Optimus was not a mech who often lost control. But he challenged anyone to keep their full faculties about them when they had a ravenous, playful medic at their front and a purring, mischievous saboteur at their back.
Optimus was strong. But he was not so strong as to remain stoic when trapped between two of his oldest, dearest friends. Though he wasn’t sure trapped was an accurate term.
“I told you,” Ratchet said with a smirk on his lips and lust in his field as four fingers pumped steadily into Optimus valve, “that if you did not take some time for yourself, I would find a way to encourage you to relax.”
Jazz chuckled and nipped at Optimus’ audial, his fingers wreaking havoc on Optimus’ seams and spike. “You know you’re supposed to listen to your doctor, OP. Shame, shame.”
Optimus worked his intake and reset his vocalizer, nevertheless, his words were still striped in static. “Your method of convincing is far from discomforting,” he said and gasped as Ratchet’s fingers found and stroked several oft-ignored nodes deep within his valve. He clenched down, lubricant oozing out from under Ratchet’s fingers.
“So long as it works,” Ratchet chuckled. He leaned forward, nuzzling against Optimus’ helm. “You work too hard. You make me worry.” His thumb swept up, circling Optimus’ anterior node and making his hips dance. “Breaks my spark, Prime.”
Ratchet certainly knew how to cut deep. “But–”
“Shh, shh,” Jazz purred as his hand crept up, sweeping around Optimus’ chin before slipping two fingers across Optimus’ lips. “Just let us take care of ya, OP. That’s what we’re here for. That’s what we wanna do.”
Optimus lapped at Jazz’s fingers before he drew them into his mouth. He moaned as Jazz took the opportunity to nibble on his audial again, sending a zing of heat down his backstrut. Nimble fingers curled around his spike, stroking him in long, gentle pulls. Pleasure dribbled through his body like a fine energon, and he struggled to draw cooler air through his vents.
He was the luckiest mech, Optimus realized as his hips danced under Ratchet’s ministrations. Jazz’s fingers removed themselves from his mouth and Optimus made a dismayed noise that was quickly swallowed up by Ratchet’s lips. Ratchet’s glossa plunged into his mouth, twining with his own, tasting of the glass of high grade they’d all shared.
Dismay turned to desire as he felt Jazz’s fingers trace his chestplate seam and Optimus’ spark eagerly danced within his casing. Spark sharing was his favorite, but it was also so rare as to be a treat. His chestplates, as a result, were sensitive to gentle touches, and Jazz was treating him just right.
Optimus shivered. He felt spoiled, wholly and completely spoiled, and honestly, there was no place else he’d rather be.
“Hold on, OP,” Jazz purred as he stroked his fingers deep. “Me ‘n the Doc are gonna face ya into recharge.”
Ratchet smiled against Optimus’ lips. “We sure are,” he said.
Optimus moaned and clutched them closer.
They would see no arguments from him.