Chapter Text
...vent in three four five six seven eight, vent out three four five six seven eight, vent in --
You’re an embarrassment. You’re a disappointment. You’re a failure.
Drift pushed the intrusive thought away yet again and focused on venting slowly in and out. Nothing else was allowed into his processor but the count--no shameful memories of survival at all costs in Rodion, no bloodsoaked nightmares of Deadlock's rage-fueled rampages, no filth or loneliness or screams or regret, Primus, so much regret.
No.
All of that was the past. The only thing that was real was this single, current moment, and he submerged himself in it with all his might: the rhythm of his venting; the thin meditation mat beneath his knees; the fading scent of the long-gone incense he’d lit when he’d first started his meditation; the familiar sounds of his own frame’s workings.
And if occasionally his vents hitched, or his engine idled higher than usual, or his trembling hands rattled against the plating of his thighs, well, at least no one else was around to hear it.
Drift just needed to find his center and then he could look at this storm of emotions from the proper perspective. Today was merely a bad day, that was all. He had lived through days like this before, and as much as he hated to think about it, he knew he’d have to live through days like this again. It was just…
… well, today was a really bad day.
And no matter how hard he tried to meditate and re-center himself, Drift just couldn’t seem to make it work.
… failure… whore… murderer… worthless…
Finally, shoulders slumping, Drift gave it up. Yet another failure to add to the list...no, no, don't think like that. He rubbed both hands over his faceplates with a harsh sigh only to freeze when he heard a footstep behind him.
A deliberate sound, considering that the mech who made it could move as silently as Drift when he put his mind to it.
How long had he been there?
“Ratchet,” Drift said, making a mighty effort to sound like his usual self and pulling in his field so that his mate wouldn’t feel how it churned with dark emotions as he started to stand. “You’re back early.”
“Wait, don’t get up just yet,” Ratchet replied, and Drift froze for a moment before settling back on his knees. Before he could question the request, Ratchet spoke again. “All finished meditating, love?”
The gentle question momentarily locked up Drift’s vocalizer as he remembered all the demeaning memories and caustic thoughts that had assaulted him while he tried to clear his mind… no, he couldn't take any more of that today. He nodded and listened to Ratchet walking closer.
“Then can I make a suggestion?”
As if he had to ask. Drift reset his vocalizer and managed to actually sound almost normal this time when he said, “Of course, Ratch, anything. You know that.”
To his surprise, Ratchet knelt right behind him on the mat, close enough for the heat of his frame to warm Drift’s back. He reached around Drift’s waist and pressed his hands flat over Drift’s atop his thighs. “I thought we could play a little game. There's only one rule: all you need to do is keep your hands right here,” he murmured in Drift’s audial, and a shiver chased down Drift’s backstruts at the promise in that rough, beloved voice. “Move your hands and everything stops. What do you say, do you want to play?”
Drift was pretty sure that the loud rev of his engine answered for him, but Ratchet liked to hear him say it out loud. “Yes,” he rasped, not even trying to hide the static clouding his vocalizer now. Ratchet was a master at driving everything from his mind but the magic they made together, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to focus on his lover instead of everything else he’d been wrestling with all day. “Yes, Ratchet, yes please.”
Ratchet’s heavy engine rumbled as he nuzzled the nape of Drift’s neck. “Love you, Drift,” he whispered, tracing the speedster’s fingers with a feather-light touch, and those three words tore a sob from Drift before he could choke it back.
But Ratchet didn’t comment on it. Instead his field flowed out, enveloping Drift in warmth and affection and more than a little desire. Even when Drift’s own field escaped his control and rose to mingle with Ratchet’s, exposing all the things he wanted to hide from his mate, Ratchet didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t ask him what was wrong, didn’t urge him to talk about it or pressure him to explain why he felt so dark and hopeless.
Ratchet’s answer was there in the way his field poured into the jagged edges of Drift’s, soothing and accepting, asking nothing, simply offering his love and support, and Drift embraced it like a drowning mech clutching at a rescuing hand.
“I love you,” Ratchet whispered again, and kissed the side of Drift’s neck. Drift let his helm drop to the side, making himself vulnerable, giving his lover unrestricted access to this throat--access that Ratchet immediately took full advantage of. Warm, soft, open-mouthed kisses traveled the length of the big energon line, slow and tender, sending shivers through Drift’s entire frame.
Then Ratchet’s hands moved from atop his own. Ratchet took his time caressing his way over Drift’s forearms, tracing transformations seams, dipping between armor plates, teasing the sensitive indentations of his wheel wells. Drift gripped his thighs tighter and when Ratchet chuckled against his throat, he couldn’t help moaning.
“Mmm, there it is,” Ratchet murmured, field flaring with satisfaction and heat. “My favorite sound.”
“Ratchet,” Drift gasped, and all the focus he’d struggled to find during his ill-fated meditation had returned and was now fully dedicated to his medic.
“Right here,” he replied, squeezing Drift’s forearm tires. “I’ll be right here for as long as you want me to be.”
