[TF] Rain or Shine 02

[dracoqueen22]

Rain or Shine
Part Two

The weekly poker tournament was Blurr's least favorite night of the week. It was astonishingly good for business, guaranteed an almost packed house, and was the majority of his income for the week.

But it was also crowded, noisy, loud, and the more his customers gambled, the more they drank. The more creds they lost, the angrier they became. And the angrier and more overcharged the crowd, the quicker they were to violence.

Blurr ran the bar with Jazz as his backup. Riptide worked the crowd, running drinks and orders along with Jazz whenever needed. Times like this, Blurr wished Bluestreak hadn't run off to play Enforcer with Prowl. He could use another pair of capable hands.

Thank Primus for Drift, otherwise he had no idea who'd look after Echo.

It was madness.

A raucous roar from the left caught Blurr's attention, and he glanced over there in enough time to see Ricochet break up yet another fight, scruffing some mech who had yet to relinquish his Auto-badge, and escorting him to the door, spitting obscenities. The group left behind jostled each other as if scrapping for another altercation.

Damn it.

‘Hire another bouncer,’ Ricochet growled across the comm.

‘We can't afford another employee,’ Blurr snapped back.

It wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. Blurr doubted it would be the last. It happened every poker night like clockwork.

Riptide slapped an order on the counter in front of him. "For Delta Table. Again," he said, rolling his optics, losing some of his usual joviality.

Blurr groaned. Delta couldn't just order a pitcher of the house special like most of the other tables. No. All night, the half-dozen of them had each ordered specialty cocktails with complicated, time-consuming recipes.

"Please tell me they're at least tipping well," Blurr said.

"I wish." Riptide grabbed the next tray of completed drinks and dove back into the crowd.

"Afts," Blurr muttered.

Granted, he paid his employees fairly well. Tips weren't required. But if a customer was going to be a pain in the aft, it was just common courtesy. Wasn't it?

He mixed up the drinks as quickly as he could, leaving Jazz to handle the orders being shouted at them from the bar.

"You need to hire someone else," Jazz said as he reached past Blurr for the jar of iron filings. "Poker nights are officially too much."

"Can't afford it," Blurr snapped, and shoved the tray of ready drinks into Jazz's chest. "Take these to Table Delta. I'll finish this." He plucked the remnants of a Toxic Turnover from Jazz's hands and made shooing motions.

Jazz chuffed a vent at him. "You're lucky I love you," he said, and disappeared into the crowd, holding the drinks above his head, which made it easy for Blurr to track his progress through the morass of mechs.

Music blared from the speakers, as if vying with the chatter to see who could be the most obnoxious and loud. Rising cheers announced winners, while groans and boos surrounded those who hadn't been so lucky.

Jazz returned, but this time with an order for tables Rho and Phi, both of whom wanted pitchers. An easy task. Blurr left Jazz behind the bar to give himself a break and take a lay of the land, so to speak, see if there was any end to the chaos in sight.

Table Rho slipped him a sizable tip, and Blurr made a mental note of the players located therein. If they came back, he'd give them a little something extra in thanks.

Quicken, however, was at Table Phi, and he brightened the moment he saw Blurr, rushing over to take the tray out of Blurr's hands before he could set it on the table.

"You need help," Quicken said, shouting to be heard over the music. "You look tense. Like you need to relax. I could help with that, you know."

Blurr planted a bland smile on his lips. "I think I've got it covered, thanks." He swept up the two empty pitchers from the table, tucking them under each arm.

Quicken leaned in closer, still beaming, his optics giving off the too-bright flare of the overcharged. "You need to be worshiped, Blurr. You need better than this."

Blurr sidestepped Quicken, absently putting another mech between them. "I think it's your turn," he said as new cards were being dealt around the table, and when Quicken glanced to check, Blur vanished into the crowd, all the way back to the safety of the bar, where Jazz was already drowning in new drink orders, and looking a little harried.

"Did you stop for a quickie?" Jazz demanded as he shoved two cocktails at two customers, flipped cred chips into the register, and took another order, all in the same three seconds.

Blurr rolled his optics and chose not to address the clearly rhetorical question. Instead, he started filling the drink orders as fast as he could, making a mental note of the various garnishes and flavorings which were starting to run low.

He'd have to make a trip to the storage closet soon if they kept up this pace.

Above the noise, he heard the usual arguments devolve into something more heated. It caught his attention enough to seek out the altercation, unsurprised to find Ricochet in the thick of it, clearly scrapping with one of the customers.

