Gaslight_Dreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wyntir_knight) wrote2016-06-09 10:36 am
wyntir_knight) wrote2016-06-09 10:36 am
Fic - Dinner, Music, and Dancing: An Unusual Graduation Gift - Chapter 4
Title: Dinner, Music, and Dancing: An Unusual Graduation Gift
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Transformers Generation One (pre-Earth)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Prostitution
Relationships: Ratchet/Smokescreen
Characters: Ratchet, Smokescreen
Summary: Ratchet has finally graduated from the Institute as a fully credited medic. He had been expecting his friends to throw him a party. Instead he finds an unusual gift standing on his doorstep.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4: and Dancing
Ratchet and Smokescreen returned to the medic’s apartment, hand in hand.
“This really was fun,” Smokescreen said as they approached the door. “In fact I think it’s one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m glad,” Ratchet murmured.
He slowed and pulled Smokescreen close, placing one hand on the small of the Praxian’s back. He traced his thumb over the seam of Smokescreen’s waist pivot as he leaned in for a kiss.
“Your neighbour is probably still watching us.” Smokescreen’s voice was low and breathless as he pulled away slightly.
“Let him watch,” Ratchet growled before kissing Smokescreen again, deep and hard and possessing.
Smokescreen leaned into the kiss, mewling softly as he tried to press their bodies together as close as their root modes would allow.
“Damned chest,” Smokescreen muttered when he finally pulled away. “Always in the way.”
“I like your chest,” Ratchet murmured. He reached behind himself clumsily, fumbling for the door lock pad. “I like how it frames your headlights. I like how smooth your hood is. And I especially like your bumper.” This last was whispered as he traced his free hand over and then under Smokescreen’s bumper in a languid caress.
“Oh for Primus sake!” Tailgunner’s voice came from within the opposite apartment, floating out like audial fury. “If you’re going to do that then take your little rootkit piece of shareware out of the halls! Some of us actually care about our environment and don’t want to be exposed to his kind of filth!”
Ratchet’s optics narrowed angrily as he glared at the door. He had barely taken one step toward it, when Smokescreen’s hand came up to rest on his arm.
“Don’t,” the Praxian said softly. “Seriously, it’s not worth it.”
“He called you rootkit!” Ratchet hissed. “He needs to be put straight!”
“Exactly. He called me rootkit,” Smokescreen replied, calmly. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Ratchet, and I don’t consider this particular battle worth fighting. Not when we’ve had such a lovely evening. If you go over there and set him right he’ll just end up calling the guards and then there will be explanations, and charges, and tension. And I can think of a much better way to spend the rest of our night.”
Ratchet growled, glaring at the opposite door for a moment longer before deflating slightly.
“Fine,” he said, irritation and resignation vying for control of his tone. “Fine.” He turned and keyed in his code, motioning into the apartment as soon as the door slid open.
Smokescreen swept into the space, his doors high and flirty as he almost sashayed past Ratchet. He turned as soon as the door was closed and smiled at the medic, but the smile faded as soon as he saw the sour look on Ratchet’s face.
“You’re angry,” Smokescreen stated. He sat on Ratchet’s couch and patted the space next to him. “Come sit. Let’s talk this out before it corrodes.”
Ratchet seemed about to argue the point before sighing and taking a seat near - but not next to - Smokescreen.
“You really are upset over this,” Smokescreen said sympathetically. “Okay. So let’s talk about it. The rest of the night will be pretty dismal if we don’t get this out.”
Ratchet seemed about to protest. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and opened it again, before pursing his lips and looking away. Smokescreen was more than willing to give the mech the time he needed. After all, they had all night, and he wanted this to be the best possible experience for Ratchet. He had a reputation to maintain. That and he really did find himself liking the medic.
The silence stretched on for a long moment before Ratchet finally looked back and took Smokescreen’s hand in his own.
“I really don’t like that you just accept that he called you-” Ratchet cut himself off and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be accepting that kind of treatment.”
Smokescreen’s smile was amused and brief. He rapidly schooled his features back to neutrality.
