Chapter Text
“Thank you, Swerve. I’ll just go find myself a place to sit now, shall I?” Rung finally found a place to cut off the other mech’s chatter, and jumped in before the opportunity passed. The bartender’s spark was in the right place, but truly, all Rung wanted tonight was to sit down and relax with his energon and people watch.
Most of the tables nearest the bar were packed to brimming with bots on their off-shift, chatting and laughing and having a good time. Not wanting to bother any of them to ask that they move aside so he could squeeze in, and not in the mood for the raucous laughter and gossip of overcharged bots anyway, he walked right by those tables. There were a few booths towards the back wall 9 that were out of the way, usually quiet, and had the added bonus of being out of the line of sight of the rest of the bar with little dividers. Swerve had had them installed as a way to give couples on dates a place to relax without everybot watching them, though Ultra Magnus was insisting on cameras to monitor the blind spots for infractions last he heard.
For Rung, they were a convenient place to sit and watch bots interacting without being seen. Bots tended to get nervous if they caught him watching them, and he couldn’t blame them. Nobody liked feeling like they were being judged by a therapist, even if that’s not what he was doing.
Rounding the edge of the wall, drink in one servo and digging for a datapad in subspace with the other, he wasn’t paying any attention to the occupants of the tables.
“C’mon Ratch, you’ve been stressed all week.”
Rung looked up, seeing Drift and Ratchet huddled together at a table in the otherwise unoccupied section. Drift was leaning into Ratchet’s side, servos rubbing at his shoulder joints. Ratchet tilted his helm forward as Rung watched, a little moan escaping his vocalizer at the apparently skillful touches. Perhaps he could join them, maybe team up with Drift to convince the medic to take a break to relax. He had been spending quite a lot of time in the med bay recently, thanks to Rodimus’ most recent unscheduled, unplanned pit stop made without Megatron’s input and despite Ultra Magnus’ severe disapproval.
“You know what I think would help? Hmm?” Ratchet made a curious little noise in the back of his vocalizer, but said nothing. “How ‘bout we go back to our room, and I’ll lay down on the berth, and you can press your spike down the back of my intake, and frag my face to your spark’s content, hmm?”
Rung froze, feeling his face heat up. Gripping his drink tight, he started to back away.
“How’s that gonna help me relax if I’m doing all the work, huh?” Ratchet snorted, lifting his helm and making direct optic contact with Rung.
Slag…Rung thought, and spun on his heel, hoping they’d think he was leaving instead of retreating.
~~~~~
Drift looked up, following Ratchet’s gaze when the cables under his fingers tensed and ruined all his hard work. Rung looked like a turbodeer caught in the headlights, clutching his drink and a datapad to his chest with his face flushed nearly as red as Drift’s paint. Even as they watched, he turned around and started to walk away with his shoulders hunched up near his audials and his antennae slicked back flat.
<Mind if he joins us, kid?> Drift grinned, glancing over at Ratchet before standing and rushing after the little therapist.
“Hey Rung! Wait up!” He reached out to slap a servo down on Rung’s shoulder, and pulled back when the other bot flinched away. “Sorry, sorry! Come on, sit with us for a bit, you can help me convince Ratchet to relax for five kilks, right?” He steered the protesting bot back to their little space, pushing him into the booth next to Ratchet and sitting in the chair opposite them at the undersized round table.
“Oh, well, that’s all very nice of you to offer, Drift, and th-thank you, but um…I forgot something in my office and I should hate to bother you two on your off shift, I know how rarely they coincide anymore.” The little bot was absolutely adorable when he was flustered, and Drift sat on his servos to keep from reaching over and tweaking those quivering little antennae.
<You know, he’s re~eally nervous…I didn’t say anything too awful did I?> Drift commed Ratchet, not taking his optics off the stuttering bot between them. Rung had set his drink down, and both servos were now wrapped around the edges of his datapad, holding it in front of his chest like a shield.
<Naw…I’ve had my suspicious for a while. Bot never made waves, never wound up the topic of gossip. You know my past->
<The Party Ambulance of old? Oh yea…but be honest, you didn’t retire from the title…just tamed it down. A little bit, anyway.> Drift smirked, engine rumbling beneath his armor and making Rung twitch away from him.
