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"I-It's fine..." Pharma's mouth said before he could stop it. "I... I don't mind if you touch them."
It was only when Ratchet's scarlet optics seemed to gleam at his words that Pharma felt a shiver run down his spine, one which made him remember that they'd done this type of thing before and he very decidedly did not want his servos anywhere near him.
So why, why, why, why had he just gone and given him an open invitation to do it again!?
'Because he's different now' a voice spoke inside his head. The thing was, Pharma still wasn't sure that was true.
True, enough time had passed that their time together at the academy was now an old memory– But from all the mechs that had terrorized him because of his alt-mode, the only one he would never forget would be Ratchet of Vaporex with his ornate purple chevron and pristine white paintjob, but most memorable of all his leering gaze and sharp grin whenever he ran into him in the hallways.
He remembered his first words to him quite clearly. Aren't you a queer sight?
That'd only mark the tone for the rest of their interactions. If he ever found himself in the same room as the grounder, the medic to-be would very shamelessly focus entirely on his wings, looking them up and down with a distinct glow in his optics that told him the nature of his intentions.
Then, right before their graduation exams, he'd gotten bolder. He'd come to talk to him and at first only place a servo on his pauldron. Friendly enough (if they'd been friends at all, which they hadn't been, so it always felt like the power play it was, daring him to say anything about it). Then he'd start with a random topic, a proposal to study together for a certain subject, whatever conversation trapped Pharma firmly in place.
Not that it was a difficult thing to do. Pharma had to be so well behaved if he wanted to keep his place at the academy. If he ever caused any trouble, it would be proof enough he wasn't fit for the practice, that he was better used as a common seeker, a war build.
So each time Pharma would stand there and listen and shake his head and smile nervously, hoping Ratchet would let go of him and leave. That he'd stop casually mentioning how fascinating of a specimen he was, that he'd love to cut him open...
And then, always when he thought Ratchet wouldn't– The grounder would run his servo over his plating, terribly slowly, from his pauldron to the tip of his wing, taking his time reaching the end. All with a detestable grin on his face. Only to finally let go of him to bid him goodbye.
"See you around, darling~" He'd say so, so casually, with a mockery of affection in his voice.
As if he hadn't crossed a line, as if it wasn't violating and horrible each time, his frame shuddering in disgust only once the ambulance had left his line of vision.
Pharma didn't hate Ratchet however.
He was mostly scared of him.
And he never wanted to see him ever again.
Which is why when he finally received his medical license and was now free to never again see any of his loathsome classmates, he flew far, far away from any of them.
He never forgot Ratchet, forever imprinted in his memories as someone deeply unpleasant... And the only one who'd ever been happy to have him around.
Pharma tried to not linger too much on that type of thought.
Ratchet would be the first, though not the last, mech to get all up in his face about how alluring his atypical existence was. A medijet? It was seen to be believed. Most mechs didn't stop to merely ogle.
They always wanted to touch that which made him unique, which made him strange. Pharma didn't like being touched in that way, fondled when the supervisors at the institute weren't looking, but he'd learned too late that the side he was on was full of twisted mechs like that.
The Autobrand on his chest sent a clear message, and it was that he was fair game. He was a medic after all, didn't he need to keep the troops happy and healthy? It'd be treachery to do otherwise, and the last thing he wanted was for the Prime's army to label him a traitor.
So he'd endured, he'd endured and tried to deal with everything as gracefully as he could, and he'd managed for the most part, getting used to the revolving door of Autobot soldiers which were rude to him at best, and harassed him at worst. Such was the nature of war.
Until the cycle he'd snapped at the wrong bot, finally reaching his limit after vorns of keeping quiet, and he'd done what he had always wished to do: punch him square in the face for trying to pinch one of his ailerons. The nerve of the creeps he dealt with, really! It'd been so satisfying at the moment but...
Well, it turned out Kimia didn't have rules all that different from the academy. The station's supervisor received the complaint, read the report of the full incident and decided that Pharma had displayed 'antisocial' behaviors better fit for an assignment with fewer mechs to assault.
"I'm sure being stationed in Messatine will calm you down." Just like that, his transfer had been signed and approved, and a few cycles later, Pharma found himself facing his punishment in the cold, cold hallways of the Delphi facility.
He'd been distraught at first, being sent to Delphi to be forgotten under the pure white snow... But he'd found the company there was much better than anywhere else he'd been. It'd taken him time to warm up to the mecha here, his fellow medics and the few stationed soldiers serving their time there too, but life at Delphi had become something more than just bearable.
He'd even dare call it enjoyable. Hard to argue it wasn't when he looked forward to listening to Ambulon's gossip and the occasional good humored comment from First Aid, both of them never caring too much about him being a medijet (Ambulon understood him more than anyone, being someone with an undesirable alt-mode as well. He suspected First Aid just couldn't care less about both of them, and let them be). At the very least, he felt respected by his peers, a first he couldn't believe was possible.
