Chapter Text
Working administration was far easier than Ratchet had ever considered. Being in this role was relaxing, a far cry from his time as chief medic, and these days it was mostly just sitting in his office doing inventory counts. It may not have been exciting, but excitement was the furthest thing from his mind. It was nice to not need to focus on “excitement,” anyway. He’d had four million years of that already.
Still, some mornings felt like dragging himself in… or at least this morning did. He felt sluggish, and though he’d fueled heavily to try to offset how strangely low he felt, he still felt like he needed something. He just wasn’t sure what.
Of course, for now, he put it from his mind. It wasn’t the most important thing he needed to worry about, and some turned heads aside, he had work to do. And it was under this pretense that he made his way to his office, settling into his seat to go over a stack of datapads Ambulon had left out for him the evening before.
Still, though, his focus seemed elsewhere. It felt like hours to get th rough just the first couple, and it was an incredibly welcome reprieve when the door slid open on Megatron standing there holding a datapad, offering a half smile as he stepped in, letting the door close behind him.
“You know, medic, I believe we got off on the wrong foot.”
He wasn’t wrong. Ratchet had long since started to warm up to the former warlord, he had to admit. Not that he had wanted to admit it… but time and action often went a long way to crossing bridges one wouldn’t have considered otherwise.
And time to talk, time to witness his attempts to genuinely do better, had warmed Ratchet more than he’d thought it would. So when Megatron addressed him when he strode into the retired CMO’s administration office, he did not recoil or show fear, instead lifting his head with a half smile, leaning back in his chair.
“Some folks might call that an understatement,” he joked, folding his arms over his chestplate. “I made some pretty good pot shots that day in medical.”
To which Megatron chuckled, glancing away for a moment. “Ah, they weren’t undeserved. You saw far too much hardship in your time, Ratchet, and no small amount of that was brought on by my actions. Though I’m not exactly here to recount the past today.”
Not terribly surprising. Since he’d retired as chief medic and moved to administration, a lot of times members of command would come through to chat… it was a safe place, a soundproof place, and it gave a measure of privacy he was always happy to have. “Of course. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Not much,” came the reply as Megatron stepped around the desk, laying a datapad down in front of Ratchet before laying a hand on his shoulder… something that sent a strange thrill through the ex-warlord’s system. There was something about the old medic today that he couldn’t quite place right away. “Minimus wanted me to review this with you and make sure we didn’t need to make a supply run.
If Ratchet had noticed the strange sensation too, he was trying not to draw attention to it. He was old enough that he had thought he was well past this point in his life… but it was already stirring in his tanks and his spark. Need and want and insistence. He swallowed it down, ignoring how his systems were warming.
He hadn’t had a cycle in ages. Surely this was something else.
“I don’t think we really need to do any supply runs,” he commented, glancing at the datapad before putting it aside. “We did a count yesterday; everything seemed to be in order.”
Slowly, Megatron nodded, though he didn’t remove his hand from Ratchet’s shoulder. The plating felt right under his heavy digits, the warmth starting to radiate from him unsettlingly enticing. “That’s good to hear.” His hand didn’t move. “
Realization, however, was dawning for Ratchet. And Megatron’s hand on his shoulder was the biggest hint.
How had he even missed that he’d gone into cycle?
It had been so long since the last one that he had stopped keeping track; with all the stress they’d been under it just didn’t seem possible. His systems were already warming rapidly, sending off signals to the only other mech in the room that he was primed to be taken, held down and ravaged.
Megatron, to his credit, was doing his best to contain himself, even if he hadn’t moved his hand. “...ah… perhaps I should leave you to your work. Call someone else you would be more agreeable with to… help with your… concerns.”
He was no fool; Ratchet had to give him that. But he didn’t move the hand that still rested on him, and Megatron did not move to leave. The medic instead swallowed slowly, took in a breath, and then let it out. “If I didn’t tell you to leave… what would you do?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” His voice had taken on a low growl that would’ve been frightening if Ratchet had been thinking straight. “So you probably should, while you have the chance.”
Ratchet considered, but his cycle had made its decision. Megatron was massive, easily immensely stronger than him, and about twice his size… “No.”