“Ratchet, there are two ways I can react when faced with that kind of hatred. I can react. I can rail against him and scream and fight. And that will result in him calling the guards and me ending up in jail. Or worse. So I keep my head down, and I let the words roll off my finish. I know my own worth. Does it make me sad? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. But I learned a long time ago, I can’t let myself give into what I want to do.”
Ratchet was not buying any of it. He shook his head, but Smokescreen brought red fingers up to his lips, effectively cutting off the medic before he could speak.
“You are going to be a great medic one day, Ratchet of Iacon. In fact, I’ll wage good hard credits that you’ll be one of the best one day.” Smokescreen kissed one finger and then another. “But you won’t be able to do that with a record hanging over you.” Another kiss on another finger. “And trust me, your neighbour is just the type to press charges and make them stick.” Smokescreen kissed Ratchet’s pinkie before kissing the back of his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” Ratchet sighed. “I know. But I can’t help but be enraged. And I-”
With surprising speed Smokescreen moved to straddle Ratchet’s lap and leaned in to kiss him.
“Ratch,” Smokescreen said, an infinite amount of tenderness filling the word. “Ratch, I get it. But if you dwell on this, it’ll consume you and I can think of so many better things to do tonight.”
“Are you going to keep distracting me every time I try to rail against Tailgunner?” Ratchet asked as he brought his hands up to stroke Smokescreen’s waist pivot.
“I might,” Smokescreen replied with a wicked little smile. “Or I might have to get more creative with my distractions.”
“And my reasoning for stopping is…?” Ratchet’s smile was equally wicked.
Smokescreen crossed his arm to cushion his bumper and leaned in over Ratchet’s chest until he was resting comfortably.
“Well,” he said slowly, “you already know how creative I can be when I’m trying to distract you. Just imagine all the wonderful things I could do if I really let go and started focusing on something more … interesting?”
Ratchet shuddered slightly at that last word. Smokescreen had somehow managed to modulate his voice in such a way that it sent such pleasant vibrations right to Ratchet’s core.
“How did you do that?” he whispered.
“I’m full of all kinds of tricks,” Smokescreen purred. “You want to see more of them?”
As he asked the question, he shifted slightly and created a gentle friction between their closed arrays.
Ratchet’s engine actually stalled at that, all thoughts of Tailgunner swept away.
“Can we? I mean, wouldn’t a hardline be, uhm …”
“Be what?” Smokescreen asked as he trailed kisses along Ratchet’s jaw and down his neck. “Be too intimate? I think we’re well past that now, darling. And if you’re afraid of unwanted data access, my firewalls are top notch and I’m nothing if not discrete.”
“I’m not worried about you looking. I have nothing to hide.” Ratchet’s voice was filled with the buzz of rising lust.
He ran his hand up Smokescreen’s side, lighting up sensors and sending shivers up the Praxian’s spinal strut.
“Everyone has something to hide, but it’s cute that you think you don’t,” Smokescreen whispered when he regained his voice.
He arched into Ratchet’s touch and bore down on his lap.
“I have been thinking about this all night,” Smokescreen whispered. “I’ve been kind of fantasizing about how good you’d feel in my port from the moment you answered your door.”
Ratchet growled at that and pulled the Praxian close.
“Open,” he ordered, “Please?” It was added almost as an afterthought and Smokescreen couldn’t help but chuckle as he did exactly was was asked of him.
Smokescreen slowly allowed his optics to offline, giving himself over to the sensation of Ratchet’s hands moving over his plating. His hands were strong enough to rip the plating off a mech and yet were capable of repairing the most delicate of wires and circuitry. The thought was more than enough to send a shiver of anticipation through Smokescreen’s body.
“What?” Ratchet whispered, his exploration of Smokescreen’s chest slowing slightly.
Smokescreen shook his head. “Nothing. I just realized that I might have an ever so slight Medic-fetish.” As he spoke, he ground his open and oh-so-ready port down onto Ratchet’s lap. “I was thinking about all the wonderful possibilities in those delightful hands of yours.”
Ratchet grinned in response and slowly - painfully slowly - moved his hands down Smokescreen’s body, continuing to trace over the joins in his plating and teasing the wires and seals he could easily reach. Smokescreen made a soft noise of frustrated protest before leaning in to glare at Ratchet.
“I don’t like being teased, Doc,” Smokescreen said in a low, husky growl.
