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The berth was crowded with three mechs relaxing together in a somewhat quiet pile. Optimus lay at the left side out of habit, his head propped up against a pile of pillows as he read through a book Megatron had gifted him once. Ratchet reclined against the headboard on the right, reading something on a datapad. Megatron sprawled out over both of their legs, taking up the majority of the berth.
The room was dim, filled with soft warm light. Megatron’s hand had begun at Ratchet’s waist, then wandered lower with increasing confidence. He brushed over the seams of his stomach plating, stroking the smooth metal. His digits found the spot where Ratchet’s thigh met his hip, kneading into the soft mesh. Even if he had an ulterior motive, it was a common self-soothing technique in most cases—to find a spot where he could feel the warmth of their mesh and run it through his digits.
Ratchet had swatted him away a few times already, trying to focus on some newly published medical journal. Megatron saw this as encouragement to keep up the game. He slid his palm up Ratchet’s side and then dragged it back down his thigh. Ratchet glared at him over the rim of his datapad and huffed.
Optimus let his book rest in his lap and he glanced at Megatron. “I think perhaps we should speak before you continue seducing everyone on the berth.”
“Not everyone,” Megatron corrected. “Just two thirds.”
Ratchet barked out a laugh. “I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.”
Optimus offered a smile before it faded into something more serious. “I mean it. Maybe now is the time. We’ve been together a vorn, after all.”
Megatron withdrew his hand and rolled onto his back, his weight resting on the other two’s legs. “Fine. Very well.”
Optimus glanced first at Ratchet, who had set his datapad on the nightstand. “I have noticed that Ratchet moves away when you get… Handsy sometimes. I could not interpret if it was play or discomfort. I did not wish to assume. I know Ratchet does not wish to disrupt the peace, so he will not say anything.”
Ratchet’s field flickered between a few things, first amused before embarrassment burned hot.
Megatron slowly sat up and held his head low as his legs dangled off the edge of the berth. “I thought I understood. His field—both of yours—grows warm. I feel pleasure, amusement, affection. I believed I was welcome. I was certain that you—both of you—would voice your displeasure and communicate this with me.”
Ratchet replied quickly, “You are welcome.” His voice was void of his usual sharp teasing or grumpiness. “It’s all in good fun. I know that I act like I hate you. But I don’t, not in actuality. I promise.” Megatron didn’t believe that. He had never known Ratchet before the war, so he had been his enemy, first and foremost. Ratchet had been the mech to hate him the most. Sometimes he still didn’t believe Ratchet had finally fallen for him.
Megatron looked down at his hands resting in his lap, swallowing down some old guilty feelings. “I know I am forward. Physicality has always been the language of love for me. I touch what I cherish. I am greedy and material. If I have made either of you uneasy, I am ashamed of it.”
Optimus set his book aside and took one of Megatron’s hands, his large digits lacing with his. “Do not be ashamed. I only wished to make our boundaries clearer.”
Ratchet’s spark ached at the melancholy feeling slowly leaking into their fields, rubbing a hand over his face. “For frag’s sake, would both of you stop looking like someone offlined?” Megatron glanced up, hesitantly meeting his optics. “I’m not uncomfortable in the way Prime suggests. You overthink too much. Both of you do.”
“No I do not,” Optimus cut in.
Ratchet ignored him. “I’m just… Nervous.” He gave a sheepish laugh, his face warming. “It has been vorns… A very very long time since I shared a berth with anyone, much less in such a meaningful way. So when Megatron starts mauling me like he’s starving for my energon, it makes me panic a little.”
Megatron tilted his helm. “Do I ‘maul’ you?”
Optimus’s lips curled into a gentle smile. “It is an apt description. Today you were much more restrained than usual.”
Megatron huffed indignantly. “I’m merely trying to be affectionate. Touch is my conduit.”
Ratchet hummed, shaking his head. “Yeah. You’re predatory.”
“Passionate,” Megatron corrected.
“You are touch starved and overcharged,” Ratchet retorted.
Optimus laughed quietly, the tension easing back out of the room. He cleared his vocalizer and looked between his sparkmates. “There is more on the topic of boundaries I’d like to discuss.”
