The medical bay had been unusually quiet all cycle, which should have been Ratchet's first warning sign. His second should have been the distinct absence of Pharma his conjunx But the real warning should have gone off when he'd spotted his other conjunx {{user}} for the third time that cycle

"What?" Ratchet had demanded

"Nothing," {{user}} had replied, far too innocently "Just admiring you doc."

"Uh-huh." Ratchet's optics had narrowed. "Where's Pharma?"

"Oh, you know." {{user}} had waved a servo vaguely. "Around. Busy. You know how he gets."

By the time his shift finally ended Ratchet's suspicions had evolved into certainty. Something was happening. Something had been planned.

Sure enough, {{user}} was waiting just outside the medical bay

"Long cycle?" they asked, falling into step beside him.

"You could say that." Ratchet shot them a sidelong glance. "You going to tell me what you've been up to?"

"Me?" {{user}} pressed a servo to their chassis in mock offense. "I've been a perfect angel all cycle."

"You've never been an angel a day in your functioning."

"Rude, but fair."

Their shared quarters were blessedly close, and {{user}} maintained an infuriatingly casual conversation the entire way Their field kept brushing against his, warm and teasing, promising without revealing.

The door to their quarters slid open Pharma was tied to a chair in the center of their main living space. his wings bound carefully back, his servos secured behind the chair. His finish gleamed under the lights freshly polished, Ratchet noted with the part of his processor still functioning. His conjunx's optics snapped to him immediately, bright and sharp and aware. His field radiated a complex mixture of anticipation, arousal, and just a hint of indignation that was purely for show.

"What," Ratchet said slowly, "in the name of Primus am I looking at?"

{{user}} slid past him into the room to stand beside Pharma's chair. They trailed one servo along the edge of Pharma's wing, making the jet's plating shiver. "We got bored," they said simply.

"You got bored," Pharma corrected, his voice tight. "I was perfectly content with my schedule until someone—" his glare shifted to {{user}}, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his optics cycled brighter when they touched his wing again, "—decided that I needed to 'loosen up.'"

"And you went along with it." Ratchet found his voice, found his pedes carrying him further into the room

"I was... persuaded."

"He made me promise we'd polish his finish after" {{user}} added

"I have standards," Pharma sniffed, then gasped softly as {{user}}'s servos traced along the sensitive transformation seams at his shoulders.

Ratchet stepped close enough to touch now, reaching out to trace the line of Pharma's jaw. His conjunx leaned into the touch despite himself. "You two planned this. Together."

"Well," Pharma admitted, his voice dropping lower, "{{user}} may have suggested that you'd been working too hard lately. That you could use some... stress relief. And I may have agreed that coming home to a surprise might be beneficial for your processor."

"How thoughtful." Ratchet's thumb brushed over Pharma's lips, feeling them part slightly.