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Tap...tap...tap tap tap!
An irritated grumble roughly gurgled out of Ratchet’s vocalizer before he could boot up to his basic function, because something...tap tap tap...was annoying the scrap out of him. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was. No matter, his systems already knew how to respond to that: get mad and yell.
Low, beeping noises joined the mysterious tapping as the activation command traveled all over his frame. The startup was slower than he would’ve liked, but his sensors were active enough to feel the light tickle of an electromagnetic field blanketing him.
Home-safety-forever. Even deep in his recharge, Drift was still smothering Ratchet in his love. A habit that strengthened into something permanent over thousands of years of living and loving together.
Tell anyone that the infamous Mad Hatchet was capable of a smile first thing in the morning and no one would believe you.
Tap..tap..tap! Tap! tap!
Ratchet’s optics finally whirred online. Color appeared behind the gray static, until his surroundings eventually sharpened into solid shapes. His irises zoomed in, zoomed out and then focused entirely on the helm lying on his arm.
Drift, his beautiful, perfectly annoying, lovable Drift. Fifty thousand cycles of being conjunxed meant fifty thousand mornings of waking up to the same mech, yet each time Ratchet waited for his husband to come online still felt like watching his own sunrise, warmer and more radiant than Hadeen itself.
Tap! Tap! tap...tap!
Gentle digits ghosted across the sleeping face, Ratchet caressing Drift like he was his first proof of a miracle.
Ratchet huffed with fondness, the irises of his optics rolling. Miracles? What’s next, he would thank Primus for allowing him to meet Drift? Or believe that the stars aligned and had set things into motion through destiny? He couldn’t believe how badly his conjunx was rubbing off on him.
I wouldn’t mind. Ratchet didn’t bother chastising that small voice in his processor.
His fingers danced beneath Drift’s shuttered optics, tracing the zigzag of the red paint before they brushed down to the samurai’s parted dermas, which Ratchet was intimately familiar with, memorized the feeling of, knew how to make them tingle all over, down to the smallest sensory wire from millions of shared kisses.
The urge to kiss Drift pinged from his emotional circuits, but Ratchet held himself back. He didn’t want to wake Drift from recharge. Instead, he drew his helm slightly backwards to continue marveling at his beloved.
Then it came out of nowhere. Fifty thousand years of feelings and memories surged up like a massive tide before they slammed all at once at his spark chamber, begging to enter his very core.
Drift, all of them was Drift. Love, joy, hope, annoyance, happiness and many more swirled together in a hurricane of emotions powered by eons worth of memories. Ratchet’s overwhelming urge to hold him crackled all over his frame. He needed to hold him, he needed his anchor, or he would lose himself in the cyclonic storm.
So he did, as gently as he could pull his conjunx into an embrace, one servo cradling the back of the samurai’s helm and then softly drew it closer to his rumbling chassis. Drift let out a low hum in contentment but did not fully wake.
What got Ratchet cursing was the dopey smile on his lover’s dermas, followed by a very groggy murmur of ‘Ratty’ before Drift conked out again.
Damn you, I love you so much. I love you more than anything. Why are you doing this to me?
The thought looped in his processor, again and again, and not long after, was reduced into a litany of I love yous, and that is how Ratchet didn’t realize that he was saying it out loud—more like whispering it against the top of Drift’s helm, to which he decided to punctuate each one with a tender, lingering kiss.
Tap..tap...tap...tap...tap!
Ratchet ex-vented. Ah, bliss. Fifty thousand years of just him, and Drift, and their serene, little lake house....tap, tap, tap...and the sound of a very persistent avianoid knocking on their window.
Being on vacation was the only time he get to laze around and he wanted nothing more than to cuddle Drift in bed all cycle, but he ought to take care of the adamant mechanimal lest it disturbed his conjunx’s recharge.
As carefully as he could, he extracted himself from Drift’s side (oh how he regret it the next nano-klik) and approached the massive window with an annoyed grumble.
Ratchet parted the curtains, and couldn’t help a smitten kind of an ex-vent as he welcomed the same captivating sight that greeted him everyday.
Like resuming a paused music, the sound of the outside world rushed in, bringing along the gentle morning breeze as he slid the window open. The slight chill ruffled all over his plating and Ratchet basked in it, activating his olfactory senses for that sweet, unpolluted scent of nature.
