Work Text:
“You are certain you wish to do this, old friend?”
“Puh-lease. If everyone gets a crack at you, once in a while, I do too,” Ratchet scoffed, rolling his shoulder to ease out the tension. It had been a long time since he and the Prime had sparred, but he couldn’t afford to get rusty, and everyone else was unavailable. Of all the times for them to actually be following his orders and getting some rest, of course it was when Ratchet actually needed someone to train with.
“If you are sure.”
Ratchet flicked unimpressed optics at the Prime, who simply slid his face mask closed. He raised his arms, slowly opening and closing his fists with practiced motions. The medic squared up as well, angling his frame and planting his pedes.
He always took the first swing in their spars. Optimus often hesitated.
Quickly throwing a punch at his face, the Prime deflected with one arm and attempted to take the medic's wrist. He pulled back before he was successful, switching to a high kick with a shout. Optimus barely got an arm up to block it before he was swinging a second time, then a third. The fourth connected as the Prime stumbled back, trying to get some distance. Ratchet wouldn’t let him, rushing forward to keep him off-balance with a couple more punches.
It went on like this for a while, Optimus on the defensive while the medic threw attack after attack. This was how it always went—Optimus was afraid of hurting the medic, so he held back: a lot. Ratchet hated sparring with him. He never felt like he was getting enough out of their fights. Blocking another punch, the Prime finally countered—using the force Ratchet put into the swing to shove him to the side, almost sending him stumbling to the ground with the momentum. With a harsh exvent, he regained his footing, swerving to face him before the Prime could take advantage of the doctor’s exposed back. He squared up and began circling, searching for a better opening. Optimus mirrored him.
“Are you ever going to stop holding back during these?” he asked, annoyed.
“I hold back against most opponents, old friend. Please take no offence, I do not wish to truly injure you.”
“I’d rather you hurt me than leave me stiff on a battlefield. Come on, you can at least go a little harder.”
Optimus raised a brow ridge, watching the medic with careful optics. “As you wish, old friend.”
In an instant, the Prime was racing towards him, rearing back a punch. Ratchet barely managed to duck under it, only to be right in the path of an upwards jab. Taking it to the chest, he felt a sharp blossom of pain under his plating. He exvented sharply, optics wide open, venting through the sudden ache.
There we go, Optimus.
He grunted and reached forward to capture the Prime’s arm in both of his own, grinning as he threw all his weight into a tug. It was just enough to get Optimus stumbling. He released him quickly and spun around the Prime until he was facing his back. Taking advantage of their positioning, the doctor delivered three swift punches to pressure points on his back struts, causing him to cry out and swing wildly in his direction. He dodged easily, sending another kick to his side. He just deflected it with his arm, turning to meet the medic’s stare. That’s when he realized it.
Optimus Prime was about to start trying. Ratchet couldn’t stop the grin splitting his face plates open, recovering from his kick and readying another hit.
Charging him, Optimus threw two big swings down. Ratchet had no time to dodge. He resorted to blocking, holding up both arms in front of his face and taking the hits with a shout. He’d be sore later, no doubt. Finding his rhythm, the Prime kept swinging, pushing Ratchet further back and towards the wall behind him. Determined not to get pinned, the medic got reckless, pretending to drop his guard and taking one punch square to the jaw. He cried out, tumbling back a bit to sell it.
“Ratchet!” Optimus cried, startled. Instantly drawn out of the fight, he pulled his arms back and reached forward with open palms. Ratchet smirked and reared back, sending another roundhouse kick which clipped the Prime in the helm. He stumbled back, taking his jaw in one servo as the medic quickly ran to the other side of him in order to escape being cornered. His smirk stayed on, readying another attack while Optimus regained his footing and stood up straight, rubbing his bruises.
“Cheap shot,” he muttered. Unfortunately for him, Ratchet knew what he looked like when he was smiling under that mask.
“Oh, and you’re so honorable. Fighting a poor, helpless medic,” Ratchet cooed, tilting his helm with an exaggerated frown.
“You are anything but helpless, old friend,” he responded, heat pooling into his vision.
They were back at it moments later, swinging and blocking and kicking. Optimus was winning, but it wasn’t like Ratchet expected to win against the leader of the Autobots. He knew that holding his own for this long was already a feat worthy of pride. Of course, he wasn’t about to surrender; they were just starting to have fun. They were grinning through every strike, every once in a while even chuckling after a particularly impressive block. He felt the heat blasting from his own frame and his Prime’s.
“Ready to—heh—give up yet?” Ratchet asked in a lull in the action.
“Are you?” Optimus replied in an even lower octave than usual.
