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Drift dreamed of being surrounded by strength.
Strong hands enveloped Drift’s smaller ones, their thick, dextrous fingers interlaced with his. Sturdy arms encircled him, one cradling his waist, the other cushioning his helm and wrapping around his shoulders. A solid, heavy frame pressed against his back, hardy engine idling low. One thick leg insinuated between his thighs.
He sighed happily and snuggled back, closer to the deep purr of that engine and the warmth of that wonderful frame, and those arms pulled him in with that effortless strength that thrilled him so. He couldn’t escape this embrace if he tried, and he didn’t want to try. This… this was safety, perfect and complete. This was peace. This was…
… this was getting him hot.
Drift kept his optics offline–he didn’t need to see the mech holding him to know it was Ratchet. Even in dreams, he never got revved up for anyone but Ratchet, and he wondered why the medic couldn’t seem to see how fragging hot his frame was. He arched and wriggled a little just to feel Ratchet tighten his hold. “Mmm… so strong,” he murmured, pushing his aft against the medic’s abdominal plating. Ratchet squeezed his waist, stilling his movements, but the pressure only made Drift moan. “Love it when you hold me tight,” he whispered, squeezing his thighs around the medic's knee as heat began to gather low in his belly.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then the leg that had been between his shifted away. Before Drift could protest, Ratchet wrapped both legs around Drift’s, trapping them between his own. “Like that?” the medic breathed in his audial.
It was a needless question. Drift moaned again, making no effort to hold the sound back–why bother in a dream?–and pressed back into his lover’s hold. Ratchet crossed his ankles and then squeezed his thighs around Drift’s. “Oh Ratchet yes,” the speedster moaned, feeling like he was on the verge of being absorbed by the stronger mech and loving it. His vents snapped open and his fans spun faster to disperse the building heat.
That powerful engine was running faster now too, deep vibrations thrumming through the swordsmech’s frame. “Frag, you’re hot,” Ratchet groaned in his audial and Drift shivered with delight at that rough, gorgeous voice. “How are you so hot just from this?”
“Always hot for you,” Drift whimpered, and it was nothing more than the truth. “So beautiful... so strong…”
Ratchet shuddered behind him, all around him. “You want me to hold you tighter?” he murmured, his lips moving along Drift’s sensor-packed audial flare now. “Want me to hold you down, stop you from moving? Want me to hold you so tight that you can’t get away?” Drift moaned loudly again as his panel retracted with a snap and the secondary cap over his spike spiraled open instantly afterward. Ratchet clearly took that for the answer it was because he pulled Drift even closer. “You’re never getting away from me, Drift,” he growled, low and possessive and perfect. “You’re mine and you are never getting away from me again.”
Drift arched against him and was immediately pulled in tight, eliminating the space he’d momentarily created between his backplates and Ratchet’s chest. He stretched this way and that in his lover’s hold, not trying to escape, only testing, and every time those strong arms and legs banded firmly around him and didn’t give him an inch. Drift moaned and Ratchet pressed against him in return this time, letting his weight rock Drift forward and push him into the berth. A surge of heat blazed through his frame and his hips rocked in an instinctive plea. Ratchet’s arm tightened around his hips and he nipped at the edge of Drift’s audial. “Ah-ah, that’s mine too,” he chided as he stopped Drift from rubbing his spike against the berth.
“Ratchet, please,” Drift cried, already so charged that his protoform ached with it.
“Please what? Tell me, love,” Ratchet said, punctuating the words with a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his finial. “Tell me exactly what you want so I can give you all of it.”
Oh, it was hard to think, so hard to form words in a dream anyway, but when Ratchet made an offer like that, and especially while he was kissing his finial? That made it nearly impossible. Ratchet loved kissing him, loved to taste him, loved biting and suckling and licking all over Drift, and Drift loved it when he did, but he had never been very good at saying what he wanted during ‘facing.
Still… in a dream, he could say anything. “Y-your mouth,” he gasped, his hips still moving even though Ratchet didn’t let him do more than barely brush his spike against the berth. He couldn’t stop, and the way it made his plating slide ever so slightly against the medic’s was intoxicating. “Love your mouth. Love it when you kiss my audials, my neck… love it when you kiss me anywhere.”
Ratchet made a low, rumbling growl of pleasure at the request. “Oh, my pleasure, love,” he murmured, and began kissing Drift’s sensitive audials in earnest now.
