Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I had an idea," Ratchet starts with, crossing his arms over his chassis as he steps over to where Drift is flopped over the berth. His plating is filthy. Ratchet will never fully understand why Drift goes along with the reckless ideas Rodimus has sometimes, but… he had fun. That's really all that matters.

"Hm?" Drift mumbles, muffled from being face down on the berth. Again, he's filthy, which means he's getting… Primus knows what all over the berthsheets and blankets, but more importantly, Ratchet knows Drift hates being filthy. But he looks exhausted, which means Rodimus really wore him out.

"An idea," Ratchet repeats, sitting on the edge of the berth to rest a servo on Drift's back. Almost instantly Drift sags into it even more, deflating like a flat tire. "You're too tired to clean yourself, I'm guessing, or else you'd already be steaming up the washracks. Why don't you… let me do it?"

A yellow optic pops open and peers up at Ratchet, before the second opens, and suddenly Ratchet has a lapful of an endearing pleading speedster, "Please? I feel like I'm gonna fall over. Everything hurts."

"What did you two even get up to?" Ratchet asks, amused, as he keeps petting over Drift's side.

"You don't want to know," Drift says darkly, but tinged with a sort of dramatic silliness that he knows it really isn't all that bad. "I've seen horrors, Ratchet. That planet was straight out of nightmares."

Ratchet huffs, patting his thigh, "I bet. You good with me lifting you up?"

"That's a stupid question," Drift says, rolling into Ratchet's arms at, well, yeah, the exact position to make it easier for Ratchet to lift him. Ridiculous. That's what his conjunx was.

With a hum, he scoops Drift up and hauls them both off the berth. Drift wraps his arms around his neck, and shamelessly leans his helm on Ratchet's shoulder, not even bothering to hide his smile.

The lights flick on as they enter, casting the washracks in a low yellow light. It's a cozy atmosphere, or at least has become one since Drift moved in with him and spruced up the place. Ratchet never has been one for frivolous things. If they worked, that's all that mattered, but Drift started buying him things because he needed 'the best there was'. Whatever, jokes on Drift anyway, they'll be making Drift comfortable today.

Ratchet sets Drift down on the bench in the shower, cupping his face and kissing him softly, and deeply, just because he could. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to being able to do this, to touch and kiss and hold and be soft in a way Ratchet never really got to be for most of his life. Drift tilts up to it like a magnet is pulling him closer, grinning so widely it actually breaks the kiss.

"Alright," Ratchet huffs after a moment, "if we keep going I'm not getting anything done. Sit there for a moment, I'll rinse you off then give you a bath. Then I've got something extra planned for after."

"Extra?" Drift leans back on the bench, servos folded neatly in his lap with his legs crossed over each other. "What did I do to earn special treatment?"

"Nothing," Ratchet flicks one of his finnials, teasingly. "Can't a mech spoil his conjunx?"

"I suppose," Drift says flicking his helm away with a slight laugh, one of his fangs poking out and digging into his bottom lip. Primus, Ratchet loves him. It's so hard to keep his servos off Drift sometimes, when it aches so badly when he doesn't.

Instead, Ratchet sets his servos on his hips, "Good. Now sit pretty and let me start the tub."

Calling him pretty never fails to make Drift blush, and now is no different. His face heats, and his fans click on with a soft whir. It takes great effort but he steps away towards the little tub Drift had installed not long ago. Admittedly, it has been nice. Ratchet's sore joints feel heavenly after a nice deep oil bath soak, but still. Ratchet won't admit defeat.

A little turn of the faucet later, and warm oil starts to fill the tub. Ratchet digs around in the cabinet and throws a few extra mix ins in to soak into the oil before he's shuffling back over to the shower. Drift's still there, head cocked to the side and mouth curled in a little smile. His optics are warm as Ratchet comes closer, continuing to watch as Ratchet grabs for the shower head. He tilts it away, turning it on, and tests the temperature of the spray with his servo.

"Tilt your helm up," Ratchet instructs. "Last thing I want to do is spray solvent all in your optics."

"Bossy," Drift says, but does as Ratchet asks. His pretty yellow optics close, those red markings under them stretching out along his smooth faceplate. Ratchet really is the luckiest mech ever. Sometimes he mourns how long it took them to get here, but he'll never hate the way it happened.

