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It was very early, and a sleepy Drift awoke to the soft slide of Ratchet's plating against his own. Blue optics onlined slowly, taking their time to focus clearly and brighten up, but there really was no rush. He didn't really need to be able to see the mech beside him to know that it was Ratchet. The pulsing EM field, so crisp and clear even this early in the morning, was full of the same, awed sort of love that was there after they'd shared a couple of hot, mind-blowing overloads after a steamy lovemaking session. But those were thoughts for another time.
When his vision finally sharpened, he tilted his helm upwards from where it was tucked against Ratchet's shoulder to see him gazing right back at Drift. The medic was looking down at him with soft, admiring optics and a sleepy smile– the kind of smile that only Drift got to see– which made his drowsy field flutter with a brief pulse of affection and recognition. Ratchet had one arm slung around Drift's thin waist, and the medic's fingertips were gently stroking along the delicate spinal plating that lined Drift's back... it tickled, just slightly, but felt more relaxing than amusing when it was this tender. The appreciative, rumbling purrs from Drift's engine that sounded in the comfortable silence of the room seemed to have encouraged Ratchet to continue stroking up and down the curves of his speedster's body, and he gave him a patient smile.
It was all so good.
Drift was... happy. He was sure that there were more ways he could say it, with more detail and explanation, but he didn't feel the need. Happiness was something already so rare in his life, he wasn't sure he was willing to waste the energy to explain the feelings he had when he was around Ratchet, but he was completely willing to surrender to them. He let his actions speak for themselves.
He always had.
And now, that wasn't such a bad thing. Ratchet always took notice of this fact, so when Drift pressed against him to roll the medic onto his back, expecting more to come, he didn't question it. He simply chuckled and moved, gently grasping Drift's waist to make sure that he ended up right on top of him... as if Drift were going anywhere else in a moment like this.
Drift ruffled his armour plating and resettled his frame, which was now draped over Ratchet's in a comfortable tangle, his cheek resting just above the Autobot symbol emblazoned in the glass chestplate. The powerful finial sensors pressed against his lover's chest felt rather than heard the pulse of that precious spark beneath the thick glass and the way that the vibration traveled throughout the length of his finial make him sigh with a strange sense of relaxed stimulation.
Ratchet already knows how incredibly sensitive Drift's finials are, and he seemed to like to toy with them in every possible situation. To make him moan when they were making love, to calm him down just before they went to sleep, or those chastising little pinches to the tips he gave him when Drift wouldn't leave him alone to get work done. Of course, it never actually worked. Drift would just let out a wavérions moan and Ratchet would completely forget about doing anything useful, instead focusing on bringing them both to overloading so hard, their processors reboot.
During all of Drift's musings, he noticed that Ratchet's hand had slipped noticeably closer to his helm instead of near his waist, but no way in hell was he complaining. He just let himself get whisked away by the sensations, hardly realizing that his own fingertips were mimicking the same scratching, tickling, and massaging actions that Ratchet was making. He didn't let it distract him, however. He was more at ease now than he'd been all his life.
----
Ratchet greatly approved of the newfound state of his beloved speedster, letting out a long, relaxed exvent and craning his neck to press a chaste kiss to the top of Drift's helm.
That got Drift to look up at him, and oh, the way those baby blue optics focused on him with a gaze so full of love made Ratchet's spark burn with emotion, and he reached up to cup Drift's face and he pulled him in for a gentle kiss to capture that delicate smile against his lips. Drift shifted atop him, lining up their frames better, and the way that one of his legs was slipped in between both of Ratchet's and how the other was draped over the medic's hip sent little shocks of charge right up his spinal strut. The way Drift's engine rumbled told him that he had the same reaction.
The kiss spun on, lips pressing together and glossas sliding, gentle hums of approval being let out against the other's mouth. Drift's arms came up to wrap loosely around Ratchet's neck and he cradled the medic's helm there, a warm hold which Ratchet relaxed into. The medic slid those wonderful hands along Drift's cheeks and slipped his thumbs just inside the walls of those pretty cheek vents, causing his lover to let out a shuddering groan. He rubbed the thin piece of metal on either vent that divided it into two, and the swordsmech was keening into that touch while his field practically vibrated with every positive emotion he could think to display.
When Ratchet moved his hands to the outsides of Drift's facial vents, he softly dragged his fingertips along their lengths and relished in the way Drift's lips parted in a gentle oh, and how he slowly lowered his helm so his chin rested just under Ratchet's collar fairing, and how his optics shuttered with that smile.
That was when Ratchet moved both hands up to his finials, starting from the underside of the very tip of them and dragging a single finger down them both until finial met helm. Yes, Drift was already making the absolute sweetest of sounds as it was, but Ratchet, oh, Ratchet wanted more.
----
Meanwhile, Drift was completely drowning in sensation. The way Ratchet's fingertips were lighting up sensors in his finials and massaging his cheek vents so tenderly that he ached for more contact was driving him crazy, and yet he made no effort to move away from it. When Ratchet's sneaky fingers started lightly drumming on each of his finials, Drift thought that he'd died and been sent straight to the Well. He didn't know something like this could feel so wonderful. The light tapping sound of metal against metal sent shivers zinging down his spinal strut, while the deep, reverberating bass of each drumming noise comforted him to the core. Then Ratchet was rubbing his fingers around in circles against those sensitive flares and Drift forgot how to speak. Primus below, it felt incredible! So good, in fact, that when he pinched and rubbed the tips between friction-warmed fingers, Drift couldn't help but let out a deep hum of pleasure and a choked-off curse when his panel popped open and his lubricant-dampened valve was pressed against the inside of Ratchet's thigh. He tried very hard to ignore the sensation of Ratchet's plating against his node and the heat building in his frame from the hands on his finials, but it was damn near impossible.
