Inspired by Lyricality's Seven Days fic about Bumblebee being the Autobot's pleasurebot. Phoenix13 mentioned a round of Optimus 'breaking in' bots in a similar way, and I've been trying to hunt them down… I'm so gutted I missed out on all the fics that came out of those challenges.

Utter crackfic, with Optimus/Bumblebee, Optimus/Ironhide, Optimus/Ratchet and some Bumblebee/Sam crushing mentioned.

It's taken a while to write this and I hope it's ended up coming out okay. Think of it as a late Valentine's fic. Enjoy!

Personnel Duty

Sam and Mikaela had sought out Prime last week in the small hanger that doubled as his office and quarters. The rest of the Autobots seemed to congregate in groups to recharge in their alt forms, so they'd thought nothing of approaching him without calling ahead, or even knocking ineffectually at the human-sized door. They'd frozen at the doorway, however, whatever their question had been instantly lost at the sight that was literally heating the air.

Bumblebee sat with his back to them on the oversized desk, legs straddling the standing mech as he worked his mouth over the thick cords of his throat. Optimus had one large hand cupping the scout's neck, the fingers of the other immersed in the nova of light coming from his chest. Both their vents groaned thick heat, an underlying thrum of noise against the grind of metal as optics flickered.

They'd stayed only seconds, but long enough to know what they were seeing. Red faced and flustered, they'd decided not to mention it to the scout when he approached to take them home.

*

It was a uniqueness that Bumblebee talked during foreplay, and not simply to arouse. It was as if the warming of his parts, the steady throb of his spark beneath gentle, experienced hands somehow helped him to articulate himself. Only with Optimus, though. Their merges were long and slow because of it, because the yellow mech still hesitated after all these centuries.

One hand cupping the mech's helm, thumbing his jaw, and the other tracing slow strokes at the very edge of the smaller spark casing, Optimus spoke in soft, even tones. "I am Prime, Bumblebee. My duty is your wellbeing, in all regards."

Bumblebee shook his head a little, resistance and pleasure tangled into the same heated knot. It had only been a month since Egypt and he was anxious that Optimus wasn't up to this duty. He certainly hadn't been seeking it when he came into the office to deliver his report. Like many times before, however, the tall mech had seen straight through to his spark and known what it was he needed.

Now sitting on the edge of the large desk, his thighs on either side of slim hips whilst wise hands coaxed his body out Bumblebee found his resistance quickly crumbling. Shuttered optics, then: "You died, and then Sam died," he bit out suddenly, head tipping back as his chassis split wider and offered up his spark. "And then Mikaela…" The admission had lifted a weight but the dent of it remained, clouding his processor and tainting his every part. He needed the hot wave, the cleansing tide of the Prime's spark.

Optimus's vents rumbled softly, his thumb dipping into the base of the mech's spark and eliciting a sharp moan. The Autobots had been through so much since arriving on this world, and it would be a long time before all of the wounds were healed. "You still have us," he murmured, taking advantage of the height of the desk by bowing his head to touch their helms together.

Cautiously at first, Bumblebee brought his hands up to Optimus's neck and stilled against his chassis, his spark aching at the proximity of the powerful energy concealed by thick panels. Optimus had withdrawn from touching his spark directly, letting the pleasure brew as he traced neural lines in joints and teased at the warm interface panel. The scout moaned a little, pressing his head firmly against one finial. "Have you… I mean, for anyone…"

The considerately roaming hands didn't falter, one lingering over his electrified interface lines whilst the other traced the parts of his backstrut. "Yes, I've done this for those in grief."

"Magnus?"

Optimus stilled, remembering those dark days of mourning following the destruction of the mech whom had left him the last of the Prime's line. He'd known Ultra Magnus before, during and after that relationship, and the grieved darkness in the mech's optics was still a vivid memory. All the Autobots felt the loss, but none knew just how deeply Magnus suffered with it. It was only the second time they'd merged.

Finally he nodded a little, vents sighing heat against Bumblebee's body as he simply held and was held. "After Sentinel, yes. We took a day of comfort when he allowed me. Less than he needed but all we could afford." Drawing back a little from the embrace, Optimus traced the mech's jaw before his hand trailed past his split chassis to scrape his abdomen. "There is much pain in our lives, and we manage it as best we can."

Stiffening, Bumblebee's head dropped back without his intention as Optimus traced the cover of his recessed interface panel. "I didn't know it could truly help that much."

