#maximum attack

This is a commission requested by me after approval of @mercuryw1tch , based on her work Maximum Attack❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 thank you again for creating such an amazing piece😭

character&clothing designed/drawn by Abyss nim🫡🫡

Dratchet on my mind, Drift getting a speeding ticket for something really dumb and it was easily avoided and Ratchet is so done with his partner... But he also does have a Halloween spicy policeman outfit from his younger years deep in his closet, now that he thinks about it

Oohhh yessss I love writing extra MA stuff ehehe

Watch out, humanformers sticky

MINORS PLS DONT READ THIS

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Everyone gets tickets. Parking tickets, speeding tickets; it’s something that, statistically speaking, happens to every driver at least once in their life.

But when the person getting a ticket is a young, famous rally driver, things take on a slightly more comical tone.

That was exactly what had happened to Drift.

Ever since he’d received the ticket, he had made a point of waking up before his partner every morning to check the mailbox first, hoping to avoid being scolded, and then teased about it for the next few days.

But that morning, he’d overslept.

He stretched lazily in bed, then, drawn by the smell of Ratchet’s coffee, padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing the boxers and T-shirt he’d slept in.

Ratchet was there, still in the robe he wore over his pajamas, standing by the kitchen table with his back turned.

Without thinking, Drift slipped his arms around his waist, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Good morning, Ratty.” He murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

Ratchet didn’t answer right away; he seemed too focused on whatever he was holding.

Drift leaned slightly to the side to get a better look and froze.

Ratchet was sorting through the mail, and in his hands, unmistakable, was the official envelope stamped by the police.

His ticket.

“Drift…” Ratchet began, squinting his beautiful green eyes as he tried to read without his glasses. “What did you do?”

“Oh, that? Nothing. Why don’t you focus on me instead?”

Trying to distract him, Drift’s lips traced the elegant line of Ratchet’s pale neck, pressing soft kisses against his skin, even daring a light bite.

“Did you get a speeding ticket… near a hospital?”

Ratchet turned to look at him, his eyebrows drawn together in a look of clear disappointment, one Drift’s kisses couldn’t hope to undo.

“I was late.” Drift muttered, blushing slightly as he rested his chin back on his shoulder.

“For what?”

“…gaming night with Roddy.”

Silence fell. Just long enough for embarrassment to settle in properly.

Ratchet sighed deeply, shaking his head.

“Hey, I even tried your trick and showed the cop my rally driver license, but it didn’t work.” Drift added quickly, stepping away as Ratchet turned fully toward him, arms crossing over his chest.

“Do you realize that if they take your license for driving like an idiot, your career is over too?”

Ratchet was right. Completely right.

But still… nothing had actually happened, had it?

“As if you’ve never gotten a ticket.” Drift muttered under his breath.

Ratchet let out another long sigh.

“Be more careful next time. This is a very stupid way to waste money.”

And just like that, they ate breakfast in silence.

Drift knew he’d messed up, but he still wasn’t sure he deserved to be scolded like that.

During the day, Drift had gone to train alone at the track, while Ratchet had returned to his office to see his patients. Needless to say, that small argument had lingered in the driver’s mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been treated unfairly.

By the time he headed home in the late afternoon, he already had a speech prepared; ready to ask Ratchet not to treat him like a child.

But the moment he stepped inside, all of that resolve vanished.

In their bedroom, sitting on the bed, was Ratchet.

He was wearing the costume Drift had once convinced him to buy for a Halloween party a few years earlier; an outfit that, much to Drift’s disappointment, had done nothing but gather dust in their closet ever since.

Until now.

It was a rather provocative police uniform: the classic cap, a short-sleeved blue shirt -left deliberately unbuttoned to reveal the freckles scattered across his chest- and a pair of very short black shorts that left his pale thighs fully exposed.

He sat there, legs spread slightly, as if inviting him closer.

“I think we need to talk about that speeding ticket again.”

Ratchet murmured, looking at him with bright, unmistakably amused eyes as he lazily spun a pair of handcuffs around one finger.

For a moment, Drift felt his heart stop, and all the blood in his body rush south.

He dropped his training bag by the door, kicking it aside without a second thought, his gaze locked on Ratchet's spread thighs and the way the short pants rode up, exposing more pale skin than they concealed.

Ratchet's vibrant eyes -those piercing green ones that always seemed to see right through him- held a mix of mischief and challenge. The handcuffs glinted under the bedroom light as he spun them lazily, the metallic click echoing in the quiet room. Drift swallowed hard, his cock already twitching to life in his pants.

“Officer.”

Drift said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.

He stepped closer, playing along, his mind racing with images of what could come next. The roleplay had been a fantasy they'd toyed with before, but seeing Ratchet like this -dressed to provoke, freckles dusting his unbuttoned shirt like stars on pale sky- made it feel dangerously real.

“I didn't know I was in trouble. What did I do this time?”

Ratchet's lips curved into a smirk. He shifted on the bed, thighs parting a fraction more.

