Smut writing prompt for Dratchet : I challenge you with.!!! Top Ratchet in an unexpected way, as a treat ☺️
I’M SO BEHIND WITH THOSE REQUESTS I’M SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG
I don’t think I’ve made this particularly unexpected but I hope it’s okay! This means I need to write more top Ratchet 👀
MINOR PLEASE DONT READ THIS
🔞
Drift sat across from Ratchet in the dim glow of Swerve's bar, the low hum of conversation around them fading into background noise.
The medic's cheeks had taken on a faint flush from the engex, his optics brighter than usual as he leaned back in the booth.
Drift watched every movement, the way Ratchet's digits traced the rim of his cube, the slight slump in his shoulders that spoke of exhaustion he never admitted aloud. Unspoken words hung between; glances that lingered too long, the brush of servos that sent sparks through Drift's systems. He had wanted this for cycles, but the fear of ruining their fragile balance kept him silent.
When Ratchet stood and swayed just a fraction, Drift was on his pedes instantly.
“Let me walk you back.”
He said, voice steady despite the thrum in his spark. Ratchet didn't argue, just nodded and let Drift steady him with a servo at his elbow.
The corridors of the Lost Light felt endless, each step amplifying the tension. Drift's processor raced with everything he hadn't said: how Ratchet's sharp wit pulled him in, how his optics made him ache for more.
Ratchet's frame brushed his side once, twice, sending heat pooling low in Drift's chassis.
They reached the habsuite door.
Ratchet opened it, and Drift followed him inside. Ratchet turned, optics locking onto his, and the air thickened.
“Thanks for the escort.”
He murmured, but the words carried an invitation neither had voiced before.
Drift stepped closer, unable to stop himself, and their mouths met in a kiss that started tentative but ignited fast; dermas parting, glossa sliding, the taste of engex sharp and intoxicating.
Drift's servos found Ratchet's waist, pulling him nearer, his interface panel already heating as arousal surged. He was ready -more than ready- to press Ratchet against the berth and claim him, to hear those moans he'd imagined in quiet moments.
But Ratchet's grip shifted. Stronger than expected, the medic pushed back, guiding Drift toward the edge of the berth with a firm shove to his chassis.
Drift's back hit the surface, surprise flickering through him as Ratchet climbed over, straddling his hips. “I want you.”
Ratchet growled against his mouth, voice rough with need. His servos pinned Drift's wrists above his helm, the unexpected dominance sending a jolt straight to Drift's spike, which pressurized hard against his panel.
Ratchet ground down, the friction deliberate, and Drift gasped into the kiss, his systems flaring.
Ratchet released one wrist to trace Drift's chassis plating, digits finding seams and pressing just right. “You're always so eager to take control.”
He said, dermas trailing to Drift's neck.
“But right now I need you like this; under me, letting go.”
Drift's optics flickered and Ratchet's free servo stroked along his helm, thumb brushing his cheek. “Good mech. So perfect when you listen.”
The praise made Drift's spark pulse harder, his panel clicking open without command as Ratchet's weight settled.
Ratchet didn't rush. He rocked slowly, letting his spike slide along Drift's valve lips, teasing the entrance without pushing in yet.
Drift bucked up instinctively, but Ratchet held firm, a low chuckle vibrating between them.
“Patience. You're doing so well.”
Each word caressed Drift's processor, easing the edge of frustration into something hotter, more desperate.
Ratchet leaned down for another kiss, deeper, his glossa claiming Drift's mouth while one servo explored lower, circling the rim of Drift's valve with precise pressure.
The habsuite lights dimmed automatically, casting shadows over their frames. Drift felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that thrilled him; Ratchet's weight pinning him, the medic's spike now slick with lubricant as it nudged insistently at his valve.
Ratchet shifted, angling so the head of his spike pressed against the tight opening, but he controlled the thrust, sinking in inch by inch.
Drift moaned, the stretch overwhelming, his free servo gripping the berth sheets. Ratchet bottomed out with a hiss of pleasure, then began to move, thrusting into him with steady rolls of his hips.
“That's it,” Ratchet said, voice hitching as he drove deeper on each push. “Perfect- you feel so good around me.”
Drift's vocalizer glitched on a whine, the words wrapping around his spark like a caress.
He wanted to thrust up, to flip them and take control, but Ratchet's pace held him in check, drawing it out. Every grind dragged against sensitive nodes, building pressure in slow waves.
Ratchet's servos roamed, one stroking Drift's chassis again, the other tilting his helm back for more kisses; wet, messy, full of unspoken hunger finally unleashed.
Time blurred in the rhythm. Ratchet sped up gradually, spike plunging into Drift's valve, the wet sounds filling the room.
Drift's free servo found Ratchet's thigh, squeezing as overload built, but Ratchet leaned close, whispering more.
“You're mine like this; so good, so perfect.”
The praise pushed Drift closer to the edge, his systems singing.
Ratchet's own overload hit first, spike pulsing deep as transfluid spilled inside Drift's valve while he shuddered above him. The feel dragged Drift over too, his spike throbbing untouched as he overloaded hard, transfluid spilling across his own plating.
They stayed locked together afterward, Ratchet's weight a comforting anchor, his servos now gentle as they stroked Drift's frame.
The tension from earlier lingered but transformed, softened by the release. Drift's processor spun with the shift; the praises, the way it all fit.
He didn't speak yet, didn’t need to; just let the moment stretch, savoring the warmth of his lover’s frame.