Ratchet’s hands stilled at Smokescreen’s hips, thumbs circling languidly over his abdominal plating.
“Funny that the tease can’t stand to be teased,” Ratchet whispered as he leaned in to place a soft kiss to Smokescreen’s lips. “I think I’m liking that look in your optics. And since we have all night …”
Smokescreen’s optics narrowed. “Maybe I should add no teasing to my nope list.”
Ratchet made a thoughtful sound as he contemplated that.
“Adding a negative to a negative list … So I guess that means I should continue to tease you then?”
As Ratchet spoke, his grin widened and with the last word he activated the sensors in Smokescreen’s waist seals, creating a warm tickle of sensation just under the plating.
“What-?” Smokescreen’s question was cut off as he stiffened. The tickle began to crawl up his sides, infecting all the plating around him. It wasn’t unpleasant in any way - or it likely wouldn’t have been for any other mech - but Smokescreen went from still to writhing in an in an instant, nearly falling off of Ratchet’s lap.
Ratchet smiled wickedly as he continued to tickle Smokescreen. The Praxian’s optics were flickering, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he fought the urge to yell, and his doors were shivering spasmodically. It was an incredibly erotic sight and Ratchet was enjoying every second of it.
Smokescreen opened his mouth but only static came out and his fingers began to scratch weakly at Ratchet’s arms. Then, without any warning, Smokescreen’s field flared out, hitting Ratchet hard and sharp.
“Stop!” he managed to finally yell out. “Please!” The last was added as a small, pleading whisper.
Ratchet froze, instantly cancelling the sensations he had been creating.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think that … are you okay?”
Smokescreen nodded slowly, his optics offline, his engines straining, as his fans tried to cool his overheating systems.
“I’m fine,” Smokescreen said softly. “I just didn’t realize just how much I dislike tickling.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ratchet replied, reaching out to touch Smokescreen’s arm, then pulled away slowly.
Smokescreen offlined his optics, sighed deeply and centred himself. After a moment, he turned back to Ratchet and smiled.
“It’s okay, Ratch,” he said. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Ratchet’s cheek. “Seriously. You didn’t know. Even I didn’t know. And you stopped when I asked. No harm. No foul. Right?”
Ratchet was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “As long as you’re sure. I want this to be good for you. I don’t want you to think that I’m just using you.”
Smokescreen shook his head, bemused, and chuckled softly. “You are the most unusual mech I have ever met, Ratchet.”
He slipped back over to the medic, straddling his lap lightly. “I just don’t know how it’s possible that someone could be that concerned with the needs and desires of a complete stranger.”
Ratchet pulled Smokescreen close, placing his hands carefully on the Praxian’s waist and arching his hips slightly in a seductive little bump.
“You aren’t a stranger, Smokescreen,” Ratchet replied and he shook his head, dismissing Smokescreen’s disbelieving look. “We’ve spent the whole night talking and I know everything I need to know about you. I know that you have the mental and emotional fortitude to break away from a system that’s been in place for millennia. I know that you care about the well being of others and that you plan on changing the system of psychology on this world. I know that you can’t stand injustice and that you’re quick to call out a hypocrite. And I know that -”
Ratchet was cut off as Smokescreen swept in to kiss him hard and deep. Smokescreen’s hands moved almost feverishly over Ratchet’s plating and his field reached out to meet Ratchet’s. There was a deep feeling of need in that field hiding something underneath it, but Ratchet was in no state to suss out what the other feeling was. In that moment, as Smokescreen ground down against his closed interface panel, all Ratchet wanted to do was complete the connection he had been wanting almost all night.
“My doors …” Smokescreen murmured as he broke the kiss, his hands clumsily guiding Ratchet up to the appendages. “I really like have them touched.”
Ratchet barely heard the request over his own roaring fans, but he got the point as Smokescreen resettled his hands on those broad doors. Sensitive fingers moved over the front, tracing over the 38s before smoothing their way over the bottom edge. He could feel them vibrating with need, practically buzzing against his fingers. Smokescreen’s optics had darkened to an almost midnight blue, his mouth open slightly as a soft whimper of need escaped, as he rocked his hips over Ratchet’s panel. Insistent almost to the point of desperation.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, Ratch …”
Ratchet allowed his panel to iris open and his cable instantly began to pressurize. Smokescreen’s hand slipped between them and with no further foreplay, he guided the cable into his oh-so-ready port.