Both were panting, running hot, and invested in victory. Ratchet couldn’t deny he was a little turned on, though he couldn’t speak for Optimus—despite the barely disguised desire in his optics. The Prime was still holding back, but not nearly as much as usual. Ratchet was of the firm belief that there was nothing more attractive than respect, which Optimus was currently giving him in spades. They were both landing hits too, to the point where literal sparks were flying from the collisions of metal. He did not doubt that, from an outside view, this fight looked a lot more intimate than that of just a leader and his doctor.
“Careful, Prime. Heh—someone might get the wrong idea.”
“Oh?” Optimus cocked a brow ridge as the medic dodged another kick. “What—idea might that be?”
To prevent the Prime from landing another attack, he took both servos in his own, linking their digits. In a more bold move than the medic was accustomed to, he tilted his helm into their joined servos, running his derma over the Prime’s scarred knuckles. It helped drown the pain that flared in his arms, sore from their repeated abuse of a warrior's hits. Optimus’s optics widened, and Ratchet felt a brief tremble course through him.
“Guess,” he murmured into the metal.
In an instant, they began pushing into each other, the Prime winning out on pure strength despite the medic keeping his pedes planted.
“Concede,” Optimus ordered, dripping with as much sarcasm as an “emotionless” Prime could muster. The doctor could see the blue blush on his face just above his mask. Well then. Apparently, he could speak for the Prime.
“Not on—” Ratchet panted, smile wide, “—your life.”
Optimus, in spite of the current use of his arms, shrugged. “Well… I did offer.”
With that, the Prime let his arms go slack, leaving the medic to lose his balance. With a twist, he sent both of them to the ground.
He quickly pinned Ratchet down, straddling the doctor’s hips with his thighs. Before he could get his servos up to try and flip them, the Prime reached up and snatched both his wrists in a single servo, securing them above his helm. Ratchet tried to pull himself up, but he was rendered immobilized, stuck in the Prime’s hold.
Eventually, he slackened, panting heavily. His arms ached from the repeated blows of the Prime’s punches, as did the rest of him. Flushed, he watched with lidded optics as Optimus leaned down, mask withdrawing to reveal his own blush and slight smirk.
“I believe that is game,” he said, low and hoarse. He, too, was venting hard, heat pouring from him like a furnace. The fight had lasted half an hour, shorter than they were used to when Optimus held back—but it had been much more stimulating.
“I believe it is,” Ratchet muttered in mock disappointment, tilting his helm with a mirroring smile. He arched just a little into Optimus’s hold, watching his optics cycle and arms tremble with restraint. “How disappointing. It appears I’m at your mercy, Prime.”
“It appears so.”
They stayed there for a while, staring, gauging each other's intentions.
“Everyone out?” he asked, gaze flicking to the closed doors.
“Or recharging,” Optimus said, optics blazing.
After a few more moments of silence, save for their vents, Optimus ducked his helm down and claimed his prize. Taking Ratchet’s lips in his denta roughly, he ground down, crashing their panels together again. Ratchet’s moans were muffled by a passionate kiss. Their interfacing hadn’t been this hot and heavy in a while, but damn it if they weren’t more overcharged than they’d been in months. Closing his optics and allowing himself to be lost in the sensation, he felt Optimus’s free servo travel downward blindly. He drew them into a second kiss, then another, until they were all blending together.
They weren’t a couple who were very interested in foreplay, but apparently, sparring was how to get them heated. Ratchet couldn’t deny the attraction he felt when Optimus returned to base smelling of smoke and spilt energon like a stunning war god (safe and unmarred, of course). But then anyone who said they didn’t find Optimus’s strength and command seductive was a liar. And Ratchet wasn’t a liar, currently indulging in that very power as he lived and vented.
His servo found the medic’s panel, rubbing up and down, awaiting entry. Ratchet pushed into the touch. He still had a bit of fight in him—he was going to make the Prime work for it. His engine rumbled with the contact, and he bit down on Optimus’s bottom lip, causing him to pull back. Ratchet swore he saw smoke coming from his stacks. Not deterred, the Prime kept running his servo back and forth, while moving his attention to his medic’s neck cables. Ratchet couldn’t stifle the gasp and moan that escaped him as Optimus bit down at the junction of his neck and shoulder, just hidden enough from view that a mark was permissible. His HUD pinged with an alert; his panel was requesting to open. He just barely staved it off, hitching moans leaving him as Optimus suckled and licked the bite. He tried to lift his servos to move him up his neck, but Optimus simply applied more force, keeping him pinned down.
“Open for me,” he said, low and seductive into the medic’s neck, the reverb sending a trickle of lubricant down his valve canal.
“Y-you’re gonna have to work harder than that.”
The Prime raised a brow ridge, then smirked and moved up to Ratchet’s audial. He nibbled at it, leaving Ratchet gasping and flushing. He kept rubbing, too, and sooner rather than later, his panel was going to pop no matter what he told it to do.
