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Drift wakes up with a clenching in his tanks and a prickling all over his frame. There's a tight, sharp pain in his abdomen, the ache spreading outwards, an uncomfortable heat rising in him. He shifts slightly, trying to see if it will fade away with a readjustment of his plates and opening of his vents, to no avail.
He's careful though, to not disturb the frame he's curled up next to. Ratchet's presence is warm and solid, an arm holding Drift close even deep into recharge. They've been sharing the single berth in the shuttle for a little while now, even before the night of their first kiss. All of this has been so new, from learning how to be in each other's space to figuring out what works and what doesn't. Drift hasn't felt this happy in years — maybe ever — and he hopes that Ratchet feels even a fraction of the same.
But for now, he can't ignore the pain, as much as he tries to shutter his optics and settle back into recharge. Even Ratchet's solid frame wrapped around him can't assuage it, as much as he wants to burrow deep into his arms.
Drift gently moves away from Ratchet, settling his arm softly back onto the berth and pulling the cover up and over his sleeping frame as he stands up. Ratchet's face is smoother in recharge, the lines in the protoform a little softer and more relaxed. Drift aches to run his digits over the etchings under his optics, but lets him be for now — he needs all the sleep he can get.
He quietly makes his way over to the washracks, his too-hot frame itching for some cool solvent. He's not shedding heat like he's supposed to do, like he's built to do — hopefully the shower will help. Drift starts up the spray, stretching as he stands underneath it. They haven't been able to stay out of trouble, seemingly encountering something on every planet or moon or space station they've landed on, but the past few days have been relatively quiet, so he's unsure of why he's feeling this way now, of all the possible times. It must just be his frame finally feeling the weight of everything they've gone through, he lands on.
Drift takes his time in the washracks, luxuriating in the feel of the solvent over his frame. He runs his servos over his cables and plating, getting his digits between the seams of his armour, cleaning himself down to his protoform. Being able to be clean, to get clean, and stay clean is a luxury in itself, one that he hasn't always had. The grime of the Dead End had permeated every crack and seam in his frame, even when it was sometimes more psychological than physical. The Decepticon washracks were regulated, for efficiency and utilization of resources, but even then it was a welcome change — a sign that he would never have to return to the dirt that he came from.
He could spend an eternity right here, but he has better things waiting for him outside. Drift shuts off the solvent, grabbing the chamois to dry himself off. His frame is still uncomfortable, that ache still there, the heat building in him despite having the solvent on the coldest setting. But he's never been a stranger to being uncomfortable in his frame. It's just another part of his life at this point, the way he'll sometimes be unable to feel his digits, how his spark occasionally feels disconnected from the rest of him, to how he feels like he's not even in his frame at all, looking down at it from somewhere else. Today does feel a little different, but he shakes it off. Maybe he just needs to refuel — some extra additives might do the trick.
He makes his way into the little makeshift kitchen, filling a cube with some energon and mixing in some magnesium powder and sprinkling some bismuth shards in. It's a treat to be able to refuel like this, but he feels like he needs it today. Drift goes to take a sip, but puts his cube back down and fills up another, swirling in Ratchet's favourite silicate. He picks up both cubes and makes his way back to their — another thing! having their berth, not just a berth! how wonderful that is — berth, Ratchet propped up slightly with optics trained on him. He obviously hasn't been awake for long, still rubbing the sleeprust out of his face and the berthsheets rumpled and messy around him. Drift thinks he looks perfect.
"Good morning," Drift says, perching lightly on Ratchet's side and handing him his cube.
"Mornin'," Ratchet says, holding Drift's servo to his lips for a kiss as takes his cube. The affection sends a thrill through him, his plating somehow more sensitive under Ratchet's touch. He takes a sip, making a pleased noise. "Mm, that's good. Thank you, sweetspark."
Drift flushes, the heat in him building. "It's nothing. Gotta keep you fueled — you're the only doctor around for parsecs," he teases. He finally takes a sip of his energon, now that he knows Ratchet likes his. It's not as satisfying as it would normally be, which is strange.
He shifts a little, pressing a servo to his back to try to stretch it out a little to see if it will help with the cramps, grimacing slightly as he does so.
Ratchet's brow furrows, his thumb running over Drift's knuckle joints.
"You alright?"