“Sweetspark,” Ratchet said softly. “Can you not make this sound like a board meeting? We’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“Aplogies, Ratch. I’m not accustomed to more casual modes of speech anymore.” He let out a sigh, sifting through his thoughts. “I want to love you both more deeply than this. I have for some time. I think it is only natural to want that.” His digits squeezed Megatron’s hand and his other hand searched and found Ratchet’s. “But I fear crossing boundaries. So I prefer to wait for you two to initiate. I shall follow where you lead.”
Ratchet and Megatron stared at the Prime for a moment before Ratchet grinned. “You mean you’ve been restraining yourself this entire time? You’re telling me you actually get charged but just don’t tell anyone? How do you hide it so well?”
Optimus smiled apologetically, face going blue with a faint blush. “Yes, I do. I have learned to have excellent control over my field. It served me during the war.”
Megatron laid a hand over Optimus’s leg. “My dear Prime, that may be the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard. You’re suppressing your most primal desires just for us?” There was something humorous in his tone.
Optimus didn’t have the confidence to respond. Ratchet chuckled and Megatron drew closer, moving to sit beside Optimus’s legs opposite of Ratchet so Optimus was now in the middle instead of Ratchet. He reached across the Prime to rest his hand over Ratchet and Optimus’s conjoined hands. “I do desire more as well,” he admitted openly. “With both of you. Only if it is wanted”
Ratchet smiled softly before a thought struck him. Before he could overthink it, he asked, “Wait… Have you two ever… Have you ‘faced before?”
Megatron’s mouth curved evilly. “Yes, of—”
“Yes,” Optimus interrupted quickly, faceplate blushing a richer blue. “But it was long ago. We were very young by comparison.” Megatron’s expression softened as he let the Prime continue. “I look nothing as I did then. I fear Megatron may no longer like what he sees, given he once believed me to be the thief of Orion’s body.”
Megatron’s spark ached visibly through his field. He lifted his free hand to Optimus’s cheek, brushing his thumb across the surface. “I will love you however you come,” he said, firm and certain. “It is not your chassis that draws me in. Not then, not now.” He gave a sincere smile. “It is your spark. I have learned you carry the same spark.”
A fragile silence settled over them. Optimus leaned into the touch at his face, making Ratchet’s spark bloom with something soft. Optimus glanced to the side at Ratchet before sitting up again to see him better. “And you?”
Ratchet squinted. “What? Interfaced?” The other two nodded. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Yes. Long ago. Next question.”
Optimus suppressed a chuckle at Ratchet’s clear embarrassment rippling through his field. “So you are comfortable with this?”
Ratchet had done many things in life with a stern face, even when he was entirely unsure of what to do or say. But now his face pinched with something uneasy as he hesitated to answer.
Across from him, Megatron’s frame sagged with subtle disappointment.
“Oh stop,” Ratchet said, narrowing his gaze at the silver mech. “Yes,” he mumbled.
Optimus tilted his helm. “I did not catch that. Be firm in your answer.” He said it was that Primely authority. Ratchet couldn’t tell if he was joking or not with how serious he sounded.
Ratchet sighed. “Yes. I want to. Very badly so, if you must know.” His face turned a shade blue, immediate regret setting in.
Megatron’s sadness melted and he smiled triumphantly, huffing with a victorious sound. The tension that had temporarily knotted in the air between their fields had unwound, replaced by something new and exciting.
For once, Megatron did not take that anticipation and thrill as an invitation. He turned to look between his two sparkmates. Once he was satisfied with the lack of hesitance, he began to move. He reached for Ratchet’s hand tenderly.
The medic blinked and offered out the hand to him. Megatron lifted the medic’s hand to his lips and placed a reverent kiss to his knuckles, optics never leaving his. The gesture was so unexpectedly intimate it made Ratchet’s vents stutter.
“I-I—you are something else,” Ratchet muttered, unable to dredge up an insult in this tender moment.
Megatron’s thumb brushed the inside of Ratchet’s wrist before he released him and shifted his attention to Optimus. His hand now came up to hover at Optimus’s face, not yet touching. “May I, Prime?”
Optimus gave a startled smile. “Asking permission at last, are we?”
“I’m learning,” Megatron muttered.
Optimus nodded, smiling warmly. “Yes. Go ahead.”
