For the spicy requests.
Something for Dratchet
Mayhaps some improper use of a wrench?
Being a shy person who also happens to be decent at writing smut is the worst because I’m super embarrassed but also kinda proud of what I wrote aaaahh
Hope you like it 💕
MINORS PLEASE DONT READ THIS
🔞
Drift leaned against the edge of the medbay berth, his red and white frame relaxed in a way that belied the mischievous glint in his optics.
The Lost Light's medical bay was quiet for once, the hum of diagnostic equipment a soothing backdrop to the moment. Ratchet stood across from him, wiping lubricant from his servos with a rag, his blue optics focused on the action.
Drift had come in for a routine check-up -nothing serious, but the swordsmech had other ideas brewing in his processors.
He watched Ratchet move, appreciating the efficient grace of the medic's chassis, the way his hips shifted with each step, plating scarred from cycles of war yet still carrying that undeniable allure.
“You know.” Drift drawled, his voice low and teasing, laced with playfulness. “I've always wondered about that wrench of yours. All that time you spend gripping it, twisting it just right... bet it could be put to better use than tightening bolts.”
Ratchet's shoulders tensed, his optics snapping to Drift's faceplate.
He set the rag down with deliberate care, crossing his arms over his chassis.
“Drift, that's a tool, not a toy. And certainly not for whatever nonsense you're implying.”
His vocalizer held that familiar gruff edge, but Drift caught the faint hitch in his vents.
Drift pushed off the berth, closing the distance between them in two strides.
“Come on, doc. You've patched me up more times than I can count. Imagine if you used that wrench to... adjust something else.”
His servo reached out, tracing a light path along Ratchet's arm, feeling the subtle tremor.
Drift's spike twitched in its sheath at the thought, arousal stirring as he pictured it; cold steel against heated plating, Ratchet's precise digits wielding it with that same focused intensity.
Ratchet's optics narrowed, but he didn't pull away.
“That's a bad idea. Tools like that aren't meant for… this kind of stuff. You could damage yourself.”
His words were a warning, but his gaze darted to the wrench, then back to Drift's smirking faceplate. Drift could see the conflict there, the medic's strict professionalism warring with the undeniable pull between them. They'd danced this dance before, pushing boundaries in the heat of the moment, but this felt new, charged with a forbidden edge.
Drift's laugh was soft, rumbling from his chassis as he captured Ratchet's servo, guiding it toward the tool tray.
“No damage, I promise. Pleasure, though, that's guaranteed.”
He pressed Ratchet's digits around the wrench's handle. Ratchet's grip tightened involuntarily, and Drift leaned in closer, his intake brushing the medic’s audial.
“I trust you, Ratchet. Show me how skilled those servos really are.”
The medic hesitated, his frame tensing as he weighed the words.
“This is reckless. If anyone walks in-”
But even as he protested, his thumb stroked the wrench's shaft, a subconscious motion that sent a thrill through Drift's circuits.
“Then lock the door.”
Drift murmured, nipping at Ratchet's lower derma with his denta.
“No one's here, just us. Let go for once, doc.”
He released Ratchet's servo but stayed close, and Ratchet exhaled a shaky vent, his resolve cracking under the weight of Drift's gaze.
With a muttered curse, he activated the medbay's privacy lock, the door sealing with a definitive hiss.
Turning back, his optics burned with a mix of reluctance and hunger.
“Fine, but if this goes wrong, you're the one explaining it to Ultra Magnus.”
He hefted the wrench and Drift's grin widened, as he reclined back onto the berth, opening his modesty panel with deliberate slowness, exposing his hardening spike and the sealed cover of his valve.
Drift's spike extended fully now, ridged and throbbing, pre-fluid beading at the tip as he watched Ratchet approach.
The medic's servos trembled slightly as he knelt between Drift's spread legs, the wrench glinting under the harsh medbay lights.
“Start slow.” Drift encouraged, his voice husky.
Ratchet swallowed.
“This is insane.”
He grumbled, but he brought the wrench's handle -the smoother, rounded end- to Drift's inner thigh plating, tracing a cool line along the seam.
Drift hissed in pleasure, his spike jerking at the sensation, the chill metal sending sparks up his back strut.
Ratchet's optics fixed on the reaction, fascination overriding his doubts as he pressed firmer, dragging the tool higher, closer to the base of Drift's spike.
Drift’s hips shifted to chase the touch. The contrast was exquisite; Ratchet's warm digits steadying the wrench while the steel bit into his plating, a delicious edge of discomfort blending with building heat. Ratchet circled the base of the spike with the handle, the blunt end nudging the sensitive ridge, eliciting a low moan from Drift. Pre-fluid leaked steadily now, slicking the tool as Ratchet grew bolder, twisting it lightly to apply pressure.
Ratchet's protests faded into silence, replaced by focused intensity.
“You're so responsive.”
He noted, voice rough, dipping the handle lower, brushing it against Drift's valve cover, the sealed folds quivering at the contact. Drift's frame arched, vents cycling hot air as pleasure coiled tight in his core.
“Do it, doc.”
He urged, reaching down to unlatch his valve, revealing the dripping entrance, lubricant already gathering in anticipation.
With a final glance of hesitation, Ratchet complied, sliding the wrench's handle along the slick folds. The cool metal met wet heat, and Drift bucked, a cry escaping his vocalizer as the tool parted his valve folds, pressing just inside.
Ratchet pumped it slowly, the girth stretching him minimally but the forbidden nature amplifying every sensation.
“Primus, Ratchet… d-deeper.”
Drift demanded, his servo tangling in the medic's arm, guiding him.
Ratchet's resistance shattered then, his free servo wrapping around Drift's spike, stroking in time with the thrusts of the wrench.
The handle delved further, twisting to hit the ceiling node, and Drift's world narrowed to the dual assault; steel invading his valve, Ratchet's grip milking his spike. Lubricant coated the tool, easing the way as Ratchet worked it with increasing confidence, his optics locked on Drift's face, drinking in the pleasure he wrought.
“Y-yeah…” Drift panted, overload building relentlessly. “Don't stop… f-frag, you're perfect.”
The wrench plunged deeper, the handle's length filling him just enough to tease, while Ratchet's thumb circled his spike's head, smearing fluid.
Drift's valve clenched around the intrusion, walls fluttering as climax neared. Ratchet leaned in, his glossa lapping at the spike's tip, tasting the pre-fluid before taking the head into his intake, sucking firmly.
The combination undid Drift. With a cry, he overloaded, spike pulsing as transfluid flooded Ratchet's mouth, valve spasming around the wrench in waves of ecstasy.
Ratchet didn't pull away, drawing out the release with steady pulls and thrusts until Drift slumped, spent and trembling.
As aftershocks faded, Ratchet withdrew the tool, setting it aside.
“Not a terrible idea, I admit that.”
He muttered, his words thick with arousal.
Drift pulled him up for a deep kiss, tasting himself on the medic's glossa.
“Best idea yet.” He whispered, already plotting the next adjustment.