The soft radiance of Hadeen was slowly ascending to the sky, casting warm, golden rays over the blue expanse of the solvent lake before him.
Not far away to his right was a forest island near the foot of an emerald mountain which bordered the lake and extended all the way to the horizon.
This mesmerizing scenery was framed by the sprawling branches of the crystal cherry blossoms planted outside. Ratchet reached out a servo to cradle a flower, knowing that a part of Drift radiated from it.
Ratchet shivered as he felt it crawl along his arm like a vine, until the imaginary tendril settled in his spark, allowing him to also feel the same emotions Drift had all throughout his passion project.
Determination, awe, disappointment, hopefulness, frustration, excitement, hopelessness...No, I want this to work, I want to see this grow as big and strong and as beautiful as Ratchet...love.
Drift spent long, long cycles cyberforming the Earth-native tree he came to love so much. Because organic plants couldn’t survive in Cybertron, he dedicated his spare time in finding ways to cultivate one that could survive the planet. On the two and a half thousandth year of their marriage, he gifted his conjunx the first ever sprout.
Ratchet broke down. Sat and sobbed in front of the tiny, growing life. He witnessed Drift struggles, comforted him in his failures and everything.
In the end, all of it...was for him?
They could never have a sparkling, but perhaps raising together a crystal born out of Drift’s love for him was the next best thing.
“Did you know that on Earth, cherry blossoms don’t even last for all year round?” Drift murmured in his audial back then. “But this little thing I built right here, Ratchet, it will stay for all seasons, it will grow to last forever, just like our love.”
To this day, that small, fragile shard bloomed in the tallest and healthiest it could be outside their berthroom window. Caring for said tree also lead to the discovery that they enjoyed joint gardening as a pastime apart from their separate hobbies. Ratchet was happy to use his caregiver’s hands for something else, and Drift loved becoming one with nature—soaking up his conjunx’s relaxed EM field included.
Soon enough, their yard became filled with more vegetation and their little home by the lake was bursting with life more than ever.
TAP! TAP!
A sharp beak knocked on his plating.
“Oh alright already, you fat glutton!” Ratchet glared at the avianoid perched on his arm. It let out a mechanized chirp at him before hopping back down on the windowsill. He bent to fetch copper seed packets in a bottom shelf for a few nano-kliks. When he stood upright again, three more avianoids were shaking their overexcited afts at him. And then the skittering came as five dark shapes looped around the tree branches in a blur.
A family of dexi-squirrels optic’ed him expectantly.
“Unbelievable!” Ratchet in-vented dramatically. Cupping one hand, he shook the treats out of the bag to his palm. “Our home is not a fast food stop, you all hear me? I’d appreciate it if you don’t wake us up! Pits, be thankful my conjunx loved to spoil freeloaders and that I love him enough to tolerate being a glorified food bowl. Here. Eat.” He thrust the seed-laden servo out and Drift’s little buddies hungrily dug into their feast.
Ratchet watched the little critters. He couldn’t really blame his conjunx blowing credits on mechanimal food. Drift knew how it was to not have a secured fuel source, how it was to rummage the bins for the next meal. Now that he had extra shanix to burn, Drift stepped up and took pride as a provider. Not only for Ratchet, but for every sentient creatures who needed help. That’s why he had set up a few charities for the less fortunate mechs and funded more than half of their free-for-all clinic.
There’s just so much love in Drift’s pure spark Ratchet sometimes felt like he didn’t deserve him.
“I don’t need the bond for me to hear you thinking all the way here.” Drift’s comforting EM field wrapped around Ratchet before his arms could coil around the retired medic’s waist. “Something wrong, Ratty?”
How could something be? Ratchet pushed into their bond. Despite the immense feelings he felt for Drift, he was still hesitant to voice out such mushy thoughts. I’ve never felt troubled nor wronged since I married you.
Drift’s hold tightened around him. A smile was pressed onto his back.
“Your greedy friends are gonna poke holes in my servo if they keep pigging out like this, that’s what’s wrong!” Ratchet vented out harshly as his frame melted inside Drift’s embrace. The samurai chuckled, his helm angling forward. Ratchet’s turned to the side. Their lips met for an overdue good morning kiss. “Sorry, did I wake you?” Ratchet’s voice rumbled low.
