lexisgayarts:
Ratchet fingering Optimus (⊙ω⊙)
and yes, Optimus is leaking copiously onto the worktable (◕ω◕)
(getting a migraine today so can’t finish the sketch sobs)
Me thinks this needs to have a story behind it. *nods wisely*
………………………………………
Optimus vented heavily. trying to expel the excess heat his cooling fans were struggling to control. Ratchet’s name came out as garbled static and he couldn’t manage to concentrate long enough to reset his vocalizer. Ratchet’s low chuckle puffed a brush of cooler air against his scorching chassis and Optimus shuddered. Deft fingers slid a little deeper and he felt the metal of their berth dent as he clenched his hands around the edges of it.
He’d been teasing Ratchet, telling him how much he loved those precise hands, how he loved to watch them work, to feel them work. It was the kind of talk he could only indulge in when they were completely alone. Ratchet, successfully distracted from his work had gotten a gleam in his optics and next thing Optimus knew, here he was, bent over their berth with Ratchet proving just how much Optimus liked his hands.
Those fingers stroked over sensor nodes and calipers, twisting every now and then in a way that had Optimus snapping his hips in an attempt to follow them. The angle was just a little off and it was driving Optimus mad. He lifted a knee onto the berth and dropped his shoulders to the surface, and, oh, yes.
He heard the strangled noise Ratchet made, but was too far gone to give it any notice as those Primus-blessed, slagging wonderful fingers touched him just right, his own lubricants making every tiny movement slick and sweet and circuit-frying.
Ratchet dragged his fingers out slowly and Optimus might have fallen off the edge trying to follow them if it weren’t for the other hand holding him still. A staticy plea slipped out and before he could finish it, Ratchet slid the fingers right back in, all the way until the brushed his ceiling node, knuckles pressing hard against the edge of his valve.
A blast of electric pleasure, almost painful in it’s intensity, ripped through his system and shorted out his input systems. Optics, audials and vocalizer all shut down, which, considering the screaming he would have been doing, was probably a good thing. Overload took his system in a hot rush, and when he finally came back to himself, his trembling frame was draped over the table, and so hot it was venting steam.
Ratchet was saying something, stroking a hand soothingly down his side, but Optimus coulding hear anything past the white noise in his audials. Pit to Primus. There weren’t words for what just happened. His whole frame was hot and tingling all over, and he couldn’t move if Megatron himself waltzed in. Wow.
Revenge would have to be had, turnabout was fair play, after all. And Ratchet had made that not-so-offhand comment about being held up against a wall. Yes. Soon as he could move again.
Posthole 