"That's it! You're out of here!" Ricochet shouted, loud enough to be heard over the chaos, and Blurr caught a glimpse of a familiar frame as Ricochet dragged the struggling mech toward the door.

It was Quicken.

"I'm a paying customer!" Quicken shouted, though he didn't have quite the same volume as Ricochet. "Get your fragging hands off me, you Decepticon scum!"

Blurr sighed.

"Oh, now you want to talk about keeping your hands to yourself," Ricochet snapped, and his armor bristled, like his subconscious had registered Quicken as a legitimate threat.

"Frag you! Let me go!" Quicken tried to yank himself free, but it was useless. Ricochet was bigger and stronger, and no one seemed inclined to help.

Ricochet lifted Quicken and tossed him out the door, where he vanished from sight, and Blurr assumed he landed somewhere unpleasant. "Stay out," Ricochet shouted. "And don't come back." He dusted off his hands.

Blurr frowned. 'That was excessive, don't you think?'

Ricochet turned and caught Blurr's gaze from across the room. 'If you ask me, I was being gentle. Mech needs to learn to keep his hands to himself.'

'He was harassing other customers?'

'Nope. Just you, and that's reason enough for me.'

Blurr glared, jaw set. He hadn't realized Ricochet had noticed Quicken's too friendly behavior. 'What did I tell you about tossing out paying customers for looking at me sideways?'

Across the room, Ricochet shrugged and shot Blurr a cocky grin. 'You know, I can't quite remember. Maybe you should remind me later.'

Blurr growled, not that Ricochet could hear it, but before he could respond, Jazz elbowed him in the side.

"Come on, boss. The orders are piling up," Jazz said. "Yell at my brother later.”

'Just get back to work,' Blurr snapped at Ricochet, and proceeded to follow his own advice, letting the irritation with his mate simmer under the surface. They had creds to make, and a bar to keep afloat.

He didn’t understand Ricochet’s insecurity either. They were mated now, conjunx by all measures of the term and all required legalities. It had been something Blurr insisted upon before he agreed to get sparked again. Ricochet didn’t care one whit about what the law said, but Blurr wanted to make sure their sparklings were protected on the off chance anything ever happened to Blurr, and that Ricochet could legally access Blurr’s holdings.

He wanted the paperwork to show what they meant to each other. Ricochet relented, and so they had a small ceremony, with only Jazz and Bluestreak to serve as witnesses, and told their closest friends afterward. Frankly, Blurr was surprised Ricochet didn’t want to shout it from the rooftops, as possessive as he was.

Sometimes, Blurr just didn’t understand his mate.

It was less than an hour later when Ricochet pinged him to let him know Drift had arrived, Echo in arms, and Blurr had a moment to spare to toss a smile his sparkling's direction before another string of orders made him rush back and forth behind the counter.

After giving hugs and kisses to Daddy, Drift took up a post at the bar -- heedless of Blurr's offer to simply put Echo in the playroom. Ratchet needed to hurry up and spark that mech, otherwise there might be one day, Drift would refuse to give Echo back. He had sparkling envy like no one else Blurr had met.

Blurr took a moment of a breather to give Echo a kiss and push the bitlet's favorite drink across the counter -- enough to earn him a loving smile from the contrary bit, before he had to get back to work. Echo was safe in Drift's arms, leaving Blurr to focus on the job.

The poker tournament declared a victor, cheers and celebration nearly raised the roof on New Maccadams, and Blurr breathed a sigh of relief. After a round of celebratory drinks, mechs would start to trickle out and the loud fervor of the card game would start to ease.

Thank Primus.

There were no more fights, which was even more lucky, and only a few dropped cubes left sticky messes on the floor. They'd need to be scrubbed.

Blurr would make Ricochet do it.

Echo fell asleep in Drift's arms, as if the shouts and noise had no effect on him. Why couldn’t he sleep like that when he was in the comfortable quiet of his own berthroom? Sparklings were such a mystery to Blurr sometimes.

Blurr tried to take him off Drift's hands, but Drift shook his head. "You've got a mess in here and it's still pretty packed," he said as he gave Echo a fond look. "I'll tuck him in."

"You know the code." Blurr offered a grateful smile.

Honestly, without Drift, he and Ricochet would have been a little lost. It was far more work than Blurr expected, to have a family, to raise a sparkling, to own a business, and then he'd let Ricochet have his way, and now they had another bitlet coming.