Megatron cupped his cheek, his touch feather-light for large hands built for war. He leaned in and kissed him softly, but the flare in his spark made him want more. He held back the hunger, letting Optimus work his glossa over him instead.
Ratchet had to look away for a brief moment, not discomfort, but the intimacy of it all struck him too suddenly. When Megatron withdrew, Optimus was still and dazed.
“That was unfair,” Ratchet said. Both of them looked at him. “You can’t just do that while I’m watching.”
Megatron’s mouth curved. “Then come here if you would like your share.”
Ratchet moved to straddle Optimus’s lap, twisting to one side and catching Megatron by the plating at his shoulder to pull him in. Their kiss was sudden and rough, but briefer than the previous.
When they parted, Ratchet sat back on Optimus’s thighs with a visible satisfaction, and Optimus was blushing as he stared. “Mhm, there.” Ratchet’s tone lowered, low and warm.
Megatron’s face started turning into that dangerous expression, hunger and desire evident in his field.
Optimus held his hands at his chest, unsure of what to do with them. “May I—?”
“Oh for Primus’s sake,” Ratchet breathed. “Don’t—”
“I am merely asking if—”
“No, stop asking,” Ratchet said.
“I only wish to know if it is alright if I—”
Ratchet caught the Prime’s wrist and dragged his hand toward his waist. “There. You can touch me. Don’t need to ask.”
“Ratch—”
Megatron clicked his glossa in quick succession. “Ah ah,” he took Optimus’s other wrist and settled the Prime’s hand at his own side, twisting to face Optimus on his hands and knees. “I want you to touch there too.” Optimus’s hand followed his frame as Megatron adjusted, inching closer as he sat back on his knees, mirroring Ratchet.
Optimus huffed softly, more embarrassed than anything. “This feels like a trap.”
“It is,” Ratchet said dryly. “A trap to make you participate.”
Optimus smiled gently, still hesitant with his hand position, digits cupping their waists softly. Megatron leaned in toward his audial, close enough for Ratchet to hear as well. “My dearest Prime, if you ask for permission one more time, I may lose patience.”
“I simply do not wish to presume,” Optimus said flatly.
Megatron gave a rough huff of his vents. “We will never get anywhere like this. I give you my explicit permission to touch me wherever you see fit. I encourage you to do so.”
“As do I,” Ratchet murmured.
Optimus’s lips pressed into a tight line before he ex-vented and let his hands cradle their hip plating, settling with more intention instead of caution.
Ratchet felt his circuits shiver at his touch. Megatron ex-vented, pleased. “There,” Megatron purred. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes,” Optimus said dryly. “So you do not mind if I…?” His voice trailed off as he leaned toward Ratchet, hand moving up to his lower back and pulling him closer. He ghosted his lips over the medic’s, giving him all the time to back off before their lips met in a soft kiss.
Ratchet’s spark flared with want and he grabbed the front of the Prime’s chest plating and tugged himself in closer, deepening the kiss. He pulled away after a moment, his face hovering just inches away. “That,” Ratchet breathed against his face, “is how you do without asking.”
Megatron shouldered his way in, pushing Ratchet off Optimus until one knee was slotted between Optimus’s thighs as he straddled one leg. Ratchet huffed and took the other leg, straddling it as his knee fought for space between the Prime’s legs with Megatron.
Megatron gave a soft growl as he crowded Ratchet’s face out of the way and pressed a quick kiss to Optimus’s lips. “Just listen to the whims of your spark,” Megatron murmured. He leaned back in, kissing soft and slow before pulling back, his processor going blissfully blank. A string of oral lubricant connected their mouths for a moment, and Optimus scrubbed the back of his hand over his face.
Megatron’s frame grew hot, the heat radiating off him, and the other two could feel it rich through their fields. Megatron hiked his knee up between Optimus’s legs and slammed his chestplate down against the Prime’s, breathing hard and heavy.
Optimus let out a soft huff and his grip on both mech’s hips tightened. Ratchet’s spark flared with desire at feeling the possessive hold on his chassis. He fought for space, leaning in and nudging Megatron aside to allow him room to press himself against Optimus’s chest plate too.
Megatron gave up the fight and leaned back, instead planting both hands on Optimus’s stomach plating as Ratchet laid against him. He looked down at Optimus’s hips, eyeing where his knee collided with Optimus’s frame. “So. Who goes first?”
