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More than Anything

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“So, what’s a ‘heart’?”

To any normal person, the question would have seemed strange. It would have been so odd to hear, considering that, up until a few months ago, you assumed most living things tend to have hearts and, as such, wouldn’t really need to ask the question of what a heart was. But that was before you learned that there were much more things out in the universe--more than you could have ever imagined; so the question seemed so foreign, so curious, so alien .

“It’s hilarious to hear you ask that,” You say with a genuine chuckle, leaning against the leg of the robot standing beside you. “You call yourself a doctor in one breath and ask me what a heart is in the next.”

The scoff that came from your rather unhumanly companion was nothing short of amused than anything else; you could almost feel the playfulness radiating from him, a teasing joy that most others never got to see from the old autobot.

“Just because I’m a doctor a’ one species doesn’t mean I know everything ‘bout another.” After a moment, the autobot beside you, Ratchet, shifted, turning his attention to a screen for a breath as it flickered something in a foreign language over it. “But you didn’ answer the question. What is a heart for you humans?”

“It pumps blood through our body,” You say in a simple answer.

“Blood?”

“Er,” It takes a few moments to come up with an answer, caught off-guard for the dozenth time by the sheer biological differences between the two species. “It’s like...what keeps us going; provides oxygen to our muscles and tissues. Like fuel that criss-crosses through the body that the heart keeps moving.”

A noise of distinct appreciation clicks from Ratchet’s mouth.

“Ah, fuel,” he says, stepping away slowly enough so that you have time to stop leaning on his leg. “Now that’s a term I’m more familiar with. Blood is human fuel, makes sense--can’t imagine what sorta fuel wouldn’t cause all those fragile tissues of yours to degrade over time.”

Ratchet mostly spoke in jest and amusement, which is something you’ve come to respect about him--for as grumpy as the man could be from his years, no, millennia of war, he could still find some moments of peace to himself. You could admire his experience and could absolutely respect his knowledge as a doctor, even if he was a doctor for a species completely different from your own.

“We’re not that fragile,” You say with a gentle laugh, though you knew you couldn’t continue to argue if he chose to fight the notion. Fragile was up for debate, depending on how one looked at weakness.

Ratchet seemed not to care, or at least not enough to continue the teasing. Instead, he turned his attention to whatever was on the screen before him, an alien language flashing before his eyes and shifting as he clicked idly at the workstation.

The two of you worked in blissful silence for a short while.

By the time you shifted out of your own thoughts again and looked to the side, you found that Ratchet had changed sizes at some point, though he was still tapping idly at the matter-less screen before him (which had also sized down with him).

After a moment, the autobot doctor seemed to notice your attention and turned his bright blue eyes to meet yours, a chuckle slowly working out of him.

“It’s easier to focus when I’m not worried that I’m gonna accidentally step on ya’,” he said, but you could tell that was only part of his reasons--the rest remained unspoken. You didn’t care to force the thoughts from the doctor’s mind, so you merely turned your attentions back to your own work and simply enjoyed Ratchet’s company.

It was soothing to work beside him, to occasionally bump your body against his frame and linger, if only for a few heartbeats. It’s one of the things that help keep you focused just as much as it distracts you. Ratchet almost hums to himself as he works, a tone gentle and low as it rumbles deep from his chest, soothing your nerves and thoughts until the two of you are working in perfect synch, until the two of you are barely aware of how you step out of one another’s way, how you pass information and answer questions without even needing to finish a sentence.

It’s a harmony you’ve grown so fond of.

The two of you are working side-by-side soon enough, your body nearly leaning against his own. Even at his size-compressed form he stands several heads over you, a force that cloaks your thoughts with the feeling of comfort and protection whether Ratchet means to or not.

“I’m just about done with my work,” You say after a moment, cutting the remains of an excuse that you weren’t looking to use his form to lean against. “What about you?”

Ratchet lets out a little grunt, eyes attuned to the flickering screen before finally thinking over your simple question.