Maybe Ricochet was right. Maybe, despite the strain on their creds, Blurr ought to look into hiring more.

And Blurr would definitely never tell Ricochet that there was a very slim chance he'd been right about something. Ricochet would gloat for months, and then insist he deserved a reward.

Drift took Echo upstairs.

More mechs trickled out in twos and threes and various states of inebriation. Ricochet started clearing tables while keeping one optic on the door. Blurr looked at the sticky, empty state of everything behind the bar and started on it, while Jazz took care of the remaining customers and Riptide tackled the enormous stack of dirtied dishware.

It was a team effort. Given Poker night was a weekly thing, they had it down to an art.

Blurr let Riptide leave first, and Jazz second, neither of whom argued otherwise, and trudged out of the bar with all the energy Blurr felt. He couldn't blame them one bit. He was exhausted, his lower back ached, something sticky had spilled into his left knee assembly, and his audials were still ringing.

"Another successful poker night, if I do say so myself. Which I just did." Ricochet caught Blurr's arm and reeled him in for a kiss and a nuzzle. "I should have good ideas more often."

Blurr let himself relax into the kiss with a little sigh. "Pretty sure it was my idea," he said between kisses.

"Mm. Nope. It was mine." Ricochet nipped his bottom lip and took two handfuls of Blurr's aft, pulling them in for a grind. "It was torture tonight, not having the time to touch you."

"It's called working," Blurr reminded him, but the prickling warmth of Ricochet's field flowing over him made his sensornet hum to life. "Echo spends way too many creds."

Ricochet snorted a laugh. "Aye, he's a spoiled little bit. Drift might snatch him if we're not careful. Ratchet needs to get off the damn fence already."

Sometimes, it scared Blurr how much he and Ricochet thought in sync.

"We need to finish cleaning," Blurr said, making effort to slide out of Ricochet's arms, but his mate's grip tightened.

Ricochet nuzzled into his intake, lips and denta scraping a delicious pattern over the sensitive cables. "We own this place. I think we can put it off for a few minutes."

"We is a strong word. You need to stop throwing out customers if you want to start using 'we'," Blurr grumbled, but a shiver radiated down his backstrut, and warmth trickled into his array.

"Customers who can't keep their hands to themselves don't deserve to be customers," Ricochet growled, and he nipped at Blurr's intake, leaving the impression of a bite behind. "Quicken wasn't getting the picture, so I drew it for him."

Blurr internally sighed.

He'd put a pin in this discussion.

"We've got work to do," Blurr said and Ricochet kissed him, fierce and deep, like laying claim.

"First," Ricochet said as he dragged his hands up and down Blurr's frame, finding those sensory nexuses which never failed to weaken Blurr's knees. "First, I'm going to frag you until you forget all about those pesky irritations."

"Drift's in the apartment."

Ricochet hefted Blurr and set him on the nearest table in one easy motion. "Who said anything about going upstairs?"

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?" Ricochet smirked and slid his hands down Blurr's thighs, curving them around his knees, pushing them open so he could slide between them. "The bar's closed. Drift has Echo. We own the place. There's nothing and no one to stop us." He teased Blurr's knee joint, and Blurr groaned.

He really ought to protest more. "I'm not cleaning up," he said.

"Is that your only term?" Ricochet purred as he lowered himself to a kneel and tugged Blurr forward, until he was perched on the very edge of the table, Ricochet breathing damp heat over his closed panel.

Blurr licked his lips. "You have to erase the security footage."

Ricochet groaned and knocked his forehead against Blurr's inner thigh. "Can I keep a copy for myself?"

"That depends on how good of a job you do," Blurr challenged, and he commanded his panels to open, his spike half-pressurized, and his valve already seeping lubricant in small trickles.

Ricochet barked a laugh and smirked up at him. "You drive a hard bargain, Zippy, but I think I'm up to the task."

Blurr would have said something snippy in return, but of course, Ricochet chose that moment to put promise into practice, his mouth landing on Blurr's valve in a hot, wet swipe of glossa and denta. The gentlest of scrapes, the deepest of sucks, the wettest of licks.

Blurr groaned and wrapped his legs around Ricochet's head, rocking up into his partner's mouth, his primary node throbbing with intense need. Ricochet found it immediately, pinning it between his denta, flicking the tip of his glossa over it without mercy.

Blurr shouted, backstrut arching, a lightning bolt of pleasure zapping up his spinal strut. The table groaned, and he prayed to Primus it didn't break.