Smokescreen managed to be both tight and perfect as his calipers spasmed rhythmically around Ratchet’s cable. Smokescreen leaned forward and, in a surprisingly intimate move, pressed his chevron to Ratchet’s as he slowly rode the medic, working them both to a connection.
“Primus, Smokey,” Ratchet murmured as his hands mapped their way over those broad doors. “... so perfect …”
Ratchet was in a state of pure bliss in that moment. Nothing could be better than this, and then the connection was made and it was. Smokescreen stiffened and arched above him as data packets flew across the link at the speed of thought. Flashes of their lives were bared for the other to see -- classes, friends, moments of pain and passion. Ratchet’s mind was filled with what little Smokescreen was willing to share. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said his firewalls were top notch, but the way doors were suddenly closing on him, it was clear that Smokescreen wasn’t quite as in control as he would have liked. There was pain there. And fear. And a small silver Praxian that was pulled back as soon as the thought materialized. Ratchet was sure he wasn’t being anywhere near as careful, and he didn’t care. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’s had nothing to hide.
Smokescreen’s field brushed across Ratchet’s own, his spark energy seeking a different connection. It was probably something they shouldn’t be doing - after all, spark connections were only for those in the lasting relationship of conjux endura - but that knowledge didn’t stop their fields from meeting and melding, even if their sparks didn’t.
Time slowed to stopping and all that was and all that ever would be was the two of them in this moment as their worlds spiraled into a pinprick of existence. Neither knew or cared how long that moment lasted. All that mattered was the sudden explosion as they both overloaded. Hard. Sending them both tumbling into recharge.
---
It was funny how the passage of time seemed to change depending on what was happening. Hours seemed to pass far more rapidly than they should have and before Smokescreen and Ratchet knew it, the evening had ended.
Smokescreen’s fingers moved over Ratchet’s windshield and he smiled slightly.
“This was really nice,” he murmured, “but I’m going to need to go soon.”
Ratchet took Smokescreen’s hand and brought the blue fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss.
“You could wash up here,” he said, “Stay a little longer?”
“I wish I could, but I need to get back to be checked out,” Smokescreen replied. He pulled away and began to get up, but then seemed to change his mind as he leaned back in for another kiss.
“Checked out?” Ratchet asked when the kiss ended.
“It’s protocol. Whenever a contract ends in interfacing I need to be checked out. Make sure my firewalls are still intact. Make sure nothing was, uhm, deposited.”
“I’m clean. And I’d never try to hack your systems.”
“I know. But it’s protocol. A non negotiable stipulation of my employment.” Smokescreen handed Ratchet a card. “But I really did have a good time, and I’d like to see you again. If you’re interested.”
Ratchet looked down at the card. It contained the contact information for Vespertine Escorts.
“I, uhm, I’d love to, Smokescreen, but I’m still a medical intern. I really can’t- I mean, this was really nice, but the cost is, uhm-”
“Turn it over,” Smokescreen said, and his smile was both seductive and amused.
Ratchet did as he was bade and instantly saw Smokescreen’s personal contact information on the back, written in neat, middle-Cybertronian glyphs.
“Is this, I mean, are you allowed to see people on your own time?”
Smokescreen’s doors lifted and fluttered in a shrug and a nod. “My time off the clock is my own, and I can spend it with whomever I like. Strictly speaking, I probably shouldn’t get involved with a client, but the rules don’t actually state that I can’t see clients on my own time. I like you Ratchet of Iacon. And I think I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that too,” Ratchet replied.
“Good. I’m off shift in three cycles. Maybe we can get together for a drink. There’s a really good little hole in the plating pub not too far from campus. We can meet when I’m done my classes for the day. And then … well, we can see what then.”
Ratchet smiled and pulled Smokescreen in for one final kiss.
“You know this is probably a mistake, right?” Ratchet asked, though there was more than a hint of amusement in his tone.
“More than likely,” Smokescreen replied. “But it’ll be a fun one while it lasts!”
