Credit to @wortsandall for the idea
And to @urbestieemy for asking
" ratchet holding drift up while drilling him in the shower"
Mature Audience/Dratchet Shower sex under the cut
The steam from the hot solvent had already moistened the tile walls, Drift's digits leaving tracks along the slick tile as he tried to find any kind of grip. Their own frames dumped steamy clouds in the enclosed space, heavy pants over the whining of spooled up fans. Biting his lower lip to quiet his moans, a chuckle from Ratchet as he shifted up along Drift's frame to nuzzle along his jawline.
Drift had teased Ratchet all day, starting their early morning off with his stretches in the berthroom, adding an arch to his back in one stretch, an extended leg up on the berth just out of Ratchet's reach during another stretch. Then he had written a note with Ratchet's lunch, a few sugared energon cubes packed into a container, handed off with a smile and a kiss as they left their habsuite. Even worse was when Drift had joined him on his break, unconsciously chewing on a claw and licking his lips, Ratchet's blue optics fixated on his lips.
Drift perhaps hadn’t meant to tease so much during one cycle, but he also knew that nothing riled the old medic up like the ghosting of touches or just stepping out of range of a sneaked servo grab. Their relationship was no secret on the Lost Light, although Drift kept his public displays of affection subtle and hidden. Ratchet wasn’t as put off by the others and their stares, Drift was definitely a mech that caught one's attention. The way he moved, with purpose and practiced strength, it drew the line of sight directly to his red and white panels.
Running his servos down Drifts back and spinal strut, the mech finally relenting and opening his mouth to pant softly, Ratchet seizing the opportunity to mumble against his lips. It was love, deeper than love, a connection in their sparks that ran deeper than their own feelings could describe in any language. A rush of warm air panted over Ratchet's lips as he slid into Drift's warm valve, calipers pulling him deeper, lubricant making the slide easy. He would never grow tired of this feeling, never grow weary of the depth of their emotions.
Ratchet loved Drift, everything about him, and Drift mirrored it back to him. If anything Drift loved him more, obsessed over him, the centuries of pining honed the small little things he would do for Ratchet. It was trivial, stupid even, the tiny acts Drift performed to show his love towards Ratchet. It took time for him to adjust, to understand the pure emotion and meaning behind each act.
He had a collection now, of folded papers in animal shapes next to oddly colored crystals. A growing notebook of love notes and poems. A collection of captures he kept buried in his processor. Never, in all his millions of years, did Ratchet think he would be this entangled with another. Drift had given him back his life, his purpose, the very reason for him to keep going forward.
A grunt as thumbs dug into the base of his spinal strut, Drift stretching along the tiled wall as Ratchet pressed in deep. “Ratchet…..”
A deep invent along neck cables, the smell of polish and flowery cleanser, something unique to Drift. “I don’t think you understand what you do to me.”
“Not exactly hearing you complaining.”
“Oh, I’ll get to the complaining later. But now I need to pay you back for all the teasing today.”
A flush across damp cheeks, blue optics hooded as Drift sank down into Ratchet's hold. Strong servos slid down his aft, grip tightening as digits touched his thighs. Weight transferring and lifting Drifts legs up, back plates being pressed into the tile now. A snap of hips forced a stutter from Drift, arms reaching out to balance himself in Ratchet's hold.
“And I’m a medic, a frame like yours is nothing to hold onto.”
“But you worked all day….”
“Insinuating I’m tired?” Another hard roll of hips, a smile forming on Drift's face. Ratchet returned it through a kiss, building up a rhythm. The light clack of metal joined the sound of falling solvent, wet smacks of lips and twisted glossas as the kiss grew deeper. Denta pulled on Drift's lower lip for a moment, Ratchet pulling away slightly to give the mech a smirk. “Guess I’ll just have to wear myself out, then you can pamper me for the rest of the evening.”
One more sharp snap of hips had Drift rattling his plating, finials folding flat as he braced his weight using his upper arms. Baring his fangs while nodding his helm, Ratchet setting a pace. “Frag me Ratchet, please…..”