"It's not spoken of aloud, but the sting of grief can also be cleansed." There was only factualness in the tone, a gentle assurance that there was relief even for this grey knot of feelings Bumblebee was experiencing. He'd not seen Sam die, albeit temporarily, and had not needed to see the scout's face in those moments to know of how deeply it had cut him. It had been obvious for a long time, and it relieved him beyond all measure that the teen had been revived just as he had, though he'd been returned to Mikaela more than Bumblebee.

When the mech released the latch, Optimus stroked the cover aside and felt the heat emanating from the revealed ports and retracted cables. It took only seconds for him to find the most electrified – the one that would start the woven connection. "Tell me of your feelings for the boy."

Bumblebee's voice came as a hoarse laugh, pained against the Prime's audio as he pulled his body closer into the broad chassis. Needing contact. Needing warmth. "It's impossible."

"I've learned that that is rarely the case," Optimus murmured with a smile, twisting his hand to thumb back his own cover whilst the other tripped over lines and feeds in Bumblebee's neck. "But even if it is, he does love you, even if it's not in the way that you would wish to express it."

"What do I do, Prime?" the young mech asked with a tremble, optics widening as the most stimulated of his interface cables was teased out, drawn across the little space between them. His fingers tightened, scraping across the thick armour that he could never dent like this.

Out of habit, Optimus shuttered his optics as he connected them, feeling a shunt of heat press into his port before the mech's other lines lurched out to complete the bind. Hands steady over the small ones that trembled against him, his instruction was whispered. "Think of him and let go."

Bumblebee cried aloud as the packages began to move between them, pleasure triggering pleasure triggering want triggering need. One arm clutching Optimus's neck to brace himself, he arched away and allowed the broad hand to play across his spark again. Clearly the Autobot Commander wished to wind him as tight as he could before giving him the cleansing release of a sparkmerge, and Bumblebee thanked him for it a thousand times over.

Optimus lay a tender kiss to the yellow helm, offering his neck in the same gesture knowing that the scout had a proclivity for biting there. Finally opening his own chest plates when he felt that Bumblebee had heated enough to begin setting off alarms, Optimus drew himself closer to merge their sparks together. Just as his own optics were shuttering in response to the mech's stuttered groan of ecstasy, he noticed that the human-sized door, the one he hadn't locked, was open a few inches. It was a momentary distraction, however, before his spark swelled out through Bumblebee's systems and began to cleanse.

*

That in itself wasn't too bad. They'd conceded that all living things sought companionship, and there wasn't any reason why Optimus and Sam's guardian couldn't be in a relationship, hidden as it seemed to be. Mikaela broached that their discretion probably wasn't because they were embarrassed, but rather that they wouldn't want them to 'freak out' as Sam was doing. They decided mutually not to mention it and believed that that was that.

Inadvertently stumbling upon Optimus and Ironhide a few weeks later had blown their conclusion of an unrevealed romance in the midst of war completely to hell, and their alarm returned anew. Rounding a corner in a deserted part of the Base one night, they had found Optimus pinning the shorter mech against the wall, both their expressions fierce in the light of only their optics and partially exposed sparks. Initially it looked like they were fighting, pressing and wrenching against each other amidst a litany of moans and suppressed shouts. But then they'd moved to the ground, and their true intent became abundantly clear. Again they'd slipped away without being noticed, and been left unsettled by the absolute normality of the two mechs' behaviour the following day.

*

Ironhide pressed into the taller mech's grip, vents growling in frustration when Optimus's body refused to move. The watery light of their barely exposed sparks throbbed between them. "I ain't taking nothing from you, Prime. Not when you've only been alive again for three slaggin' months."

"It's mine to give," Optimus replied smoothly, gently, optics darkening as he felt the broad mech begin to relax into him, the wide chassis warming. "And don't think me fragile, Ironhide. I've never felt better."

A thunk as Ironhide's head tipped back into the wall, resolve crumbling rapidly. "Don't reckon this is what Jetfire had in mind."

"No, but he was a Prime. He'd understand." There was an obvious smile in the murmured reply as Optimus dipped his mouth into the specialist's thick throat, sending blue sparks tingling out from the contact. Already he could feel that the mech needed this – neural lines throbbing a sour ache that spoke of a spark in desperate need of cleansing. Selfishly, Optimus also felt a need to do this for himself – to reconnect with the members of his team.