Ratchet tilted his head, gaze flickering to Megatron. “You seem to have no qualms getting started. How ‘bout you?”
Megatron grinned, optics lidded and glazed over with need. “Gladly.” Megatron propped himself up on his knees, sitting up tall, and he ran a hand down his own frame, down his stomach plating. His modesty plating shifted out of the way as his hand neared his array. He took hold of his spike as it slowly pressurized, using his free hand to hold onto Optimus’s shoulder for stability.
Optimus’s venting hitched as his optics caught sight of his array, spike long and girthy, valve already wet. Megatron’s wild expression dimmed, softened by sudden need, his hand squeezing around himself slightly as he exercised immense restraint.
“Come on,” Megatron murmured, “Don’t just spectate.”
Optimus went next. He swallowed before leaning back, taking his hand off Megatron and instinctively covering the lower half of his stomach above his array, digits twitching as he revealed himself. He wanted to hide himself, but he took his spike in his hand and stroked it once nice and slow, taking long deep breaths as his spike pressurized in front of them.
Megatron choked out a hiss of static from his vocalizer, stunned by the sheer size of the Primely mech’s spike compared to himself. It was especially a lot compared to how Optimus had used to look. Optimus’s valve was already puffy and dripping too, and his breathing hitched over and over as he tried to keep composure, horribly embarrassed but pushing on anyway, hand coming to rest against his stomach as he let his head rest back on the headboard. Something about the sound of his vents like that made Megatron wild, but he kept it under control.
Ratchet gave a sigh once he figured it was his turn. He reached down as his modesty plates shifted and immediately hid his array with a hand, pressing his length against his thigh and planting his other hand on Optimus’s thigh where his wrist covered the rest of himself up. He let out a long, shaky breath, optics unfocused as he stared down at his own hands.
Optimus looked back at Ratchet’s face and felt the medic’s field ripple with cold dread, like he was making a mistake. “Easy, Ratch.”
Ratchet shook his head. “S-sorry. I just—uh…”
Megatron took Ratchet’s chin in his hand lightly, forcing Ratchet to look up at him. “Having second thoughts?” His tone was teasing, but his field rippled with genuine concern.
Ratchet hesitated, unresponsive for a couple kliks as Megatron withdrew his hand. “No, n-no I… It’s just been… A long time. I’m not used to all… This.”
Optimus’s spark ached for his medic, pained at the sight of him so nervous and his field going unsteady with upset. “Ratchet, we don’t have to—”
“No, I said I’m fine.” Ratchet started, “I know I said I’ve interfaced. But it was once, when I was young and foolish. Long enough ago that it may as well have never happened.”
Optimus’s face fell. “Ratch, we can take it slow.”
Ratchet nodded. “Just… I’m not used to so many optics on me. One set was enough, now I got both of you.”
Megatron pushed down his unruly desires and shifted on the berth, moving off Optimus’s leg and sitting to the side on his knees, facing the medic. Ratchet hung his head, too nervous and unsure of what to do. Optimus slid his leg out from under him and gently guided Ratchet to sit against the headboard, taking a place over Ratchet, his frame towering over him even on his knees.
Ratchet planted his hands on the berth between his legs as he looked up at them, avoiding looking too low, his spark racing and face so hot he thought he’d be steaming.
Megatron placed a steady palm on the medic’s chest and eyed him carefully. “Why don’t we pamper our inexperienced little medic until he’s comfortable, hmm?”
Optimus nodded. “Best not to jump into things.”
Megatron glanced down at Ratchet’s hands, covering his array like it was shameful. “Lay down for me,” he said gently, his voice smooth and suave, more of a request than a demand.
Ratchet slid down the berth, squeezing his thighs together with a hand still between his legs. Megatron ran a hand down his stomach and Ratchet’s back arched, circuits alight with a mix of desire and shame.
Optimus was at Ratchet’s side and leaned down to kiss his neck, his face warm against the mesh there. Ratchet used his free hand to reach up and caress Optimus’s face, grounding himself in the familiar sensation as Otpimus leaned back in for a second kiss.
When the Prime pulled away, Megatron looked at Ratchet with something almost hungry. “Let me touch you, hmm?”
Ratchet swallowed. “What about Optimus?”
