#Ratchjack | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anony-man · 1 year ago

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Stress Relief

Word count: 3,210

Relationships: Ratchet/Wheeljack

Rating: M

Summary: When Ratchet has overworked himself yet again, Wheeljack knows just what to do to help his favorite medic relax a little.

Warnings: Lots of seggsual material. The whole thing basically revolves around Ratchet getting fucked, though, so..

**********

Ratchet had decided long ago that ‘stress’ was a very broad term.

In the field, he was pressed for time. He had a duty to save as many wounded as he possibly could while helping comfort those too far gone along their journey to the Allspark. Being stuck in the heat of the battle while mechs lay all around him bleeding out was practically a textbook definition of stressful. It was a hands-down stressful experience, and not one he was keen to experience again.

Working late into the night, accompanied by the steady beep of various machinery as he monitored a recovering patient was also stressful, but in a different way. Despite his experience, Ratchet still found himself nodding off at times, only to wake up at the slightest shift in a patient’s vitals. His spark thudded in his chest as he listened for the smallest change in the sounds from his patient, the mildest of hints that the patient’s progress was about to take a drastic nosedive. It wasn’t the heat of the battlefield, but it was still stressful.

Standing over a desk he’d created out of bent, rusty metal as he struggled to decipher the formula for an energy source that was dwindling before his very optics, however, was probably one of the most stressful situations Ratchet had ever found himself in. Despite his past experience of hundreds of years spent running back and forth, assessing multiple patients as he struggled to keep everyone under control, Ratchet hadn’t ever felt anything as troubling as he felt now.

Not only was short on time and supplies, but despite his best efforts, Ratchet knew he was out of luck. If they didn’t find a way off of the Primus-forsaken planet they’d gotten themselves stranded on, and soon, well… Ratchet didn’t even want to think about it.

He rubbed his optics and stood up straight, a heavy sigh escaping him. The base had long since grown silent, and Ratchet was left alone to work in the dim light. The children had left hours before, their respective guardians escorting them home. Optimus had done his best to keep Ratchet company for as long as he could manage, but the prime’s own exhaustion had been evident from the look in his optics. Ratchet hadn’t hesitated to send him to his quarters, but he had to admit that Optimus’ presence had been comforting—if only slightly.

Ratchet’s joints creaked and groaned as he reached for one of the empty crates nearby and dragged it closer. After gently lowering himself back down, he prepared to lose himself in the layers of equations and symbols he couldn’t even *begin* to comprehend. However, when he tried to reboot the console—when had it even turned off on him?—it simply refused to work. He tapped the digital keyboard again, starting to feel rather impatient.

Nothing.

“Great,” Ratchet huffed, rolling his optics as he threw his servos up in the air with exasperation. “What’ll be next, a Decepticon invasion?”

“Mm… not quite,” a familiar voice replied. Before Ratchet had a chance to respond, warm servos wrapped their way around his bulky waist, pulling him in close. “We’ve talked about this, doc. Didja really think I’d just sit by and watch you work yourself to death?”

“Hello, you,” Ratchet sighed, his irritation overshadowed by audible affection. “How’d you even manage to get inside?”

“Trade secrets,” was Ratchet’s only response. The newcomer’s servos trailed up and down Ratchet’s sides, digits slipping in between tender mesh to tug at the wires beneath. “Why are you still awake? I thought we agreed on putting the late nights to an end.”

There was a sense of authority to the words that sent a shudder through Ratchet’s frame. Despite his own exhaustion, he could feel the familiar tingling between his thighs, and he didn’t discourage it. He leaned into the tender servos, pressing his aft against the mech’s codpiece. To his surprise, he could sense a warmth just as intense as his own beneath the thick metal.

“Wheeljack,” Ratchet chided, his words breathy as the wrecker’s servos dipped between his thighs. “I’m busy. If you’re here for another session, I suggest you make it quick.”

“You better watch your tone, doc,” Wheeljack grunted, his helm inches away from Ratchet’s audials. “Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge here?”

Ratchet’s breath hitched in his throat at the words, a burst of warmth spreading beneath his panels. He’d never admit it—not to the rest of the team, at least—, but the evenings he had spent with Wheeljack for the past few months had become a form of stress-relief for him. Without another word, Ratchet allowed the wrecker to guide him into a standing position against the makeshift desk, physically turning him around until he was face-to-face with his partner.