<Oh shush. What I’m sayin’ is, for as much as I got around, and for the two of us running through most of the same circles, not once did I hear about his berth skills. Not in the academy, not at Deltaraan, not during the war, and not here on the ship.>
<You don’t think? Really? As old as he is?>
<I’d put shanix on him bein’ untouched, kid.>
Rung hadn’t relaxed a single cable while they’d been going back and forth over a private comm line, but still managed to tense further when Drift gave him a once over. When he made to stand up, Drift scooted his chair a little closer, at the same time as Ratchet put a servo on his arm and pulled him back down.
“Ratchet, I really should be going!”
“Got a question for you first, Rung.” Rung turned to look at the medic questioningly, relaxing a fraction, probably under the assumption it would be work related. Drift leaned in closer, anticipation crackling in his carefully withdrawn field.
“We’ve known each other a long time. Not once in all these years have I heard any gossip ‘bout you.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Ratchet, I assure you.” Rung laughed uneasily, leaning away from the medic when he shifted closer. Rung’s helm, even with Ratchet seated, didn’t quite make it up to his shoulder, and a quick peek under the table confirmed to Drift that Rung’s pedes didn’t touch the ground. He swallowed a groan at the thought of how small the other bot was, fingers curling under his thighs.
“Eh. Point is, bots are notorious gossips, and I’ve not heard word one about you.”
“What’s this about, Ratchet? Really, I must insist you make your point so I can leave.” Rung was eyeing Drift over his shoulder, obviously not trusting the speedster to keep his servos to himself. Drift just grinned, trying to channel his inner Wing to appear charming instead of turned on.
Probably wasn’t working, judging by the look he was getting.
“Rung, you still have your seals, don’t you?” Drift’s engine gave a sharp, uncontrolled rev at the thought given voice, and Rung jumped.
“Ratchet!” He hissed, face flushing redder still and his field flaring with embarrassment and … shame? Drift had scooted in closer as they spoke, and Rung looked between the two of them, pressed in on either side of him without touching, but oh so close. “I hardly see how that’s anybot’s business but mine.”
“Easy, Rung, easy.” Ratchet held up his servos, leaning back just a bit without actually moving away from the rapidly heating frame between them, “Just a question, no need to get upset.”
Rung didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Drift had opened a comm to maybe suggest they back off on the subject and let Rung walk away if he wanted, when the small bot sighed, a woosh of warm air from his vents that did nothing to dispel the heat rising from his face.
“Not that it matters any, but…yes, I-I am.” It was said in a small, soft voice, to a datapad clutched between servos, but they both caught it.
“Am what?” Ratchet prompted him, nudging his drink closer in case the bot needed a shot of liquid courage for the conversation.
Rung ignored the gesture, still staring at his datapad and chewing on his lower lip. Oh how Drift wanted to pull the lithe little mech into a kiss, draw that bruised lip in between his own, and sooth away the little hurts with his glossa till Rung was moaning into his mouth, mind focused on nothing but the pleasure they could give him.
“A v-virgin…” Drift’s engine revved, his chest plate rattling from the strength behind it. Rung jumped again, and Drift was torn between amusement and insult that he was frightening the therapist. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose, and in a roundabout way; it was kind of a compliment. The little bot was hot, in an unassuming, soft-spoken, nerdy sort of way.
<I heard that rattle kid, getting you in a med berth in the morning to tighten up that plating.>
<Oooh, a med berth. Gonna tie me down and have your way with me, Doctor?> Drift teased, engine idling higher than normal at the thought, and at the bot still stuck between them looking like he’d rather be doing anything else to escape this conversation. Well, hopefully they could turn that around for him real quick.
<Yea, sweetspark. Gonna tie you down, and pull off your plating, and do the maintenance you seem to always fragging forget.> Despite the grumbling, even over the comm Drift could hear the exasperated fondness in his tone.
<Maybe I don’t forget? Maybe it’s just another excuse to get your hot, talented servos on my frame, hmmm? Ever think about that?>
Instead of a response, he just got an image of a wrench across the link, and was content to be grateful that he didn’t throw a real one at his helm instead.
“You mean you’ve never thought about taking some bot back to your place and fragging their brain module out? Or having them frag yours out?” Drift blurted out.
<Also installing a filter on your vocalizer while I’m at it, kid.>
“N-no…it’s ha-hardly necessary for day to day fu-function…” Rung reset his vocalizer with an audible click, optics darting back and forth between Ratchet and Drift.
