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Optimus was a sweetspark.
He had been as Orion Pax, and he still was as Optimus Prime. That very same sweetspark in the berth, however, brought an entire new meaning to it.
Maybe it was because of how eager the Prime was to please his medic. Or perhaps it was simply Optimus’s respectful nature, and the way they always made sure Ratchet felt safe and comfortable no matter what the two of them were up to. Ratchet liked those parts of him too of course, and both fit the term to a ‘T’, but there was one aspect in particular that was his absolute favorite.
Optimus Prime was interface-shy.
Well, at least when it came to speaking out loud about it. During the actual act of it Optimus was very into it. And it wasn’t as if Ratchet was immune to becoming a flustered mess, either. Oh definitely not. But when Optimus got embarrassed it was just…adorable.
There was just something about a towering, stoic mech flicking his gaze away like an embarrassed new forge that made Ratchet’s frame ache, and tonight was no different.
They’d already been enraptured with each other’s frames that evening, the air welcomingly humid in the pale, blue dim of their quarters while they lay entangled together atop the berth. And, somewhere amongst the writhing of limbs and glossas diving into each other’s mouths, Optimus had managed to let a little wish of his gasp against Ratchet’s lips.
He wanted Ratchet to sit on his faceplate.
The second the words reached his audials Optimus froze to the spot. His mouth gaped open and closed like a fish, a blushing blue melting his silvered cheeks while his clouding processor lagged itself into oblivion.
Then the Prime shot back on his knees so fast he almost fell off the berth.
Adorable. Absolutely and completely utterly adorable. The way he’d turned almost apologetic, babbling nervous reminders that Ratchet needn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with. Optimus had even begun twittering his fingers together.
How could Ratchet possibly say no?
Granted, he would have said yes regardless, but what Ratchet hadn’t been prepared for was just how eager his Prime truly was.
Optimus’s optics had grown to the size of saucers, positively beaming, before immediately lying on his back beckoning his medic to climb on. And that was how Ratchet found himself with his knees on either side of Optimus’s helm, his array hovering inches above the Prime’s mouth.
“Are you sure about this?” Ratchet asked, having to reset his vocalizer with a loud click and a pop of his lips.
“Wh-what if I hurt you?”
Optimus’s optics fogged into gleaming slivers of blue as his arms snaked up Ratchet’s spinal strut. His servos soothingly stroked along curves of metal, caressing from chassis to hip with a reassuring purr of his engines….
Then his arms hooked around Ratchet’s thighs and slammed his valve down atop his faceplate.
“Ahp-timus—!” Ratchet barked out, rough and painful in his throat as he caught himself against the wall.
“F-frag.”
Optimus’s mouth melted over the shape of Ratchet’s valve before pushing his glossa inside him, large and desperate as he lapped over sensors like a starving mech devouring his feast.
His glossa was thick.
Wet.
Writhing as it pushed in, in, in before pulling out and shoving back inside his valve again.
Primus, how had he never asked Optimus to do this to him before?
Optimus’s nasal ridge caught along his exterior node and Ratchet let out a choking groan, grinding his hips down with a slow desperate roll against the faceplate beneath his frame, and Optimus actually growled at him for it. A sound that was downright feral as his arms pressed into the tops of Ratchet’s thighs, forcing him to keep still as if Optimus thought his meal was at risk of being robbed from him.
Ratchet’s valve was locked to Optimus’s mouth.
His glossa thrusted through his tight, throbbing channel, the hot puffs of air panting between his thighs filling up what was left of him, and all Ratchet could do was throw back his helm with a strangled whine. The Prime gave a rumbling purr of his engines in approval. Or Hunger. Maybe both. Either way the vibrations shot straight into Ratchet’s array and sent his thighs clamping around Optimus’s helm.
“Optimus.” The Prime’s grip stopped the aborted keen of Ratchet’s hips, “Optimus!”
It was only then, somewhere amongst the blur of his own fogging gaze and begging ex-vents, that Ratchet felt Optimus shifting.