Forever, Drift mouthed, but his vocalizer stalled on the word. He’d wanted this for so long, almost his entire life, but he’d also lost so many precious people despite doing everything in his power to keep them. Imagining his life without Ratchet was unthinkable, but saying what he wanted out loud, admitting that he wanted-- needed--Ratchet to stay with him… it was terrifying in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.
But again, Ratchet didn’t press him to speak. Now his caresses moved across Drift’s chest, palms gliding over his chestplate. One dipped down to his abdomen, tracing the stripes accentuating his waist as he so often did. “You are so damn beautiful, my love,” Ratchet said softly as he caressed each stripe with the utmost care, almost as though he was memorizing Drift’s shape by feel. His other hand stilled at the center of his chestplate, palm flat over his spark as he kept speaking. “So beautiful, and this is the most beautiful part. No,” Ratchet added sternly, feeling the objection in Drift’s field and cutting it off before he could even activate his vocalizer to say it. “Nope, nuh-uh, you don't get to argue, you hear me? Your spark is beautiful, so you can shut right the frag up.”
Drift laughed, surprising himself. That was just so very Ratchet, perfect enough to bring tears to his optics. “Yes sir, Hatchet sir,” he said, blinking rapidly to clear the cleanser obscuring his vision. “Shutting up right now, sir.”
Ratchet snickered and nipped at his shoulder. “Smart-aft,” he grumbled, but there was no heat in it. “My smart-aft.”
“Yours,” Drift whispered, because this, at least, was a truth he had no desire to deny. That hand slipped up and cupped his jaw, tilting his helm, and he eagerly met Ratchet’s kiss.
And oh, but Ratchet could kiss. Drift moaned into his mouth, then moaned again when Ratchet’s field reacted to the sound with a surge of desire and joy. Ratchet’s glossa teased his, then drew back so he could suckle Drift’s lip and nibble at the tender metalmesh, before pressing into the kiss again and tangling their glossas together. All the while, Ratchet caressed his throat with feather-light fingertips, sending shivers through him, heating his entire frame and making his fans kick up a notch.
“I love you,” Ratchet breathed when he broke the kiss, and Drift couldn’t hold back a little cry of longing as he chased his lover’s retreating lips.
“Ratchet,” he whimpered, and Ratchet brushed another quick kiss over his mouth.
“Trust me,” Ratchet replied. Drift whimpered again as he drew back and he had a quick glimpse of the medic’s face, his bright optics betraying his own rising charge and the hint of a smile on his lips--once a rare expression, but one Drift saw quite a bit more frequently these days, at least in the privacy of their hab suite--before Ratchet dipped his helm to trail kisses along his shoulder.
And then his hands slipped down to his thighs again, bypassing Drift’s own hands this time and focusing on his inner thighs. Drift’s mouth dropped open as he groaned aloud, his panel already pinging him with an urgent need to retract.
He denied it for now. Ratchet said he liked to earn it, and Drift would be lying if he said he didn’t love the challenge of it, too. Keeping his panel closed as long as possible while Ratchet built his charge higher and higher until he could no longer resist was an undeniable thrill.
Ratchet’s fingertips slipped into the seams of his inner thighs, seeking out sensitive wires to tweak and tease. Drift’s grip on his thighs was tight enough now that he had to consciously relax his hands, but it wasn’t easy when Ratchet flicked his glossa beneath the edge of his helm right at the top of his spinal strut. And it only got harder-- ha!--when one hand snuck up to Drift's hip and began seeking out the sensory bundle hidden in the joint there.
Despite his extensive knowledge of anatomy, Ratchet seemed to be having a lot of trouble finding the right spot. His fingertips kept just missing it again and again as he caressed the seam. Drift couldn’t stop himself from rocking his hips ever so slightly, trying to guide Ratchet’s fingers where he wanted them, but even so, Ratchet still didn’t touch that sensory bundle.
Drift growled in frustration and Ratchet chuckled. “Something wrong, love?”
“Did you forget what you were looking for?” Drift snapped back, shifting again as Ratchet once more missed the target.
“Oh dear,” Ratchet replied with faux-dismay. “Have I forgotten how to please my lover? That’s terrible--I'm so sorry, I’d hate for you to endure my fumbling, Drift, I can st--”
“Don’t. You. DARE. Stop,” Drift snarled, gripping his thighs hard enough to dimple the metal with the effort it took not to reach out and grab Ratchet, hold onto him and guide those hands exactly where he wanted them.
And Ratchet just chuckled again, completely unintimidated by the threat. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll just keep trying and hope that eventually I get it right,” he teased, and Drift was about to growl again when Ratchet abruptly pressed directly on the sensor bundle he’d been avoiding so far.
Drift lost his words in a wave of pleasure, and he hardly noticed his helm dropping back onto Ratchet’s shoulder as the medic played with that little bundle. Charge leapt from the hypersensitive spot and rushed straight to his array in a surge of pleasure so strong it was almost shocking. “Oh, oh Primus, oh Ratchet,” Drift moaned, his hips twitching in abortive little thrusts in response to Ratchet’s caresses, his fans roaring.