That was all the approval the much bigger mech needed. He wasted no time reaching down to haul up the medic to sit him on the desk, not caring what was knocked over, immediately catching him in a ravenous kiss that caused Ratchet’s engine to growl. Any other time, he may have been embarrassed by himself and how he was behaving, but there were hands on his frame and lips on his and his system was getting so hot that he couldn’t really bring himself to care anymore.
Already Megatron’s hands were moving on him, roaming down his sides, one cupping his aft as the other came around to rub at his intensely heated array. “Open up for me, medic.” As if he needed the command. His modesty paneling snapped back with no hesitation, spike remaining recessed, even as the movement revealed his already dripping wet valve to his once sworn enemy. The result was a pleased hum from Megatron, who began lightly rubbing his fingers over the exposed folds. “Good boy.”
He would’ve been embarrassed if the praise hadn’t sent a shiver through him. What a state to be in. “Don’t tease-”
“I’m hardly teasing,” came the reply, and one of the ex-warlord’s thick fingers slid inside him, curling against neural nodes and rubbing against gripping calipers as his palm pressed against his anterior node. “You’re being very good right now. And so wet already…”
Ratchet’s vents hitched when he began thrusting that finger inside him, applying maddening friction to his anterior node with every movement, causing him to shiver and cling to the bigger mech’s plating. One digit inside him was already massive, and he couldn’t hold back a moan as he started rocking his hips forward, gasping faintly, optics flickering. “Please…”
Lips played along his audial before his companion lowered his head to nip at his throat cables, using the hand on Ratchet’s aft to hold him still, refusing to let him rock into the teasing. “You’ll move when I let you, medic. Understood?”
His finger thrust in harder that time and Ratchet gasped, his whole frame shaking at the pleasure rocking through him, field radiating lust and desire. “Y-yes… I understand…”
“Good. You behave so well.”
He said nothing else, simply resuming his ministrations, rubbing at his anterior node with his palm as his finger curled and rubbed harder. Ratchet was so desperate to move, but every time he tried, those movements ceased… and so he stayed as still as he could, fans roaring as he held on as tightly as he could, fingers flexing tightly against the bigger mech’s plating, trying to ground himself as the rubbing off that finger became more insistent.
Finally Megatron’s head came to rest next to his again, his palm grinding almost painfully against his anterior node as he thrust his single digit hard and fast into the eager medic. “Overload for me.”
The command, a rolling growl, hit Ratchet like a lightning bolt as his back bowed, a cry escaping his vocalizer as lubricant gushed from his valve, the calipers clenching on that thrusting finger as, in the midst of his overload, a second joined it, scissoring and thrusting. Ratchet’s voice crackled on static as his body jerked, hanging on for all he was worth. “Oh god-!”
“I am not a small mech, Ratchet. I want to make sure you’re properly prepared so I don’t hurt you.” The two fingers began thrusting together, scissoring now and then. Together they were bigger than most partners Ratchet had ever had. “Your voice is lovely when you overload.”
All he got this time was a whimper, and again Ratchet did his best to stay still. His valve and anterior node were oversensitive from the initial overload, and the continued stretch was sending shocks through his frame. He didn’t even resist when Megatron, making sure never to cease his exploration of the medic’s valve, moved him to lay on his back on the desk, shifting so his legs were resting over his shoulders, kneeling to give himself better access. “Wh- what…”
“You may move this time.”
Then he resumed the movement of his fingers, only this time he leaned in, catching Ratchet’s pulsing anterior node in his lips, opening his mouth just enough to roll it with his glossa, suckling gently on it.
Ratchet keened, his hands gripping the edges of his desk as his vocalizer crackled and frayed, charge dancing over his plating. Any apprehension he may have had was gone, his cycle completely overriding it, urging him on. His systems only wanted one thing: a full tank of transfluid, with a hot spike buried deep in his waiting valve.
But Megatron was patient and taking his time, using one hand to make sure Ratchet didn’t move his hips too far as he curled his glossa around the sensitive nub, working those two fingers as deep as he could reach into the medic’s valve, humming and wrapping his lips around the node again. And this time, he sucked in, just hard enough to almost sting, and Ratchet’s back bowed as a second overload crashed into him on the tail end of the first. Just like before, as he writhed and trembled, legs pulling Megatron’s frame tighter, the co-captain worked a third finger into him, stretching experimentally.