Drift whined and gasped as Ratchet licked a slow stripe all the way to the tip of his audial flare. The swordsmech froze as Ratchet wrapped his glossa around the sharp tip and then sucked it into his mouth. Ratchet hummed and flicked his glossa over it, suckled, pulled off, then did it again, and Drift squeezed his fingers tight with the effort of not moving. His finials weren’t as sharp as they had once been, but he still didn’t want to accidentally hurt Ratchet or do anything that would make him want to stop.
Not that Ratchet seemed at all eager to stop. In fact, he seemed perfectly willing to continue for as long as Drift would let him. The speedster moaned over and over as Ratchet lavished attention on the sensor-packed flare, taking it into his mouth again and again, almost like he was sucking Drift’s spike. And it felt almost as good, too.
And the whole time, Ratchet’s embrace never once loosened.
Drift was shaking now, trying so hard to be still that he had no attention to spare for being quiet, and he was almost incoherent by the time Ratchet finally pulled away. But he still didn’t stop. Ratchet nibbled down the inner side of the now hypersensitive flare until it met Drift’s helm, then nuzzled at the base of his helm until Drift tipped his head down enough for Ratchet to suckle the tender components just beneath the edge. “What else?” he whispered, breath hot on the nape of his neck. “What else can I give you? What else will make you moan like that?”
Drift was so aroused that his spike was weeping freely now. He could just feel the wetness with every movement of his hips, the slick puddle on the berth stealing the tiny amount of friction he’d been able to gain. “Your hands,” Drift begged. “Touch me, oh please, Ratchet, it feels so good, I love the way you touch me, please touch me–”
Ratchet had moved to the side of his throat now, kissing and biting by turns, and his arms reflexively tightened still further at Drift’s words. The added pressure only increased his arousal. “Touch you where?” Ratchet purred against his neck as he adjusted his hold on Drift so that he held both the speedster’s wrists in one big, strong hand, trapping them against his chestplate.
Even with both of Drift’s arms held by only one of Ratchet’s, there was still absolutely no give in his hold. The medic restrained him effortlessly and it was the sexiest thing Drift had ever experienced. “Anywhere,” Drift gasped, so hot he felt like he was in danger of incineration. “Everywhere, please–”
“Hmm, that does sound good, but I think you want me to touch you somewhere in particular,” Ratchet said. He began to trace little shapes on Drift’s plating, just that one single teasing finger–a circle on his shoulder, a diamond on the back of his hand, a little swirl atop one thigh. “You can tell me, love. Where do you want my hand to go, hmm? Don’t be shy,” he said when Drift pressed his face against the berth. “You can have everything you ask for. Where do you want me to touch you, Drift?”
Drift thrust his hips harder toward the berth, half a desperate yearning for contact, half a hint, but Ratchet knew that game–there was a reason he’d said Drift could have anything he asked for. He tightened his legs around Drift’s thighs, fully wrapping his legs around Drift’s in a way that prevented him from rutting against the berth. Drift keened with a mixture of excitement and frustration and Ratchet chuckled against his shoulder. He licked along Drift’s collar assembly and flicked his glossa beneath the edge of his armor strap, teasing the protoform beneath. “Tell me, love,” he murmured, that single finger tracing the red and white stripes of his abdominal armor. “All you have to do is tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
Drift was moaning with every exhale, gasping with each inhale, and it was clear that he would get nothing with hints. “My… my spike,” he whispered as his hips still strained against Ratchet’s firm hold. And then, because this was a dream and he’d already admitted it, he didn’t bother holding back any further. “Want you to overload me with your hand while you get yourself off on my back. Want you to overload all over me, paint me with your transfluid, leave your mark on me.”
Ratchet’s engine revved loudly as he groaned aloud, “Oh frag yes.” He flattened his palm against Drift’s stomach plating and slid it slowly down, down over the ridges of armor, down past the flare of his pelvic plating, down to his spike housing, and then he wrapped his fingers firmly around Drift’s length. At the same time, Drift felt the slide of Ratchet’s overheated interface panel and his lover’s thick spike nudged against his hip. “Like this?” Ratchet said, his smooth, deep voice rough now with his own arousal as he pressed his spike against Drift’s plating, rocking and caressing Drift’s spike in time. “Is this what you want, love?”
