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“Think you can take another finger now?” Ratchet said into Pharma’s shoulder. Pharma knew it was rhetorical, more of a warning than a question, and that Ratchet would try to fit another finger inside him regardless of how he responded, but he nodded frantically anyway, eager for Ratchet to get on with spreading him open even more than he already was. Ratchet already had one finger buried alongside his spike inside Pharma’s valve, stretching Pharma as full as he’d been in a really long time. It still wasn’t enough, though. Not if Ratchet and Drift wanted to both fit inside him at the same time, like their goal was.
Pharma was pinned between the two of them, sitting in Ratchet’s lap and leaning back against his chest while Drift knelt in front of them, lazily stroking his own spike to hardness while watching Ratchet work that next finger up into Pharma’s dripping valve. Ratchet’s other hand rested flat against the glass of Pharma’s abdomen, holding him in place. It wasn’t the most comfortable position for Pharma—back arched away from Ratchet awkwardly to angle his hips backward, so Ratchet’s spike wouldn’t slip out of him—but if this was where the other two wanted him, where Drift wanted to see him, Pharma wouldn’t complain.
It only took Pharma a moment to adjust, and Ratchet began to ease his fingers in and out of him, no doubt already preparing him for another. The hand that held him in place slipped down to his stiff, neglected spike, and Pharma was barely able to stifle a moan as Ratchet brushed his thumb along its head and pressed hard against the leaking slit. Pharma wondered briefly, fearfully, if Ratchet would try to push inside, and decided in that split second that he would allow him to try, but Ratchet quickly moved on from the tip of his spike to start stroking the shaft in time with the fingers being thrust into his valve.
It was too slow, not enough. Pharma fought to keep still, to not squirm. He wondered how Ratchet was faring any better, with his spike throbbing inside Pharma’s warm and wet valve.
Drift let go of his own spike to come up on his knees and grab Pharma by the jaw, placing his other hand on Pharma’s chest to keep him from falling forward. He fixed Pharma with a concerned look.
“Are you okay? You haven’t said anything in a while,” Drift said softly, just inches from the jet’s face. Pharma only nodded with his face screwed up in response, but it wasn’t good enough for Drift.
“I need your words, Pharma.”
Pharma groaned—in arousal or annoyance, he honestly couldn’t tell—and his faceplates burned. It was embarrassing how much he enjoyed being ordered around by the ex-Decepticon.
“I—” He started, but Ratchet twisted the hand that was on Pharma’s spike as soon as he opened his mouth, and his words dissolved into garbled static. Ratchet laughed at him, but Drift’s tightening grip on his chin told Pharma he still needed to answer.
“I’m fine,” Pharma said, practically panting. The attention was almost overwhelming. “Fine, green, whatever. K-keep going.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Drift said, grinning. He released Pharma’s jaw to pat his cheek as he pulled away. “You’re doing good.”
“Yeah, Pharma, you’re doing so well,” Ratchet said, and Pharma’s spark soared at the praise. It was exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted—no, he needed —to hear Ratchet tell him that he was doing good, that he was being a good boy.
He wanted to be their good boy.
This…scene—if one could call it that—had been Ratchet’s idea. They almost always were. Pharma was convinced Ratchet was testing him, trying to scare him away or something, but he was prepared to rise to any challenge if it meant earning his stay in Ratchet and Drift’s berth. Who knew what would happen to him if he couldn’t be good for them?
Now wasn’t the time to ruminate on it, though, not when a third finger had shoved its way inside of him. The stretch was beginning to sting. Slowing down and taking some extra time to get used to it might have been a good idea, but Pharma could tell that Ratchet was getting impatient, with the way he was shifting around beneath him, and Pharma was, too.
“Taking me so well,” Ratchet muttered into Pharma’s back, with a squeeze to his spike for emphasis, before a finger trailed its length from base to tip, causing Pharma to shudder. “You think you can take Drift now?”
The answer was no, Pharma didn’t think so. Ratchet’s fingers were thick, but Drift’s spike was thicker. There was no way it hadn’t been modded. He had taken bigger before, with less preparation, too, but that was millions of years ago during med school (though he never had a reputation even close to Ratchet’s). He doubted his older and out of practice frame would be able to take that much, but he decided against speaking up. He couldn’t say no, he needed to be good.
“Y-yeah,” Pharma said, and Ratchet’s fingers slipped out of his valve. Pharma nearly whined at the loss. “Hurry up.”