With that he released Ratchet’s hand and slipped out the door. Yes, Ratchet was definitely going to have to thank Springheel for his graduation present.
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Transformers Generation One (pre-Earth)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Prostitution
Relationships: Ratchet/Smokescreen
Characters: Ratchet, Smokescreen
Summary: Ratchet has finally graduated from the Institute as a fully credited medic. He had been expecting his friends to throw him a party. Instead he finds an unusual gift standing on his doorstep.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4: and Dancing
Ratchet and Smokescreen returned to the medic’s apartment, hand in hand.
“This really was fun,” Smokescreen said as they approached the door. “In fact I think it’s one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”
“I’m glad,” Ratchet murmured.
He slowed and pulled Smokescreen close, placing one hand on the small of the Praxian’s back. He traced his thumb over the seam of Smokescreen’s waist pivot as he leaned in for a kiss.
“Your neighbour is probably still watching us.” Smokescreen’s voice was low and breathless as he pulled away slightly.
“Let him watch,” Ratchet growled before kissing Smokescreen again, deep and hard and possessing.
Smokescreen leaned into the kiss, mewling softly as he tried to press their bodies together as close as their root modes would allow.
“Damned chest,” Smokescreen muttered when he finally pulled away. “Always in the way.”
“I like your chest,” Ratchet murmured. He reached behind himself clumsily, fumbling for the door lock pad. “I like how it frames your headlights. I like how smooth your hood is. And I especially like your bumper.” This last was whispered as he traced his free hand over and then under Smokescreen’s bumper in a languid caress.
“Oh for Primus sake!” Tailgunner’s voice came from within the opposite apartment, floating out like audial fury. “If you’re going to do that then take your little rootkit piece of shareware out of the halls! Some of us actually care about our environment and don’t want to be exposed to his kind of filth!”
Ratchet’s optics narrowed angrily as he glared at the door. He had barely taken one step toward it, when Smokescreen’s hand came up to rest on his arm.
“Don’t,” the Praxian said softly. “Seriously, it’s not worth it.”
“He called you rootkit!” Ratchet hissed. “He needs to be put straight!”
“Exactly. He called me rootkit,” Smokescreen replied, calmly. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Ratchet, and I don’t consider this particular battle worth fighting. Not when we’ve had such a lovely evening. If you go over there and set him right he’ll just end up calling the guards and then there will be explanations, and charges, and tension. And I can think of a much better way to spend the rest of our night.”
Ratchet growled, glaring at the opposite door for a moment longer before deflating slightly.
“Fine,” he said, irritation and resignation vying for control of his tone. “Fine.” He turned and keyed in his code, motioning into the apartment as soon as the door slid open.
Smokescreen swept into the space, his doors high and flirty as he almost sashayed past Ratchet. He turned as soon as the door was closed and smiled at the medic, but the smile faded as soon as he saw the sour look on Ratchet’s face.
“You’re angry,” Smokescreen stated. He sat on Ratchet’s couch and patted the space next to him. “Come sit. Let’s talk this out before it corrodes.”
Ratchet seemed about to argue the point before sighing and taking a seat near - but not next to - Smokescreen.
“You really are upset over this,” Smokescreen said sympathetically. “Okay. So let’s talk about it. The rest of the night will be pretty dismal if we don’t get this out.”
Ratchet seemed about to protest. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and opened it again, before pursing his lips and looking away. Smokescreen was more than willing to give the mech the time he needed. After all, they had all night, and he wanted this to be the best possible experience for Ratchet. He had a reputation to maintain. That and he really did find himself liking the medic.
The silence stretched on for a long moment before Ratchet finally looked back and took Smokescreen’s hand in his own.
“I really don’t like that you just accept that he called you-” Ratchet cut himself off and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be accepting that kind of treatment.”
Smokescreen’s smile was amused and brief. He rapidly schooled his features back to neutrality.
“Ratchet, there are two ways I can react when faced with that kind of hatred. I can react. I can rail against him and scream and fight. And that will result in him calling the guards and me ending up in jail. Or worse. So I keep my head down, and I let the words roll off my finish. I know my own worth. Does it make me sad? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. But I learned a long time ago, I can’t let myself give into what I want to do.”