He was trying his best not to even move, but then he felt the gentle squeeze of one of Ratchet's hands against his aft.
"Grind."
Oh, Primus. That was hot. If Drift didn't know any better, he'd say that Ratchet was getting as turned on by this as he was. Although, with hands as sensitive as his, he probably was. Drift knew that they both knew how much pleasure they could wring from those exquisite fingers.
He picked his helm up off of Ratchet's frame and looked down at him, optics half-closed in the onslaught of sensations and his mouth slack, shifting his hips to follow the same movements that Ratchet was making with his fingers. The way his node nudged and rubbed against the smooth plates of Ratchet's thigh made his tanks burn with desire, and he let his engine purr right along with him as he let out quiet gasps and moans. "Ratchet, I... oh, Ratchet this feels amazing, I... I love this," he whispered. Ratchet's optics were hazy with sensation and he could feel the medic's panel heating up against his thigh, abruptly wanting to feel just how hot and hard that spike was while Ratchet rubbed his flares. Drift cupped the warm panel with his hand and squeezed, Ratchet gasping and immediately relenting under him, and the panel slid aside to reveal the medic's pressurized spike that shone with beads of lubricant.
Drift pushed Ratchet's leggs apart further and laid between them, strategically placing that hot spike between his own thighs while he crossed his ankles and squeezed his legs together, keeping the spike tight against his valve. Ratchet hissed and thrust up between those beautiful curves and Drift moaned at the way the ridges caught on his anterior node, how he could feel the heat of his lover's spike against his valve and all the way back to his aft, and how the waves of lubricant spread with each slow thrust. The slight upward curve of Ratchet's spike meant that it moulded quite perfectly to the curve of Drift's valve and aft, and he couldn't stop himself from rocking his hips against him if he tried. Every time he rocked forwards, his anterior node would bump against Ratchet's spike housing. Every time he rocked back, the ridges on that wet spike massaged in between his plush valve lips, not to mention that the way he felt Ratchet throb beye ern his thighs was erotic in a way he hadn't anticipated.
Drift brought their forehelms together with a sigh of pleasure and he smiled briefly at the way their heated ex-vents brushed against the other's lips, but his smile quickly vanished to make way for a deep moan when Ratchet made loose fists, rubbing them along those exquisitely sensitive finial flares as if he were pumping his spike.
The speedster let out a long, drawn-out groan of pure want and Ratchet happily indulged him, kissing him slow and deep while their bodies shifted in intoxicating slides.
It wasn't long before he felt that familiar burn in the pit of his tanks that made his spark churn with passion. He could tell Ratchet was on the edge too, if the quick, erratic thrusts between his thighs and the throbs of that thick spike were anything to go by.
It was all a blur after that. Drift tightened his arms around Ratchet's neck when he felt the medic's hands abandon his finials in favour of holding onto his rocking hips, occasionally sliding down to his aft to pull him hard against his spike. In one, two, three hard thrusts, Ratchet moaned, pushed up against Drift's valve and held there, and rubbed his lover's anterior node in little circles against his spike housing while he overloaded and painted Drift's aft and back in streaks of transfluid. The throbbing of Ratchet's spike in overload and the pressure against his node made Drift cry out, grinding his valve against his lover while he joined him in that ecstasy. Rushes of lubricant leaked from his valve and smeared against both of their plating while they were slowly coming back down to normal, cooling fans blasting on high.
Drift's hips were still involuntarily shifting and Ratchet made a small noise when those swollen, soft valve lips parted around his shaft once more. They both drew in deep breaths, finally able to (more or less) calm down, but Ratchet's hands eventually found their way back to Drift's sensitive cheek vents. Thumbing the sensitive intakes, Ratchet revelled in the way Drift bit down on his lower lip, locking optics with his lover once more and letting out a happy sigh.
Ratchet gave him a genuinely pleased smile whike their enmeshed fields displayed how hopelessly absorbed they were with each other. The medic was admiring every detail of his lover, those baby blue optics, that glinting helm crest, those elegant finals and the warm cheek vents that framed his beautiful face. And then Drift grinned, displaying those sharply-pointed teeth that he usually took the utmost of care to hide, and the air was knocked right out of Ratchet's vents.
He'd always known it, but oh, Drift was gorgeous.
The way the speedster was tracking his optics around Ratchet's own faceplates, he allowed himself to believe that Drift was thinking the same thing about him. He certainly told him often enough, so maybe it was time that Ratchet himself thought it as well.
He didn't want to get too caught up in it all, though. Not when it was this early in the morning, not when his speedster's field was thrumming against his own in a low vibration of comfort / security that almost made him want to slip right back into recharge.
Ratchet moved his arms to wrap around Drift's waist and he gave him a light squeeze. "Good morning," he said with a cheeky smile. Then Drift giggled, nudging their noses together and rocking his hips backwards once, making Ratchet acutely aware of how his spike still sat nestled between Drift's thighs, and how that wet valve was all but enveloping it in a gripping heat.
The swordsmech unlocked one arm from Ratchet's neck, using that hand to stroke along the smooth plating under one of his lover's softly-glowing optics. "They're always good with you, Ratchet," he whispered, before sealing his medic's soft moan in a gentle kiss.