They both fall into silence as Ratchet sprays the solvent over his frame. Drift doesn't even need direction as he stretches and turns under the spray. Sludge washes off and down the drain, revealing more and more white underneath. Ratchet eventually turns off the spray and sets the nozzle back, moving into Drift's space once again.

"Feel better?" he asks, cupping Drift's face. He brushes his thumbs over those red markings.

"A little," Drift says, beaming up at him. He's still a little dirty, but Ratchet can scrub that off in the tub. "What's next?"

Ratchet bends down and kisses him, soft and sweet. "Bath time."

It takes little effort to lift Drift into his arms. He may be heavier than the average speedster, but Ratchet was built as a medic, built to carry patients who couldn't carry themselves. The first time he had done this to Drift had been a while ago now, back when the rust plague was settling in and Drift thought he was soon going to die. Later, Drift admitted to having liked it, even if he hadn't yet been in love with Ratchet.

Drift sighs as he's lowered into the warm oil, leaning his helm back against the basin. His optics close and a peaceful look smoothing out his faceplate. A little purr even starts up from his smooth, streamlined engine. He looks so calm, even half submerged in oil.

It's such a fragging treat to watch him relax. He's usually so put together, so graceful but tight and sturdy. Very few moments does Drift let himself be vulnerable, but he does so often with Ratchet. That privilege he wouldn't trade for the world.

"Good?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the tub, taking a moment to just watch.

"Fantastic," Drift murmurs, smiling up at him wide enough for both fangs to poke out. "You should get in here too."

"Nah," Ratchet huffs. "I'm not falling for that. If I get in there, I'm going to get sleepy or fall asleep, and then you'll dry us both off and carry me to bed. This is supposed to be for you, you menace."

Drift pops open his optics then, face pulling in a rather adorable and nearly conviction-breaking pout, "But Ratty— it would feel so much nicer with you in here…"

"No," Ratchet says, waving a digit in his face. It only earns him a playful chomp from Drift, which Ratchet had honestly expected. He moves his digit away before Drift could actually bite down. "What did I say? Menace."

Drift just chomps at him again, before sinking down into the oil, so only his optics peep out over the dark, shimmering, liquid. Even without seeing his mouth, Ratchet knows it's curled up into a smile. He lets Drift soak for a bit before he reaches for the scrub brush, and gently pulls Drift's arm from the bath, and starts scrubbing away at what didn't come off in the bath. And Drift lets him, which is a treat in of itself. He's not one to be pushed around but here he lets Ratchet move him in and out of the spill, scrubbing his plating and dropping kisses to the newly cleaned spots.

The purr of Drift's engine only gets louder as they go on, and soon enough he slips off into a slight doze. Another treat that Drift grants him. Recharge doesn't come easy to the former assassin, and very rarely does he sleep uninterrupted on the best of days. But here he dozes, and lets Ratchet keep cleaning him, and doesn't wake. It is a testament to how tired his day with Rodimus really made him, honestly, but it's still something that Drift allows Ratchet, and no one else.

Ratchet has to sit back to vent for a moment, before he moves past the ache in his spark and gets back to work. It's silly, really, how often the trust and love that Drift gives him overwhelms him. But it happens, and it happens often, and he's learning how to exist with this splendid joy.

Once he's done, he lets Drift soak a bit longer, before he's gently waking him with a touch along his faceplate, smoothing over those little red marks once again. "Time to wake up, sweetspark. Gotta get you to the berth. We're not done just yet."

Yellow optics blink open again, and Drift starts lifting him out of the bath. As much as he does want to take care of Drift tonight, and carry him around, he lets Drift wiggle his way out of the oil and open the drain while Ratchet grabs the chamois. He brings it over and wraps it around Drift's shoulders, drying him off. With a smile, Drift leans back and kisses his cheek. "I got this, go prep whatever you wanna do next."

"Yeah, and how do you know there's something to prep?" Ratchet huffs, poking him in the side.

Drift just grins wider, "You were rummaging in that storage unit earlier. You never go in there. That's my storage unit where I keep all the ridiculous polishes Rodimus decides he doesn't like anymore and I don't hate."

Well, yeah okay Ratchet's never claimed to be subtle. Maybe he should've planned this out when Drift wasn't in the room, but, well it's too late now.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Dry off and meet me at the berth," he grumbles, but it's with great reluctance that he slips away.