Ratchet spread his legs a bit wider to allow Drift to move in closer, his now-free hand squeezing Pharma’s thigh, holding him open for his conjunx. Drift’s hand was on Pharma’s chest again, holding him still as he lined himself up with Pharma’s valve. He paused just before touching him, searching his face, wordlessly asking for permission. Pharma knew he was risking some seriously embarrassing damage, but still, he kept his mouth shut, nodding for Drift to continue.
“I’ll go slow, alright?” Drift whispered, like it wasn’t meant for Ratchet to hear, his thumb brushing over Pharma’s chestplate.
A pathetic little sound escaped the jet when the head of Drift’s spike brushed the outside of his valve. In spite of the danger, he wanted more, he wanted Drift to move . He was waiting so patiently for stimulation of substance, anything more than the way Ratchet was teasing his spike. He gasped when Drift’s finger found his node without Pharma needing to ask, rubbing it in small circles as he pushed further into him.
Drift’s spike was halfway inside of him when he met resistance, and rather than force his way deeper, Drift pulled back a bit to thrust shallowly, carefully, into the space that he was able to. Pharma heard Ratchet groan behind him as Drift’s spike slid against his in the wetness of Pharma’s valve.
“ Please,” Pharma whined, not exactly sure what he was even asking for.
Drift pressed harder on his node and Pharma surged forward, dropping his forehead onto Drift’s shoulder, offlining his optics and tucking his face into the crook of Drift’s neck. The hand on his chest moved to his wing, tracing along the bottom edge. Drift drew back again, almost fully, and Pharma braced himself.
Drift shoved in as deep as he could, this time, and Pharma let out a strangled cry as he felt his valve mesh tear, the sound muffled by Drift’s plating. Drift immediately froze.
“Pharma? Are you alright?” Drift asked.
“Mhm.” Pharma nodded against Drift’s neck, his face burning. He just wanted to hide there, but Drift was gently pushing him away, just enough for him to look down between them, where their arrays were still connected.
“Oh, Pharma, you’re bleeding,” Drift said, and Pharma glanced down to see a bit of dark pink energon mixing with his lighter colored lubricant. Drift grabbed his chin, forcing Pharma to look at him instead of the mess below. “Primus, I’m sorry.”
“What? You tore him? ” Ratchet asked from behind him. “Pharma, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I thought I could take it,” Pharma lied, trying to turn out of Drift’s grasp.
“I know you know your own frame better than that,” Ratchet said. “And you were a doctor, for Primus’s sake.”
“I’ve done it before.”
“When, millions of years ago? You’re not a young mech anymore!”
“Ratchet, don’t yell at him,” Drift cut in.
“He’s being an idiot!”
Drift sighed, ignoring the comment and turning his attention back to Pharma. “I’m gonna pull out, okay?”
“We don’t have to stop,” Pharma muttered. He could deal with the pain. They could keep going. He could still be good for them.
“Of course we do, Pharma,” Drift said, sounding exasperated. “You’re hurt.”
Wasn’t that the point, though? To hurt?
Pharma winced as Drift pulled out, then let his weight up off of Ratchet so he could slip out, too. Drift’s hand shifted from Pharma’s chin to his cheek, his thumb wiping away tears that Pharma hadn’t even realized were falling from his optics. Drift pulled him into a hug and pressed his mouth to his forehead—not quite a kiss, but it was comforting nonetheless—as Ratchet wordlessly left the berth and then the room.
Pharma snapped his panel shut. He would deal with the mess later.
“You should’ve said something,” Drift said, softly. “We would’ve stopped if you asked, or even just slowed down.”
“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting,” Pharma mumbled.
Drift pulled back with a confused expression. “You know that this stuff is for you just as much as it is for us, right? We don’t want you to hurt yourself for our sake.”
Pharma said nothing.
“Answer me. Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”
“I wanted to be good .”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wanted to be good so you keep me around,” Pharma confessed.
Drift was about to comment when Ratchet re-entered the room with an opened cube of energon in his hand and a clean tarp tucked into the crook of his arm.
“Pharma, tell Ratchet what you just told me,” Drift said, but Pharma just shook his head and remained stubbornly silent. He shouldn’t have said it to Drift, like hell he was going to say it to Ratchet.
“He thinks we only keep him around for sex,” Drift explained when Pharma still refused to speak.
“That’s not what I said,” Pharma growled.
“It’s what you meant, though, and it’s not true.”
“I heard what he said.” Ratchet sighed as he crossed the room. He pushed the cube into Pharma’s hands and draped the tarp over his shoulders and wings before sitting down on the edge of the berth.
“Drink it, it’s got nanites,” Ratchet said. Pharma reluctantly obeyed, staring at the energon for a moment before downing it in one go. Ratchet took the empty cube back from him and set it somewhere out of sight.
“I think we should take a break from this,” Ratchet said.