Ratchet snorted, rolling his optics. “Scrap. If you’re putting it off because you genuinely don’t feel attracted to anybot you’ve met, or if you think you’re ace, that’s one thing,” Rung and Drift both had a pause while they looked up the alien phrase. Rung arrived at a definition before Drift did, and shook his helm minutely. Drift finally found it packed away in one of his old, long unused human lexicons, and vented a relieved exhale at Rung’s denial of it’s application to him.
“Well then, if it’s nerves…well-“
“If it’s nerves, you’ve got two very willing bots right here, ready and willing to offer their assistance.” Drift butted in, leaning in a bit more and extending his field just a little bit for Rung to feel the calm/reassurance/no pressure/desire/admiration he pushed into it. He didn’t relax, but he also didn’t pull away or protest. Drift wasn’t taking it as a yes just yet, but he was more than happy to take it as a good sign for later.
“It’s…never cr-crossed my m-mind.” The heat in his face had spread, his frame getting increasingly warmer between them. Drift could almost taste the desperation in his poorly concealed field to keep his fans from turning on and drawing attention.
“Really? Never wondered what it’d be like?” Drift couldn’t even imagine what it’d be like to not go through the day with thoughts of interface at the back of his processor. Ratchet insisted that Drift was just a horny little fragger, and not everybot was thinking about interfacing all day. Drift had tried to explain to him that it wasn’t all the time, just that any time he saw something attractive, he couldn’t help but wonder. Then Ratchet accused him of finding most anything attractive, and well…he couldn’t really argue with that. He had an appreciation for a wide variety of things, there was no shame in that.
“N-no…I have no idea what I’d even d-do. It’s n-never crossed my processor…”
<Ratch?>
<Yea, kid. Didn’t think he’d be this innocent…>
<Very possible he never entertained the idea because people tend to forget about him. Who wants to interface with someone that won’t even get your name right in the moment, let alone remember you the next day…> It was a depressing thought, and despite the lust boiling his lines, he wanted to draw the little mech into his arms and just say his name over and over and over again, to reassure him that not everybody forgot about him. Even if that wasn’t his reasoning for the millions of years of celibacy (and boy didn’t that just send a shudder down his spinal column?) it was still an awful thought, and succeeded in cooling Drift down just a little bit.
<You up for showing him the ropes, Drift?>
<You know it, Ratch. He says yes, and we’re gonna make damn sure it’s a night none of us forget.>
Rung had stayed silent through their exchange, fiddling with the datapad and refusing to make optic contact.
“We know what we’d do to you, Rung. Wanna hear?” Drift meant to sound sexy and alluring, but frag all if his fear that the other bot was going to bolt at any moment didn’t bleed through instead.
Which became a very real fear when long minutes passed where Rung did nothing but vent, optics shuttered and fingers tapping against the datapad’s screen. They were both on the edge of apologizing for pushing the bot too far when Rung peeked one optic open and shrugged one shoulder.
“Um….well, m-maybe….that might be interesting…” The failed act of nonchalance was so adorable. Ratchet and Drift shared a grin over Rung’s head, and both leaned in just a little closer.
“Lotta experiences you’ve missed out on that we’d have to make up for, you know. We’d probably have to tie you up-“ Ratchet started, all but whispering it directly into an audio.
“Bind you nice and tight, so you can’t squirm your way out once we’ve got our servos on you. Give you a safe word, just in case, but then I’d get down on my knees-“ Drift took over, smiling when Rung twisted to look at him.
“Drift looks real good on his knees, Rung, what a sight-“ Ratchet’s engine rumbled at the thought, and Rung put one servo over his mouth, optics shuttering.
“I’d tease you till you popped your panel for me. You’re probably sensitive enough that I could just….run my fingers up the insides of those pale thighs and…hmmm….maybe get a few nibbles on heated plating in, before you open up for me.” Rung’s fans came on with a whine and a stutter, blasting them both with overheated air. Drift ran his glossa over his lips, blowing a little exvent across twitching antennae.
Rung was looking around; undoubtedly making sure nobody was paying them any attention. The way they were arranged at the little table, pinning the therapist in, even if anyone could see past the divider walls, it would look like the third in command was conversing with a couple members of medical. Especially with the way Rung was clinging to that datapad.