Not just shifting, but moving with a rapid, rhythmic bumping of his arm against Ratchet’s aft.
Ratchet looked behind himself and let out a guttural groan at the sight he found.
Optimus was touching himself.
The Prime was sloppily thrusting his fingers into his own valve, pumping hard and fast enough that Ratchet knew their wrist would be aching later, before yanking his digits out to use his own slick to rub frantically at his exterior node. It was only once that little bulb began blinking sporadicly that Optimus would abandon it to grab and stroke his spike, squeezing at it till it began to dribble and left his hips jittering upwards.
Then the cycle would repeat.
Optimus’s fingers burrowing into his own valve, pulling free with glowing blue lubricant coating his servo, before he’d stroke his array into a twitching mess.
“Optimus—“
Ratchet had to squeeze his optics shut, taking a deep vent in and a trembling ex-vent out, before steadying himself enough to blink the static from his vision.
“Let…l-let me turn around. Let me touch you.”
Optimus gave some sorry attempt at shaking his helm between Ratchet’s thighs, and Ratchet let out a strangled laugh once he looked down.
The great Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, actually had the audacity to look GRUMPY.
Optimus’s brows were furrowed above a pair of steaming blue optics, his arm squeezing possessively around Ratchet’s middle to keep him in place, as if even the idea of not being able to eat out his medic for so much as a nanoklick was some kind of a crime.
Ratchet would have kissed him for being so cute if Optimus’s mouth wasn’t currently trapped under his valve.
“Optimus, you’d only have to stop long enough for me to turn around.“ Ratchet laughed, Optimus’s gaze narrowing into boiling slits.
“I promise.”
In answer, Optimus sucked Ratchet’s exterior node into his mouth, rolling it with his glossa, and Ratchet’s entire frame jerked.
Well, no one could say Ratchet hadn’t offered. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t help make Optimus’s overload a little easier.
Afterall, there was only one thing cuter than a shy Optimus, and that was a overwhelmingly praised one.
Ratchet shuttered as he rested his temple against the wall, smoothing his grip on Optimus’s helm into gentle, shaky pettings.
“You must have imagined this quite a bit.” Ratchet said, voice low and breathy, and he could already feel the way Optimus’s faceplate was heating up against the pleats of his valve because of it.
“I bet you practiced on that little valve toy I built for you. Got so overcharged at just the idea of doing this to me that you had to touch yourself. Fr-fragging into your own servo. Calling my name…ngh!”
Ratchet gasped and began slowly rocking his hips, his array the boat riding the waves of Optimus’s glossa, and this time the Prime didn’t stop him.
“If I picture it too much I’ll overload before I’m ready to, I know I will. Your perfect. You’re doing so good for me, Optimus. So, so good…”
Ratchet managed a strangled glance back over his shoulder. Optimus was frantically pumping his digits in and out of his valve again, the room filled with loud, unsteady squelching as Optimus began rubbing the flat of his thumb into his exterior node. By now every one of his biolights were flashing sporadically, dimmed souly by just how much lubricant was covering them.
The only thing more processor numbing than that was the sensation of Optimus groaning into his valve as his lips returned flush to his entrance.
Hot.
Vibrating, low and boiling, like thunder through his entire interface array while a static laced whine from Ratchet had Optimus bucking his hips off the berth into his own servo.
“Such a good mech for me. So perfect. So pretty the way you’re touching yourself Optimus…Optimus!”
The last word dipped into a wail, Optimus’s glossa slipping up between his folds before he began mercilessly suckling on his node again.
“There!” Ratchet begged,
“P-Please! Primus please please please—!”
Pure molten heat threatened to crack him like the shell of an egg as he took it and took it and took it, his body writhing while Optimus sucked and licked and mouthed at his exterior node with a final vibrating groan into his array—
Then Ratchet’s overload punched through his systems and the world turned white.
He couldn’t remember what his frame was doing during his release. Only that he couldn’t stay still, that something hot and wet was splattering the space between his thighs,while strikes of electricity fired through his systems and turned into fuzzy static with his final babbling pant for the stars.