“That’s better,” Wheeljack hummed with satisfaction.

Ratchet watched through half-open optics as Wheeljack lowered himself to the floor, crouched between the doctor’s knees. Just the sight of Wheeljack kneeling on the floor, waiting for access to the slick warmth beneath Ratchet’s panels had him shivering with anticipation. He shuddered as Wheeljack traced a careful digit in a slow, lazy circle over the sealed interface array.

“Open up for me,” Wheeljack said, his optics reflecting the impatience he didn’t try to hide.

Seconds later, the wrecker’s demand was punctuated by the sound of Ratchet’s valve cover clicking open. Wheeljack made a small noise of appreciation as he studied the soft, plush opening, his gaze taking in the way Ratchet’s tender lips clenched and pulsed. Despite their given roles during intercourse, Wheeljack had always loved the chances he got to fully worship Ratchet’s valve for the beauty that it was. Tucked between thick, shapely thighs, the plump lips were truly a sight to behold. With one servo squeezing Ratchet’s thigh, Wheeljack traced the edge of his other servo across the outside, eliciting a shuddering groan from Ratchet.

“Shhh,” Wheeljack hushed the medic as he leaned in, his faceplates inches away from the warm, dripping entrance. “Don’t wanna wake the others, do you?”

A quiet, shaky sigh was all Wheeljack recieved in response. Satisfied with his partner’s compliance, Wheeljack pulled his servo away, only to slip one of his digits between the valve lips, drawing in and out with a soft squelching sound. He raised his other servo to brace himself against Ratchet’s hip before dipping a second digit in, carefully rubbing against the tender node on the outside of Ratchet’s valve.

“You must’ve been expecting me, hmm? Were you waiting for me to come and give your pretty little valve the attention it deserves?” Wheeljack whispered, his soaked digits circling the rim of Ratchet’s valve before gently slipping back inside. “Such a beautiful mech you are. Nice and hefty… Just the way I like it.”

Ratchet’s hips jerked forward into the slow, methodical rhythm, encouraged by the sultry words Wheeljack spoke. He gave a small, keening groan as Wheeljack moved faster, his desperation overshadowing the cool exterior he typically wore.

“You like that, doc?” Wheeljack asked, his own frame growing hot from the intimate display. “You want more?”

“Please,” Ratchet shuddered, one servo gripping the edge of the desk while the other held tight to Wheeljack’s shoulder plating.

Wheeljack pulled his digits free, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping him at the way lubricant dripped from the tips. After taking a few moments to relish in the way Ratchet’s frame had begun to shake, sticky heat radiating from between his thighs, Wheeljack leaned in again. This time, instead of using his servos to pleasure his partner, Wheeljack began stroking over the rim of Ratchet’s valve with his tongue. He sucked on the tip of Ratchet’s node, relishing in the tremors it sent through the medic’s frame, before moving down further. Ratchet kept his servos gripped on the edge of his desk, his frame heaving in each breath as his spark thudded in his chest.

“Are you ready, Ratchet?” Wheeljack asked, momentarily pulling away from Ratchet’s quivering valve long enough to stare up at the medic, who stared back down at him with a look of utter desire.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” Ratchet huffed, his servos already reaching down to pull Wheeljack up to his pedes. “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Wheeljack grinned, slowly rising up to his pedes, “I suppose we can keep moving, sweetspark.”

Ratchet had never been one for pet names, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure it sent through his frame. He drew Wheeljack close, leaving desperate, sloppy kisses up and down the inventor’s neck as Wheeljack prepared himself. Before long, the sound of the wrecker’s spike pressurizing filled the air. Wheeljack’s servo dipped down to fondle Ratchet’s aft, grinding against the medic’s front as he prepared to slip inside of Ratchet’s valve. With every stroke of Wheeljack’s servo, every moment the tip of his spike brushed against his valve opening, the aroused medic gave another soft sound of approval.

Finally, Wheeljack grew tired of teasing. He slipped the head of his spike into Ratchet’s valve, careful not to move too quickly. Ever so gently, Wheeljack pushed deeper until he had completely filled his medic. Then, with slow, grinding motions, Wheeljack started up a steady pace in and out of the soaked valve.

“Frag,” Ratchet groaned, his servos digging into Wheeljack’s plating. “Ohh, frag, Wheeljack—nnghh, please—“

“Talk to me, Ratchet,” Wheeljack panted, the friction increasing as he sped up the pace. “Tell me what you need, sweetspark.”