"Just haven't been feeling great this morning. I took a shower earlier, but even that didn't really help," Drift says, straightening up to try to alleviate the pain in his struts.
"You mind if I check you out?"
"Please," Drift replies, setting his energon aside and shifting away the cover on his wrist port with a gentle hiss. Ratchet unspools his diagnostic cable and plugs it in, gentle even in the simple touch. It's sweet. He might still have his gruffness and rough edges, but Drift's seen his softer side come out more and more often as of late.
Ratchet's optics flicker as he parses through the readouts, sifting through the code. "Alright, let's see what we're working with here. Fuel levels are a little low, internal temperature is a lot higher than usual, sparkbeat seems fine — oh. You're in heat."
Everything seems to come closing in on Drift, feeling nothing but a tide of panic telling him that he needs to get out of here, to run, to find a corner where no one can find him. Every vent slams shut, the plates of his armour tighten, cables and pistons tense as he surges away from the berth, Ratchet's cable detaching from his port as he jerks up, moving away from Ratchet. He can't keep the tremble out of his frame, his servos on the the hilts of his swords, only stopping when his back hits the wall.
"Drift? Are you alright?" Ratchet asks, concern evident in his voice as he sits up. "It's okay, I can help —"
"No!" Drift snaps, fear running through his processor. "No, no, I don't need- I need- please don't-" he can't find the words, his vocalizer choking up from the panic.
He can't do this. Not again. Not here, with Ratchet, on this shuttle with nowhere to go. Drift hears Ratchet say something, his voice faint as Drift sinks deeper into himself. He has to get out of here.
Drift turns to run, to go find a supply closet he can bury himself in until this is over, but his legs collapse under him, the heat coding rebelling against him now that it's detected a potential charge sink. He stumbles back into the nearest corner, bringing his legs in close and holding his swords out in front of him. He doesn't know if he'll even be able to use them properly, with how much he's trembling, but it's better than nothing. The small, rational part of his processor is telling him that Ratchet's safe, he's not going to do anything, but he can't hear it. All that's on his mind is the need to protect himself, to stop anyone from touching him. Drift shifts his legs in closer, bringing his knees up protectively and — oh, there it is. If there was any doubt that he was in heat, it's gone now, with an uncomfortable wetness growing behind his modesty panel.
Every time he's been in heat, he's hated it. It's his body going against him, telling him that he needs to find someone and do something that he doesn't even want, that he's never wanted. The way he can't seem to shed heat fast enough, the aching in his tanks, the slickness behind his panel, that would be bad enough if not for the mechs around him. They view him as something to be won, to be taken for themselves, as if his heat is an invitation to get their servos on him. He's had to defend himself more than once, both as Drift and Deadlock, before finding the nearest place that he could lock himself in until it was over. The only times he felt relatively okay was the one time he went into heat in the Dead End, Gasket standing guard by his door and holding him close after it was done, and when he went to Megatron, early in the days of the war — he had made sure that Drift was protected, that his locks were secure.
The programming isn't even…extreme, but too many use it as an excuse to get too close. It's just a simple, evolutionary thing, designed to periodically help offset large amounts of residual charge, but Drift hates it. It's never been anything short of awful, the sensory experience alone enough to make him want to rip out his tanks. And now, it's led to him here, in this tiny shuttle, alone with Ratchet. Alone and unable to do anything about it.
He sees Ratchet move off of the berth but doesn't move closer to Drift, instead opting to settle himself in the corner opposite him. Drift's still holding his swords out in front of him, arms shaking from the effort when normally it wouldn't take any at all. He's scared, plain and simple. He trusts Ratchet, he does, but he's seen too many try to hurt him when he's like this. Maybe Ratchet will just leave him like this, alone in his corner. Maybe when it's over, Ratchet can hold him, if he hasn't decided that Drift isn't worth the effort.
"Hey. Hey kid, I'm going to stay right here, okay? I won't come closer unless you say," Ratchet's voice comes out, gruff but with a tinge of something else. Softness, love, as if Drift even deserves it right now. He lifts his helm from where he'd hidden his face away with only his optics peering out, looking towards Ratchet. His optics try to refocus through the haze, settling on the red and white paint of the mech across from him.
"There you are. I missed seeing that face," Ratchet says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.