Optimus’s legs shifted, taking his right one and moving it to the inside of his partner’s thigh, before pushing outward to give him better access. He undoubtedly felt the lubricant dripping through the cracks of his panel, if the smile on his mesh had anything to say about it.
“Your frame is already preparing itself for me,” Optimus muttered, licking a stroke up his audial. “Look me in the optic and tell me it hasn’t already pinged you to open.”
Ratchet couldn’t, nor could he stop the shudder that racked his frame as Optimus took a soft bite. After releasing his audial, he drifted down to his chin, nipping the edge and forcing the doctor to meet his hooded gaze.
“Open for me, Ratchet.”
The difference between a request and an order in Optimus’s tone had always been clear to Ratchet. And before his processor could catch up with him, he was following orders. He heard the telltale sound of metal folding away, and felt his valve clench on open air. That was all the Prime needed.
With a hum, he pushed two digits inside Ratchet’s wet heat. He moaned, squirming against his leader’s hold.
“O-Optimus, hah…”
The Prime took his lips again, the kiss almost bruising as he began pumping in and out. They fragged enough that Ratchet’s equipment was practically molded around his spike, but that didn’t mean the preparation didn’t feel damn good. He keened up into his Prime, optics fluttering closed and whimpering. Optimus tasted his approval with his glossa locked with his, and added another digit. He drew back, watching the look on Ratchet’s face. He could practically see it himself—flushed face and lust-filled optics, an open, panting mouth with lips glistening from Optimus’s use of them. His arms still pinned above him, writhing on the Prime’s digits, at his complete mercy. He was the picture of eroticism, and Optimus knew it. After all, at the sight of him, Ratchet heard another panel open.
“You could overload like this, couldn’t you? Taken this close to the edge on nothing but my digits,” he slotted in a fourth, curling them in a way that had the medic seeing stars. The pace was slow; an agonizing drag that had him helpless to the Prime’s whims.
“Oh! Hah, Optimus, ple-ase…”
“Use your words, darling.”
Ratchet panted desperately as the Prime kept going, going deeper and fanning them out, spreading his callipers wide open. He licked the medic’s cheek as he cried out, trembling wildly.
“L-let me o-over-load, please!” he finally gasped out, bucking up into his partner’s panel. He heard the Prime’s engine rev, hard.
“Certainly, love.”
Optimus sped up, pumping faster and harder until Ratchet was howling, the sound of his lubricant squelching loud enough to be heard over it.
“OH! Oh, oh, oh, oh yes, yes!” he begged, almost there, so damn close—
He curled his digits once more, and Ratchet overloaded with a shout. His transfluid splashed over the Prime’s servo. He spasmed and clenched around the digits as he rode the high, before collapsing in Optimus’s hold.
He pulled his digits out, watching with a smile as transfluid gushed out of his medic, then brought his servo to his lips. Ratchet stared and moaned as the Prime sucked, drinking down the pink fluid like it was the finest high-grade in the universe.
He released Ratchet’s wrists once he was done drinking and leaned up, back straight as he watched the medic spasm beneath him.
“What are you… hah… waiting for?” he asked, venting heavily. Using his newly freed servos to spread himself wide as his transfluid leaked onto the floor, he presented his valve to Optimus. The Prime’s optics flicked down, unconsiously licking some rogue fluid off his lips.
“Claim your prize.”
He was deadly serious, despite the mirth on both their faces. With a grin, the Prime leaned back down and began peppering kisses down Ratchet’s neck. The medic let go of his valve and reached up to wrap his arms around him, pulling him closer in. When he backed far enough away for Ratchet to see his face, the mirth was gone, replaced with something almost dangerous.
The look in Optimus’s optics was one of hunger. Clearly, he had gotten a taste of his and Ratchet’s pleasure and found himself starving—ravenous for more. The medic felt his valve clench on nothing.
He released the Prime, lying his servos on either side of his helm as he took his spike in his digits, leaning forward and lining himself up. Leg on the inside of his right thigh and outside of his left, the medic’s lower half was immobile as he rubbed his spike against his folds.
“T-tease,” Ratchet grunted, trying to shift down onto it. Optimus hummed, low and heated, before guiding his spike into his hole.
Ratchet moaned, reveling in how full Optimus still made him feel. The Prime, now with his servos free, reached up and laced his digits with his doctors. He was pinning his hands again, albeit in a much gentler gesture.
Ratchet found he didn’t want gentle, right now.
“I can—take it,” he practically growled, “Just frag me already!”
The Prime’s optics flashed to something dark, and he abandoned patience. He took Ratchet to the hilt in an instant, drawing a lustful scream from the medic. Ratchet whimpered, fantastically, wonderfully full. Optimus ducked down into his shoulder, panting with him. Ratchet felt Optimus smile, and his servos tightened around his own.
“How do you want me?”
“You’re- ah… the one who, hah… won,” Ratchet said. “I’m yours—to have as you—uh—see fit.”
