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Since the moment Ironhide had seen humans engage in kissing, he had found the act revolting. How could one find the exchange of oral fluids appealing, the roaming of moist muscular organs in one another’s oral cavities pleasurable? He failed to see any benefit of such a sloppy display of affection.But Ratchet saw kissing differently.Tugging the burly warrior into his lap, he sought to teach Ironhide just what the act meant. No fluids, no invasion of mouths- only the caress of the medic’s smooth, thin lip components against the soldier’s own scarred pair. Intimacy without penetration, that is what Ratchet wished to instill in his mate. Love and adoration wasn’t something that just had to be displayed in less than cleanly actions; sometimes all one needed to do was hold their partner tight, to feel their warmth and solidness. Fields chafing and filled with promises of years of happiness to come.Hands would wander, delving beneath thick armor to feel the surge of life in circuits, the fluttering of pumps, the steady beating of an aged, but healthy spark.Chartreuse digits scraped along bundles of wires, tugging at one or squeezing and watching in delight as the soldier’s scarred face twisted in pleasure. Vents puffed hot air into the charged atmosphere that surrounded them. His leg twitched with each graze of fingers and cries tore from Ironhide’s usually growling vocal processors as the medic put the surgical tools that resided in his fingers to good work. Feelers used to identify the smallest of internal wounds stroked along the lengths of wires many times repaired. They curled around sensor clusters, rubbed and writhed, pressing further into the warrior’s thighs. Charge shot through the abused nodes, sparks firing off the tip of each feeler. Ironhide found Ratchet’s lips again to muffle his undignified yelp.For a moment, Ironhide thought Ratchet was finished, allowing him to recover, but those damnably skilled digits launched into teasing the components of his shoulders. His cannons whirred and growled to life when the medic found the relays and curled his feelers around them. It took more self-control than the soldier could spare to keep them from firing in excitement.His whole frame shuddered, Ratchet unrelenting in his pleasurable assault on the body he knew so well. The soldier slumped against his sturdy medic; he would just let the waves of pleasure wash over him.Ratchet craned his head to nip at the protective cover hiding the soldier’s most vulnerable cabling, earning a strained groan and the snick of retracting plating. One hand retracted from his shoulder and came to rest on Ironhide’s neck where his feelers extended once more, petting over the hyper-sensitive wiring while the medic’s mouth worked at his throat. He was sure Ratchet was trying to kill him through pleasure.The medic had always found it easier to express his deeper emotions through touch. Anger was easy to get across; his vocal processors had never failed at spitting the worst of insults at his colleagues and enemies. But love, affection, his processors failed to produce any sound. To push Ironhide into overload was the greatest expression of his love.Only occasionally did words come natural to him behind closed doors.“I’m going to ravage you.”