Drift doesn't know if it's Ratchet's tone, or the soft look on his face, or the exhaustion finally catching up to him, but his arms give out and he drops his swords with a clatter, ringing against the floor of the shuttle. He expects Ratchet to move closer, now that he's in no shape to hurt him, but — he stays where he is. He didn't even move an inch. Something deep inside Drift unclenches at the sight, looking at this wonderful mech in front of him.
"We can-frag, this goes against everything in me as a medic, but we can stay like this. Okay? I can get you some fuel, if you feel like you can keep it down. Whatever you want, okay?"
Some traitorous little part of Drift wants Ratchet to hold him, to not interface at all, just to have him close, but he can't have that.
Right?
Drift gives a little nod, his vocalizer still trying to reboot. He wraps his arms around himself, holding his knees close to the rest of his body.
"Hey, you said no interfacing, so no interfacing it is. I'm not going to go back on my word because of some stupid coding. You've set your boundaries, kid, and I'm sure as the Pit going to respect them," Ratchet says, stretching his legs out in front of him.
Drift remembers that conversation, and everything leading up to it. It was the main thing he'd worried about when coming into this with Ratchet — that he didn't want to interface with him, had never wanted to frag at any point in his life. Ratchet had taken it in stride, and had even helped map out Drift's boundaries, where and where not to touch and hold and kiss. He'd never felt more loved than in that moment, even if they haven't said anything to each other yet. Having Ratchet's servos on his frame, just holding him for the sake of holding him, is something he thinks he'll never be able to give up, and why would he want to? It's everything he could ask for, that he ever wanted.
That settles something in Drift, that little part of him that said that Ratchet wasn't going to hurt him, not like this, turning smug and satisfied. That doesn't get rid of everything else, though.
Drift groans as a wave of pain rolls through him, his tanks churning. He holds himself closer, but when that doesn't do anything, he drops his legs down in a mimic of Ratchet's position across from him.
He sees Ratchet's brow furrow in concern, but he stops himself from moving towards Drift.
"Hey, I know what I said about letting you be. But I'm worried about you. Can you at least tell me what you're feeling?"
Drift has to reset his vocalizer a few times before answering, the words coming out in a low rasp. "Everything's too warm. These cramps are killing me — not literally killing me, it's fine — and my tanks are rolling. And my struts don't feel too good either," he adds.
"Okay, standard heat symptoms. Can you open your vents for me? You've had them closed for a bit now."
Drift sends the command to open his vents, but nothing happens, even when he shutters his optics and tries an override.
"I can't. It's not working," he says, trying to keep the panic out of his voice but failing. His frame's not designed to store heat, and too much could damage his internals, but he can't open his vents to cool him down. This could get so much worse and quickly.
"Okay, I've got you. We're going to work this out," Ratchet says, unspooling his medical cable again. "Frag, I knew I should've upgraded to a longer one," he curses as he extends it all the way, nowhere near long enough to span the distance between them.
Drift is tired. He's tired and sick of this, and wants this to be over, preferably without his internals melting away.
"You can come closer," he says, voice cracking slightly.
"…Are you sure?" Ratchet says, servos stilling from where they are on the cable.
"Please, let's just get this over with," Drift says as he extends his wrist out like he did before, panel pulled back to reveal his wrist ports.
"Okay, but as soon as you say, I'll back off, okay?" Ratchet shuffles closer, in a crouch that definitely can't be comfortable, but doesn't stand up, which soothes some part of Drift. His frame is tense, anticipating Ratchet's touch, ready to bolt if he needs to, but as Ratchet's servo gently grasps on to his wrist, he does the opposite. Drift doesn't know what comes over him, but that simple touch unlocks something in him, a yearning to hold Ratchet and be held by him, to not go through this alone. His arms reach up and around Ratchet, causing him to lose balance and stumble half on-top of Drift.
Ratchet moves as if to pull himself away, but Drift doesn't let go. He can't let go.
"Please don't go," Drift pleads, burying his face into the cables of Ratchet's neck. There's something screaming inside of him, a pain that's only sated by Ratchet's presence, the press of his frame on Drift's.
"I-okay, whatever you say. But you tell me if anything's not right, alright?" Ratchet says as feels for Drift's wrist. A wave of relief goes through Drift, relaxing his hold enough that Ratchet can plug the cable in. He feels Ratchet's presence in his systems, wrapping around his processor in almost a mirror of their current embrace. He's gentle as he checks over Drift's operating processes, and lets out a satisfied huff as he finds what he's looking for.