So for the longest time, his cycles were peaceful.
Or at least they were until he waltzed into his life again.
Pharma should have known trouble was on the horizon when he opened the Autobot Medical Journal one morning and saw such a foreboding headline:
Ratchet of Vaporex named new Chief Medical Officer by the Lord Prime himself.
The headline had been accompanied by a capture of the ceremony, the Prime looking as regal as always, a servo placed possessively on the newest CMO's shoulder. And Ratchet looking at the camera with those red optics that haunted his memories, all with a wide grin, just like old times. Even with the changes to his frame, now looking sturdier to fit in with the rest of the armored troops of the Prime, Ratchet still looked like a mech that would eat him alive.
That impression he had of him wasn't helped by how he held his newly awarded title in one servo, while having the other transformed into a small medical saw.
The only saving grace about it was that Ratchet was now too important to even bother checking with the medical officers of unimportant locations like Messatine. He might send someone over to report back on their current status and issues, but no CMO (and one so close to the Prime at that!) would waste his precious time coming down himself for an inspection.
So he thought at least.
He'd been drinking a warm cup of energon with Ambulon on their break room when he'd gotten a direct request to his comms. From a High Command line itself. Even then he didn't panic, these requests came in now and then to coordinate new troops coming in or energon shipments.
It wasn't anything bad, he'd told himself as he accepted the request.
Then every joint in his body froze up once he'd heard the sing-song tune of the one on the other side of the line.
[Hi Pharma, darling~ I bet you've heard the good news already. Hope you have your little facility in order, I'll be visiting soon to run a routine inspection.]
He'd dropped his energon cube, startling Ambulon, but the terror that ran through his fuel lines made him unable to care. He hadn't even parsed the rest of Ratchet's words after that. He'd just heard a click once the comm line had gone dark again.
Afterwards, Pharma hadn't been able to recharge properly for cycles, his body too jittery to relax even for a moment. Trying to spend most of his energy on something productive, he made it a goal to have Delphi in tip top shape. He could tell that the moment that mech saw even the tiniest opportunity to have them all marked down as disposables, then he would.
(He wanted to make him a disposable, no doubt about that. Then he'd claim his frame for parts. He'd fulfill his promise of slicing open his protoform to get to the juicy mechanisms inside.)
Why else would he have been so eager to come after him? Ratchet had been obsessed with making his function miserable while in the academy, saw him as nothing else but a freak to get his servos on, as a curiosity that'd been allowed to roam the halls. Now he would come to Delphi and put him in his place with the rest of his experiments, he simply needed an excuse.
Pharma was determined to not even give him the chance. The following deca-cycles were spent making sure every patient file was properly updated; every ward, lab, and room carefully scrubbed and sanitized; and every miner and soldier in the premises properly documented alongside any incidents during their stay in his facility.
Whatever happened, Delphi would not be labeled a disgrace better written off. Pharma owed that much to the place that had come to feel like home.
So when the moment finally came for him to face his fears and welcome the new CMO to Delphi, he stood proud with his staff in the entrance of the complex as Ratchet's shuttle descended upon them, the force of the ship's loud thrusters pushing back the snow until it'd cleared the powder from underneath it.
"He won't stay for long, will he?" Ambulon asked in a hushed whisper as the CMO descended from his transport, followed by a smug-looking scarlet swordmech.
"With any luck, no." Pharma murmured as Ratchet made his way to them, the ever present grin in his features looking as feigned as ever.
"Pharma, Pharma, Pharma..." Ratchet started once he'd found himself a respectable distance from the medijet. "You are a sight for sore optics! I haven't seen you in forever."
That'd been by design, but Pharma couldn't say that out loud. Instead, he'd put his most professional facade on and greeted his superior with a polite smile. "Welcome to Delphi, sir. We've been anxiously awaiting your visit."
Ratchet laughed. "Sir? Please, darling, we go way back. Ratchet is just fine. Let's get on with the inspection, yes?"
That first visit had been, thankfully, actually quite brief. Most of it had been spent showing Ratchet around the facility, reporting to him the latest updates from their front, and trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was around him.
He'd done nothing but be polite to Pharma, actually seeming interested in ways to deliver some extra aid to their location, and not even once did his optics wander inappropriately over his frame.
It was... Well, mostly it was a relief. But only once Ratchet and his silent bodyguard had left for good, did Pharma allow himself to feel absolutely baffled.
That'd been nothing like what he expected. Especially now that Ratchet was in such an important position of power over him! He'd prepared for the worst, and the worst had been the CMO offering a servo to shake goodbye to him, with the promise to visit again.
That was all.
It didn't sit well with Pharma.