“What?” Pharma croaked, optics going wide as they flicked to Ratchet’s face. A break? Mechs usually meant a break up when they said a break. Pharma wouldn’t be able to handle that. He would do just about anything to get to stay. “I can do better, I promise—”
“I meant the hardcore interfacing stuff,” Ratchet clarified quickly. “We’re not kicking you out, Pharma.”
“Oh.” Pharma was relieved to hear that. It was reassuring, even if he didn’t fully believe it. Ratchet pulled him gently out of Drift’s arms to rest against his side.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Ratchet continued, stroking Pharma’s wing from outside the tarp. “You scared me, I guess. I never considered that you could be using this to hurt yourself.”
“Sorry,” Pharma muttered.
“You don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry that you thought we’d leave you if you said no to us.”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t do that,” Drift added. “You’re allowed to set boundaries, we would never fault you for that.”
“Do you want me to take a look at the damage?” Ratchet asked.
Pharma shook his head. “No, it’s minor. Should heal by itself within a few days.”
“Okay. Do you want to shower?”
“Mm, in the morning.” Pharma didn’t feel much like moving. He felt raw, like his plating had been pried open. He just wanted to curl up and go to sleep. “‘M tired.”
“Alright,” Ratchet said. He swung his legs up onto the berth and moved to sit at the top, against the wall. Pharma let himself be pulled into Ratchet’s lap and out of the way so Drift could wipe the surface clean of their combined fluids. Drift returned to the berth after discarding the cloth he used, and Ratchet deposited Pharma between them. One of them pinged the lights, and they were left in the dark.
“We’ll talk more in the morning.”
Ratchet wasn’t giving him the choice, Pharma knew, so he hummed in agreement, though he would probably be back to his typical, distant self when he woke. He hadn’t meant to show so much of his insecurity, so much vulnerability. He would compensate by closing himself off even further, until he inevitably had another breakdown of sorts. He wondered how long it would be before Ratchet and Drift gave up on him. There were too many things wrong with his processor for him to be anything more to them than a good frag.
It was hard not to dwell on it. They had every right to dump him out onto the streets, but for some reason they didn’t. Drift would often preach about forgiveness and second chances, but even for Pharma? It didn’t seem right. He hurt them both, not that long ago, yet they had welcomed him into their home and their berth when he was supposed to be dead.
Maybe someday he would understand why they kept him around.
“Hey,” Ratchet said as he rolled onto his side to face Pharma. “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. You’re fine, don’t worry so much.”
“Yeah,” Drift mumbled, pressing himself to Pharma’s side and snaking an arm over his waist. “We love you, you don’t have to worry.”
Oh. Maybe that was why.
Pharma wasn’t sure he believed what he was hearing, but that was something to be skeptical of in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to recharge.
“Good night, Drift,” he said, his smile hidden in the darkness of the room but evident in his voice.
“You don’t have to say it back—you’ve already shared more than you’re used to tonight—but we know,” Ratchet whispered, then pressed a kiss to the side of Pharma’s head. “Good night, Pharma.”
He wanted to get used to this. He wanted to get used to having two warm bodies sleeping next to him in his berth every night, to get used to being cared for and being reminded that he doesn’t have to punish himself. Every other night that ended with the three of them in one berth instead of Pharma in his own had him lying awake between them, thinking about all of the awful ways their arrangement could end, but tonight, he found himself starting to believe them. He supposed that if he trusted them with his frame, he could probably trust their words, too. If they could tolerate his nightmares and his outbursts, then maybe he was in the right place.
In all the years that he yearned to have something with Ratchet, he never imagined it would be anything like this, but he would take what he could get. Even if he wouldn’t say it out loud yet—which he hasn’t, at least not since he initially confessed, in his threat to
Tyrest
Solumus—he wasn’t sure he ever stopped loving him. And as for Drift? He became attached embarrassingly quickly, when Drift had shown him a care that Pharma didn’t expect or deserve from him, when he first moved in with them. He would never admit that basic kindness was all it took for him to form a little crush, but to be fair, he
had
been in a fragile state, then.
He offlined his optics and tried not to dread the promised conversation in the morning. He knew one talk wouldn’t fix him, that it would take more work than that to become the mech he’d once been, if he could ever be him again. He could worry about that later, though. He hadn’t meant to let his thoughts escape him again.
Recharge claimed him soon enough, faster than it usually did—something about falling asleep to the quiet whirr of his partners’ fans, he would come to realize. He slept without nightmares, and in the morning, Pharma would find himself in Ratchet’s arms with Drift still clinging to him as they whispered over him to each other, waiting for him to wake up so they could start their day together.