There had been a cloying sense of disbelief amongst the Autobots since his resurrection, and though it was wholly understandable, he wanted to reassure them that it was still him. This private act was still the same, and something they were entitled to request. Or accept if he could tell that they needed it.

"You always left this too long, 'Hide," he admonished gently, releasing Ironhide's wrists to grip his waist, applying a teasing pleasure to thick armour and strong lines. "But I'll forgive you on this occasion."

"Very reasonable of you." Unseen by the mech heating up his sternal servos, Ironhide grinned and fixed his hands under the sturdy armour of Optimus's sides. Wasting no time in getting them both down on the ground, he soon had the Prime on his back. "So," he purred, settling his weight over slim hips and feeling out the catches and locks on the broad chassis. "Came back good as new, hm?"

"Near enough," Optimus replied through a sigh, freely unlocking his armour to the mech's hands. Usually Ironhide was one for rough foreplay, a violent exertion of need building up to the cleansing spark merge. Sometimes he was urgent, though, seeking something. Needing the oft-intangible rewards of sparkmerge so badly that everything else fell to the wayside.

Bringing his hands up to Ironhide's splitting chassis, Optimus grunted at the solid grip that forced them away. Ironhide had never allowed himself to be tended to, taking his pleasure from orchestrating another's. The dark mech could be mistaken for solely taking, but in truth he gave endlessly.

"Just what I want, 'fore you go worrying," Ironhide cut in before Optimus could speak, guiding the last panels aside with blunt fingers to reveal the brilliantly bright spark. It had been impressively powerful before, but through resurrection and temporarily adopting Jetfire's parts, the blue light had swelled and brightened to near-white.

Momentarily forgetting himself, Ironhide's hands hovered at its borders with reverence. "Primus," he whispered, barely audible over the growl of their engines and the heady whine of their vents. Meeting Optimus's watchful gaze, optics bright and the battle mask long retracted, he searched for some way to articulate the myriad of thoughts flitting through his processor. Awe and relief were obvious, but guilt was a dark presence behind both.

Ironhide's gaze dropped, feeling the need to confess swell again. "You shouldn't've been there on yer own, Optimus. You shouldn't have died from three Cons on ya in the woods."

I should have been there, and I'm so sorry I wasn't hung in the air too heavy to say, though they were the words he so desperately wanted to lay at his Prime's feet.

Optics brightening, Optimus didn't cheapen the words with dismissive assurance but reached up to draw the other mech down to him. "I'm alright, Ironhide. You didn't fail me."

Ironhide's groan was as much relief as desire, their meeting sparks pulsing hard as they blended together. He'd bypassed the use of their interface ports and cables for the sake of the pure experience of a spark merge. This was not about pleasure. It was affirmation; assurance; cleansing; an emotional and psychological release that he couldn't achieve alone. He'd never experienced it so strongly before – Prime's energy penetrating and consuming his own, surging out from his spark like a warm balm that soothed away of plethora of anxiety, frustration, remorse and regret.

There was no language but some baser level of communication between their mingling sparks, beyond the roaring pleasure of such a fusion of energy. Things that language was too broad and clumsy to ever properly convey. This was what Ironhide had needed, what the Prime had seen in him since the moment they sat alongside one another on the aircraft carrier leaving Egypt. The ecstasy was almost incidental.

Not that either mech ever minded that having their circuits blown was a side effect of this tending.

Ironhide shifted a little as his systems came back online, finding the sudden warm ease in his spark unfamiliar and momentarily unsure of where he was. Soon he became aware of Optimus's hand against the base of his helm, not moving but being a protective presence in these vulnerable moments. The Prime very rarely offlined himself, even from a combination of spark and interface panel pleasure, and Ironhide was coming to see it as something that needed rectifying. A while ago, he'd been flirting with the idea of inviting a few other willing bots to mount an assault on his systems. It was perhaps a plan that warranted revisiting now that he was assured that Optimus's stamina was up for it.

The taller mech was careful not to make any movement that might suggest that this was over. The merge in itself wasn't the point, and Optimus ran his hand down to an area of the dark mech's lower back that he knew to often be stiff and sore. With the lines and protoform softened in the come-down, Optimus set about massaging out the residual tension. He smiled, unseen, at the rumbling purr it elicited from Ironhide's vents.