The thing was that for the entirety of the next vorn, Ratchet's visits every stellar cycle were more of the same. He'd be friendly to Pharma, but not too overly familiar with him. He'd focus his optics on his face, not in any other part of his frame. And he was... Nice to him. Actually nice.
He'd keep tabs on things their facility needed and made it so that their requests were quickly dispatched. He'd ask about the well being of Ambulon and First Aid, wondering if they didn't need another medic to make their shifts easier for them. His concern for them all seemed so genuine.
The worst part was that it felt genuine. Once, he'd invited Pharma to sit with him in the break room to share a cup of energon. Upon hearing the invitation, Pharma expected for this whole charade to finally end, thinking that it was a way to isolate him from the rest (which would immediately lead to terribly inappropriate advances and threats, the type he knew the grounder was capable of).
But all that'd happened had been Ratchet sitting down with him to ask for his honest opinion on how to handle an issue that'd come up in Iacon, a problem with some other members of High Command and the way they were unable to come to an agreement on how to handle certain resources. Needless to say, such information was quite delicate, it was hard to believe Ratchet was trusting him with it.
"You were always a clever mech, Pharma." Ratchet explained just why he'd asked for his input. "Even now, you know how to navigate your way through difficult scenarios. I feel like I can trust the judgment of someone as brilliant as you."
Pharma had almost choked on his drink. He could feel his cheeks flare in embarrassment as the words had an immediate effect on him. Mostly, it was the realization that came with them which almost killed him: Ratchet actually respected him enough to ask for his expert opinion.
Vorns spent terrorized by the mech across the table, caressed like he was someone just for his entertainment, and now he treated him like... Like...
Like someone that mattered in this world.
That time, when Ratchet left the facility, the CMO had once more extended his servo to him, offering a handshake before they parted ways.
Ever since they'd met again, Pharma always respectfully denied the handshake, citing something about being a bit of a germaphobe (anything to avoid being touched by him ever again). And each time, the grounder nodded and mentioned how it was fine, that he completely understood.
And that time, Pharma took a deep vent and shook his servo in his, a nervous shiver running down his spine once his plating made contact with the CMO.
"Have a good trip back, Ratchet."
The CMO's optics had shone brightly for a moment, his smile growing wide as he shook his servo firmly.
"Thank you, darling." He'd practically purred before letting go of him, his expression completely delighted.
Seeing that expression on him scared Pharma a little. It was a bit too familiar. But despite that, once Ratchet left that cycle, Pharma found himself with conflicted emotions since he'd had a terrible realization...
He wanted Ratchet to look at him like that again.
Now he spent a considerable portion of his cycle trying to convince himself that he was functionally going insane. He wanted so badly to tell someone, get reassured he was in the right to be paranoid, but this was not the type of thing he could just dump on anyone. Besides, what did he have to complain about?
You know the new CMO (the one picked by Optimus Prime himself, the one from his close inner circle) who's so nice and respectful and quite helpful? Oh that one, yes. I'm scared slagless of him. But also, I'm starting to think he might not be that bad.
His rational side had to intervene in those moments. Ratchet couldn't have had such a drastic change of spark. It'd been vorns suffering from his condescending smiles and revolting touches, as if he had any claim to his frame. And that pet name... Darling. He still used it. Surely that was a tell that the moment Pharma forgot his true nature then–
A servo holding onto his wing, unwelcome and cold, caressing his plating and making shivers of charge run through his spine, only to leave him after a few moments, a lingering sense of filthiness prevailing after he was gone.
Even the memory made him shudder. But he had to remember how it felt, he had to remember his words. The promises to lay him on his medical slab and disassemble him piece by piece to finally understand exactly what'd gone wrong with him.
Pharma could not afford to forget.
How tempting it became though, when with every visit Ratchet tore down his defenses just with his earnest camaraderie. 'How has life been at Messatine?' 'Heard of your problems back in Kimia. Their nerve, right?' 'Hey, who do you think is more insufferable: Prowl or Goldbug?'
He cared about what he had to say, and he always found a moment to remark how much he enjoyed his time with Pharma. 'Thank the Matrix you get it, it's been so boring talking with mechs that barely use their processor.' 'Oh, how I'll miss you the moment I get off this planet, darling.' 'Pharma, if I could drop off everything and make our talks last long into the night, I would.'
It almost felt like they were friends, really.
Even Ambulon liked to tease him about it nowadays. "So how's your bestie, Doctor Vivisection?"
"Don't call him that!" Though Pharma couldn't find it in himself to clarify that the ridiculous moniker wasn't the thing he had an issue with.
Around the end of the vorn, a dangerous little voice had started to whisper to him: But what if he's truly changed?
After all, he had changed. The war had changed Pharma, once he'd come to realize the true nature of the conflict and the morality of all he'd done in the institute.