"More," Blurr demanded.

Ricochet chuckled against his valve, the vibrations making Blurr's sensornet sing. Lights danced behind his optics as he scrabbled at Ricochet's shoulders, trying to gain some leverage for a satisfying grind against his mate's face. Sharpened denta scraped over his array, the perfect edge of gentle and rough, and bright sparks of ecstasy crawled through Blurr's lines.

He panted for vents, fans roaring, heat flashing through his frame. He was so much more sensitive when he was sparked, that much more quick to overload, and Ricochet was just Decepticon enough to keep taking advantage of it.

He licked and sucked, and laved such attention on Blurr's anterior node, that the pressure built and built and built until it erupted, and he bucked up sharply, riding Ricochet's mouth as he moaned through his overload. Ricochet chuckled, smug, but Blurr couldn't be bothered to care, not when he tingled from head to foot, and his valve pulsed with satisfaction.

Ricochet crawled up his frame. "Did I satisfy?" he asked, but didn’t give Blurr a chance to answer before his mouth covered Blurr's, and he tasted himself on Ricochet's glossa.

Hard heat nudged between his thighs, leaving streaks of pre-fluid along his inner plating. Blurr wound his legs around Ricochet's waist, reeled him in, canted his hips enough to catch the head of Ricochet's spike, his valve already cycling toward another overload.

"You're not done yet," Blurr said against his mouth.

Ricochet growled and snatched Blurr's hips, pulling him close but not close enough. "You drive such a hard bargain, Zippy," he growled, and thrust forward, sliding home in one deep thrust.

Lightning danced in Blurr's optics. He loosed a garbled cry, which might have been an expletive, it might have been Ricochet's designation. He scrabbled at Ricochet's back, hooked his fingers in transformation seams, and hauled his mate closer.

"Harder," Blurr demanded.

Ricochet huffed a laugh and gave him a fierce kiss. "That's my little masochist," he said and bit into Blurr's intake, hard enough to sting, as he started to thrust hard enough to rock the table, to make it creak and put up a mighty protest.

"Don't break my fragging table," Blurr gasped as charge licked up and down his frame, setting his sensor net alight. He worked his hips, trying to match Ricochet's thrusts, but without leverage, all he could do was lie on the table and take it.

Primus.

Blurr moaned, dizzy with sensation, little arcs of charge lighting up his valve, his array, his sensor net.

"It's our fragging table," Ricochet snapped, and drove into him, grinding hard against Blurr's ceiling node.

Blurr jerked, cables tightening, as overload took him again, sharper and longer this time, his valve spasming around Ricochet's spike, and his frame clamped tight around his mate's. Blurr's vision fritzed with static as he seized up in ecstasy, and then he sank into Ricochet's hold, spent and twitching.

Ricochet grinned, like a Sharkticon. "My turn," he said, and stole Blurr's mouth, fragging him even harder than before, the table giving loud squeaks of protest.

He was already close though. Blurr could tell by the frequency of Ricochet's denta sinking into his armor, leaving little scrapes and marks behind.

"Don't break me!" Blurr gasped as his back scraped the table, no doubt leaving a paint streak they'd have to scrub out.

"Not this time," Ricochet purred and buried his face against Blurr's intake and shoulder, seeking out tender cables. His denta clamped down, and Blurr moaned, his valve rippling.

It wasn't enough to send him over the edge again, but it left him floating in the hazy half-state of aroused and satiated all at once, and when the hot splash of Ricochet's overload flooded his sensitive inner nodes, Blurr's valve twitched in a game attempt at a release his system couldn't support.

"The things you do to me, Zippy," Ricochet murmured as he dragged his mouth to Blurr's, the kiss gentle considering the numerous denta marks no doubt ringing Blurr's intake.

"The mess you make of me," Blurr grumbled as he felt the slight seep of lubricant and transfluid from where they were joined.

Ricochet chuckled and dragged his mouth down, pressing a light kiss to Blurr's rounded abdomen. He slid out of Blurr and replaced his spike with his hand, gently brushing one finger over Blurr's sensitive nub.

"I said I'll clean you up. I don't go back on my word, lover."

Blurr shivered and twisted away from the touch, shifting to plant one foot on Ricochet's chassis. "Cloth."

"My sensitive little Racer." Ricochet snatched his leg and pressed a kiss to Blurr's knee before patting it and lowering it back down. "Don't go anywhere. Be right back."