"I'm going to medically override your vent systems. The heat coding was trying to keep you warm, but it seemingly malfunctioned. It's going to feel a little uncomfortable at first, but you'll feel much better almost immediately after."
Drift just nods in his embrace, trusting Ratchet to do what he needs to do. He feels a slight pressure on his processor, then as if someone pushed open all of his vents at once, jolting him slightly in Ratchet's hold. But the surge of hot air that follows, allowing him to cycle in cool air once again, makes him sigh in relief.
"Better?" Ratchet rumbles against him.
"Yeah. Thank you," Drift says, gently squeezing him in gratitude. Drift shifts a little in his hold, the Great Sword on his back pressing into him uncomfortably, adding to the overstimulation he's already feeling.
Ratchet must've noticed, because the next words out of his mouth are, "Do you want to move? I…don't want to suggest the berth, but it might be the best option. Obviously the floor isn't comfortable, for either of us."
Drift hesitates, not knowing what to say.
"I'm not going to touch you, not anywhere you've said is okay. Sure, the coding can be persuasive for lesser mechs, but it's not hard to ignore it if you actually give a damn. And I sure as slag give a damn about you."
That's what gets Drift to nod, to say yes — that firm reassurance that Ratchet cares about him, not only as a partner, but about his safety, his well being, his happiness. Having someone like this, unwavering in his care and support, is something that Drift's looked for all of his life, even if he didn't know it. And he sure isn't going to let go, if it's the last thing he does.
Ratchet gets himself up, bracing himself against the floor without letting go of Drift, taking his free servo to hold him under the knees before settling into berth, lying down with Drift half on-top of him.
Drift sinks into the berth, his pistons finally relaxing and letting go of their tension, his cables no longer coiled and tight. Ratchet is here with him, and he's okay. This is going to be okay.
His plating is still tight, though, pulled close to him even as Ratchet runs a servo over his back. His armour bunches and releases slightly, his struts still stiff with pain. Maybe if he tries to ignore it and just concentrate on Ratchet underneath him, he can get through this. They're still connected, Ratchet not prodding or going through any of his systems, but just stays close, a comforting blanket over his processor.
"Okay. This is up to you, but there is something I can do to help with the cramps. I've done it a few times, and it won't go past any of your boundaries."
Drift turns his helm to the side, resting in the gap between Ratchet's neck and windshield. "Honestly? I'll take anything at this point. These cramps won't go away, no matter what I do." He pouts a little, trying to get Ratchet to laugh.
He does, his chassis rumbling underneath Drift and breaking some of the tension. "Okay, okay, let's see how I do."
Ratchet brings both of his servos to Drift's lower back, running along the seams. At first, Drift doesn't notice anything unusual, but after a few moments, he feels Ratchet's servos warm up, but instead of the cloying, awful heat he was feeling before, this is pleasant, soothing — almost like a heated berth pad.
"Can you open up a little for me, sweetspark? I promise it'll feel so much better."
Oh, if that doesn't send a pleasant shudder all the way down to his pedes. Drift vents in and out, opening his plates out slightly on the exvent. Ratchet traces his digits in between the seams, wider now, stroking and massaging along the protoform underneath. His firm touch and the drag of warmth causes Drift to almost groan in relief, Ratchet tracing along all the right spots to help soothe the pain.
"Good?" Ratchet asks, a little smile on his face.
"Frag, I didn't know you could do that. If you wanted me to never leave the berth, well, that's how," Drift jokes, feeling a little more like himself.
"Just a little medic thing — controlling temperature in our servos helps with some procedures and with recuperating patients. But it also has other uses, including helping with pain relief," Ratchet says, pleased as he continues massaging in between Drift's joints, his servos running all over his lower back, but staying firmly above his hips and away from his aft.
Drift lets out a long sigh of relief as he shifts his plating open a little more, allowing Ratchet to dig in deeper. Drift can't help but nuzzle into Ratchet's neck, utterly content in the affection. Ratchet doesn't stop, just makes sure to give each strut, cable, and piston an equal amount of attention, carefully tracing over each one while applying just the right amount of pressure.