Once upon a time he too had been all too happy to deal with disposable mechs. Their pitiful wails had fallen on deaf audials while on his dissection table. It'd been routine. Pharma could barely remember any of their faces.
He only lived with the guilt now. With the weight in his spark, knowing he'd been a monster long ago. The medijet had sworn he'd never hurt anyone else in his life if he could help it, not ever again.
So, maybe Ratchet too...?
This thought started to consume his cycles and burrow itself in his processor the more time passed. It was perhaps because it was the most comforting explanation. It felt so much like wishful thinking however. No soft sparked mech would have survived being in the Prime's inner circle. So, why?
Why did he continue to act like he cared deeply about Pharma?! And why did Pharma want to believe so bad that he did?
It had started doing things to him each time Ratchet came to receive his periodic report about the state of Delphi.
Embarrassingly enough, his wings had more than once started a flutter subroutine whenever Ratchet was nearby. He always canceled it as soon as it started, but he wondered if it'd been noticed at all. He hoped not. Then, he'd find himself laughing at Ratchet's witty comments every now and then. They'd been snorts at first, but now whole cackles would burst out of him (and he tried to cover his mouth in record time each time it happened). What was wrong with him?! He wasn't some dumb schoolmech with a silly crush!
(He hoped he wasn't. The way his spark pulsed whenever Ratchet smiled at him, optics crinkling up at the corners, looking at him like he was the most fascinating mech in the room... Well, it should have been unnerving.)
Pharma tried to reason with himself, again and again, biting the tips of his digits while he paced in his empty habsuite during his off shifts.
He didn't want Ratchet to want him. He'd been at the end of his "affections", and he never wanted to experience something like that again. Ratchet's "love" would only put him on his operation table, splayed for everyone to gawk at.
He knew this, damnit! (So he should stop dreaming of being held safely in his arms, being kissed in the middle of one of their long, long talks; having his wings massaged by those terrible servos after a hard shift...)
One night during his now usual routine of overthinking to the point of exhaustion, fluctuating between yearning for Ratchet's touch and abhorring it, something clicked.
Perhaps it wasn't that Ratchet had changed (he knew that his cruelty was very much alive. His 'achievements' under the Prime's orders were all the stuff of nightmares, spearheading the research into new methods of long lasting torture). Ratchet was as he'd always been.
He just wasn't interested in the medijet anymore.
That's why such a cordial relationship came easy to him. The obsession that'd driven him to torment Pharma must have passed, so now every interaction he had with him was normal. As normal as they could be with a mech that would happily drop fun facts about which sensitive parts of a mech could be disabled quickly to elicit the most immediate cry of pain.
It made complete sense. The realization washed over Pharma, soothing his nerves as he stared placidly at the ceiling. He should have been glad about it, after all, wasn't that good? That is what he wanted, for Ratchet to forget about him completely.
His spark shouldn't have ached at the thought.
It was so very frustrating, a joke played on him by the universe just like so many things in his life. He was a freak of nature, a bad Autobot, and also in love with the one mech who'd promised to see to his demise. The same mech who held him in high regard only after realizing he wasn't worth his twisted love.
In the privacy of his suite, Pharma burst into tears as he covered his face with his forearm, trying his best to swallow his bitter wails. Why would this hurt so much? Just what was wrong with him?!
He didn't want these feelings, he didn't want Ratchet in his life, and he didn't want Ratchet to ever stop making him feel seen for the first time in his function.
'What a walking contradiction you are.' The ambulance's malicious words echoed in his mind, those he'd said to him so long ago now while caressing his back. How miserable it was that he was still right, even now.
And yet, life in Delphi went on.
As his luck would have it, some power struggles amidst some of the Prime's lieutenants kept Ratchet busy in Iacon for a good few stellar-cycles, so his routine visits came to a stop for a time. Time enough for Pharma to try and repress his feelings (the only sensible course of action, as far as he was concerned. If only it'd been easy to do).
He was a doctor, and he had duties to commit himself to, instead of wasting his time daydreaming of impossible scenarios (many in which he voluntarily laid himself on Ratchet's operating table, apparently a thing he now wanted to do. Pharma felt a bit ashamed of how charged that fantasy of his got him nowadays).
Delphi was better without Ratchet around anyway, it at least gave Pharma some peace of mind during his shifts (despite the fact it came at the cost of spending joors yearning in berth before falling to recharge).
Even when he found himself missing the sound of his voice, Pharma never once gave in to his desperate need to contact him through his personal frequency. (Though sometimes he wondered how much of an accomplishment that could be when he'd been weak in more than one occasion, self-servicing while imagining the way Ratchet would say his name in such a sickly sweet way, praising him for doing so, so well; running his fingers up and down the length of his ailerons...)