“You’d better.” Blurr shifted to get comfortable on the table. His table. Their table.

Eh.

He’d get used to that eventually.

~

Drift wasn't someone who preferred tidiness by any stretch of the imagination. But with Echo waiting on his bedtime story -- which he would only accept from Mama tonight -- and Blurr and Ricochet presumably downstairs still cleaning up, Drift didn't have anything to do but tidy.

So yes.

He cleaned the washrack, and picked up the main room, and straightened up the kitchen, and gathered up the laundry. He popped in to check on Echo who was fighting off recharge with every bolt and bracket in his being. He wanted to stay awake for his parents.

Drift couldn’t blame him.

He was in the middle of wiping down the main room when the door opened and Blurr and Ricochet came inside, the latter with a smug swagger.

Of course. That’s the reason they were late.

Drift rolled his optics and tossed the dustcloth toward the laundry bin. “If you actually paid me, this would be the part where I asked for overtime creds.”

“Really? When you make such a cute little housemech?” Ricochet flopped down on the couch and sprawled. “Maybe we should hire you full-time.”

Drift glared at him. “Frag you.” He looked at Blurr instead. “Echo is waiting on a bedtime story. Apparently, only Mama would do.”

Blurr, for the first time, perked up. “He actually asked for me?”

“He’s a bitlet. I told you he’d forget he’s mad at you,” Ricochet said.

Blurr rolled his optics. “Why don’t you go back downstairs and finish cleaning up?” he said before he disappeared into Echo’s room, and a delighted squeal came pealing.

Drift laughed quietly. Echo was so adorable. It was unfair he had such an aft for a sire.

Well, maybe Drift was being unfair to Ricochet. He was an excellent sire to Echo. Drift’s dislike of Ricochet was simply because they rubbed each other the wrong way.

“I’m out,” Drift said, already heading for the door. He had no interest in hanging around with Ricochet. Besides, Ratchet would be home soon, and he didn’t want to miss that.

"Sure I can't entice you to turn that housemech intuition toward the bar?" Ricochet asked as he sidled alongside Drift, not so much seeing him out as obeying Blurr's request to finish cleaning.

"No, thanks," Drift said.

Ricochet laughed. "Well, I tried." He clapped Drift on the shoulder, and Drift flicked his armor out from under Ricochet's hand. "See you later."

Drift lifted his chin, and parted ways with Ricochet at the base of the rampwell, leaving through the side door of New Maccadam's and locking it behind him with the code Blurr had set up for Drift's use. It paid to know the boss.

Drift went home, to the apartment he shared with Ratchet, not but a stone's throw from the medical center. They had a ground floor suite so Ratchet could more easily respond to emergencies. He wasn't the only medic on Cybertron, but he liked to think he was, and Ratchet was a bit of a workaholic.

A little less as of late, but still.

The apartment was dark. A bit chilly. Had that feeling of emptiness to it. Ratchet wasn't home, despite the fact he should have been. Emergencies were less common in a post-war Cybertron, but common enough to disrupt Drift's plans.

Drift sighed and flicked on the lights, shoulders sinking a little at the mess. Maybe there was something to Ricochet's teasing, he thought as he started to tidy up. It did seem like he spent an awful lot of time cleaning up after other people.

Then again, if they ever got sparked, he supposed he'd be doing a lot more cleaning. Sparklings were messy. It was some kind of miracle how quickly they made a mess.

By the time Drift tidied, consumed some energon, and nearly fell into recharge on the couch while watching the nightly news, Ratchet hadn't come home. Comming his non-emergency line went straight to voicemail. Drift left a message though he doubted Ratchet would return it, and crawled into their berth, flopping into the plush mattress.

It had been Ratchet's gift to him, this mattress, and it never failed to put a smile on Drift's face. He didn't know berths could be this comfortable until Ratchet had this mattress custom made for him.

“You deserve nice things,” he'd said in that gruff, dismissive way of his, but his field had wafted love and devotion. Drift knew what he really meant.

It made his spark fill with warmth.

Drift snuggled down into the mattress and dozed, half his sensors on alert, waiting for Ratchet's return. He didn't expect to actually fall asleep, but taking care of Echo had a tendency to drain his energy, and when he next swam to consciousness, it was to Ratchet sliding into the berth beside him, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Drift hummed and curled into his mate's chest. "Emergency?"

"Depends on who you ask. Good news is, Knock Out owes me a favor."