This…all of this is beyond what Drift thought he would be allowed to have. Never has he thought that someone would do all of this willingly, without the promise of a frag or taking him in heat. But Ratchet has surprised him at every turn, despite his protests that he's only being a decent mech. Ratchet's so much more than a decent mech — he's wonderful. His servos are the only ones Drift's ever wanted on him, with his frame beside him, and his wonderful, perfect spark underneath it all.
Drift doesn't know how to show his appreciation through words alone, if they'll even come out, but he shifts himself up to hover his face over Ratchet's, bringing them together in a kiss. He just sinks into it, trying to convey how much he loves him and is grateful for him by touch alone. By the way Ratchet holds him close and kisses him back, he thinks he got the message.
"You're not alone, alright? Not as long as you got me," Ratchet says, servos still caressing his back.
"If you think I'll ever leave you again, you've got another thing coming," Drift says with a little smile.
That makes Ratchet's optics go bright, a smile breaking through on his face, brilliant and beautiful. "Right back at you, sweetspark."
Drift settles back down into Ratchet's embrace, the heat and pain still there, but now with Ratchet with him, he knows he never has to go back to the loneliness he knew.
"Comfortable?"
"Yeah. At least as comfortable I'll be able to get," Drift says, shifting a little from where he's pressed against Ratchet. "Oh — but what about you? How are you feeling? Are you okay with…all of this?"
They've been holding each other the last little bit, Ratchet leaving every so often to top up on Drift's cube. It's…nice. It's been more than nice. But Drift can't help but feel like he's being selfish.
Ratchet fixes him with a bit of a disbelieving look, but not unkindly. "Kid, you're the one going through all of this. I'm fine."
"But are you really? You matter here, too. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or make you feel like you have to do this."
Ratchet's expression softens a little bit as he holds Drift a little closer. "Really, I'm fine. Sure, my processor wants me to burn some charge, but that's something I'm used to — especially with someone as pretty as you, sweetspark. But that's not what's making me want to do all of this — I care about you, heat or not, and I want to make sure that you're looked after, no matter what. I couldn't call myself a medic if I didn't, much less a partner and someone who cares about you."
That's…actually really nice to hear. That all of this isn't because of some stupid coding, that there's actually love and care and affection underneath it all. Drift did kind of know that, in the back of his processor, but it's nice to hear all the same.
"Okay. If you're sure," Drift says with a soft smile. "But you'll tell me if that changes, please? And I know you're tired of me saying it, but thank you. For everything."
"Of course," Ratchet says, leaning over to press a kiss to the nearest finial.
"Anything sore besides the usual? Places I shouldn't touch?"
Drift lets out a groan as he rolls face down onto Ratchet's windshield. "If you count 'the usual' as fragging everywhere, then no. And…I don't think I can handle you touching my thighs right now. I forgot how awful this all is."
"Got it," Ratchet replies, still dragging his servos in a comforting circle across Drift's back. "Heats are no easy walk in the park, that's for sure. How long is your cycle usually? Just so, you know, we can be prepared for the next one." He tries to pass it off nonchalantly, but when Drift turns to look at his face, Ratchet has a small flush over his faceplate.
"You wanna be around for the next one?" Drift grins, letting his fangs show. "Didn't know you liked me that much, doc."
Ratchet rolls his optics, but the blush doesn't go away. "Yeah, yeah, I care about you. And I'm in this for the long run, if you want me to. I-I do want this. All of this. With you."
That admission fills something in Drift's spark, that Ratchet wants this as much as he does. "I do," he says with a smile. "And to answer your question, about every…thousand years? Curse of being a speedster, I guess. Wish it was less frequent. How about you?"
"Little longer than yours, thankfully. It's changed over the course of the war, which was a challenge in itself. Tried to frag it out most of the time to get it over with as soon as I could, otherwise I'd be stuck in an oil bath until it ran its' course. All this plating doesn't get any lighter or easier on the struts," Ratchet says, lightly banging on his armour with his knuckles.
Drift traces the seams of the frame underneath him, feeling the thick plating underneath his digits. "Yeah, that can't be easy. But this goes both ways — I'm here for you too, if you want me there. In whatever way I can help."
