Chapter Text
Ratchet stared at his two patients, waiting for one of them to speak up, “well?”
“It’s not my fault,” Chromia insisted. She jabbed her digit toward the mech on the other med berth, “Ironhide abused me. All I wanted to do was show him a good time and now I’m not going to be able to walk right for a deca-cycle!”
Ironhide snorted, “aft-kisser.” That earned him a glare from both bonded.
Ratchet sighed, “what am I going to do with you two?”
He went back over to the counter and continued organizing supplies as he had been doing before he was unceremoniously interrupted. He was just fine with letting them wait. They deserved it.
Chromia shifted her legs wider, “Ratchet, I think Ironhide really hurt me.”
Ratchet turned to look at her. Her words sounded serious but there was mischievousness plastered all over her figure.
“Do you think you could check it out?” she asked meekly.
“Did he now?” Ratchet said playing along. The likelihood of Ironhide having seriously hurt her was slim, femmes’ interface equipment, specifically the valve, were built to withstand their often much larger brethren. An ability Ratchet wished some smaller mechs had. He pulled a stool up to the end of her berth and tapped on the edge before sitting down, “get over here and let's have a look.”
Chromia crept over and sat on the edge, her legs dangling on either side of the medic.
Ratchet dug out a container from a storage unit in the base of the berth and coated his fore and middle digit in the gel. “Open,” he ordered professionally.
Chromia snapped open her panel and leaned back on her elbows.
Ratchet slowly put his digits up against her valve. “Here?” he asked, gently rubbing the rim.
Chromia shook her helm, “no, deeper,” she said spreading her legs a bit more.
Ratchet slipped his digits in and toyed with the area just inside, “here?”
Chromia bit her lower lip plate and shook her helm.
Ratchet arched a brow and delved in further. “How about...here?” he ran his digits over a known cluster of nodes.
Chromia arched her back. “Yes!” she nearly cried, her whole body trembling.
“Where?” Ratchet asked running his digits over the spot a few more times.
Choking on a moan Chromia cried out, “there!”
Ratchet shook his helm and removed his digits. “I’m going to have to take a closer look,” he said taking out a rag and cleaning his servo of fluids. He quickly glanced at Ironhide and was not disappointed. The mech was staring, wide-opticed, with his mouth open. He stood and pushed the stool away before kneeling between the femme's legs.
He put his faceplate close to her interface panel. “Let’s have a look,” he said lightly spreading her with both servos. He tilted his helm as he examined. The room grew uncomfortably silent when he finally said, “well there's only one cure for that.” without warning he stuck his glossa out and ran it across her valve.
“Ratchet!” Chromia laughed as her face plating heated at the audacious act of the medic. She’d expected him to play along with the digits, but to actually—Ratchet slipped his glossa in and her elbows gave out. She hit the berth with a moan, “Ratchet...”
Ratchet continued his assault on her, dipping in and tasting her lubricants.
Ironhide, having had enough of simply watching, let out a feral growl and made to get off the berth.
“Sit back down,” Ratchet order not even bothering to look at the mech, “I haven't cleared you yet.”
“Doc, come on!” Ironhide begged.
“Consider this your punishment for disobeying my instructions. Lay there and be still,” he said taking a moment to rub the femme's inner thighs, listening to the soft purr of her cooling fans.
“Can I at least—”
“No.”
Ironhide let out a defeated huff and settled back down.
“I don’t recall agreeing to this,” Chromia remarked stroking Ratchet’s helm affectionately.
Ratchet chuckled softly and ran his olfactory sensor along Chromia's inner thigh seam before going back to exploring her. He ran his glossa along the rim, tasting every inch before delving back into the tight sweetness.
Chromia was panting and gasping, doing everything she could not to grind against the medic's lip components. She let her spike pressurize and took hold of it, pumping feverously.
“That’s highly inappropriate during a medical exam,” Ratchet chastised, shooing her servo away.
“Ratchet...” the femme whined.
Ratchet ignored her. He dug his digits between her inner thigh plating and used the manual switch to de-pressurize her spike. He then proceeded to lap at the housed tip.
Chromia cried out, latching onto his helm with both servos.
Ratchet pulled her legs onto his shoulders. Off to the side he could hear Ironhide's cooling fans kick on. He continued circling and lapping at the exposed nerve. He brought a servo up and traced around her valve, coating it with lubricant, before carefully sliding a couple digits in.
Chromia was a hot mess. She ground against Ratchet's mouth moaning, she didn't care anymore, she was going to burst.
Ratchet stuck another digit in and thrust. Oh, she was tight, even after her recent romp with Ironhide. He swirled his glossa and squeezed in another digit.
That was it.
Chromia arched her back and cried out, her calipers clamping around the medic's digits, “Ratchet!” she slumped back and her legs slid down ratchet's arms.
Ratchet carefully removed his digits and wiped them off with the rag before setting her legs back down on the edge of the berth and manually closing her panel. “That seems to have fixed the problem,” he said as he stood and deposited the rag in a bin.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Chromia agreed groggily. She stroked his hip as he passed, “but what about you...Doctor?”
Ratchet chuckled and patted the side of her helm, “a medic acquires his own gratification through that of his patient's.”
Chromia gave him a funny look as he moved over to Ironhide’s berth.
“Now that that's taken care of,” he said, “let's take a look at the hip.”
END