Once in the room he putters around getting everything ready. Just to be safe he lays out a thin blanket that neither of them would mind getting stained—besides, Drift has plenty of blankets as it is. He can spare one. Next, he bustles over to the storage cabinet and grabs the two polishes he picked out before. He'll let Drift decide which one he'll use in the end, but for now… While there, he grabs a detailing kit and a couple cloths. That should be it. Ratchet wants to give him something like a check up. Check his systems, his levels, and everything, but Drift already struggles with medical things and… this is about relaxing Drift.

Drift comes out when Ratchet's fussing about with the various incense that Drift keeps stocked up by his little crystal shrine. He doesn't come over and stop Ratchet, instead he just flops onto the bed to watch, judging by the sounds Ratchet can hear behind him. Eventually he settles on a nice floral scent that he doesn't actually know the name for, but he knows this is one of Drift's favourites from how little of it is left. He lights it, and sets it in its holder before he finally turns and moves back over to the bed.

"You knocked a crystal out of the way," Drift says, lounging back on the berth. He looks relaxed and happy already, brighter in a way, but Ratchet's not done yet.

Ratchet raises an optic ridge and crosses his arm, "What? Are the energies getting fragged up or something? Need me to fix it?"

He has been getting better about respecting Drift's beliefs, but come on. Really? Rocks? They were pretty, don't get Ratchet wrong, but they didn't have some secret hoodoo crap.

"No," Drift says, "it'll be fine for a night. It's supposed to help promote relaxation but you're doing a good job already."

"Good," Ratchet hums, climbing onto the berth to kiss him, soft and slow.

He takes his time with it, cupping Drift's face as he deepens it into something more. Drift melts under it, his own servos reaching up to hook in whatever bits of kibble that he can. His engine starts to purr, smooth and perfect and much more elegant than Ratchet's clunky rumble. By the time he's done, Drift's limp and smiling giddily up at him. He's ridiculous. But so is Ratchet. Ridiculously in love.

"I have two polish options for you," Ratchet says. "You can pick. I would like to give you a massage, but if you don't want that, say so now."

Drift blinks opens his optics, offering a little smile, "You know I'd never pass up a chance to get your servos on me."

Well. Ratchet can't really argue with that. He shuffles up a bit to grab the two polishes, holding each one out for Drift to sniff test before the speedster finally decides on the more floral scent. Drift and his florals. He wishes he got to keep the bouquet Drift gave him that one time. With that settled, Ratchet shifts up and grabs the detailing kit to set aside.

"Alright," he says, settling over Drift's hips. "This is going to take a bit, because the polish has to dry. I'm gonna use my servos for most of your plating, and the detailing kit for the sensitive spots. That work for you?"

"More than," Drift hums. "Might fall asleep. I am tired."

"That's fine," Ratchet hums, when he really is cheering on the inside. "Gonna start now."

Drift just nods, and Ratchet spreads the polish along his servos before setting his servos on Drift's chassis. He's gentle as he starts massaging it into white plating, taking great care to brush his thumbs over the Autobot symbol. He knows Drift's most sensitive spots, and knows where to avoid. Under him, Drift just lets out a sigh and sinks back into the berth, reveling in the touches.

Down his chassis, over his vents and abdominal plating, Ratchet keeps his touches gentle but efficient. Occasionally he has to stop to pour more polish onto his servos, but after about fifteen minutes he finishes Drift's upper body. The speedster is purring loudly at this point, optics closed and face smoothed out in bliss. He's not asleep, yet. For one, Ratchet knows him well enough to tell, and for two, the little readings his servos pick up give him enough of a sense for Drift's read outs.

"Gonna do your arms now," Ratchet says, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of Drift's nose. It doesn't wrinkle like he normally does, but he catches the flick of Drift's lips.

Drift goes limper as the massage continues, his body losing every last bit of tension. Ratchet presses the polish into his arm plating, over those stupidly sharp edges of his shoulders and back kibble that he can reach. He switches to a different cleaning solution for his shoulder tires, giving them a teasing little spin of them. It pulls a laugh from Drift, and a wiggle as he tries to get away.

"Stop," Drift laughs, "That tickles. You know that tickles."