“Ratch does this thing with his servos, just…mmmmmh,” His valve was already wet behind his panel, and thinking of the medic’s talented servos made his calipers clench down on nothing. “Maybe he’ll do it to you. Or maybe he’ll do it to me. He likes me on my knees after all. I can tease your valve with my glossa, swallow your spike down while he stretches my valve out with those wonderful servos…oh…they change temperatures, did you know that?”
Rung bumped Drift’s thigh as he shifted, crossing his legs and swallowing audibly behind his servo.
“N-no I didn’t…um…hrm….continue, please?”
“Hehe, well…when we’ve got you all tied up and at our mercy-“
“Not a lot, mind you. Maybe just a little cable here,” One of Ratchet’s servos ghosted over Rung’s trembling thigh, not touching, but stirring his field as he passed, “and here,” a not-touch to his arm, “Bind your arms behind your back, your shins to your thighs-“
“The torment of not being able to touch. Not being able to grab hold of my helm and guide the pace while you thrust into my intake? Best kind of torture. Except while it’s happening. When it’s happening, you’ll do anything to get free, to get your servos on me.” Drift didn’t realize he could get this charged up just talking about interfacing, but his engine revving in his chassis was proof enough that, apparently, he could.
“And of course you can overload whenever you need to-“
“Of course! No need for warning, I’ll be able to tell…maybe let me know if you want to overload in my mouth, or on my face though. Your call.” Drift winked at Rung, watching as the datapad was very carefully sat down so he could lean forward and cling to the edge of the table. A quick peek down told Drift all he needed to know. Between clenched thighs, lubricants glistened, beading up and demarcating the near invisible line of his modesty panel. Already, a little bit had pooled beneath his aft, and Drift had a wicked thought about crawling under the table and licking up the mess, sucking off the therapist right there in the bar.
Maybe another day.
“Drift’s got this toy collection-“ Ratchet had leaned forward on the table with Rung, raising an optical ridge at Drift.
“Been building it up for years.” He was bragging, no shame what so ever in his voice. It was true, he’d been picking up toys the galaxy over, both ones premade for mechs, and custom orders from absolute artists.
“No kidding,” Ratchet rolled his optics over Rung’s helm, and Drift stuck out his glossa in retaliation, “Anyway, he’s got this false spike he loves so much…after I’ve got him all stretched out, I’ll put that in his valve, keep him open and ready for us. Mag lock it so he can’t push it out again. Then we can get started on you-“
“Stretch your tight little valve out around Ratchet’s fingers…mmmmhhh, I’ve already got you all nice and relaxed with my glossa, his fingers’ll feel like a gift from Primus, swear-“ Ratchet reached around and pinched Drift’s cheek, snorting at the mention of the deity. Drift would admit it any day of the week, to anyone who asked. Even Ratchet. At least half of the things he said were to get a reaction out of his medic.
“Hmmm, well…Primus aside, we’ll get you loosened up, so you can take a nice fat spike-“
“Oh yea,” He moaned, sliding down in his seat and spreading his thighs, one knee accidentally brushing up against Rung’s. When he didn’t pull away, Drift grinned. He set his servos on top of his thighs, in sight and away from his panel, just like Ratchet liked. Ratchet sent him an approving look, while Rung stole a quick glance down when he thought they weren’t looking. “Ratch’s spike is perfect, Rung. All these little ridges and charge nodes on it, they hit every spot, he’s got a custom job, just….ah…”
<Laying it on a bit thick there, don’t you think?> The laugh Ratchet was trying to hold back bled through the comm. Drift squirmed in his seat.
<Nooo….just really revved up, Ratch. Think he’s gonna come back to our place with us? I could really use a little love right about now…>
<Horny little speedster. You know you’ll get yours either way, so just relax.>
Even as he was admonishing Drift over the comm line, he was talking to Rung. His own engine was rumbling, a strong, heavy sound deep in his chassis. “Maybe we’ll frag you…maybe we’ll just do you up like Drift, and find a nice little toy to fill you up. Something that vibrates maybe?”
“Oooooh, I’ve got just the one! The purple one, Ratch?” The false spike he was thinking of wasn’t anything fancy, just a basic number that he’d gotten a long time ago, one of his first, actually. But it had a little something extra to it, and Ratchet caught on to the idea quick.