“Done enough for the day,” he says, head tilting to the side as he presses something. “I mean, there’s never really an end to the work--you suggestin’ for something?”

Ratchet turned his form before you could realize it; luckily, the autobot was fast enough to gently wrap his arms around you, both to keep you from falling to the ground and to press you to his chest.

“I--I mean,” your words are a little jostled from the near-fall. “I could be suggesting something. Maybe.”

Blue eyes watched you for a few moments, widened slightly, and then fell into a look of sly interest.

“Oh,” Ratchet said. “ Oh , like that is it?” His grip tightened, but at no point did it hurt; you could feel his fingertips rubbing little circles against the small of your back. He was very gentle, but the touch was enough to make heat blossom on your cheeks.

“Could be,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. “Hypothetically, what would you do about it if it was….like that .”

Ratchet’s smirk only widened.

“What any good doctor should,” You could feel the passion almost burning from the autobot’s bright, focused optics. “--plenty of research and a good, thorough examination.”

You weren’t sure whether it was his choice of words or the gentle, low purr of his voice, but Ratchet’s response sent a delicious shiver down your spine. His gaze felt like a smoldering fire, a heat that burned deep into your belly--

You needed him right then and there.

Though heat blossomed across your face, though your heart jackhammered against your ribs, you met his fervent gaze with what you hoped was a playful, endearing look.

“Then what are you waiting for?” The words barely felt cohesive, let alone how they sounded to your own ears. They did the trick regardless, gently nudging Ratchet to the next stage of intimacy--you could see that subtle shift in his eyes.

And, in a heartbeat, you closed your eyes and felt him lean down to you, lips meeting in a swift, but passionate kiss.


For all that Ratchet was (a doctor, an experienced veteran, a war-hardened grump) he was a surprisingly tentative lover. For as much of a hard act he tend to put on, it was rare for him to be rough with you--at least without some begging beforehand. He was gentle, but passionate, careful to tend to you with as much curiosity and wonder that he seemed to look at everything else he did in his line of work.

Suffice to say it didn’t take very long for the two of you to be wrapped up in one another, limbs askew in a mess of the heated want you shared.

He had you on his berth--what you had quickly learned was their version of a bed--your body beneath him. Experience had lent itself to there being a fair few layers of thick blankets below you, to shield you from the otherwise cold metal surface and offer some buffer from the autobot’s weight on your body.

But it was, in a word, delicious. The warmth, the pressure, the feeling of his splayed hands framing around your head. It was hard not to feel the center of his world, not when what little light there was in the dark room was otherwise coming from his bright, beautiful blue eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” you heard him murmur, somewhere between the groans that spilled from his lips. “So, so damn beautiful…”

His hips moved slowly, but with enough firm, almost restrained power that made your body shake regardless. You could feel him inside you, opening you up and rubbing against your inner walls in ways that made you want to sob.

The pleasure kept any words from leaving your mouth in response, so you hoped that your smile, your pleasure, your little mewls of want were enough so that he knew how good he made you feel. Your hands scrabbled uselessly against his metal form, legs hardly able to wrap around his hips to keep him close and thrusting into you--it was one of the distinct annoyances of his matter-compressed form, but also the most delightful.

He felt so protective--it was like nothing bad could happen to you, not when Ratchet was right there, holding you, murmuring in your ear with sweet nothings as his hips moved almost in synch with your heartbeat.

Heaven, perhaps; that’s what it might have been.

And all the while he moved, you could hear Ratchet whispering to you, positioned just so his words fell right beside your head and almost wrench a moan from you for their filth alone.

“I love havin’ you all tucked up like this,” he’d say, voice a purr. “It makes it so much easier to stuff ya’ full of me. Been wonderin’ how much I can spill inside you until yer’ drippin’.”