“I will keep you comfortable,” Optimus said softly. “I shall pamper you and shower you with affection until the only thing you associate with us is comfort.”
Ratchet nodded and found Optimus’s hand. The Prime held their intertwined hands over Ratchet’s chest before he began peppering soft kisses over his shoulders. It sent a shiver down Ratchet’s frame, spark pounding impossibly fast.
Megatron smoothed his hands over Ratchet’s thighs first, brushing his thumbs on the inside plating of his legs. Ratchet’s legs twitched but he didn’t move his hand. After a few kliks, Megatron placed his hand over Ratchet’s hand that was covering his array, entirely encapsulating the medic’s smaller hand. “Let me see,” he said softly, tone gentle. “I’ll try to be nice,” he murmured.
Ratchet swallowed again, processor spinning from the sensation of Optimus’s lips on his collar and Megatron’s hands gripping his thighs. He slowly pulled his hand away from his array, and Megatron let out an unholy choking noise as he caught sight of the medic’s swollen valve—dripping, clenching on nothing—spike springing forward already hard. His was smaller than the other two, but long and lithe, and he made the most lubricant of them all.
Ratchet flushed deep blue and laid his arm over his optics, his other hand gripping Optimus’s arm so tight that the Prime pulled away from his neck and looked at him with concern.
Megatron chuckled softly. “I never thought our overconfident little medic would be so reserved in berth. And you are stunning too, nothing to be ashamed of.” Megatron passed his hands up and down Ratchet’s thighs again, moving all the way up to his sides and brushing his thumbs over his stomach plating.
Ratchet let out a breathy huff, almost trembling from the sheer amount of charge crackling over his circuitry. “Frag, just get on with it.”
“My dear medic,” Megatron purred, “You’re supposed to enjoy this. If you don’t—”
“No,” Ratchet said sharply. “I… Frag, I hate saying this. It makes me feel like a young mech with hot circuits. But I want—I-I need this.”
Megatron couldn’t resist a slight smile at that. “Optimus, do you mind if I do the honors?”
Optimus cocked his head. “Perhaps I should. You have a reputation for being… Feral.”
Megatron let out a dramatic sigh. “I can be gentle when needed. I’m not the same mech I was then.”
Optimus looked back at Ratchet. “Very well. I trust you will keep to that. I will continue to ensure Ratchet is comfortable.”
Megatron gripped Ratchet’s thighs hard, not painfully so, just firm, and looked him deep in the optics. “Tell me you want this.”
Ratchet’s blush renewed, struggling to keep his optics from darting away. “I want this. From both of you.”
Megatron nodded, lips curling faintly. “Good.” He removed one hand and let his digits brush along his hips as he brought it down to his array. Ratchet shivered and let out a soft sound as Megatron’s large digits traced the seam between his spike and valve. “Do you have a preference?”
Ratchet just shook his head, unable to form words or find something he could say that didn’t sound crass. He didn’t care. He would be embarrassed either way and just wanted so badly to learn to enjoy this with his sparkmates. Megatron just nodded and let his digits slide down to his valve. “Very well. I’ll choose then.”
Optimus began kissing up Ratchet’s neck gently, mouthing his neck cables and kissing his throat as his dentae barely grazed the surface. Megatron let his digits find the swollen node at Ratchet’s valve and slowly ran his thumb over it a few times.
Ratchet’s frame jerked, back arching suddenly, and he choked out a breathy sound. The pleasure peaked in his field before leveling out. Optimus slung one arm over the medic’s stomach and let it rest there like a weight, and Ratchet gripped his forearm in both hands. He strained to look down at Megatron, face looming over his hips.
Megatron dragged his digits down the folds of his valve and found lubricant slicking everything, coating his digits evenly. He dragged the fluid back up and smothered Ratchet’s puffy node in it. Ratchet breathed hard as Megatron began rubbing his digits against his node, valve pulsing against nothing.
Megatron so badly wanted to shove himself into that gaping valve, it was practically begging for him. But he wanted him to enjoy this, wanted to prepare him for something good instead of ruining it. Optimus worked his glossa up to Ratchet’s jaw, brushing his nose along the plating on his cheek and nuzzling him between kisses.