He felt Optimus helping to shimmy him backwards just as his optics came back online, dragging a streak of slick over red paint and smooth glass before settling to sit on Optimus’s chest.
“Optimus,” He felt himself breathe, servos clutching at Optimus’s shoulders to keep himself sitting up.
“Are…are you…?”
Ratchet stopped dead when he saw Optimus’s faceplate.
He was coated in iridescent lubricant from temple to chin, leaving his silver faceplate almost shimmering with it. So much so, in fact, that it had even begun puddling along his audials and neck cabling.
Not that Optimus seemed to mind.
The prime was the definition of ‘blissed out’, his optics blurry and someplace far, far away with a soft smile on his dermas.
Ratchet had to swallow a vent full of air to keep himself from heating up again.
“Vector Sigma,”
Ratchet scrambled to catch a clean corner of the blankets before immediately trying to wipe down the Prime’s faceplate.
“D-did I hurt you?”
Optimus blinked.
Blinked again.
Frowned deep in thought with furrowed brows as his gaze flickered between Ratchet, the fabric he was currently trying to clean him off with, and back to Ratchet again.
Then he ran his glossa around his mouth to catch what he could of the slick before Ratchet could steal it from him, and Ratchet’s entire frame burned.
“Y-you—!”
Ratchet slapped him on the shoulder and Optimus let out a laugh, low and rich, before hugging his arms around Ratchet’s middle to snuggle his faceplate into his belly.
“You could never hurt me, sweetspark.” He promised.
Ratchet only scowled.
“I stepped on your pede so hard yesterday that I left a dent.”
“Inconsequential.
“And last week I accidentally hit you with the wrench I was aiming at Wheeljack.”
“Hush.” Optimus ran his digits in soothing circles along Ratchet’s lower back.
“I’m more than alright.Truly.”
Ratchet narrowed his optics, scanning them over the Prime currently cuddling him like a teddy bear, before letting out a grumbling huff.
“Fine.”
Ratchet curled his arms around Optimus’s neck, resting the side of his helm atop of Optimus’s with a light thunk.
“But if you don’t eat my valve out like that again sometime, I’ll kill you.”
He smirked as the Prime’s legs shifted shyly on the berth. But Optimus was a good mech. He kept those pretty legs open for Ratchet to see just how good that little fantasy had made him feel, soaked bedding and all.
Optimus’s entire interface array was drenched. From the tip of his dribbling spike that had splattered all over his abdomen, to his still leaking valve quivering beneath the neon blue lubricant cooling in the open air.
Ratchet’s smirk grew into a crooked grin.
“It looks like you enjoyed yourself too, hm?”
Optimus’s faceplate bloomed into a boiling shade of blue as Ratchet played with his finials.
“You were so good for me, “ Ratchet cooed,
“And enjoyed yourself so much that we might have to throw the sheets out. What a lucky medic I am to have a Prime as perfect as you.”
And there it was. Optimus’s spike, hard and ready, jumping straight back up to full attention again. The nodes along its ridged underside even flickered in a happy little light show.
Ratchet laughed hard enough that he jostled poor Optimus about, the Prime mumbling something like another apology as he buried his face into Ratchet’s middle.
“You’re the cutest mech alive, you know that?”
Ratchet kept his arm curled around Optimus’s shoulders, playing with one of Optimus’s finials with a servo while the other wrapped around his spike.
“And you have nothing to apologize for. Not when I get to have this….” He stroked it slow and easy from tip to base as Optimus was wracked with a full body shiver,
“All to myself.”
Optimus was already panting again, breath hot and heavy against his stomach as his arms squeezed around Ratchet’s frame.
“R-Ratchet.”
”Don’t worry…” Ratchet hummed.
He pressed a kiss to the top of Optimus’s helm as his thumb worked over the head of his spike, and Optimus let out the most beautiful whine in answer.
“I’ll make sure to return the favor.”