So when four stellar-cycles later Ratchet announced he'd finally return to run one of his usual inspections at Delphi, Pharma let out a loud nervous laugh, something caught between genuine excitement at the news and dread at what seeing the CMO again would do to him.
The most embarrassing part of his reaction was that it'd been heard by both Ratchet on the other side of the comm line, and Ambulon and First Aid which had been busy cleaning up after their latest operation on a patient. He apologized profusely for his outburst and left the room, not before bidding a quick goodbye and killing the frequency.
What a pathetic mess he'd become in such little time.
Regardless, he prepared for the CMO's inspection just like every other time. Ambulon complained about it, as he always did because it was (in his words) soooo annoying to get their reports in order in only a few cycles just because the medijet wanted to impress the big boss.
Perhaps at the start he would have been able to deny such an accusation. But Pharma had come to realize that yes, he wanted Ratchet to praise him for his continuous efforts in keeping Delphi in such an exemplary state.
(He wanted Ratchet, period. How mortifying it was that he could accept that as a fact now.)
Pharma kept counting the kliks until the Chief Medical Officer arrived at their door. Under the snow of Messatine, watching Ratchet's transport descend slowly, he couldn't help but wish he was already by the ambulance's side, talking like old friends, close enough to touch–
Ratchet had greeted him as always, warmth in his voice, though Pharma noticed his usual smile felt off (there was a subtle strain at the corners of his lips. Like he was fighting the need to grimace). Even the red mech he kept as a bodyguard, Drift, looked tense and on high alert as they both entered into his facility. He wondered then if things in the capital were still in quite the disarray.
"Make it quick, Goldbug wants–" He'd caught a few words that Drift had leaned down to whisper in Ratchet's audial as they made their way to Pharma's office, and it made him worried that he wouldn't even get to share a cup of energon with the mech he'd missed so much.
"Leave us," Ratchet had turned to his bodyguard, ordering him in a firm tone. "Unless the Prime himself is calling, I don't want to be disturbed."
With a huff, Drift had spared a single glance to the medijet, narrowing his optics for a moment before he left, presumably staying close in one of the break rooms nearby. Once they'd both entered the office, Ratchet locked the doorway and settled in the chair across Pharma's desk.
"Pharma, darling, I'd love to stay for longer but there's delicate affairs to tend to elsewhere." Ratchet had sighed, the irritation in his voice indicating he was not happy with whatever those affairs were. "If you could only hand me the most urgent reports..."
Pharma complied, though the wings he'd hitched up high dropped a bit, his fears of Ratchet's visit being shorter than usual confirmed. He tried to shake off the disappointment, after all, he had to stay professional (what did he even expect to happen if he stayed longer? For Ratchet to confess he'd missed him just as much? As if).
After he went through the important updates, Pharma started fidgeting with his fingers as he tried to think of any excuse to keep Ratchet with him just a bit longer. It was so terribly selfish, but...
Casual conversation was quickly dismissed, Ratchet giving short answers as he poured over the few datapads Pharma had offered him with Delphi's reports, too focused on the numbers to care. Pharma quickly gave up and accepted that this simply would be the way this visit would go, sighing to himself as he got up and headed to the door to his office once Ratchet was finally done reading each pending request.
"Thank you for taking the time to visit, I know it must not have been easy. You seem so stressed..." The 'wish I could help you relax' had gone unsaid for so many good reasons.
"Oh Pharma," Ratchet came closer to him and laid a hand on his pauldron, the touch surprising the medijet. "Believe me, it's nothing I can't handle. It's just annoying. You know how it is. But you're sweet for worrying." Then, as if his wishes were coming true, Ratchet lowered his hand to give a gentle rub to his wing that lasted for only a brief moment before Ratchet snatched his hand back, as if he'd been burned.
Pharma mourned the loss of his touch, shivers running down his spine, and he looked to Ratchet, who seemed apologetic in his expression.
"Ah, I'm sorry." Such uncharacteristic words came from his lips, and Pharma could barely believe what he said next. "I know you hate when mechs touch your wings, it won't happen again."
Perhaps it had been the stellar-cycles he'd spent longing to see him again, perhaps it'd been the shock of the realization that this whole time Ratchet had actively tried not to make him uncomfortable with him, but Pharma's spark threatened to burst out of his chest upon hearing his assurance.
He did care for Pharma, that much couldn't be denied. Even if it was in such a small way, it was so much for him to handle!
So that's how his mouth had spoken his thoughts out loud without permission, finally letting the other know how much he craved his touch on his plating.
I don't mind if you touch them.
Pharma noticed Ratchet's fingers jerk momentarily at the same time the grounder's expression seemed to twitch, holding back from grinning, a slight flush appearing on his faceplates.