Ratchet’s processor was swirling, overwhelmed with bliss and desire. Optimus’s hands wandered across Ratchet’s frame, massaging against his plating while his lips worked across the medic’s face. Ratchet was pulled into a deep kiss, Optimus gently running his glossa against his lips, when his large hand firmly took hold of the medic’s spike.
Ratchet seized in his grip and let out a small moan into Optimus’s mouth. Megatron immediately responded, his chest rumbling with amusement. He plunged his digits into Ratchet’s waiting valve at that moment, eliciting yet another fervent moan into the kiss, the medic’s body shivering at the charge overwhelming his chassis.
Megatron chuckled softly, curling his digits inside the medic slowly. “Mhm, I think he’s ready for more, if that is what he desires.”
Optimus pulled away from Ratchet, lips moist with his own lubricant. He wiped his mouth with a thumb and gave a small nod. “I assume you wish to take him first.”
Megatron took Ratchet by the hips, holding him tenderly. “Only if he wants it.”
Ratchet craned his head forward and put a hand over Megatron’s arm resting at his thigh, his other still on Optimus’s arm. “I’m already spread out like this,” he said in a blissed out shaky voice. “Just get on with it.”
Megatron’s lips curved into a dark smile and he nodded. “Very good.” After withdrawing his digits, he slid his hands lower and tightened his grip on the medic’s thighs, positioning himself at Ratchet’s entrance. He rubbed his spike along the rim of Ratchet’s valve and Ratchet let out a small huff of impatience.
Optimus cupped the medic’s face in his hands and massaged under his jaw and around the back of his neck as Megatron slowly sank into Ratchet. Ratchet’s face screwed up—a look Optimus would’ve worried about if not for the pure ecstasy wracking his field—and he groaned as their hips went flush with one another and Megatron’s spike bottomed out inside him. Optimus spared a glance at their hips conjoining and felt his frame heat with overwhelming charge. It almost felt disgraceful to his nature, shameful to observe such a private act. But it felt so good.
Ratchet keened and gripped Optimus’s arm tightly, digits digging into his upper arm. Optimus caressed the side of his helm. “Easy, Ratch. That’s it. You are doing good.” The medic’s frame shivered at the soft, low voice in his audials, his frame feeling filled to the brim.
Megatron paused all the way in, adjusting to the feel, letting Ratchet do the same. Optimus stroked a hand down Ratchet’s stomach, and Ratchet let out a soft breath. “Optimus,” he breathed. “I need you too.”
Optimus was unable to hold back a grin. Despite being filled by Megatron, he still craved his presence too. Optimus leaned forward and brushed his lips against Ratchet’s for the briefest moment before pulling away just an inch, so close he could feel the heat on Ratchet’s frame. “Would you like my valve?”
Ratchet blushed as such a crass thing coming from his mouth. “Yes,” he breathed. “Oh… That’d be nice…”
Optimus smiled softly and moved to straddle Ratchet, his back becoming flush with Megatron’s chest and torso. Megatron grabbed the Prime’s hip with one hand, his other holding Ratchet’s thigh as he hooked his legs around Megatron.
Megatron let out a soft groan and buried his head in Optimus’s neck. “Mhm, I feel so spoiled.”
Optimus looked down and held onto Ratchet by his waist. “Are you ready?” Ratchet just nodded, trying to keep his breathing steady. Optimus brushed his thumbs over Ratchet’s stomach and lowered himself onto his spike. Ratchet let out a long, low moan as he was buried within Optimus’s valve, his frame twitching but unable to move much under the Prime’s weight.
Optimus lowered until he was filled by Ratchet’s length, sitting back on his knees and huffing quietly. “This is good, I hope?” he murmured.
Megatron hummed against his neck. “Very good.”
Optimus chuckled softly. “Wasn’t asking you.”
“Fine,” Megatron grunted.
Ratchet swallowed before he could speak. “It’s good. Real good.” It was more than good, but it was all he could manage.
Optimus gave an approving nod, frame overwhelmed with charge and satisfied by the fullness in him. “Megatron, will you do the honors?”
Megatron pressed his nose against the side of Optimus’s helm, under his audial. “It’d be my pleasure.” He drew his spike out until just the tip sat in Ratchet’s valve. He took hold of Ratchet’s hips and thrust back inside slowly, grunting as Ratchet’s calipers squeezed around him.