"Oh, does it?" Ratchet asks, in mock discovery, giving them another spin. Eventually he relents when Drift shoves his servo away with a staticky little laugh. "Alright, alright. You good for me to get your legs now, or do you want a break?"

"You can keep going," Drift says, wiggling again as he settles back in the berth.

Ratchet nods, and shuffles down the berth to settle on the end with Drift's pedes in his lap. He avoids his pelvic block, and instead begins the massage here at the top of his thighs, working polish into the plating as he smooths down more and more, taking great care to press his digits into Drift's knees until the entire limb is limp and heavy in his lap. Drift's optics are closed once again, that purr rising up albeit quieter.

He works over Drift's other leg, from thigh to ankle, pressing his thumb into the joint there as he rolls it around, just feeling the way it moves. Smooth, though Ratchet expected as much from Drift. He takes care of himself to ensure his movements are smooth and precise. Mostly his (very pretty to watch) yoga, but he does take better care of himself better, now.

Drift's helm is tipping a bit when he finally sets Drift's pede down into his lap. Asleep, finally. Ratchet feels like his spark could burst from joy. The purr of his engines has quieted into a smaller, softer rumble as he dozes. Ratchet keeps his servo on Drift's ankle, brushing back and forth as his conjunx drifts further into recharge.

When he thinks Drift is deep enough, he grabs the detailing kit and starts in on his pedes, cleaning out what grime didn't come out in the shower or the bath. It's tedious, but Ratchet's servos were built for tedious work. It's cathartic for him, actually. It's not quite medical work, but it's close enough that it sates some of Ratchet's coding.

Drift snuffles and curls into the bed when Ratchet's halfway done with the second pede, really, wholly, truly asleep. It's… honestly a miracle. Drift's such a light sleeper that this would've woken him by now. The sheer trust in this is… beyond measure.

He keeps it contained in his supernova of a spark for the most part, even as his servos tremble through finishing the detailing. He finally pulls away when he's done, cleaning up the little bit of mess that's been made. He's still not done, no, there's still Drift's back to get, but he'll let Drift sleep a bit longer before waking him.

Setting everything aside, he moves back up into the bed and settles down next to Drift. Almost immediately, Drift's turning into his frame, snuggling closer and seeking the warmth of Ratchet's frame. Ratchet welcomes him instantly, wrapping Drift up in his arms and letting him take what he wants. It's hardly an issue, of course. He'll never deny Drift cuddles, not when this feels like it completes him, completes them both. A nose nuzzles into his neck, and Ratchet can't help but huff, knowing that Drift's hovering between sleep and wakefulness. Ratchet hums low in his vocalizer, rubbing his servo over Drift's back. There's enough space between them that the polish won't be messed up, but it's still cozy.

They stay there long enough that Ratchet himself starts to doze, but then Drift wakes all at once, with a shudder of his frame, and Ratchet wakes with him.

"You okay?" Ratchet asks, rubbing his optics to chase away recharge.

Drift blinks at him, before he nods, "Yeah. Just… is it silly to say sleeping startled me?"

"Not at all," Ratchet hums, reaching up to brush a digit along Drift's finnial. "Want to go back to sleep?"

Drift shakes his helm and rolls onto his back, stretching himself out before the flash of his plating gets his attention. He blinks, and sits up, looking over himself. His smile starts small, then grows wider as he takes in the sight of his polished frame, wiggling his pedes as he glances over them.

"Good?"

"I don't think I've ever looked this nice since our reframes," Drift says, beaming up at him. "You did good, Ratty. Thank you."

Ratchet huffs and leans over to kiss his finnial, "Yeah, sure… anytime, sweetspark. I mean it. I'm not done though, still gotta do your back."

Drift sits up with a curious tilt to his helm, before he flops over onto his front, "Well? Get to work."

"Bossy," Ratchet huffs fondly, letting his servo trail down Drift's helm and back, settling over his lower back kibble. "Give me a bit, let me wake up. You can stay cozy." He pauses, thinks, "Actually we should fuel."

"I can get it!" Drift says, already slipping from the berth. Which, nope, that's not the plan.

Ratchet snags him around the hip plating and tugs him back in until he lands with a bounce on the berth. "Nope. You're not undoing all my hard work to get you nice and relaxed."

Drift huffs and flops back into the nest of pillows, glaring at him. "You're so mean to me. Awful, horrible, even."