"Thank you. And I want you with me, as long as you'll have me. In any way you'll take me," Ratchet says, smiling. That makes Drift's spark spin faster — Ratchet really wants him? Even when he won't interface with him? It seems too good to be true, but he knows Ratchet doesn't say what he doesn't mean. He can trust him.
"Be careful with what you say. I'm pretty hard to get rid of," Drift teases.
Ratchet scoffs, "I know that more than most. What has it been…over 4 million years? You're like a space barnacle."
"Mm, you love it," Drift says, snuggling closer.
"Yeah. I do."
Drift jolts awake, his plating slamming closed and his HUD lighting up, immediately scanning the room for threats.
There's nothing but the quiet dark of the shuttle, the soft reflection of his biolights dancing on the ceiling above him. There's a frame beside him. which causes him to instinctively reach for swords that aren't there but — it's just Ratchet. Ratchet, whose engine is idling softly, his optics shuttered in recharge with one arm slung over Drift.
He's fine. He's fine.
That doesn't stop the shudder that wracks through his frame, the heat in his systems overtaken by a deep-rooted chill. Drift tucks himself back in against Ratchet, in the safety of his arms. Even in recharge, Ratchet tightens his hold, bringing Drift in closer, a little pocket of warmth.
He's fine. It's okay. Ratchet's here, and he's going to keep him safe, just like he always has. Drift exvents and presses himself impossibly closer, letting Ratchet shield him. He shuts down his optics and tries to settle the thrumming of his spark as he drifts off into fitful recharge.
The solvent runs down over the two of them, angled so Drift's getting most of the spray. Ratchet's bearing most of his weight, arms steady around his waist to keep Drift upright. His legs are still weak, and even if he could stay here by himself, having Ratchet away for too long makes something deep inside him ache.
For now, Drift just leans into Ratchet as much as he can, helm heavy on one of his broad shoulders.
"You're sure you're not too cold?" Drift asks.
"It takes a lot more than some cool solvent for that, sweetspark. And I have my own personal heating pad right here in my arms," Ratchet punctuates with a squeeze. "Take as much time as you need. I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay," Drift relents, burying his face into Ratchet's shoulder. The cold solvent does feel nice, running down his back struts and along his cables. It sputters and steams on the edges of his plating, that uncomfortable heat still spread through his frame. He still feels awful, and uncomfortable, and way too warm, but he can get through this.
It's okay. Ratchet's here. He's going to be okay.
Drift feels one of the servos on his waist move away, coming back a few moments later to the back of his neck to pour some of the solvent over the cables. He can't help the sigh of relief as it runs down into some of the gaps that the shower couldn't reach, sagging more against Ratchet's hold.
Ratchet doesn't say a word, just alternates between pouring solvent over Drift's frame and massaging his cables with those wonderful servos of his. Drift could nearly fall into recharge, right now and right here. His optics have shuttered, his weight heavy against Ratchet, the only thing that's keeping him from falling down on the floor of the washracks.
He feels some movement as Ratchet turns off the stream and grabs a chamois to the side, the soft fabric wicking away the remaining liquid on his frame. Ratchet's movements are careful but efficient, not lingering in any one spot — somehow, he knows exactly what Drift needs. If he were more coherent in the moment, he would try to express his thanks, but for now, he just gives Ratchet a squeeze and hopes it comes across.
"Alright kid, let's get you back to berth. Up you go."
Not wanting to move an inch from Ratchet, Drift just hikes up one leg around his waist and hopes Ratchet gets the message. With a fond little huff, Ratchet pulls his other leg up around his waist, supporting Drift's weight with a forearm under his aft. It should be too much, but it's Ratchet. It just makes Drift feel safe and supported, while getting as close to Ratchet as he can. It's fine. Ratchet's not going to hurt him.
When Ratchet doesn't take a step, Drift knocks his heel against the back of his leg. "Don't we have a berth to get to?"
"Bossy," Ratchet grumbles, but makes his way out of the washracks.
"Mm, you love it," Drift says, recharge creeping at the edge of his optics, spurred on by Ratchet's steady gait and firm hold.
"The things I deal with," Ratchet complains, but Drift can hear the smile in his voice. He makes it to their berth, sitting down before reclining against the pillows, holding Drift close every step of the way.