Drift chuckled. The rivalry between Ratchet and the former Decepticon surgeon was becoming the stuff of legend.

"We'll have to think of a good use for that." Drift tilted his head up and caught the next kiss on his lips. Ratchet tasted like energon, and he smelled like he'd washed up before coming home. "Missed you."

Ratchet sank down into the berth and pulled Drift into the cradle of his frame. "Sorry. I know I said I was going to try and stick to my schedule from now on."

"Well. We can't account for Knock Out."

"True. How's Echo?"

"Still going through a phase. Still spoiled. Still impossibly adorable." Drift shifted until he was atop Ratchet, straddling his mate's frame, his arms folded across Ratchet's chassis and his chin resting on his crossed wrists. "And I still haven't changed my mind."

It was a good sign when Ratchet's hands found his hips and slid down to cup his aft. An even better sign when Ratchet shifted to give Drift a better seat. There was no fatigue in his field.

All very promising.

"Good," Ratchet said, and his lips curved with something a bit like mischief, which so few got to see. "Because I have."

Drift perked. "Really?" He narrowed his optics. "Don't tease me, Ratchet."

Ratchet squeezed his aft and rocked up a little. The heat of his array became tangible. "I wouldn't about something like this. I mean it, Drift." His optics darkened with growing arousal. "I think we're ready."

"You mean, you're ready. I've been ready since before Echo was born," Drift pointed out, unable to help himself just a smidge. He did shift, enough to meet Ratchet's slow rocks with little grinds of his own. "We should get started now."

"I still have to deactivate your shunt and remove the cap," Ratchet reminded him.

"First thing tomorrow." Drift sat up, shifted forward to kiss Ratchet before settling back on top of Ratchet's hips, grinding down slow and sensual. "Consider this a practice run."

"I thought we'd gotten enough practice already." Ratchet thrust up against him, and the wet, hot slide of a pressurized spike skated over Drift's valve cover. "I think we're experts by now."

Drift chuckled and popped his panel, angling his hips to catch Ratchet's spike and immediately sink down on it. They groaned in unison, Drift's fingers curling into a transformation seam on Ratchet's abdomen.

"Practice makes perfect," he said, and started to move, up and down, side to side, little swivels of his hips which he knew Ratchet loved. That it resulted in Ratchet's spike grinding over and over his ceiling node, well, that was just happenstance. Purely coincidental.

Drift vented a moan, shivers crawling up and down his spinal strut.

"You're already perfect," Ratchet murmured, his hands sweeping up and down Drift's sides, his hips, his aft, his upper thighs. He traced sensory patterns in Drift's armor, like the highly skilled medic he was, drawing lines of dermal pleasure to make Drift's head spin.

Or maybe that was Ratchet's sweetness, always given in these quiet moments, and Drift's spark throbbed even harder with affection.

Drift's valve tightened, and he rocked harder, faster, his vents coming in sharp bursts. "You're not going to change your mind, right? You really want this?"

Ratchet reached up, cupped his cheek, drew him down for a slow and sweet kiss, his other hand sweeping in to thumb Drift's anterior nub with the perfect circling pressure.

"I want this with you," Ratchet murmured.

Drift shivered, hips jerking toward the pleasure of Ratchet's thumb and the pulsing charge of Ratchet's spike, perfectly thick to graze over the inner nodes.

"We're going to have a family," he said quietly, joy bubbling up in his spark. He kissed Ratchet, a bit more fiercely this time, the pleasure twisting and coiling inside of him, threatening to burst. "You and me and a little sparkling that'll look like us."

Ratchet cupped his face and pulled him in for another kiss, slow and gentle and loving. "Yes, we are."

Overload came to Drift not in a burst, but in a slow, building throb that started in his groin and spread throughout his entire frame. He sighed against Ratchet's mouth, lights bursting behind his optics. Ratchet kissed and stroked him through it, drawing out the pleasure, and Drift's entire frame tingled.

He rocked his hips, slow and grinding, squeezing down as he did so, knowing how Ratchet liked it best. Nothing made Ratchet go off faster than a long, languorus grind, so Drift gave it to him. And yes, admittedly, it had the added benefit of pulling another gentle overload from Drift, and he shuddered through a second release as Ratchet spilled inside of him.

"I love you," Drift breathed against Ratchet's lips.

Ratchet didn't say it back. He rarely did. But the way he held Drift, kissed him so soft and sweet, that spoke more than enough.

***