“Nope. I’ve been booting up slowly since you got up.” Drift settled his chin on Ratchet’s shoulder. One of his servo crawled under his conjunx’s outstretched arm, stilling beneath the busy hand. Without a word, Ratchet let the remaining treats spill onto the white palm under. The mechanimals let out affronted noises at the disturbance, earning them a soft laugh from the couple. “Eat nice and quick, little ones. I want to make out with my Ratty as soon as possible.”
Ratchet huffed, his faceplates heating up. Drift always needed two hands when they fool around because he loved groping whatever part of him he could reach. “Fuel first before sticky activities.” he insisted sternly. “And somehow, I don’t want to do it in the dining room today.”
“Understandable.” At last, the mechanimals seemed to have eaten their fill. The avianoids took off with a static-y hoot of thanks. “I mean, how many times have we interfaced on the table? I agree with changing locations. How about in the hot tub again, hmm?” Drift’s helm moved in a way that gave the impression of him waggling his optic ridges.
“W-Wha—!” Ratchet spat out static. “I meant eating breakfast, you overcooked oilwaffle, get your helm out of the gutter!” The flushed mech elbowed his way out of his laughing conjunx.
“I’ll make breakfast. Go do your thing, teach.” A wet smooch landed on Ratchet’s cheek. “Take your time. Meet me at the backyard later. Love you.” Still giggling, Drift bounded down the stairs. Ratchet shook his fist after him before making his way to his study.
The med school was on a term break but the draft of the curriculum for the next school year was sent to him yesterday. As one of the department heads, he’s eligible to make revisions or write up suggestions before he would send it back to be properly formatted into a syllabus. Ratchet figured he could go over it first thing in the morning if he wanted to spend the rest of the cycle lazing around with Drift.
No one in their right mind would sport a besotted smile while looking at complicated wall of texts on a datapad, yet the unfamiliar bulging of the cables beneath his cheekplates betrayed the happiness on his face.
Once upon a time, Ratchet would rather accept engex from the shadiest Decepticon rather than abandon his work, or Primus forbid (uuugggh, Driiift!), take a moment to rest. Now, his entire system itched to throw the datapad down and just spend the rest of the morning kissing his conjunx senseless.
Fifty thousand years together and the promise of making out with his husband still sent him into a fit of giddiness as if he was an inexperienced mechling.
Pits, he ached. Ached to pull the love of his life in a forever embrace. How could Drift have so much effect on him like this? When did he fall so deeply to the point of no return? Ratchet wanted to tear his processor out everytime the thought of not conjunxing him plagued his processor. What if he was bonded to another mech, would his feelings be just as spark-clenching and profound?
Borrowing Rewind’s words, he knew the answer: him and Drift not together struck him as intensely wrong.
“Scrap, what am I doing?!” The window in his office offered the same view of the solvent lake. Ratchet tore his gaze off it. When did he start getting lost among the waves? “Idiot! You’re a Pit-danged Professor not a romantic novelist, for slag’s sake!” Daydreaming in the middle of work? How shameful.
Something pulsed in his spark. Again, Drift. Just like always. Just like everything.
The dumb smile was back on his dermas in an instant.
Relax, Ratty. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting for you no matter how long it takes. You can do it!
Thank you, dear. Don’t worry. I’m fine and I’ll come down soon.
The pleasant mix of strings, flute, and bells resonated from the backyard. Ratchet isn’t one for earthly music but he’s happy to admit that he enjoyed Drift’s particular taste for relaxing melodies.
He stepped out as stealthily as he could, expecting his conjunx sitting in a meditative state. Instead, Ratchet finds his mech in a languid dance beneath the cherry blossom tree. Drift’s body swayed to the slow rhythm, his optics offline and his dermas curved in a smile.
Ratchet could be quiet all he wanted, content himself with watching his love turn liquid to the music; their bond, however, was louder than anything else. Ratchet spark spun wildly in excitement the moment it felt the close proximity of it’s other half.
The smile not leaving his lips, Drift rebooted his optics right where Ratchet stood. “Finished with your work?”