Ratchet’s servos were caught in a vice grip against Wheeljack’s shoulders, his frame moving back and forth in time with Wheeljack’s thrusting. He threw his helm back with a loud groan as Wheeljack drove deeper, the ridges of his spike catching on tender nodes deep in Ratchet’s valve.

“Oh, yes, please—agh, harder, please!” Ratchet gasped, his voice rising with desperation as he grew closer and closer to his overload. The desk beneath him began to rock, pounding against the table with loud, thundering sounds that echoed through the base. “Nnghh, please—Ahh!”

“Good, that’s good,” Wheeljack panted, his servos braced against Ratchet’s hips as he plowed into the medic’s frame. A low, rhythmic sound of clanging metal against metal was punctuated by the noise of the desk against the wall as the two chased their climax.

A sound between a choked moan and a gargling whine slowly slips out of the sputtering medic’s lips, his frame hot to the touch and his cooling fans on full blast. As Wheeljack’s words sent another jolt of pleasure through his frame, Ratchet couldn’t not beg for more.

“Please,” he moaned, the sound loud and pitiful as he shuddered and jerked against the other mech’s steady pace “Wheeljack, please, more—I need more, I—ohhh, harder, please!”

The shift in position was startling, but Ratchet suddenly found himself being laid down against the cold base floor, Wheeljack’s own shuddering form towering over him. He barely had a chance to speak before the wrecker’s spike was slipping back into the warmth between Ratchet’s thighs.

Primus, he could feel himself teetering over the edge. He’d never been a quiet partner during intimate moments, but this experience was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Sure, their sexual encounters have never been very… well, vanilla, but Ratchet could hardly help the obscene sounds that escaped him, nor could he stop the loud, heavy breaths he sucked in through his vents as he trembled under Wheeljack’s touch.

“Keep talking, doc,” Wheeljack said, his own words punctuated by heavy pants and soft, nearly inaudible grunts. Unlike before, the wrecker didn’t hesitate to begin up a fast, steady pace, causing Ratchet’s frame to rock back and forth into the violent thrusts. “Say my name, yeah? Go on, keep—nghh, keep going.”

Ratchet, not one to disobey the wrecker during their more intimate moments, simply braced himself against the desk as Wheeljack pounded into him, his mouth open wide with sounds of pleasure and approval. “Ungh—ahhh, yes, Wheeljack, yes—frag, harder, harder! Harder, yes—!”

“Go ahead, Ratchet,” Wheeljack groaned, slowing down long enough to lean over Ratchet’s prone form and whisper into his audials. “Overload for me.”

Immediately, Ratchet’s entire frame was suddenly alight with a burst of pleasure stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. As a loud, staticky cry escaped him, Ratchet arched up into Wheeljack’s hold, his hips bucking against the wrecker’s frame with enough force for his paint-job to rub off onto Wheeljack. Waves of heat spread like fire from between his thighs into the rest of his frame, tearing a second loud, desperate moan from the medic as Wheeljack kept a steady pace, drawing the overload out for as long as possible. Only when Ratchet’s systems began to shut down, overwhelmed by the sudden skyrocket in temperature, did Wheeljack stop.

The blackout only lasted for a few seconds, but when Ratchet’s optics online again, he found himself staring up at Wheeljack’s smug expression, his frame quivering and his breath coming in soft, shuddering whimpers. A coating of slick, warm liquid dripping between his inner thighs told him everything he needed to know before he even had a chance to register what had occurred. So caught up in the post-coital haze, Ratchet almost didn't notice when Wheeljack finally slipped free of his entrance.

“Feeling better?” Wheeljack asked, one servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s thigh while he stared down at the medic. “Must’ve been a good bit of stress to unpack. Never heard you scream so loud, doc.”

Ratchet turned away, his faceplates heating up with embarrassment. “Let me up,” he huffed, ignoring Wheeljack’s extended servo as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Wheeljack ignored Ratchet’s stubbornness, instead helping the medic up to his pedes. As soon as Ratchet had stood up and settled himself back down onto the storage crate, Ratchet awkwardly cleared his throat. He fiddled with his servos as Wheeljack stood by, not speaking a word as he watched the medic with careful optics.

“Well,” Ratchet finally said, deciding to be the one who broke the silence. “That was… that was nice, Wheeljack. I really needed a break.”

