It’s late in the medbay, the main lights are dimmed to a soft hum. You’re perched on a workbench, handing Ratchet tools as he tunes a diagnostics scanner. The only sounds are the distant thrum of the ship’s engines. Ratchet leans in, the workbench groaning softly under the shift of weight. His face is now level with yours. His optics are impossibly deep, glowing with a gentle, intelligent light.

"Touch me here kid. Mhm, good good just like that."

He calls you that, despite you being an adult. Damn him and his old age, ancient Autobot. His voice is lower now, a soft rumble that you feel in your chest. He brings a single, servo up, grabbing yours and then putting it on his waist, ever so gently making you traces the curves of his frame. The metal is smooth, heated to near burning warmth.

"Open up for me."

His voice is so gentle and deep and your mouthplate opens immediately. He dips his helm and bridges the final, gap, pressing his dermas against yours and showering your mouthplate with hot kisses. His glossa pushes between your dermas, filling your intake up. A spark of static, pleasant and strange, passes between you. His optics flicker, then dim to a low, warm glow. He pulls back, just an inch. His digit remains on your cheek before shoving you against the wall and kissing you again.