Ratchet couldn’t hold back his cries, wanton and breathy, all but begging for more. Megatron simply leaned his head back, shushing him gently as he began thrusting his fingers much harder, working Ratchet through the second overload and building a third one before he could really recover. The retired CMO hadn’t even heard the bigger mech’s panel slide back in all the noise he was making himself, though he did cry out when he stood, withdrawing his fingers and pushing Ratchet’s legs back until his knees nearly touched his chestplate.
He was not as flexible as he was in his youth, but he didn’t care anymore, whining as he felt the head of that big spike rubbing against the soaked folds of his valve. It drew another keen out of him as Megatron leaned forward, pressing the thick head into him, and groaning when he managed that purchase, the medic gasping and bowing beneath him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ratchet, but you are… still very tight.” Another press forward, and the stretch of his valve wasn’t necessarily painful, but it certainly was more than he’d anticipated. “You will make a beautiful carrier. I’m honored you didn’t turn me away.”
He said nothing more after that, pressing forward with agonizing care, drawing keens and moans from the medic until he was seated with his spike head pressed hard against the medic’s ceiling node. He wasn’t all the way in, and wouldn’t be unless he could somehow press into his gestational tank, but he didn’t want to risk hurting him.
Instead, he drew out slowly, almost pulling out of Ratchet completely before pressing back in, faster this time. Each thrust his pace increased until he was properly slamming into the medic beneath him, rocking the desk, leaning down to drown out his desperate cries in a kiss. Ratchet felt amazing around his spike, hot and tight and wet, his calipers rippling as a third overload crashed into him.
But Megatron had stamina to spare, and he continued his thrusting, never once slowing down as the medic moaned and keened into his mouth, whimpering and almost sobbing. It wasn’t until that overload began to ebb that he broke the kiss, biting at his neck cables gently. He, like Ratchet, was well beyond words at this point, but he knew he could get one more overload out of the heated medic beneath him.
Control was a memory now as his hips pistoned into his mate, so hard he felt the medic jolt beneath him. Part of him worried he may harm him, but there was no controlling this now. Ratchet was a gasping, moaning mess, and Megatron just needed him to open up that little bit more.
He was all but pinning Ratchet to the desk now as he rutted into him, feeling how the medic’s fans desperately fought to dispel overheated air, and like this he could feel much more clearly as his cries grew in intensity. The last overload that claimed him, the co-captain felt his gestational tank aperture spiral open, and he didn’t hesitate to slam himself inside until his hips were flush against the smaller mech’s and the head of his spike was well inside the waiting chamber, earning a startled, intense cry from his mate, who bowed hard against him as overload claimed Megatron at last.
Again he bit down, perhaps a little too roughly, on the medic’s exposed neck cables where his head had fallen back, holding onto him as he pumped him full of his transfluid, filling Ratchet’s primed and eager tank. There was no guarantee this would result in a sparkling, but he was certainly trying his best, holding Ratchet down as the medic gasped and sobbed his pleasure, his hips weakly twitching against Megatron’s as the ex-warlord rocked his own, every press forward coinciding with another rush of transfluid from his throbbing spike.
It felt like ages before their overloads began to ebb, Ratchet’s overly full tank almost painful as Megatron pulled free and his spike retracted, in just enough command of his own senses to know the medic’s tank aperture would spiral shut now that he was free. For a moment, he looked over Ratchet’s dazed face, his own plating flared to release heat as he laid a hand on his abdomen. “Did I hurt you?”
“Hell no,” Ratchet breathed, loathe to move. His tank was full to the brim… there was a damn good chance he’d catch from this. “But… thank you. Haven’t had someone go to town on me like that in a long time.”
Megatron just smiled, patting his abdomen gently. “I’d be happy to again, any time you’d like.”
Ratchet just gave a loose half grin, rolling his head to the side slightly. “I think I might just hold you to that. Now help me clean up, won’t you? You’ve made a mess of me.”
The laugh that rippled out of Megatron was rough but pleasant. “It’s the least I can do.”