“Yes!” Drift cried, arching again and immediately being pulled back into that wonderful full-frame contact with Ratchet once more, and he couldn’t stop saying it. “Yes, yes, yes–”
Ratchet groaned and started to stroke him. Drift moaned aloud with an abandon he never permitted himself when he was awake, crying out his lover’s name, and yes, and feels so good as Ratchet kissed every bit of him that he could reach and took him apart with that strong hand pumping his spike. “Louder,” Ratchet demanded against Drift’s audial, and Drift cried out louder. Ratchet rewarded him with faster strokes, his hips rocking harder, his spike leaking hot moisture over Drift’s aft. Drift pressed back, loving the feeling of that wetness on his plating, the proof of how much Ratchet wanted him. “Oh yes, love, let me hear you, let me hear how good it feels, let me hear how much you love what we’re doing,” he growled, and Drift forgot the last of his inhibitions about being loud during ‘facing and let his vocalizer run freely. Ratchet thrust harder the more noise he made. “Just like that, oh Drift, just like that, oh I love you, I love hearing you, I love making you feel good, I love it when you moan my name, louder!”
“Ratchet!” Drift cried loud enough for his vocalizer to spit static as overload ripped through him with the force of a freight train. “Ratchet, Ratchet, yes, oh Ratchet!”
Ratchet was panting against his throat and then his body locked up around Drift’s as hot fluid splashed against his aft and back. “Oh Drift,” he groaned, holding him even tighter as he shook with the force of his own overload. The sensation of Ratchet’s transfluid spattering over his armor, smearing between their frames, stretched Drift’s overload out to crazy lengths. He felt like he would never stop.
He wasn’t the only one. Ratchet groaned again and again, his hips finally slowing as his own overload released him at last. Drift was shaking from head to toe when it was finally over and even Ratchet’s powerful frame trembled around him.
But when the dream didn’t fade away after his overload, Drift slowly onlined his optics. “Oh wow,” he breathed as Ratchet’s dimly-lit quarters came into focus and the sensation of the medic wrapped around him with his hand still tenderly cradling Drift’s now-softening spike didn’t vanish. He still wasn’t used to this being reality, wondered if he would ever get used to it.
“Hmm?” Ratchet’s voice was rough in the aftermath of his pleasure, but even so, it still sent shivers down Drift’s spinal strut.
“I… thought that was a dream,” he admitted, starting to feel more than a little embarrassed at the things he’d said and how loud he’d been.
But then again, Ratchet had loved it when he’d gotten loud. In fact, he’d begged him to be even louder.
And as far as the things he’d said… how could he be embarrassed about asking for what he wanted when Ratchet had so clearly loved giving it to him?
“If that was a dream, I’m glad I got to be in it. I love hearing you like that,” Ratchet said as though he’d read the thoughts right out of Drift’s processor. He shifted his embrace so that he was still wrapped fully around Drift but in a way that didn’t block any of his vents, and the swordsmech smiled. His lover was always so considerate. “Can I be in the next one too?”
Drift turned until he could kiss the side of Ratchet’s helm. “You’re in all my dreams,” he said, which was sappy as hell but still true. “And we made a mess,” he added, making a face at the wet patch in front of him. He didn’t mind the stickiness on his back–words couldn’t express exactly how much he didn’t mind the feeling of Ratchet’s overload drying on his frame–but he thought Ratchet would probably be disgusted by that kind of a notion. Not wanting the medic to think he was a pervert, Drift started to get up.
Immediately Ratchet’s hold tightened again, completely immobilizing him. “And just where do you think you’re going? I thought I already made it clear that you are mine and you’re never getting away from me. Besides,” he said as Drift’s fans stuttered, then picked up at a higher speed as Ratchet’s embrace tightened. “Maybe I’m not done with you yet. Maybe I won’t be done with you until I discover every single thing that gets you that hot. Maybe I won’t ever be done with you.”
Ratchet moved abruptly and Drift found himself on his back with his hands pinned above his helm with one of the medic’s strong hands and the weight of his reinforced frame across his hips and legs. Drift’s optics widened as Ratchet raised his other hand to his lips and moaned with enjoyment as he licked every last trace of Drift’s overload from his fingers. Then he met Drift’s optics and smiled. “Maybe I want you to scream my name when you know you’re awake this time.”
Drift was no longer sleepy at all. He gave his lover his best smirk, all defiant challenge, and shifted to test Ratchet’s hold. He didn’t gain a single inch. “How about you make me,” he purred, and Ratchet grinned and took him up on it.