Ratchet was not buying any of it. He shook his head, but Smokescreen brought red fingers up to his lips, effectively cutting off the medic before he could speak.
“You are going to be a great medic one day, Ratchet of Iacon. In fact, I’ll wage good hard credits that you’ll be one of the best one day.” Smokescreen kissed one finger and then another. “But you won’t be able to do that with a record hanging over you.” Another kiss on another finger. “And trust me, your neighbour is just the type to press charges and make them stick.” Smokescreen kissed Ratchet’s pinkie before kissing the back of his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” Ratchet sighed. “I know. But I can’t help but be enraged. And I-”
With surprising speed Smokescreen moved to straddle Ratchet’s lap and leaned in to kiss him.
“Ratch,” Smokescreen said, an infinite amount of tenderness filling the word. “Ratch, I get it. But if you dwell on this, it’ll consume you and I can think of so many better things to do tonight.”
“Are you going to keep distracting me every time I try to rail against Tailgunner?” Ratchet asked as he brought his hands up to stroke Smokescreen’s waist pivot.
“I might,” Smokescreen replied with a wicked little smile. “Or I might have to get more creative with my distractions.”
“And my reasoning for stopping is…?” Ratchet’s smile was equally wicked.
Smokescreen crossed his arm to cushion his bumper and leaned in over Ratchet’s chest until he was resting comfortably.
“Well,” he said slowly, “you already know how creative I can be when I’m trying to distract you. Just imagine all the wonderful things I could do if I really let go and started focusing on something more … interesting?”
Ratchet shuddered slightly at that last word. Smokescreen had somehow managed to modulate his voice in such a way that it sent such pleasant vibrations right to Ratchet’s core.
“How did you do that?” he whispered.
“I’m full of all kinds of tricks,” Smokescreen purred. “You want to see more of them?”
As he asked the question, he shifted slightly and created a gentle friction between their closed arrays.
Ratchet’s engine actually stalled at that, all thoughts of Tailgunner swept away.
“Can we? I mean, wouldn’t a hardline be, uhm …”
“Be what?” Smokescreen asked as he trailed kisses along Ratchet’s jaw and down his neck. “Be too intimate? I think we’re well past that now, darling. And if you’re afraid of unwanted data access, my firewalls are top notch and I’m nothing if not discrete.”
“I’m not worried about you looking. I have nothing to hide.” Ratchet’s voice was filled with the buzz of rising lust.
He ran his hand up Smokescreen’s side, lighting up sensors and sending shivers up the Praxian’s spinal strut.
“Everyone has something to hide, but it’s cute that you think you don’t,” Smokescreen whispered when he regained his voice.
He arched into Ratchet’s touch and bore down on his lap.
“I have been thinking about this all night,” Smokescreen whispered. “I’ve been kind of fantasizing about how good you’d feel in my port from the moment you answered your door.”
Ratchet growled at that and pulled the Praxian close.
“Open,” he ordered, “Please?” It was added almost as an afterthought and Smokescreen couldn’t help but chuckle as he did exactly was was asked of him.
Smokescreen slowly allowed his optics to offline, giving himself over to the sensation of Ratchet’s hands moving over his plating. His hands were strong enough to rip the plating off a mech and yet were capable of repairing the most delicate of wires and circuitry. The thought was more than enough to send a shiver of anticipation through Smokescreen’s body.
“What?” Ratchet whispered, his exploration of Smokescreen’s chest slowing slightly.
Smokescreen shook his head. “Nothing. I just realized that I might have an ever so slight Medic-fetish.” As he spoke, he ground his open and oh-so-ready port down onto Ratchet’s lap. “I was thinking about all the wonderful possibilities in those delightful hands of yours.”
Ratchet grinned in response and slowly - painfully slowly - moved his hands down Smokescreen’s body, continuing to trace over the joins in his plating and teasing the wires and seals he could easily reach. Smokescreen made a soft noise of frustrated protest before leaning in to glare at Ratchet.
“I don’t like being teased, Doc,” Smokescreen said in a low, husky growl.
Ratchet’s hands stilled at Smokescreen’s hips, thumbs circling languidly over his abdominal plating.