"Are you sure? You don't have to force yourself, darling." Ratchet had then taken one step closer to him, closer but not quite, leaving some space still for Pharma to move away before his back was pressed against the closed door if he so wished. But he was right where he wanted to be.
Pharma took in a deep vent, his own gleaming red optics staring into Ratchet's, wings flicking once in anticipation. "I-I do mean it."
Such a satisfied smile spread on Ratchet's face, red optics glowing brightly as his gaze settled on his wings. "Then... Would you let me examine them?" The CMO then took Pharma's servos, holding gently onto him. The medijet blushed, unable to help it since Ratchet was so, so close and his servos were so warm in his own. "Only if you want to, of course. I heard wings can be awfully intimate and... Sensitive for a flier."
Had their faces ever been so close? It was like he was being helplessly pulled closer to Ratchet, and he couldn't possibly run away, nor did he want to.
Pharma gulped, his intake feeling oddly dry as his optics glanced in between their servos and Ratchet's lips. "I... If you really want to, I'd be open to that."
Ratchet let out a dark chuckle. "Oh my darling, since you insist..."
In only a moment, Ratchet let go of him and turned him around so he could push the front of the medijet's body against the surface of the door, and then pressed himself against his back turbine, effectively trapping him against the metal surface of the closed gate. He felt Ratchet vent against his neck, and then, his thumbs tracing the back of his wings in slow, deliberate circles.
Ratchet sighed happily, the hot air hitting the back of Pharma's neck cables, and the medijet held back a pathetic little whine, his processor barely able to run any coherent thought as the CMO kept putting pressure on the plating of his wings.
"I wonder if you even know how much I've waited for this." The grounder murmured against the back of his neck, one servo occupied with caressing the length of his pauldron and wing, the other running the tip of his thumb against the engravings on his turbine, the most meager of charge gradually building up along Pharma's spine.
The medijet whimpered, an old primal fear rearing its head the more Ratchet pressed himself against his back, the more his servos roamed and teased the smallest of transformation seams along his kibble, but he was so dizzy with need that all he could do was dim his optics and focus on his sick fantasy becoming real.
"Just look at you," Ratchet planted a quick kiss on his nape, such a tender gesture that Pharma let out a gasp upon the contact. "Such a wonderful machinery in motion, needy for me."
And he could not deny that, couldn't deny that at all as his wings trembled under his ministrations, eager sweet things that couldn't help but be honest. This whole time he'd been wanted, and though it should have confirmed that he'd been right all along, that Ratchet only wanted him for the anomaly he was... In his lust filled deliriums, he thought maybe that was enough. To be wanted, even like this.
Pharma moaned the moment Ratchet leaned his helm down to lick a stripe near the connection seams of his wing and his pauldron, his glossa poking the delicate juncture and making small sparks of charge go through him. He never even knew that being licked there felt good!
"Such cute noises, guess you really are enjoying this." Without needing to see it, Pharma could already tell Ratchet had said that with a mocking grin. The medijet found himself nodding as the grounder continued to mouth at some of his seams and dig his fingers into his turbine, it almost made him weak at the knees, the only thing keeping him up being Ratchet's own frame against his.
"R-Ratchet, please, ah–!" Pharma jolted once he felt the servo that'd been teasing his turbine slide down his body, tracing his way with a delicate touch, tapping against his hips until it settled over his interface panel, rubbing against the sensitive plating there.
"Please what, darling? What do you want me to do to you?" The CMO asked as he moved to place a variety of kisses over his turbine, only to then lick and nip the edges of it. The feeling of it forced Pharma to muffle an embarrassing whine, biting his lip, the stimulation on both fronts making him shudder as charge kept building up within him.
Pharma wasn't above begging, no matter how pathetic it made him look, he needed Ratchet in so many ways... A little drool escaped his intake as he spoke.
"Please, please, touch them more...! M-My wings, touch them!"
Ratchet's engine revved, hard. No clearer sign that he was so pleased with how desperate the medijet was.
"Of course, as you wish. Just open for me and I'll touch you all you want."
Pharma barely registered when his panels clicked open for him, the subroutine so quick he completely missed when he'd executed it mindlessly. There was no time to dwell on that, especially when he became an incoherent cacophony of little gasps and moans once Ratchet had grabbed his fully pressurized spike, pumping it frantically as he mouthed and sucked the delicate plating on the edge of his left wing.
He must have made a pitiful sight, falling apart from Ratchet's words and indecent touches, coolant prickling at the corners of his optics, high pitched keens each time he tried to roll his hips to get a little more friction from the CMO's servo; all the while sounding like a common shareware drone each time Ratchet angled his face and nipped at his wing. He was making such a mess, each stroke on his spike making lubricant trickle out of him as charge kept pooling in his midsection.
