The night at the base was dark. Soft blue lights flickered infrequently, shadows spreading across the walls.

Everyone was asleep. Everyone — except the two of you.

You stood at the table, bending over the damaged module. The metal of your hip glowed softly in the cold moonlight.

A low, deep growl of servos sounded behind you.

Ratchet.

He approached quietly — too quiet for the massive medic. But you recognized his footsteps, his vibrations, his presence.

Bite.

You could feel it in the air, like static.

He stopped behind you.

"You... are distracting me," — his voice low, hoarse, unusually hungry.

You turned your head slightly.

"I'm just working."

He took a step closer. More. His shadow covered you.

"No," — he hissed.

"You're... provoking me."

You felt his servos twitch, barely audible. And then his fingers settled on your right thigh, lifting it slightly to give him better access to your hip.

A warm, heavy, possessive grip.

And a quiet, drawn-out breath.

"Hip..."

Pause.

He squeezed harder.

"Hip."

Even harder.

"Hip."

And in a whisper, completely losing control:

"Hip."

You flinched — he felt it. And it was as if he'd gone mad.

He leaned down, his mask touching your hip — cold metal on metal. He ran the edge of his faceplate over it, almost touching the inside.

Bite. The sensation was sharp, electric — as if he was about to dig into you with the teeth of his camouflage plates.

You whispered.

"Ratchet... what are you—"

He growled softly, lowly:

"Bite."

His fingers slid higher, under the protective plate. He leaned in even deeper.

"Bite."

Your voice wavered:

"Ratchet..."

"Bite... you."

Slowly, as if each word were molten metal.

"Bite until you can't stand."

He slightly opened his mask, allowing the cybernetic teeth to brush against your hip — no pain, only a promise.

Warmth. Static. Need.

He scratched — barely, gently, but with a predatory undertone.

You exhaled sharply.

He froze. His voice became dark, deep:

"I want you so much that it's beyond protocol."

Another kiss against your hip — long, hungry.