“Yea, nice settings on that one,” He mused, putting his servos on the table and tapping out a mindless little rhythm, like this wasn’t revving him up into the redline. “Vibrations’ll drive you wild, but it’s the bit at the base that hits your external node just right. Course, it’s got a pretty powerful little motor to it, might knock him right over the edge too quick.”
“I’ve got plenty to choose from, I’m sure we’ll find…something…that’ll be a perfect fit.” Rung shuddered, fingers denting the edge of the table as he squirmed. Drift could just imagine the mess he was making. If he stood up right now, he’d bet that sweet little aft would be just shining with lubricants, his thighs coated and his panel dripping. He caught Rung’s optic as he licked his lips again, and made sure the other mech saw as his glossa tripped over one of the fangs he’d kept over from his last rebuild.
Rung’s own mouth dropped, optics gone slightly glassy as he sucked in great gulps of air to supplement his cooling systems.
“Ooooh, but if his valve’s occupied, what else can we do to him, Ratchet, hmmm?” Rung twisted to look up at Ratchet as expectantly as Drift was, and the medic shifted in his seat, looking caught off guard for the first time since this little conversation started.
It didn’t last, Drift hadn’t figured it would. That party ambulance smirk was back in place, and he shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Teach him the fine art of using his mouth for something other than talking? Worked wonders on you.” The medic leaned forward again, reaching right past Rung to take Drift’s face in his servo and squish his cheeks in. He gave Drift’s face a little shake, index finger pressing to the corner of his mouth.
Drift let his mouth fall open obediently, glossa peeking out. Ratchet pressed his thumb in, flattening his glossa out and holding it there for a klik. When he pulled away, they both noticed how Rung’s optics were locked on the string of oral solvent stretched between them, and the way they followed it back to Ratchet when it snapped.
“Oh yea…Rung, you don’t know good till you’ve got someone you trust over top of you. A nice thick spike pressing your glossa down, or, oh…a valve pressed over your intake, just… just all you can see, smell, taste, is them. Your only concern is what’s right in front of you and-“
“Oh my!” Rung jumped to his feet, chair sliding back with a screech that probably drew more attention than their entire escapades up until then.
He didn’t say a word, hunched over the table, whole frame shaking. His backpack rattled against his plating, the only noise he made besides the whine of his fans. Just like Drift thought, the backs of his thighs and his aft were covered in the glistening pink fluids, and his optics tracked a bead of lubricant that trailed down the back of his leg before guilt caught up to him. Rung still wasn’t saying anything.
“Aw slag, Rung. We weren’t trying to pressure you, honest. If you aren’t interested, just say so, and we’ll drop it, no questions asked, promise!” Rung put a finger to his lips, shaking his head and swallowing. He reset his vocalizer twice before the static cleared enough to be heard over the din on the other side of the wall.
“Oh n-no…you two will accompany me b-back to your b-b-berth room this instant. You’ve m-made a mess of thinks and I th-think you should be the ones to c-clean it up!”
Drift was halfway out of his seat before Rung had finished, pinging Swerve to take care of their tab without having to actually walk up to the bar. Ratchet put a servo on Rung’s shoulder, the first intentional touch either had made towards the therapist all night.
“You’re sure bout this, right? Don’t tease an old mech, Rung.”
It did the trick, breaking that little shell of tension in Rung’s field as he giggled.
“Oh, really, Ratchet! I think I’m older than you, and you’ve done nothing but tease me since I got here!”
Drift was practically dancing in place, eager to get back to their room and make good on those promises they’d given Rung. A quick tug had Rung’s chair pulled back further, and he swiped at the mess in the seat before Rung could, then mopped up the puddle of lubricants in his own abandoned chair. He smirked at Ratchet, a little show of fang, when he caught the medic doing the same to his. All that earned him was a rag soaked in lubricant to the face.
Once they’d cleaned up to Rung’s satisfaction, and hadn’t he just about lost it when he realized what a mess he’d made of himself, Ratchet led the way out of the bar. Drift felt the nerves that made Rung’s field waver a bit, and caught his servo. A tentative squeeze was his reward, and he smiled down at the smaller mech.
Because despite all their talk, their goal was to make the therapist comfortable. He took such good care of everyone else on the ship, it was time to give a little back.
That it was going to be fun was just a bonus.