"Uh huh," Ratchet says, rolling over to prop himself over Drift. "I'm horrible, am I?"

"The most horrible," Drift sniffs, turning his helm away.

Ratchet just laughs, pressing a cluster of kisses over Drift's cheek and up his finnial. If Drift's being serious, he'd know. It's still a relief that they can joke about this like this and Ratchet doesn't fear that he's doing something wrong. They've both been working on honesty together. It's been nice.

The kisses break Drift eventually, and his beams a wide smile before turning to kiss Ratchet back, slotting their lips together and deepening it until there's a sharp little nip on his bottom lip from Drift's fangs. His fans click on, and he presses closer, seeking the push and pull of their kiss, losing himself in it for a while. He thinks this might be his favourite thing to do, ever. Nothing compares.

"Stay," Ratchet says when he finally breaks the kiss, reluctantly ignoring the way Drift chases after him. If he doesn't stop now they'll keep going until they can't stay awake anymore. Ratchet needs to stick to the plan. "*Stay*. I'll be right back, I'm just going to your fuel stash. We'll fuel, then I'll do your back, and then you can rest until morning."

"Mmm, fine," Drift says, pouting again, but he takes his servos off of Ratchet.

In thanks, Ratchet leaves him with one last quick kiss, and slips off the bed. He is thoroughly awake now, and elated. His spark feels so full with joy it could burts, full of love and contentment and so many things he'd never thought he'd feel again.

Drift's fuel stash is set behind a loose panel in the wall, containing mostly non-perishable snacks of energon and various metals. Even cubed energon congeals after some time, so they don't keep any of those here. Ratchet picks some spicy rust sticks for himself, and grabs the salty bismuth chips that Drift tends to favour and returns back to the berth with them dangling in his servos.

"Got you your favourite," he rumbles, dropping the bag into Drift's waiting servos. Immediately the speedster is tearing into them, shoving a couple into his mouth and crunching down on the metal. "Cute."

Drift rolls his optics and shuffles aside to let Ratchet settle back into the berth so they can lay side by side and enjoy their snacks. Ratchet eats slower than Drift does, halfway done by the time Drift is licking his digits clean and rising up to throw the packaging into their trash by the desk Ratchet's made his own. He flops back into the berth and cuddles up to Ratchet on his front, throwing an arm around Ratchet's waist.

If anyone were to see them like this, he thinks they'd be shocked by how affectionate they are. They're both extremely private mechs; while they don't abstain from physical affection in public, it's far more muted. But like this, alone, just the two of them, they can't keep their servos off each other.

"Have I ever told you that you're the best conjunx a mech could have?" Drift says, his voice low and soft and closer to that Dead End rasp he tries to hide with his adopted Crystal City accent. Ratchet loves it, loves when Drift drops the pretense and settles more comfortably into something more him. It's not pretty, granted, but it is nice. It always sends a shiver up Ratchet's frame.

"Many times," Ratchet hums, reaching down to flick his nose. Some of the spicy from his digits sheds off onto Drift's nose, and he wrinkles it, wiping it off on Ratchet's plating. "And I still question your taste."

"And I'll say it until you believe it," Drift chimes back, like he hadn't just teasingly called Ratchet horrible only moments before. Which again, Ratchet knows he doesn't mean. Drift has gotten better at setting his own boundaries. If he didn't want to be here, he wouldn't be. Ratchet's… still learning to trust that.

"Menace," Ratchet repeats for the third time that night, flicking Drift's finnial this time for good measure. "Come on, let me wash my servos and I'll get your back."

Drift bites his bottom lip before peeking up at Ratchet, "Actually, can you do that in the morning? I like this, right here, right now. And I know you really want to but—"

"But nothing, we've got enough time before our shifts tomorrow, I can do it then."

And the beam he gets back is everything, bright and beautiful, and full of a joy he feels echoed in his own spark. Ratchet tucks his half finished snack into his subspace and shuffles down until he can haul Drift into his arms. That smooth, comforting, rumble starts up in Drift's frame again as he cuddles back, pressing a kiss to the bottom of Ratchet's jaw.

"Love you, Ratch," he says, resting his helm on Ratchet's chassis.

"Love you too, sweetspark," Ratchet rumbles, running his servo over Drift's back as they both settle.