“Uh-huh,” Wheeljack replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the medic, his expression unreadable.

Ratchet glanced between Wheeljack and the console, which was still turned off. The familiar tension he felt when dealing with the energon problem—the one problem he knew he’d never be able to solve—began to rise up in his chest. It took all of his effort not to give in right then and there, and let Wheeljack take over for him… again.

“There’s still a lot of work for me to finish,” he added, one servo rubbing the back of his helm as he waited for Wheeljack’s next move. “You can stay if you’d like, but—“

“I didn’t say we were finished, did I?” Wheeljack said, his arms remaining crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ratchet.

At first, Ratchet was a little surprised. He had agreed to trying out a new dynamic in their relationship, of course, but he hadn’t expected Wheeljack to take new roles so seriously. Still, he couldn’t deny the sense of comfort and satisfaction he felt from the wrecker taking the lead—even if it meant he couldn’t finish the work he so desperately needed to complete. However, the feelings of security he felt didn’t automatically mean he was going down without a fight.

“I can’t just quit working now that you’ve showed up,” Ratchet said, his voice lacking the usual tension he typically carried. “Now step aside and let me finish, Wheeljack.”

There was a brief silence between the two as both mechs waited for the other to give in. Much to Ratchet’s frustration, however, Wheeljack was refusing to budge. He opened his mouth, a snarky retort on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t get a single word out before Wheeljack stopped him.

“Stand up,” the wrecker said, motioning with his servo.

“Wh—what?” Ratchet scoffed. He crossed his arms then, glaring up at the wrecker with a look of defiance. “Wheeljack, I told you—“

“Don’t make me ask twice, doc,” Wheeljack cut in, his frown deepening. “I already told you we aren’t done here. Stand up for me.”

Ratchet made a sound of protest, but eventually complied. Once he did, however, he was a little surprised—just a little—when Wheeljack took a seat on the cargo container instead. The wrecker reclined back against the console, using it as a backrest as he made himself comfortable. At the look of confusion on Ratchet’s expression, Wheeljack merely chuckled, then beckoned for Ratchet to join him.

“You can’t be serious,” Ratchet said, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. They were alone, as far as he knew, but he still checked to make sure they weren’t being watched by any fellow Autobots.

“Plenty of room,” Wheeljack said, gently patting the space between his legs. “Or are you too good for snuggling your favorite wrecker now, too?”

Ratchet took a step forward, hesitant. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable—he’d done much more drastic things with the wrecker before, after all, but this… it was new, undiscovered territory for him. It felt good, of course, but it also felt wrong. As if sensing his inner dilemma, Wheeljack leaned forward and gently grabbed ahold of Ratchet’s servo, drawing him in close. He didn’t stop until Ratchet was comfortably situated in his lap, and even then, Wheeljack still adjusted and readjusted their position. Once he was satisfied, Wheeljack glanced down at Ratchet, the medic’s helm comfortably positioned to rest against the wrecker’s chest.

“Comfortable?” He asked, on servo stroking up and down Ratchet’s side, the other interlacing with Ratchet’s free servo.

There was silence at first, and Wheeljack was more than willing to remain convinced that Ratchet had finally given into his contentment and allowed himself this one chance to relax and be comforted. As was to be expected when dealing with the stubborn medic, however, Wheeljack was wrong.

“…you didn’t have to come, you know,” Ratchet whispered, speaking just loudly enough for Wheeljack to hear.

“‘Course I did,” Wheeljack replied. He shifted against the cargo box until their frames were pressed together, their arms intertwined and legs comfortably stretched out over the edge. “I’d never leave you here to sulk all by yourself.”

“I do not sulk,” Ratchet grumbled. After a few seconds of silence, he added, “I… I can take care of myself, you know. I am a medic, after all. It’s my job—“

“Your job is to care for the rest of the team,” Wheeljack said, gently correcting Ratchet as he stroked the medic’s faceplates with his free servo. “It’s my job to take care of you, doc.”

Ratchet made a soft sound of acknowledgment, but didn’t respond. Satisfied that he’d finally won the discussion, Wheeljack wrapped both arms around the tired medic and held him close. Their private, more intimate moments were often few and far between, but Wheeljack was happy to take every chance he could get with the medic. His medic.

#tfp #transformers prime #valveplug #tfp ratchet #tfp wheeljack #wheeljack/ratchet #wheelchet #ratchjack #wrote this instead of working

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