“You know exactly what you did, speed demon. Racing around like you own the streets. I'm here to make sure you pay the fine.”

He dangled the handcuffs higher, the chain rattling softly.

“Hands where I can see them.”

Drift's resolve from earlier shattered completely. He closed the distance in two strides, towering over Ratchet, who looked up at him with feigned authority that didn't quite hide the hunger in his eyes.

But before Drift could make a move, Ratchet's hand shot out, grabbing Drift's wrist with surprising strength.

“Not so fast, criminal.”

Ratchet purred, his voice low and commanding. He twisted Drift's arm behind his back, the cold metal of the handcuffs clicking into place around one wrist, then the other, securing them firmly against the small of Drift's back.

Drift's breath hitched, a thrill shooting through him at the sudden reversal. The cuffs bit into his skin just enough to remind him of his vulnerability, warmth spreading in his pants as Ratchet pushed him onto the bed.

The young driver landed on the mattress with a soft thud, his arms pinned uselessly behind him, watching as Ratchet straddled his hips, the man's weight settling teasingly over his straining erection.

“You think you can just barge in and take over?”

Ratchet leaned down, his chest brushing against Drift's shirt as he nipped at Drift's earlobe. His hands roamed freely now, pulling up the boy’s shirt with deliberate slowness, exposing the driver’s toned abs and chest. “No, you're under arrest. And I'm going to extract that fine myself.”

Drift groaned, arching up into the pressure of Ratchet's ass grinding down against him through their clothes. The friction was maddening, Ratchet's short pants doing little to hide the heat radiating from his body.

“Fuck, Ratchet... Officer-”

Drift corrected himself with a ragged laugh, playing along even as his hips bucked instinctively.

“What kind of punishment are we talking?”

Ratchet's laugh was breathy, his fingers trailing down to Drift's belt, yanking it open with a sharp tug. He shoved Drift's pants down just enough to free his cock, which sprang up, hard and leaking onto his stomach.

Ratchet wrapped his hand around the base, stroking firmly once, twice, drawing a curse from Drift's lips.

“The kind where you stay still and take it.”

Ratchet murmured, his own arousal evident in the flush creeping up his neck and the way his thighs clenched around Drift's sides.

He shifted back, quickly shedding his tiny shorts, his hard cock bobbing free, flushed and ready. Ratchet reached for the lube on the nightstand and slicked his fingers, prepping himself with efficient circles, his eyes never leaving Drift's.

The sight was intoxicating; Ratchet's pale skin glowing under the dim light, freckles scattering across his chest as he worked himself open, soft moans escaping as he pushed two fingers inside.

Drift strained against the cuffs, the metal rattling faintly, his muscles flexing uselessly.

“Let me touch you… please.”

He growled, voice thick with need. But Ratchet just shook his head, a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Not tonight.”

Satisfied, Ratchet positioned himself over Drift's cock, the slick head nudging against his entrance.

He sank down slowly, inch by inch, his tight heat enveloping Drift in a vice-like grip that made stars burst behind Drift's eyelids. Ratchet's walls clenched around him, hot and welcoming, as he bottomed out with a shuddering gasp.

“Oh, fuck… yes-”

Ratchet breathed, his hands bracing on Drift's chest for leverage, nails digging into the skin.

He started to move, rolling his hips in a teasing rhythm at first, lifting up until just the tip remained inside before sliding back down, taking his lover deep each time.

The bed creaked under them, Ratchet's thighs flexing with every rise and fall.

Drift thrust up to meet him, as much as the cuffs allowed, his bound position heightening every sensation; the way Ratchet's body gripped him, the slap of skin, the desperate whines spilling from Ratchet's lips.

“Ride me harder, Officer.”

Drift panted, his head falling back against the pillow.

“M-make me pay for it.”

Ratchet obliged, picking up the pace, bouncing on Drift's cock with abandon.

His green eyes locked onto Drift's, possessive, as he ground down, circling his hips to hit that spot inside him that made his whole body tremble. Sweat beaded on his freckled skin, his unbuttoned shirt hanging open.

The pressure built fast, Ratchet's hand wrapping around his own cock, stroking in time with his rides. “Gonna- fuck, Drift, so close…”

He gasped, his movements growing erratic. Drift's hips snapped up, driving deeper, the angle perfect for pounding into the older man.

Ratchet came with a cry, and Drift followed seconds later, groaning as he filled Ratchet, his release pulsing deep inside.

Ratchet collapsed forward, both of them panting, bodies slick and spent.

After a moment, Ratchet reached back, fumbling with the key to unlock the cuffs. Drift's arms fell free, and he immediately pulled Ratchet close, kissing him deeply, tasting satisfaction.

“Best fine I've ever paid.” Drift murmured against his lips.

Ratchet chuckled, nuzzling into his neck.

Slider: What did you do this time, shortstack?

Mav: I accidentally ate Ice's leftover pierogi. How long do you think I have left to live?

Slider, seeing Ice slowly rising up behind Mav: Five.

Mav: Five what?!

Hockenheimring ...