“Funny that the tease can’t stand to be teased,” Ratchet whispered as he leaned in to place a soft kiss to Smokescreen’s lips. “I think I’m liking that look in your optics. And since we have all night …”
Smokescreen’s optics narrowed. “Maybe I should add no teasing to my nope list.”
Ratchet made a thoughtful sound as he contemplated that.
“Adding a negative to a negative list … So I guess that means I should continue to tease you then?”
As Ratchet spoke, his grin widened and with the last word he activated the sensors in Smokescreen’s waist seals, creating a warm tickle of sensation just under the plating.
“What-?” Smokescreen’s question was cut off as he stiffened. The tickle began to crawl up his sides, infecting all the plating around him. It wasn’t unpleasant in any way - or it likely wouldn’t have been for any other mech - but Smokescreen went from still to writhing in an in an instant, nearly falling off of Ratchet’s lap.
Ratchet smiled wickedly as he continued to tickle Smokescreen. The Praxian’s optics were flickering, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he fought the urge to yell, and his doors were shivering spasmodically. It was an incredibly erotic sight and Ratchet was enjoying every second of it.
Smokescreen opened his mouth but only static came out and his fingers began to scratch weakly at Ratchet’s arms. Then, without any warning, Smokescreen’s field flared out, hitting Ratchet hard and sharp.
“Stop!” he managed to finally yell out. “Please!” The last was added as a small, pleading whisper.
Ratchet froze, instantly cancelling the sensations he had been creating.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think that … are you okay?”
Smokescreen nodded slowly, his optics offline, his engines straining, as his fans tried to cool his overheating systems.
“I’m fine,” Smokescreen said softly. “I just didn’t realize just how much I dislike tickling.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ratchet replied, reaching out to touch Smokescreen’s arm, then pulled away slowly.
Smokescreen offlined his optics, sighed deeply and centred himself. After a moment, he turned back to Ratchet and smiled.
“It’s okay, Ratch,” he said. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Ratchet’s cheek. “Seriously. You didn’t know. Even I didn’t know. And you stopped when I asked. No harm. No foul. Right?”
Ratchet was silent for a long moment before finally nodding. “As long as you’re sure. I want this to be good for you. I don’t want you to think that I’m just using you.”
Smokescreen shook his head, bemused, and chuckled softly. “You are the most unusual mech I have ever met, Ratchet.”
He slipped back over to the medic, straddling his lap lightly. “I just don’t know how it’s possible that someone could be that concerned with the needs and desires of a complete stranger.”
Ratchet pulled Smokescreen close, placing his hands carefully on the Praxian’s waist and arching his hips slightly in a seductive little bump.
“You aren’t a stranger, Smokescreen,” Ratchet replied and he shook his head, dismissing Smokescreen’s disbelieving look. “We’ve spent the whole night talking and I know everything I need to know about you. I know that you have the mental and emotional fortitude to break away from a system that’s been in place for millennia. I know that you care about the well being of others and that you plan on changing the system of psychology on this world. I know that you can’t stand injustice and that you’re quick to call out a hypocrite. And I know that -”
Ratchet was cut off as Smokescreen swept in to kiss him hard and deep. Smokescreen’s hands moved almost feverishly over Ratchet’s plating and his field reached out to meet Ratchet’s. There was a deep feeling of need in that field hiding something underneath it, but Ratchet was in no state to suss out what the other feeling was. In that moment, as Smokescreen ground down against his closed interface panel, all Ratchet wanted to do was complete the connection he had been wanting almost all night.
“My doors …” Smokescreen murmured as he broke the kiss, his hands clumsily guiding Ratchet up to the appendages. “I really like have them touched.”
Ratchet barely heard the request over his own roaring fans, but he got the point as Smokescreen resettled his hands on those broad doors. Sensitive fingers moved over the front, tracing over the 38s before smoothing their way over the bottom edge. He could feel them vibrating with need, practically buzzing against his fingers. Smokescreen’s optics had darkened to an almost midnight blue, his mouth open slightly as a soft whimper of need escaped, as he rocked his hips over Ratchet’s panel. Insistent almost to the point of desperation.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, Ratch …”
Ratchet allowed his panel to iris open and his cable instantly began to pressurize. Smokescreen’s hand slipped between them and with no further foreplay, he guided the cable into his oh-so-ready port.
