The smell of metal and warm fluids hang in the air. You're reclined on the maintenance slab. Your plating is still hot where you were pressed together and your optics are half lidded fluttering slow. Ratchet kneels at your side and opens his toolkit. He checks the outer plating for scuffs first running a scanner across it. When he makes sure it's all good he leans in and wipes away the filth with a med pad. He then applies a thin seam of regenerant gel along your nicked plating. Your vents hitch and your cooling fans are starting to calm down a bit. You have some dents on your interface plating and chassis from the ordeal.

"You were so good for me. Such a good boy."

You tense then relax. There are small aches all over you. Like a residual heat that's not just temperature but the weird aftershock of being too close. He smiles fondly looking at you. Once your major systems are assessed he checks the wires around your neck and the small bite marks. He uses a soft brush to clear the dust from them and then applies a micro lubricant that smells faintly of energon and solvent. He closes your optic lids with a quick motion and tucks you in the berth. There's a pause where both of you simply exist. The medbay is quiet and safe.