“So beautiful,” Ratchet whispered, his other hand sliding up Drift’s thigh now, just grazing Drift’s wrist and continuing up to press into his other hip seam. “Oh, my love, you are so fragging beautiful… I could watch you like this for hours and never want to stop.”
Drift couldn’t come up with any kind of reply to that--his processor was consumed with sensation, pleasure firing all his relays with warmth, and his panel was pinging him incessantly with the demand to release now. It took all his concentration to deny the continual requests, and when Ratchet flicked his fingertips over both sensor bundles simultaneously, he lost the battle with a long cry.
“Love you,” Ratchet murmured again as Drift’s hips rocked in time to the rhythm he set and Drift’s spike pressurized so fast that he felt almost dizzy with it. Drift moaned again and again and Ratchet kissed him deeply as clever fingers brought Drift right to the edge of overload.
--and then he backed off before he got there. “Ratchet!” Drift cried, desperate and not even trying to hide it, trying so hard to keep his hands put that his long-unused claws actually extended. And then that was one more thing to manage--he had to ensure that he didn’t squeeze so hard that his claws caused any wounds in his plating, because if there was one thing that was guaranteed to make Ratchet stop everything, it was any form of damage. “Ratchet, please!”
Ratchet nuzzled his cheek and enveloped him in his field, soothing him. “Shh, love, didn’t I say I’m not going anywhere?” he murmured gently as he slipped his hands back down Drift’s inner thighs. He paused to cover Drift’s hands with his own again, just like he had at the beginning, and squeezed lightly. “You’re doing so well, love. You’re so good, showing me such impressive control, so strong. I’m proud of you, Drift.”
Those simple words made Drift shake all over. Worthless, that vicious inner voice spat, the poisonous word making him cringe. Murderer. Evil. Unwanted, unneeded, filthy, WORTHLESS.
Almost as though Ratchet could hear the voice too, he pressed his lips right against Drift’s audial and spoke very clearly. “You are beautiful, good, strong, wonderful, intelligent, precious, beloved. I love you, Drift, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. If you believe nothing else I ever say, believe that.”
Drift leaned back, seeking the reassurance of his mate's frame, and Ratchet was there, warm and solid and strong and loving him. “Ratchet,” he whispered, and it sounded suspiciously like a sob, but he couldn’t help it. “Ratchet, oh Ratchet, I love you, I love you so much.”
Ratchet kissed his audial and molded his frame to Drift’s, wrapping his arms around his lover and squeezing tight. “You make me so happy,” he whispered, and of all the praise he had offered, nothing meant more to Drift than that. “Let me make you happy too.”
“Yes,” Drift said, putting himself willingly in Ratchet’s hands, trusting him completely.
Ratchet kept kissing his audial flare as his hands slid straight down, no more teasing now, one wrapping around his aching spike as the other cupped his valve. Drift cried out, hips jerking before he could still them.
And then those talented hands began to move.
Drift couldn’t stop himself from moaning as Ratchet traced the rim of his valve, circling and spreading his lubricants all the way around and paying special attention to his anterior node. “Oh, my favorite sound,” Ratchet murmured again as Drift moaned over and over when Ratchet squeezed his spike and slipped two fingers inside Drift’s valve.
Fingers stroking in and out, hand pumping up and down, it didn’t take long for Drift to completely lose himself to pleasure. He tried to resist the impending overload--wasn’t ready for this to end--but Ratchet knew just where to touch him, exactly how to kiss and caress him, and he played Drift’s frame like a master. His field entered the mix of sensation now, rolling against Drift’s, tugging and surging, dancing along his EM sensors in wave after wave of ecstasy, irresistible. Overload burst through Drift like a lightning strike--first his valve, clenching around Ratchet’s fingers, and then his field, and finally his spike. He cried out again and again as Ratchet murmured praise into his audial the entire time, and his voice settled into Drift’s processor and pushed the other one away.
When the pleasure released him, Drift slumped, gasping and absolutely strutless from the intensity of that triple overload. Every system sang with bliss. Ratchet caught him, lifted and carried him, and Drift pressed his face to his lover’s warm chestplate and trusted him to take him wherever he wished.
Wherever he wished turned out to be their berth, and Drift sighed happily as Ratchet eased him down onto the plush surface. He knew he should probably use the washracks first, but Ratchet snuggled up against him, cradling him close like he was something infinitely precious, and nothing in the universe could’ve induced him to leave this embrace.
Long minutes were spent in silence, listening to the tick and hum of their cooling systems, their fields still meshed warmly, and Drift closed his optics to savor the peace. Recharge beckoned and he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it for long.
But first, one more thing. “I love you, Ratchet,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the center of Ratchet’s windshield. “You make me feel… like I’m better than I am.”
“You're plenty good, kid. One day I hope you’ll see yourself the way I do,” Ratchet replied, hugging him close and kissing the top of his helm. “But until then, I'll be here to remind you as many times as you need. I love you too, Drift. I love you too.”