Optimus stilled briefly at an internal chirp from his sensors, which he now realised had been going off for some time but was too distracted to be aware of. Sam and Mikaela were closeby and retreating. Resuming the kneading strokes and cupping Ironhide's neck more firmly to himself, he cast the concern aside for the time being.

*

Later in the same week, Sam and Mikaela had heard what sounded like Acree over the rise that scooped about the Base, and it was obvious that this was more than just promiscuity. They'd talked again, theorised and guessed, taken into account that they were from an alien culture, and the only conclusion that they could draw was one they didn't accept. Couldn't believe. Finally this evening, when the human and bot inhabitants of the Base alike had wound down for the night, Sam and Mikaela had come into the Medbay hanger to find out the truth. They had come to him specifically with their concerned questions because he was, as a doctor, neutral. That and the only other bots they would have felt comfortable asking were involved in this situation that bewildered them.

They sat on the edge of a berth opposite the one Ratchet was leaning against. To Ratchet's straightforward question of what it was that was troubling them, Mikaela found herself left to answer whilst Sam inspected his shoes. "We've been seeing some strange... activities around the Base lately, and we were just wondering what's going on."

Cocking his head a little, the medic frowned. "What activities are you referring to as strange?"

Mikaela's brows lifted a little, glancing to Sam who seemed to be composing himself though not ready to speak quite yet. In truth she had the same level of rapport with Ratchet as Sam did with Optimus, so it seemed natural for her to be leading this conversation with him. "Well mostly it's Optimus… and more of the Autobots than I'd have figured him for. One at a time, I mean."

The medic's mouth quirked in a suppressed smirk, optics bright. "Ah yes, the merges."

The mechanic blinked at that, knowing full well from Ironhide that 'merge' was a slang term for their equivalency of sex. Sam swung his legs a little and straightened, his voice coming stronger than Mikaela had been anticipating though still in a rush. "Because Optimus is Prime, does that mean that the rest of you guys have to… like…" A forced cough and his ears flushed red. "Uh, 'service' him?

Ratchet shook his head with a smile, making an effort not to laugh at the innocent and entirely misled question. "No, Sam, there's not anything due to Prime from us other than our loyalty." He sat back a little, grazing the bottom of his jaw with the backs of his fingers thoughtfully as he thought of how best to go into this. It had been a very long time since he had to explain it to someone. On Cybertron it had been common knowledge past a certain age, though very few experienced the privilege of the act itself. "It's rather the other way around."

Mikaela frowned, meeting the bright optics that seemed to be projecting nothing but patience. "What does that mean?"

His hands flicked out in a kind of shrug. "Simply that, to use your phrasing, Prime 'services' us." The humans exchanged a loaded look and Ratchet sighed a little, folding his hands together so that his fingers interlaced as an X between his legs. When he spoke he'd fallen into a lecturing tone, though not unkindly. "It is the purpose of the Prime to care for the wellbeing of his people, particularly those bots closest to him. On the one-to-one level, that means attending to individuals' emotional and psychological needs as much as to lead them." A shrug and he smiled a little. "That's why he has what is widely perceived as a desirable frame. All the Primes did."

Mikaela's mouth quirked in a grin, and she tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "Yeah, even I'd say he was handsome." Ratchet nodded with a soft sound, waiting for her to continue as she seemed poised to do. She ran a hand through her hair again, casting Sam a nervous sidelong glance. They hadn't expected the medic to be so unapologetically forthcoming. Apparently this was natural to them. "So, what you're saying is that part of his job is to have sex with anyone who wants it?"

Ratchet raised a hand to cut off the misunderstanding before they both became invested in it. "Not quite – it isn't 'sex' as you would understand it." He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he quickly deliberated how best explain this. From what he'd researched, there was no synonymous act in their species, something a part of him pitied them for. It would have to be a very basic explanation. "Our sparks are physical manifestations of our souls, the energy that is our life force. Over time, it can become cluttered and worn from our experiences, which ultimately has a wider effect of degradation upon us. A sparkmerge can ease those wounds. The spark of a Prime is an immensely powerful one, with the energy necessary to cleanse another's spark in an act of comfort, reassurance or simply love."

"Love," Sam echoed back flatly, eyebrows twitching towards his hairline.