Optimus felt Megatron’s frame pull away and press back up against his back as he sat on Ratchet’s length, his spike hot inside him, all their frames alight with charge crackling through them. Ratchet breathed hard and loud as Megatron picked up the pace, finding a steady rhythm as he rocked into him over and over.
Ratchet’s frame was burning hot and electricity crackled through his frame, so charged that the other two could feel it tickle their plating. That only served to charge them up more. Ratchet let out quiet huffs with each thrust, spike throbbing inside Optimus’s tight warmth. Despite the Prime’s size, his valve was tight and put delightful pressure against the medic’s spike.
Megatron’s chest rumbled with a growl as he picked up the pace, his hips sliding between Ratchet’s thighs and his chest slamming against Optimus’s back. He wrapped one arm around Optimus’s chest and gripped Ratchet’s thigh in the other hand as the medic wrapped his legs around Megatron’s hips tightly, drawing him deeper.
“You both like that,” Megatron murmured, “Don’t you?”
Ratchet couldn’t make room for a reply between soft moans, and Optimus’s affirmative hum rumbled in his chest. Optimus began grinding his hips against Ratchet, looking down at the medic’s face with lidded optics. His processor clouded with yearning, the shame sliding away, desperate to see both his lovers come undone.
Ratchet moaned, back trying to arch under Optimus’s weight but only jerking slightly. “Mmhg—frag… Megs—k-keep going.”
Megatron’s spark flashed with overwhelming need hearing him beg. “Of course, my dear medic,” he purred, “anything for you.” He maintained a steady pace, his hand flexing against Ratchet’s thigh. He kept his mouth occupied on Optimus’s neck, moving to each side to slather wet kisses across him, kneading Ratchet’s thighs as they squeezed around his hips.
Optimus kept grinding slowly, Ratchet’s spike dipping deeper and rubbing against his ceiling node. Meanwhile his exterior node pressed against Ratchet’s hip plating and his spike lay out across his stomach, warmed by the medic’s protoform. Optimus looked down with mild worry as Ratchet struggled to prop himself up before the medic grabbed hold of the Prime’s massive spike.
Ratchet’s single hand only just was able to close around the Prime’s spike. Optimus let out a shaky breath that nearly broke into a whine as Ratchet stroked him slow, back arching and pressing his head back against Megatron’s shoulder.
Megatron’s other hand grabbed Optimus’s chest plating as the Prime pressed into him, the Prime’s aft against Megatron’s stomach plating. Megatron ran his hand up to the Prime’s neck and loosely held him by his throat, digits grazing his cabling. Optimus let out a low moan as he rutted his hips into Ratchet, his aft colliding with Megatron’s thrusting hips.
Ratchet was so drunk on pleasure he could barely think about anything but the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his frame. He could feel an overload swell in his tanks, his legs beginning to tremble under the two mechs and unable to sit still, only kept in place by Optimus’s weight.
Optimus was breathing hard and fast, feeling a quick overload knot in his frame as his exterior node pressed against Ratchet’s hips and the medic’s spike pushed up against his insides. With Ratchet’s oncoming overload, his strokes became sloppy, squeezing tighter around Optimus to make up for it.
Megatron could tell Ratchet was close by the way his valve pulsed hard and fast. He could stand to hold out a bit longer, and slammed his hips as hard as he could into him over and over, desperate to rip that overload from him.
Ratchet let out keening moans and whines with each breath, his entire frame tingling and the swollen knot of pleasure in his tanks pulling tighter. “F-frag—” Ratchet hissed. “I’m s-so—ahmm—frag, this is so embarrassing.”
Optimus swallowed and passed his hands up and down Ratchet’s chest and sides, slowly lowering himself and planting his hands above Ratchet’s head. He had to tilt his head down and to the side to reach Ratchet’s audials. “You look spectacular, my beloved Ratchet. So good for us.” His voice was low and sultry, something so unusual to the medic. It tickled his audials and accelerated the pleasure shooting up his frame and overwhelming his processor “You are so perfect,” the Prime rumbled.
Ratchet felt his frame quiver violently as the overload threatened to spill. “M-Mega—frag! Megatron… Oh Optimus… I’m—hah—I’m going t-to overload.”