"Y-Your body is so responsive. Never thought you really would be so easily turned on," Ratchet noted as he pinched one of his ailerons, grinning with an enamored expression as he watched Pharma jolt and mewl as his digits applied the pressure to the metal. "It's so wonderful to witness."
Pharma still couldn't form any intelligible thoughts, caught up in the euphoria of being sweet-talked. He was good, good for Ratchet, oh so good...!
"Hngh, Rah– Ratchet! Please, please, I'm going to...!" Pharma pleaded, feeling the distinct tell of an approaching overload as his frame shivered with accumulated charge all over. But upon hearing his words, Ratchet gripped hard the head of his spike, making the medijet let out a sob as the pressure halted his overcharge. No, no, no, please, he wanted to overload so badly–
"Shh, shh. Not yet, darling. We can't have that yet, and you can be patient, right?" Ratchet kissed and licked the back of his neck cables tenderly, as if this all wasn't an exquisite torture that would make Pharma lose his mind. "You wouldn't overload, not before I do this..."
His other servo gripped onto his hip and angled him so he was presenting his dripping valve to him, and soon he felt the head of Ratchet's spike brush against his rim, stretching his entrance before pulling back, teasing the sensible mesh as if he was measuring its stretch. Pharma knew by that point what was coming next, but nothing would have made him capable of holding back the cry that escaped his intake once in one clean thrust, Ratchet pushed his entire length inside him. The sting of his callipers adjusting to the sudden intrusion hadn't been that unpleasant at all, it'd been so satisfying, nevertheless Pharma still felt a smidge of shame about how worked up he'd been for his spike to slide almost seamlessly into him.
Ratchet gave him a moment to adjust regardless, placing both his hands on his hips, caressing the plating with his thumbs, a short sinister chuckle coming from him as he enjoyed the view of his quivering wings.
"Always knew you'd have the tightest little valve, silky and wet, all perfect for my spike. Seeker builds were made for this." Ratchet murmured, his voice sounding so earnestly smitten, it almost didn't feel alarming. Pharma wanted to protest those words, but before he could form any of his own, a servo wrapped around his neck cables and yanked him closer to the grounder's frame.
He tried to squirm, but Ratchet's grip was firm on him and the fight went out of him almost as immediately as it'd manifested in him, because once the CMO started moving his hips, all major functions of his processor halted.
"Mhmn–! R-Ratchet...!" The complaints he might have had vanished, now the only concern in the forefront of his mind being the ripples of charge running through his body with each thrust, Ratchet's spike hitting all the right nodes. The sounds of his slick valve became background noise as their pace kept speeding up.
"You feel– O-Oh, it's incredible, just the way I knew you'd be." Ratchet panted as he angled himself to bite onto the medijet's left wing, grunting as he applied enough force to dent the metal. Pharma keened, his sensors shooting waves of pain and pleasure alike at the same time directly to his processor. His optics rolled back while Ratchet kept pounding into him fervently and lapping at the bite mark on his wing, each lick of his glossa driving him crazy.
He sobbed, coolant running down his face. It was all so overwhelming! All he could do was become pliant and take it, let Ratchet use his frame to bring them both closer to release. "Please, please, I need it, let me–" Let me overload, he'd wanted to say. But right before he could, Ratchet let go of his neck to instead turn his head to kiss him violently, his glossa intruding and pushing his way into his intake.
There was no elegance in the kiss, just messy drool and denta, as if Ratchet couldn't get enough of him. The thought made Pharma's spark ache. He was wanted, oh, so, so wanted!
Pharma could feel himself on the cusp of all his systems glitching, and Ratchet's ragged vents against his back told him he was close too when–
A rapid couple of knocks on the door startled them both, Ratchet grunting since it'd made Pharma's callipers tighten around his spike. The medijet's decorum cut through his processor's heavy haze of lust upon realizing that if that door opened right at that moment, he'd be caught in a terrible, terrible position.
"Hey, doc!" Came the gruff voice from the swordmech on the other side, Ratchet's bodyguard apparently coming to pick him up. "Prime's wondering just where in the pit are you. We gotta go."
Ratchet hissed a quiet 'frag' into his nape. "Buy me some time, I'm busy!" He yelled back, starting to pound into the medijet again, as if there wasn't a mech just outside that could hear them. Pharma tried to choke back his moans, he didn't want anyone to know in what state he was in, but Ratchet was rubbing against a cluster of sensors buried deep inside, and there was only so much he could do before having to resort to disabling his vocalizer.
Drift snorted. "Oh, he's not going to like that."
"I, hah, d-dont care! Make up an excuse! Frag!" Ratchet kept pistoning his hips, going faster and harder, taking out his frustration on Pharma's array, angling himself so that he would be hitting his ceiling node every few thrusts, the wet slaps against his valve accompanying each meeting of their hips.