To emphasize his words, Ratchet rocked his hips particularly hard against yours, sending his metalic cock so damn deep inside you; you couldn’t help but let out a delightful sob at the way it opened you wide, how it filled you up, pressed against every goddamn bundle of nerves to make you feel like putty beneath his massive form.

“Sounds t’me like you like that, don’t you?” Ratchet wasn’t looking for a response, he wasn’t looking for anything more than the understanding that his words were having a positive effect on you--and they damn well were . “Just love how my spike fills a lil’ human like you up? Yeah, that’s right, such a tiny lil’ thing, but I bet you’d look beautiful with my sparkling inside of ‘ya.”

A sparkling?

“You’d get nice n’ round, I figure,” Ratchet continued, his voice gentle and his eyes keen to your response. “An old bot like me doesn’t have any business thinkin’ about kids, but prime above if you don’t make me want it.”

He moved his face, just slightly enough to press a kiss to your forehead. One hand of his moved, down to your body, pressing and caressing over any curve and plane of your body that he could.

“Would you want that baby?”

Ratchet’s voice sounded so soft, almost teetering on the edge of unsure, of nervous. It took a moment before you had the ability to open your eyes, to let your thoughts fall back into place to realize that your eyes were mere inches away from his own. Blue optics searched yours for a response, and you could see the depth of emotions that were hiding behind Ratchet’s question.

Want. Fear. Shame. Curiosity. There were so many, you weren’t sure at first what he was hoping to get as an answer, but words fell from your lips before you could stop them.

“Yes.”

It sounded like a sigh, breathless and wanting. You repeat yourself once, and then again, legs trying desperately to curl around his hips so that you could encourage him to keep moving, to keep fucking you.

“Please,” You whispered, almost too quiet to hear yourself. “I want it--Ratchet, I’d want your sparkling. Give it to me.”

It was like a damn had been broken. Ratchet’s eyes blinked rapidly as he took in your answer, at the tumbling information he didn’t realize he wanted ( craved ).

Oh, ” Is all you hear from his mouth before Ratchet seems to shift (not literally, thank god), his energy spiking as his body gently leans back and his hands move to find a purchase on your hips. “I didn’t take you for being so spike-hungry, baby.”

His pace quickened. The change in position somehow made him go even deeper , and that was more than enough to make you start crying out his name into the open air of the room, thankful for nothing more than the fact that the walls were mostly soundproof, that the kids were at school, that the other autobots were busy with their own tasks--

“Say it again.”

Ratchet’s deep, husky tone pulled you right out of your jumbled thoughts. He sounded passionate, starved for something--something he could only get from you.

“Say it again ,” He repeated. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

But words, they were not working for you; you were lucky to let out a strained moan let alone an understandable string of words.

“Wantyout’putasparklinme.” Between the sounds of want and pleasure, the plea was barely English.

Ratchet thrust harder still, his fingers pressed delightfully firm into the soft, warm flesh of your hips. He growled, a noise coming from deep in his chest, and rumbled the demand once more before threatening the one thing that could easily snap you to crystal-clear thoughts: he stopped thrusting. Completely stopped moving, and it only took you a second to put all the puzzle pieces together.

A sob fell from your lips before you could stop it.

“Your sparkling,” Is all you can sob, your hands moving to cover his in the hopes that the intimate touch of skin-on-metal would help your cause of pleading him to keep fucking you again. “I want your sparkling, Ratchet--please, please fill me up, fuck me .”

You repeated it once, twice, a slew of words slammed together in the middle of your pleasure-hazy thoughts that only wanted more of Ratchet’s warmth and comfort.

Take me. Have me. Fill me with your sparkling.

It was like a switch was flipped, the air going thick with it as Ratchet finally began to move again. Where he had been almost overly gentle and slow in his pace, he fucked you like a bot possessed, his hands gripping tight to your form, his body kneeling over you as he moved with fervent, powerful thrusts. It wasn’t quick before you were on the edge, pleasure scorching through your limbs and want practically dripping from your lips in the form of his name.