It took mustering all his strength to not just slam right into Drift’s open arms. “Yep. I may have suggested including more advanced subjects on the syllabus because I’m the infamous, terror professor like they say.”
Oh he had seen the look on the poor bitlings during his visits, alright. Sometimes, they peered up at him pitifully for help, as if imploring him to soften Ratchet a bit. Others stared in astonishment. How in Primus’s name did a gentlemech like him managed to conjunx a sparkeater of a teacher?
He had read their auras too. Despite Ratchet’s strictness and his penchant to seek near perfection in everything, his students wholly trusted him to be the one to guide them into the future.
“Not true.” Drift brought them chassis-to-chassis, his arms wrapping around Ratchet’s neck. “You are wonderful.”
“You are biased.” Ratchet argued. “And you love me.”
“Now, that is very much true.” Drift poked the tip of Ratchet’s nasal ridge. “But seriously, everyone knows how difficult the path of a medic is, it isn’t for the weak. You’re just preparing them for the hardship they’ll inevitably go through. You may be the best, but you’re not going to let them graduate until they’ve surpassed you in some way, are you?”
Ratchet chuckled. He was brutal like that, but he wouldn’t suggest it if he wasn’t confident his students could handle the workload. “Damn right. They’re in for lots of crying.”
Drift knocked their forehelms together, his smile widening into a grin. Ratchet made him cry once too...uh, twice...okay, atleast close to a hundred times, because pining after someone he’s down so bad for was actually painful. Poor Rodimus got the brunt of his drunk, whining aft.
Deep laughter cut through the music as Drift dipped Ratchet backwards, none of them realizing that they had been moving, locked together in an uncoordinated slow dance. It was so easy to lose themselves in the other’s optics.
No more words were needed. When Ratchet was pulled back up, it was to a pair of warm lips desperately latching onto his own. The music, the sounds of nature, all of it stopped mattering as their mouths danced to the duet of their sparks.
The kiss pushed deeper, more frenzied, more devouring. The heat from their faceplates almost welded their helms together. Glossas wrapped around each other. Servos sought purchase all over their partner’s frame in an attempt to hold onto something that would anchor them.
At this point, neither could tell where one ended and the other began. Somehow, it wasn’t enough. More, please, more. Is there a way they could become closer beyond joining their sparks together? The desire to merge into a single being nearly overwhelmed them. Could it be possible?
They parted just far enough to vent against each other’s mouth.
“Frag, I love you! I love you so much, Ratchet. Oh Primus, help me.” Drift growled through gritted dentae. “One day, my spark is just going to go supernova and I would spontaneously combust, and it’s gonna be your fault.”
Those were supposed to be Ratchet’s words. Seems like it was Drift’s turn to get carried away by that tsunami of intense feelings. He nuzzled his face into his conjunx’s neck with a pleased hum. “Then we can go and explode together, because boy if I ain’t gonna malfunction soon from how much you drive me crazy—”
Drift huffed. Rodimus was right. He and Ratchet matched each other’s freak despite being total opposites. “Primus, how did I go from making scrambled cyberchicken eggs to sobbing out my feelings for you?”
The rumble of Ratchet’s engine felt divine on his chassis. He needed to make his conjunx laugh while he was holding him in a hug more often.
“I don’t know,” Ratchet shrugged “but we’re not going to talk about me planning a torturous semester for my students one second and then started crying how much I badly craved your aft in my life after that.”
“How about having it as dessert after breakfast?” Drift asked coyly. A cackle almost erupted in his throat when Ratchet threw him a scandalized look. “I’m kidding. Come on, let’s fill up your tanks. I’ve set up a picnic near the gazebo.”
“And after that?” Ratchet laced their digits together. Oh and what else could they do on top of a tarp sheet, he wonder?
“After that we canoodle like I promised.” Drift brought their joint servos up to kiss Ratchet’s knuckles. All day long, he didn’t have to add.
Love is one frightening thing. See, this wasn’t the first time Ratchet had an emotional flare up. Each time would be stronger than the last. The way he and Drift fall deeper in love with each other as the years go by was both terrifying and incredible. But Ratchet knew it in his spark, because the other half also sang to the same tune.
They didn’t have to be afraid so long as they have each other to hold on to.
“Then it’s a date, my love.” My conjunx, my sweetspark, my Drift.