department.

Jazz promises to do his best, shakes all the hands necessary for pretty pictures, and uploads a file with simple instructions.

This mission shouldn't be anything too bizarre except for its location. He is warned that a lot can go wrong, but then immediately assured that a whole crowd of experts will be waiting and watching and will respond at his first call.

Jazz politely thanks them and does a few simple movements to make sure all the joints in his legs are working properly.

His boss smiles like he's advertizing toothpaste and promises him a nice big raise if he'll continue to work on space missions.

Jazz somehow manages to forget that this is where anime usually begins.

________________

Things are going very wrong very fast. Most unfairly, for a completely unexplainable reason.

Jazz is quite successful at getting around in space. The lack of gravity is incredibly uncomfortable at first, but he adapts. It takes time to understand the movement, but nothing beyond the plan.

At one point he even has fun. He spots a satellite orbiting the Earth and waves cheerfully at it, hoping it is recording.

He confidently completes the exploration and is about to turn back when something huge and possessing an uncomfortable number of limbs materializes in front of him literally out of nowhere.

He is surprised and a little disgusted, but the monster's appearance wasn't entirely unforeseen. His instructions are simple. Anything larger than an elephant and not a human being must become dead.

A fight with a strange space thing is no problem. The problem is that the thing is losing very quickly and is clearly panicking about it. Jazz is just about to rip another leg off of it when an unidentifiable bright green light flashes around them and suddenly the whole world starts to feel bloody wrong. Space feels like it's stretching and shrinking at the same time. Jazz can't tell if he's feeling the pressure or if he's being torn apart.

He's screaming. Not from pain, but from surprise.

And finds himself standing in the middle of a crowd of similar monsters.

The one he was just about to kill makes some gurgling, panicked noises. The other monsters freeze, either surprised or frightened, it's impossible to tell.

Jazz manages to notice that he's inside some kind of room. His brain finds no suitable alternative for a quick description. He has never been in such strange places before

He doesn't even have time to take a step when there's a muffled click from behind and he's blinded by the green light again.

He doesn't know what to expect when he opens his eyes.

The first time, the strange green light dragged him through every possible sensation in just a couple of seconds, and that was enough to scare the hell out of him.

The second time, it feels like it lasts forever. He tries to look at his watch, but his eyes refuse to work properly. Which ones of his eyes? He doesn't know. One overlaps with the other. He feels terribly tiny but at the same time it's like his body is everywhere at once. Somewhere in the far corner of his brain, flickers the thought that mixing experimental technology with obscure alien magic is a spectacularly bad idea. The amount of things that could go wrong wouldn't fit in any insurance policy, even if they were writing small text under a microscope. Who ‘they’ are, he's not imagining. His boss and his advertising teeth probably.

Jazz clenches his fists, closes his eyes, and tries his hardest to at least just not pass out. The Engineering Department will owe him so much pool time for all of this.

That's assuming he survives long enough to see the engineering department again.

He tries to focus on the simple things.

Everything around him feels like ‘WRONG’.

He can't breathe.

Maybe the urge to stay awake has been overrated.

He's falling.

*********

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is cold hands on his head.

Someone is gently turning it, probably to examine him.

There are voices above him. He doesn't recognize them and can't distinguish what they're saying.

The palms of the hands are hard. They feel like they're made of metal.

He hears more voices.

For a scary second he worries his brain is broken, but the more he listens the more he realizes it's just another language.

A completely...unfamiliar language. Unlike anything he's ever heard before.

Hands move away and he chooses that moment to open his eyes.

Long time ago, he used to go to all sorts of movie and art fan festivals. There were always a lot of cosplayers trying to outdo each other in the art of character creation.

The picture that meets him is actually a surprisingly strong reminder of those times.

The people crowded around him are extremely colorful. Also quite small compared to his metallic body.

The strange thin lilac creature is saying something. It sounds questioning.

The other lilac creature shakes its head negatively and judging by its intonation redirects the question to someone else.

Jazz tries to figure out if the green light could have made him see things. Because it's unlikely the afterlife looks like this.

Someone very furry peeks out from behind the backs of the lilac creatures and authoritatively pulls out a thing that looks like a regular tablet. They poke at it for a couple seconds and then show everyone in the crowd a picture of some kind of robot simultaneously pointing at Jazz.

The crowd disagrees.

One of them says something poking Jazz with his hand. He wonders idly if it's the same hand. No, it's the wrong size.

The picture changes to a different one.

The effect is the same.

Another round of poking and prodding later, Jazz's fried brain gets it.

They're trying to figure out what he is.

Little colorful things. Probably never seen a robot like this before?

He doesn't have time to process the thought properly when the floor he's lying on starts to shake violently.

The creatures shriek in frustration and Jazz, who until then had been sure he was in some kind of building, suddenly realizes that. Oh, shit. No. The surface is moving.

Is he being taken somewhere???

Jazz looks around in confusion, trying to figure out who it belongs to.

He makes an attempt to jump to his feet and all the creatures crowding around him all start screaming at the same time. He doesn't understand it, but it sounds hysterical, angry and so damn unpleasant to his poor head. Someone shrieks and from somewhere to his left there are sharp clicks and the floor shakes and Jazz wants to go back to the bottom of the pool where it's dark and quiet and

Someone picks him up under his elbows from behind. Not exerting much pressure or holding him down. Just offering support.

A new voice comes from the back of the room. Louder and much lower than all the previous ones and, notably...not from the floor.

And meets the gaze of another giant robot.

__________________________