Smokescreen managed to be both tight and perfect as his calipers spasmed rhythmically around Ratchet’s cable. Smokescreen leaned forward and, in a surprisingly intimate move, pressed his chevron to Ratchet’s as he slowly rode the medic, working them both to a connection.
“Primus, Smokey,” Ratchet murmured as his hands mapped their way over those broad doors. “... so perfect …”
Ratchet was in a state of pure bliss in that moment. Nothing could be better than this, and then the connection was made and it was. Smokescreen stiffened and arched above him as data packets flew across the link at the speed of thought. Flashes of their lives were bared for the other to see -- classes, friends, moments of pain and passion. Ratchet’s mind was filled with what little Smokescreen was willing to share. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said his firewalls were top notch, but the way doors were suddenly closing on him, it was clear that Smokescreen wasn’t quite as in control as he would have liked. There was pain there. And fear. And a small silver Praxian that was pulled back as soon as the thought materialized. Ratchet was sure he wasn’t being anywhere near as careful, and he didn’t care. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’s had nothing to hide.
Smokescreen’s field brushed across Ratchet’s own, his spark energy seeking a different connection. It was probably something they shouldn’t be doing - after all, spark connections were only for those in the lasting relationship of conjux endura - but that knowledge didn’t stop their fields from meeting and melding, even if their sparks didn’t.
Time slowed to stopping and all that was and all that ever would be was the two of them in this moment as their worlds spiraled into a pinprick of existence. Neither knew or cared how long that moment lasted. All that mattered was the sudden explosion as they both overloaded. Hard. Sending them both tumbling into recharge.
---
It was funny how the passage of time seemed to change depending on what was happening. Hours seemed to pass far more rapidly than they should have and before Smokescreen and Ratchet knew it, the evening had ended.
Smokescreen’s fingers moved over Ratchet’s windshield and he smiled slightly.
“This was really nice,” he murmured, “but I’m going to need to go soon.”
Ratchet took Smokescreen’s hand and brought the blue fingers to his lips for a gentle kiss.
“You could wash up here,” he said, “Stay a little longer?”
“I wish I could, but I need to get back to be checked out,” Smokescreen replied. He pulled away and began to get up, but then seemed to change his mind as he leaned back in for another kiss.
“Checked out?” Ratchet asked when the kiss ended.
“It’s protocol. Whenever a contract ends in interfacing I need to be checked out. Make sure my firewalls are still intact. Make sure nothing was, uhm, deposited.”
“I’m clean. And I’d never try to hack your systems.”
“I know. But it’s protocol. A non negotiable stipulation of my employment.” Smokescreen handed Ratchet a card. “But I really did have a good time, and I’d like to see you again. If you’re interested.”
Ratchet looked down at the card. It contained the contact information for Vespertine Escorts.
“I, uhm, I’d love to, Smokescreen, but I’m still a medical intern. I really can’t- I mean, this was really nice, but the cost is, uhm-”
“Turn it over,” Smokescreen said, and his smile was both seductive and amused.
Ratchet did as he was bade and instantly saw Smokescreen’s personal contact information on the back, written in neat, middle-Cybertronian glyphs.
“Is this, I mean, are you allowed to see people on your own time?”
Smokescreen’s doors lifted and fluttered in a shrug and a nod. “My time off the clock is my own, and I can spend it with whomever I like. Strictly speaking, I probably shouldn’t get involved with a client, but the rules don’t actually state that I can’t see clients on my own time. I like you Ratchet of Iacon. And I think I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that too,” Ratchet replied.
“Good. I’m off shift in three cycles. Maybe we can get together for a drink. There’s a really good little hole in the plating pub not too far from campus. We can meet when I’m done my classes for the day. And then … well, we can see what then.”
Ratchet smiled and pulled Smokescreen in for one final kiss.
“You know this is probably a mistake, right?” Ratchet asked, though there was more than a hint of amusement in his tone.
“More than likely,” Smokescreen replied. “But it’ll be a fun one while it lasts!”
With that he released Ratchet’s hand and slipped out the door. Yes, Ratchet was definitely going to have to thank Springheel for his graduation present.