Megatron growled with each thrust of his hips against Ratchet’s pulsing valve. “Give it to me,” he huffed. “I want to feel your desire for me.”
Optimus could feel the medic’s frame seize under him, and Ratchet’s valve squeezed tight around Megatron as his vocalizer let out a keening moan that dissolved to static. His face pinched with something raw and desperate, the overload ripping straight out of his frame as his spike burst inside Optimus, valve pulsating rapidly on Megatron.
Megatron growled deep and low, face screwed up with a wild and hungry expression. Optimus’s hips bucked harder, grinding his node and drawing the last of the overload from Ratchet’s frame as he chased his own pleasure.
Ratchet continued to whine as Optimus kept rutting against him and Megatron thrust at a lightning pace. Megatron overloaded second, frame going stiff as he stilled with his hips flush against Ratchet’s array and against Optimus’s protruding aft. Megatron let out a final rough growl, hot air passing over Optimus’s back as he suddenly gripped Ratchet’s thighs in both hands, digits clawing into him.
Optimus kept grinding, moaning softly with each thrust of his hips, overwhelming Ratchet’s oversensitive spike. Ratchet’s calipers contracted around him and he trembled with his overload, holding back a low whine as he stilled over Ratchet’s frame, pushing his hips back against Megatron’s chassis.
Megatron relinquished Ratchet’s thighs and gripped Optimus by the hips and pulled his aft against his hips. “Frag,” Megatron hissed. “So good… You are both so perfect.”
Optimus pulled himself off Ratchet once he came down from his high and moved aside so he could place his head at the medic’s neck, breathing in his soft clean smell and nuzzling his nose against the medic’s audial. Ratchet was breathing hard, optics unfocused and nearly shut. Megatron hummed delightedly as he pulled out, reveling in the sight of his transfluid spilling out of the medic’s valve and the transfluid seeping out between Optimus’s thighs as he lay out across the berth.
Ratchet had gone limp and still, recovering from the overwhelming charge that subsided from his frame and was replaced by a pleasant satisfaction. His bliss filled his field practically whispering I love you’s to his partners over and over.
Optimus recovered quickly and began peppering kisses back along Ratchet’s neck and jaws, drawing more soft moans from the medic as he forgot all hopes of remaining dignified. Ratchet’s hands found Megatron’s digits at his waist and he pulled the large silver mech down onto the berth beside him. Megatron curled around the medic, slinging his arm over Ratchet’s stomach and pulling him close.
Optimus hovered over both of them after withdrawing his face from the medic’s neck, sheathing his array and sheltering them with his large frame. He reached into his subspace and pulled out a cleaning cloth and began wiping Ratchet down with it. They had all sheathed their arrays, but transfluid stained across their lower hip plating and modesty panels. The Prime’s free hand massaged Ratchet’s thigh once it was cleaned, then he massaged his other thigh as he finished up and tossed the rag off the berth.
Megatron pressed his face into Ratchet’s neck and growled softly. “How was that?”
Ratchet was silent for a few breaths. “Great. Just… Real great,” he breathed, too blissed out to give a better answer. Megatron just smiled, humming as he curled against Ratchet.
Optimus lowered himself and rested on Ratchet’s other side, his arm slung over the medic’s stomach as a mirror image of Megatron, drawing himself closer.
Ratchet let out a satisfied sigh as he felt himself drift off in his exhaustion, surrounded by warmth. Megatron found a comfy spot against Ratchet’s neck and settled in for a recharge, and Optimus rested his chin over Ratchet’s helm, finials laying low in his exhaustion.
Optimus’s voice rumbled, low and husky with fatigue. “Are we all adequately satisfied?”
Megatron answered first, “Very much so.”
Ratchet’s voice was breathy and thick with exhaustion. “Yes.”
Optimus smiled warmly and dug around the berth for Megatron’s hand before resting their hands together on Ratchet’s stomach. “I’m glad we had the chance to—”
“Optimus,” Ratchet breathed. “Don’t ruin the moment.”
Optimus’s smile went sheepish. “Right. Sorry. We should rest, then.”
Megatron nodded against Ratchet’s neck. “Indeed. When we awake we can go for round two.”
Ratchet let out a tired chuckle. “No. No fragging way. I need a deca-cycle to recover.”