Electricity coursed through you with every moment, every heartbeat--you could feel the heat building, the tension and near-stiffness of Ratchet’s motions as he drew ever so close to climax.

All you could do was cling to him when everything fell to blissful, perfect pieces. He hovered over your form as the two of you fell over the edge, orgasm washing over your thoughts and bodies in a tidal wave of pleasure. Ratchet felt so warm, so big, so perfect--he held you through each euphoric moment like something precious, cooing and murmuring sweet nothings beside your ear until the both of you were left boneless and limp on the half-covered berth.

Though the metal was cool to the touch for what patches of bare skin on your legs and shoulders touched it, as the blankets had nearly been tossed off from the fervent lovemaking, the heat from the sex itself left you without much of a care.

Ratchet pulled himself out slowly, careful for what twinges of discomfort were always rather inevitable with him due to his rather sizable endowment alone (compared to your size, at least). You felt….full. It was a hard thing to describe, if only because your lover was a different species; the basic components of sex seemed to be much the same way for Cybertronians as it was for humans, but there was always something so delightful in Ratchet fucking you.

He always left you feeling so warm and full, dripping of his trans fluids and probably marked up in more ways than you could sense of him. He rarely left physical marks (due to how careful he tried to be) but there was always something lovely in the carnal marking of feeling the wetness between your thighs after your coupling.

As Ratchet wrapped his arms around you and shuffled your bodies so you were laying on his chest, you pulled the blanket with you to seal the lovely warmth the two of you had made. The fabric, though a little messied from the sex, was soft and comforting as you cocooned yourself over the autobot doctor. He wasn’t soft in the manner that you would have described other lovers (more human lovers), but Ratchet was sweet, lifting a hand to stroke down the center of your back--you could feel his curious eyes upon you even if you didn’t see him staring.

“...I meant it, you know,” you said, without opening your eyes.

You didn’t need to see him and his expression to know he wanted an explanation.

“What I said during….well, you know.”

“I don’t know if I do,” Ratchet said, his voice soft.

It sounded cute to hear him unsure, perhaps a little nervous. He sounded genuine, sweet and vulnerable--he sounded a way that few people, if anyone beyond you, could hear him.

“About having your sparkling,” You spoke as you finally opened your eyes, meeting his optics and their curious blue glow in the near-darkness of the room. “....About….wanting you to fill me with a sparkling….a baby. I meant it. I’d want to be a parent with you, Ratchet.”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, long enough that you almost weren’t sure if that’s what he had wanted to hear from you. Unsure worry started to flicker into pure anxiety before his soft smile soothed it all away; it was such a pure, genuine expression that made him look anything but the battle-hardened doctor that he was.

“That makes me happy,” he murmured, his hands gently pulling you closer, so he could press a kiss to the top of your head. “Something an old ‘bot like me doesn’t deserve, but damn if I’d pass up half a chance to make it a reality. But uh…”

He let out a chuckle.

“Guess that means we’ll need to do quite a bit of experimentin’ to see if that’s even possible, eh?”

You could barely muster up the energy to smack a hand on his chest in indignant, but teasing annoyance.

“You dork.”

You nuzzle your face against Ratchet’s chest, pleased at the gentle, warm hum that rumbled from his body. Ratchet rubbed his hand gently down your back, soothing away the little aches that started to make themselves known in your muscles. One of the downsides of having a lover several feet taller than you, but like hell if you were about to complain about it.

Still, the reminder was lovely and warm, just as much as Ratchet himself was; your protector, your lover, your everything.

“Ratchet?”

“Hm?”

You let out a slow, relaxed breath and pressed your cheek to the warm metal of his chest.

“...I love you so much.”

There was a breath of silence. A careful shift of his body beneath you, largely for comfort’s sake, and then his second hand moved to stroke his fingers down your back in a motion of comfort.

“I love you too,” He murmured, sweetly. “More than anything.”