It's enough to drag him to that last bit of recharge, safe in Ratchet's arms with nothing but the stars around them.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Drift groans and mashes his face into Ratchet's side in a futile attempt to distract from the popups on his HUD. They haven't gone away since the coding detected Ratchet's presence, and Drift's been trying to ignore them. But trying is hard when they won't. Go. Away.
"You okay?" Ratchet asks, setting the datapad he was reading to the side.
"No. Well, it's fine, it's just annoying. But I'm not dying."
The constant requests to activate interface protocols, to get on with activating Ratchet's interface protocols, and million other things that Drift doesn't want are getting on his last wire. It's only Ratchet's steady presence that has made it bearable, not to mention the slow drag of his servos across his frame.
"I think we can do better than 'not dying', kid. What's going on? Need some more coolant? Another massage?" Ratchet moves the servo that was resting on Drift's side up to his helm, thumb massaging a circle into his temple.
Primus, he loves him. "Not gonna say no to all of that, but it's just the stupid heat notifications. They're not giving my processor a break."
"I get you. If I knew a way to turn them off, I would have done it. Mine aren't being very nice about it either."
Drift snorts, bringing up an arm to circle around Ratchet's middle. "They're being mean, huh?"
"Mhm, downright terrible. Saying the most awful things. And here I am, just trying to get on with my day and help out my partner," Ratchet replies.
"Partner?" Drift asks, looking up at Ratchet.
Ratchet can't hide the flush on his faceplate, as pale as it is, but Drift thinks it's cute. "Yeah. Is that okay?"
Drift's never been someone's…partner. Never had someone to share a cube in the morning, cuddle up to at night, and do everything that Ratchet's done for him during his heat. It's new, but he likes the way it sounds. Like he and Ratchet are a unit, like they're together in every way.
"Yeah. I like it. Partner," Drift says, moving up to lean against the pillows with Ratchet.
Ratchet snuggles closer to him, their nasal ridges brushing. "Me too. On earth they use more than that, though. Boyfriend. Girlfriend? Beau. Lover. Paramour," he lists, pulling Drift closer until there's no room between them.
It seemed silly that humans had so many names to call someone, but Drift's realizing that maybe they have a point. But, partner is good.
"Everything else seems weird. Partner. That's good. You're my partner," he says giddily. He can't help the wiggle that runs through his frame, everything feeling a bit lighter despite the pain weighing down in his struts.
"Sure am, sweetspark," Ratchet says, placing soft kisses over the top of Drift's helm. "And you're mine, if you'll have me."
Drift tugs Ratchet's face down to place a kiss squarely on his chevron. "Always."
The next two days pass in a bit of a haze, Ratchet only leaving the berth to get them fuel, the occasional datapad, and cool cloth for Drift, bringing Drift to the washracks occasionally to have the solvent run over them both.
Ratchet doesn't stop or change in his affections at any point, focused completely on Drift's needs, which is more than a little overwhelming at times. But he never treats it as a burden or an inconvenience, his servos gentle on his frame and his face soft every time he looks at Drift. He treats him like he's special, like he's someone worth loving and taking the time for. It makes Drift want to hold him close, give him everything that he can and more.
As the last of the heat coding breaks, the tension releases from Drift's frame with a sigh, the last of the pain ebbing away. Everything goes blissfully quiet in his HUD and processor, his own thoughts alone once more. From the grunt Ratchet lets out, it seems like he's the same.
Drift's instinct is to just stay in berth, cuddled up with Ratchet as long as he can, but he does need a shower — preferably one in private.
Drift swings his legs over the berth, a little unsteady as he rises up. Ratchet's right there if he needs it, but lets Drift find his own pace. He stays close to Drift's side, Drift steadying himself every couple of steps, leaning on his broad shoulders. It's nice, to have this kind of support without it being decided for him, chosen for him. Before stepping into the washracks, he presses a kiss to Ratchet's lips, trying to somehow thank him for everything he's done over the past few days.
"Just get in there. I'll see you on the other side," Ratchet says after they part from the kiss, his optics twinkling.
"I won't be that long," Drift says with a roll of his optics. "But I'll see you soon."
"See you soon, sweetspark," Ratchet says as he heads toward the cockpit.
Drift can't help the burst of love as he watches Ratchet go, the warmth in his spark he feels when he looks at him. No matter what, heat or not, he knows Ratchet loves him and is here to care for him, and he knows he feels the same, more than anything in the universe.