"Yes, love," Ratchet confirmed softly, his optics dimming with thought. "As our commander for all these years, Optimus has led us through hardships and horrors that he would spare us of if he could. But he can only protect us as best he can, and there his actions go beyond simply what is expected of a military commander. His kindness and generosity are from love, and it is what he gives freely to anyone who needs it. It is not an obligation, but a desire to care that is as much a part of him as his patience and intelligence. Merging to cleanse comes naturally to him, and it is something we need from time to time, particularly following trauma like what transpired in Egypt."

Mikaela shifted a little, her interest piqued and actively encouraged now that Ratchet was being so forthcoming with information. The stronger rapport also left her happier to pry where Sam had been rendered largely mute by the concept. "So, you all do this?"

Ratchet frowned a little, shaking his head as his gaze lowered fractionally. "We are all within our rights to seek it, request it, but not everyone actively does. Bonded couples do not need to, and some are simply unsure about imposing on him in such a way. He would say that it is never an imposition, but…" A half shrug, one thick shoulder rolling upwards.

Silence dragged out for several seconds as Ratchet waited patiently for any more questions they might have, and Sam and Mikaela began to wrestle this new piece of information against what they already knew about the Autobot leader. Finally, the medic simply slid off the berth and offered the platform of his hands to let them down. "I think that will do for one night. Come see me tomorrow if you have any more questions."

Once alone in the Medbay again, Ratchet rested his weight against a berth as his sensors tracked Optimus's approach through the wall. The tall mech had been hovering patiently, silently listening in on the comm. that had been opened to him. Truthfully it was why he'd ushered out the humans so abruptly.

'I think you explained that quite well,' the baritone rumble praised across the channel. Optimus wasn't used to feeling a need for secrecy about the merges, though he had always acted with discretion, and he'd been hoping that the humans might become accepting of the act that they seemed to have no parallel within their species for. 'Hopefully they were not overly perturbed. They are so different to us.'

'I think they'll handle it,' Ratchet replied, his tone turning soft as his optics darkened. When the doors opened he didn't look up. 'You remembered.'

'Of course.' Optimus was mindful to lock both their and the human's entrance before crossing the space to the medic. After being caught by Sam and Mikaela in his office with Bumblebee, he wouldn't be making that mistake again, and especially not now. He'd quietly informed Prowl that he wasn't to be disturbed tonight, and the tactician had inferred enough to simply nod and wish him luck. There was a chance he wouldn't need that time, but he sincerely hoped that the medic would allow it.

"Five years." Standing before the shorter mech, Optimus cocked his head with soft optics. His systems were quiet, patient. "You asked for time."

Ratchet shook his head, one hand coming up to graze across his features as he sighed into his palm. "Five years is just a blink in time," he murmured, shoulders sagging with something close enough to defeat that strong hands came to rest on his shoulders. He didn't resist them, optics shuttering before a sigh. With the Prime standing so close to him, he could hear the soft ticks and pops of the big engine and feel warmth rolling out from his vents. Comforting.

"Not for your spark," Optimus replied softly, thumbs tracing old scars and dents in the bright armour. The small plates of his face tightened, displaying more worry than he would if Ratchet did not have his head bowed. "You need to begin to heal. If not, the next time you're badly hurt your spark won't endure."

A soft 'harrumph' through his vents, yet Ratchet felt himself relaxing more deeply into the touch, shocks hissing out tension. Five years had passed since Mission City had changed everything and it still ached through his spark. It wasn't as bright as it had been upon seeing Jazz's body after it had been wrenched in two, but the grief had ground at him from the inside, feeling a little worse every day. Prime had left him to grieve for a year before approaching him with a gentle offer, and then accepted his request for more time without protest. It had seemed like yesterday, and it seemed like nothing had changed. Certainly not him. He shook his head again, stilling when one of the hands moved to cup his jaw and still the denial. The medic's optics were pale at the edges when he met the concerned gaze. "Perhaps it shouldn't," he uttered softly, sadly.

Optimus chanced another step forward to close the rest of the space between them, sighing warm air when the shorter mech didn't resist the proximity and relaxed further into his hands. It was a curiosity of the Prime line that their bodies always seemed somehow compatible with every other build their kind had to offer. Sometimes it took some creativity, but there was always a comfortable way to embrace – the universal reassurance.

"He wanted you to be happy," Optimus assured softly, his fingers seeking out taut lines and weary parts across the mech's back to sooth with knowing motions. Jazz's death had torn a strip from him too, and memories of their periodic sparkmerges long ago continued to leave a prickling sadness in his chassis. "I knew of his feelings long before you did, and it was always your happiness he wanted."