All that Pharma could do now was feel panicked and a little bit pathetic as he continued to try and stay silent, a fruitless endeavor given the rough pace Ratchet kept up.
"Frag, frag, frag!" Ratchet kept pounding as hard as he could as Pharma murmured his pleas (this time without a clear goal in mind. Did he want him to stop? Save him the embarrassment? Did he want him to keep going even faster so the feeling coiling in his gut could finally snap? The answer was a desperate yes, yes, yes to all of it).
The CMO kept pushing his frame against the door, and Pharma held on to dear life to the cold surface as finally his systems overloaded, subroutines freezing in place and a pulse of electric energy crackling through his entire frame. He let out a strangled moan as the pleasure washed all over him, and then gasped once Ratchet let out one last grunt against his neck right before his transfluid filled his insides, dripping onto the floor and making him so full and warm and so deeply satisfied.
He'd been good, he'd made Ratchet feel so good... His body would resent it afterwards, but in the moment, the grounder wrapping his arms around him and kissing every part of him he could reach, he thought it worth it.
What had he been so afraid of? This was wonderful, Ratchet was wonderful, he never wanted this elation to end! Part of him wondered if he'd fried part of his processor during the entire ordeal for him to be thinking like that, but how could he care right now? Ratchet was whispering sweet praises into his audials, nothing else mattered.
Then the knocking happened again.
"Are you done already? Tick tock, doc!" Drift urged him, and Pharma sighed against the door. Right, there was still the mech on the other side that would never respect him again (he'd heard everything, now he knew how lowly his desires had taken him).
"Ignore him." Ratchet kissed the side of his helm as he slowly pulled out of him, closing his own panels. "C'mon."
With a gentleness he never thought possible, he guided Pharma to sit on his desk and caressed his cheek, stealing a quick kiss from his lips. "Oh, you look so pretty blissed out. Let me clean you up.”
Pharma was still a bit out of it, but he nodded timidly. Ratchet pulled a few rags from his subspace and stroked his legs and array softly, cleaning the lubricant and transfluid that was sticking to them. As he watched him work, Pharma realized that now he had quite a few paint transfers around his thighs. He huffed, already dreading all the sanding and polishing he'd have to look forward to if he wanted to keep this encounter of his discreet.
(He didn't want to explain it to Ambulon, or Primus forbid, First Aid of all mechs. The nurse would escalate his complaints about the impropriety of it to the Prime himself if he could!)
He snapped out of that train of thought when Ratchet swabbed the bite mark he'd left on his wing, which immediately made him hiss in pain. Right, another thing to buff out.
Ratchet found his reaction amusing however, as he grinned adoringly at the damage he'd left. "Hmm, I can't wait for everyone to see you're mine."
"Wh- No!" Pharma yelped as his wings hitched up high in alarm. "Everyone will know that I..." He trailed off when Ratchet narrowed his optics at him. His disapproving look sent shivers down his spine, but then he broke their stare to focus on a spot near his hip.
"...I understand." Ratchet's tone became a bit stiff. "Well, we'll just have to work on that later."
Pharma didn't have the chance to ask just what in the pit that was supposed to mean, as Ratchet finished cleaning him and then concentrated on himself.
"Unfortunately, I do have to run now." The CMO subspaced the dirty cloths once he was a bit more decent, and headed towards the door.
"R-Right." Pharma was at a bit of a loss of that to say. I'll miss you? Thanks for the best frag of my life? Let's never do this again? No, wait, please let's do this again. But in complete privacy this time!
As Ratchet activated the entrance's panel, he turned back to him and offered him a soft smile, one which made Pharma's spark skip a pulse. "Bye, darling."
The door slid open, revealing the red swordmech who'd been impatiently waiting outside, leaning against the opposite wall.
"Ugh, finally." Drift grumbled and shot a glance at Pharma, looking him up and down only to end with a snort.
The medijet crossed his arms over his cockpit, as if that would help him hide from the bodyguard's judgy gaze. But who was he trying to fool? Anyone with optics could tell he'd been thoroughly fragged.
"I'll be seeing you until your next inspection~" Ratchet waved at him before walking away alongside his bodyguard, the doors sliding closed once more and leaving him in complete solicitude.
After a quiet moment by himself, Pharma sighed a long, weary vent. Then he covered his face with his servos as he let out a muffled yell.
What had he just agreed to? He would be Ratchet's plaything from now on, and just where would that lead him?
Ha dared to hope, despite the appeals to his common sense, that it'd lead to him being once more embraced so tenderly in Ratchet's arms, because now that he'd experienced the pleasures of being adored, Pharma wasn't sure he could ever go back to how things were before.
Oh, but why did it have to be him?
(And why did Pharma's spark pulse with genuine euphoria thinking that it was him, Ratchet of any and all mechs, who'd wanted him for so long?)