“My beautiful mech, anything you ask of me.”
The clack became more pronounced, digits digging in deep into metal as Ratchet put his weight into his thrusts. Calipers gripped him so tight, the quiet moans and escaped hitched vents from Drift spurring him on. For him, Drift made those noises just for him, and he was the reason for them. Hiking Drifts legs up more, pressing his back plating harder into the tile. He could feel the tremor in Drift's arms, the mech trying hard to keep most of his weight off of Ratchet, the strain on his system sapping his strength.
But Ratchet knew just how strong Drift was, had seen the mech find deeper strength just as his frame was ready to collapse. He needed to break that concentration, force the mech into surrender. Forced more weight onto Drift's back as he leaned backwards and altered the angle, a shiver passing over Drift as his internal nodes were struck. Digits slipped against the tile again, Drift venting through his nose as he concentrated harder. Wrapping his legs around Ratchet's hips, the ache growing in his shoulder actuators. The bracket for his great sword was pressed hard into the tile, the tips of his finials grazing the slick surface with a soft ‘tap’ with each thrust. Heat was growing in his center, a pooling warmth in his hips. Ratchets spike pushed and pulled, grazed along his inner nodes and tugged at his calipers at just the right angles.
He wanted to overload, a shiver up his spinal strut as his ceiling nodes were grazed. Ratchet was so good to him, always treating him well. “Mnnfh….”
“That is satisfying to hear.” A slight step backwards, stretching Drift out even more, the strain on his arms wearing him down faster. It opened his pelvic span up wider, that final caliper loosening up and granting Ratchet access. A curse through gritted denta as Ratchet thrust in deeper, tremor setting into Drift's arms as his neural net lit up in pleasure. The constant tap and scrape of metal against ceramic tile, Ratchet forcing Drift even harder against the wall. “Give in for me, I got you.”
“Torturing yourself. Stubborn.” A frustrated snarl from Drift, pants coming heavy as he fought against himself. Ratchet could only watch in rapt fascination, the pleasure up his own lines fighting with the joy of seeing Drift breakdown. It was subtle, the tension and tremoring, the deep flush across his face as Drift dropped his helm back. A series of hard thrust against ceiling nodes had his back arching, strong arms raising himself up in a final push to remain in control. The grimace broke as a deep moan welled up Drift's throat, his arms surrendering their fight and collapsing, Ratchet easily catching his frame and pressing his back fully into the tile.
Drift wrapped his arms around Ratchet's neck as the medic took on his full weight, lips and denta nipping and kissing along his exposed neck cables. It didn’t take much longer, another few kliks of hard thrusts until his charge crested and Drift curled around Ratchet's frame, gurgled cry against the side of his helm. The shared charge dragged Ratchet along into overload, the strut shaking tremor as fire raced down his lines, hot transfluid spilling into Drift's clenching valve.
Pressing his full weight into Drift against the tiled wall, the room foggy and dense with trapped steam as solvent poured down their frames. Venting against each other, the tingling aftershocks in their digits as they grasped at one another. Lips met again, soft kisses and affirmations as their frames cooled and settled down. Drift held Ratchet's helm, thumbs gently stroking along his cheeks and lips, blue optics staring into one another. They would dry off and stumble into berth together, Drift soothing his aching frame into recharge. If he was lucky he would wake up early to see Drift curled next to him, vents soft and even. Face relaxed and without fear, a rare sight that Ratchet was gifted every cycle.
A snicker against his lips broke his thoughts, a ripple of clenching calipers making him groan. “The things you do to me Drift.”
“I’m not sure I understood the first time, can you show me one more time?”
“At this rate we might crack the tiles.” The hold against his frame tightened as Drift allowed Ratchet to take his full weight, slightly turning to catch a glimpse behind his shoulders as Ratchet shifted. One of the white tiles had indeed cracked, black spiderweb lines reaching out to the edges from a puncture in the center.
“Can’t just replace one, not cost effective. We Need to break a few more.”
Another groan from the medic before his pack plates were pressed into the tiles again, Drift's rich laughter filling the washrack.