A hard, static sound jerked out of Ratchet's vocal processor, optics shuttering hard as he moved deeper into the broad chassis. Optimus held him close and opened the seam of his chassis a centimetre – just enough to allow a thin wash of energy to seep out and massage over the medic's front, not quite penetrating to his spark.

Ratchet brought his hands up to frame the Prime's sides, holding him there as he savoured the clean life energy being offered. He'd expected a change after Egypt, but nothing this potent and certainly not this familiar. The spark had changed, but it remained welcoming and comfortable, simply a more energised version of its former self. Perfect and pure.

Optimus's mouth at his short finial drew the medic out of his gentle scrutiny, reminding him that this wasn't a procedure. "You do not have to follow him into the Well of Sparks, and he would not want you to."

The medic pulled back at that truth, optics hardening a little as his defences tried to rise. It was futile in the face of this spark, though, still close enough to be felt by his own, throbbing with a need to touch. "How many bots have you counselled through the death of their sparkmate?" he asked, his hands tracing down thoughtfully to Optimus's wrists.

"Too many," the tall mech replied softly, allowing his wrists to be held, passive under Ratchet's hands. The medic was the least predictable, in part because he had only taken up this ongoing offer of a cleansing merge when it was severely needed. And then, there was something specific he needed from the encounter in addition to the sparkmerge itself. Optimus had often feared that Ratchet put himself through too much suffering simply because he didn't feel that his hurt warranted the Prime's attention. Closing the space between them again, Optimus cupped the sharp jaw and spoke against the medic's mouth. Ratchet had always enjoyed kissing. "But it doesn't make your pain any less significant. We need you. I need you."

Savouring the exploration of glossa and mouth after such a long gap, Ratchet finally allowed the feelings that had been building up around his spark and behind his interface panel to crash out through his systems. His stuttered moan was swallowed, met with a reciprocal sound flooded with gratitude. It still stunned him that Optimus was thankful to his partners for accepting him, rather than the other way around. Permitting himself to what was offered, what had always been offered, Ratchet turned them slightly and nudged the tall body against the berth. He broke the kiss with a thin smile and darkened optics.

It had happened once before like this, and the thought of revisiting that heady experience sent a fresh surge of heat through Optimus's systems as he got up onto the berth and led down. Shifting his limbs outwards, he waited as Ratchet unfurled the thick straps hidden on the underside of the berth and began to affix the loops around his ankles and wrists. Tonight the medic needed control, he noted to himself. Ratchet hadn't been able to save Jazz despite his best efforts, and guilt had been grinding at him as much as the grief that losing a lover entailed. He shouldn't have waited this long to confront him with the cleansing he needed.

As Ratchet fastened the last straps and began to give each one an experimental tug, his processor wandered in relation to the building anticipation in his spark. "Jazz used to play music while we 'faced," he said softly, coming to Optimus's side when he was satisfied with the bonds and tracing his fingers up the opening of the wide chassis. "Sing into my spark. It sent vibrations all through my lines."

"I know," Optimus replied with a shiver, already shifting against the restraints at Ratchet's simple, calculated touch. "There wasn't another like him." He liked to think that he would trust any of the bots to do this with him, but in truth the list was very short, and Ratchet was at the top of it. Optimus wasn't used to vulnerability, and it was a significant gesture on his part to allow himself to be made vulnerable for another's pleasure. Ratchet knew that and fully appreciated it.

Kneeling up on the berth, Ratchet straddled one thick thigh and tipped his body forward over the Prime's chassis. One hand came to rest with surprising gentleness over the readied interface panel, shut but expectant, whilst the other pressed against Optimus's chassis and began to coax the plates aside. When the light of the exposed spark flooded out in a warm glow, he felt his own chassis split open for the first time in over five years and met the azure gaze with bright optics. "Prime," he murmured, not quite sure why he had spoken and uncertain as to the meaning in it. Grief, gratitude, awe and a plea all wrapped into one syllable.

Optimus stilled under the cautious touch, twisting his limbs against the restraints to achieve it against the prickling rise of sensation. "Yes Ratchet?"

Ratchet smiled, and it came easier to his features than he'd remembered it could.

"Sing for me."

****

I can't write just outright smut it seems… Still, I'd love to hear if it fluttered any shutters!