“You may regret that.”
“Try… me.”
With one final kiss, Optimus lifted himself back up and slowly shifted their joined servos higher, until they were almost in the same position as before. And because he was evil, he slowly dragged his spike further and further out, until only the tip remained inside.
“Come on, just—”
With no preamble, Optimus slammed back inside with enough force to bounce him. Then again. And again, faster and faster until his thrusts were so quick and hard that Ratchet was screaming with each one.
“OH! OHOHOH OP-TI-MUS!”
Every thrust was pulled almost all the way out, then went all the way back in. There was no ginger lovemaking or soft interfacing—Optimus was fragging him, well and truly. So hard that Ratchet knew that despite the Prime holding him down, he was moving further across the floor with each pound. Optimus didn’t stall as he took another bite of Ratchet’s shoulder, using the full power and skill of his frame to give the medic exactly what he asked for. Both their engines revved, though not loud enough to disguise the smacking of Optimus’s equipment against Ratchet’s.
When was the last time they’d gone this hard, this rough? Primus, Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to remember, not when the interfacing felt that good. He was being fragged silly, his mind going blank save for the heavenly feeling that was Optimus’s spike. He dug his digits into the Prime’s servo, mouth falling agape, and a sliver of drool making its way down his chin. He could get addicted to this if he weren’t careful. He was losing himself to pleasure, his open mouth curling into a grin.
“YES YES MORE! HAR-DER!”
Somehow, Optimus did—sending even more force to his jackhammering. The Prime moaned and grunted beautifully, right into Ratchet’s audial, and began gripping his servos so hard they almost hurt.
“You’re—UH—an excellent prize.”
Ratchet shouted in reckless abandon, pressing his helm against Optimus’s. His partner wore a wicked grin, licking up the drool spilling out of the medic's mouth.
“Careful, darling. Ah! I might—uh—want you like this, hah, every night.”
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
“Split open on, ah, my spike—begging for more.”
“YES! YES, OH, PLEASE, OPTI-MUS!”
Optimus moved up, licking his freshly fallen tears away.
“Would you—UGH—want that, Ratchet?”
“YES!” he screamed, desperate and wanton and close. “I WANT IT. I WANT IT! OH! PLEASE, AH, GIVE IT OH TO ME!”
“Show me how much—HAH—you want it,” he swooped down and took Ratchet’s mouth, kissing with the same ferocity he fragged with. When he pulled back, Ratchet’s optics had rolled into the back of his helm. He grinned, barking an order, “Overload for me.”
Ratchet howled as he came undone, his whole frame arching upward as Optimus fragged him through his overload. He spasmed as his howls turned to whimpers, and the Prime’s pace slowed. His helm fell to the side, panting desperately to get his vents to cool his overheated systems. He felt fantastic, basking in the afterglow for all of a minute before he realized that the Prime hadn’t overloaded yet.
“O-Optimus p-please,” he pushed his right leg against the Prime’s, pushing him in deeper. “Please f-fill me.”
“Ratchet, I-I’m not sure if—”
In a sudden burst of strength (and only because the Prime was already off kilter), the medic hooked both legs around Optimus’s and turned as hard as he could. Surprised, the Prime went down quickly, and Ratchet took the position above him.
“I’m… sure.”
On shaky limbs, the medic lifted himself up and dropped himself back down with a cry. Then did so a second time, and a third, and a fourth. After the seventh, Optimus reached out and took his hips in his servos, helping him up and pulling him back down.
“R-Ratchet, AH!”
“O-overload, AH! In me, Opti-mus,” Ratchet demanded as he bounced on his spike, mind still half gone.
Optimus cried out, moving Ratchet faster and faster until he no longer needed to assist, just let the Prime manhandle him how he wanted. All he had to do was moan and whimper with each drag of his overstimulated valve—make music for his Prime’s audials.
“I’m y-yours, O-Opt-imus! Ah, oh! M-make me yours! AH! C-CLAIM ME!”
He was going full force again, slamming up so hard Ratchet thought it might be hitting his forge. Not holding back, he took what Ratchet gave, as his prize screamed his euphoria to the ceiling.
“I-I’m close—!”
“Yes! Yes fill me!”
Optimus slammed Ratchet down to the hilt with a cry and spilled into him, pouring his transfluid deep inside. The medic let out a choked cry, sagging against his partner’s chest. The Prime released his hips and took Ratchet’s helm, dragging him into a kiss as he emptied himself into his prize. Ratchet sighed in contentment as the last drops entered him, breaking the kiss and nuzzling the Prime’s panting face.
“That was—” Optimus started, trailing off.
“Incredible,” Ratchet finished with a smile.
That drew a startled chuckle out of the Prime, who let his helm fall back against the ground.
“You’re mad,” he said, smiling softly at the mech currently planted on his spike.
“Just a bit.”