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keelywolfeThe Theory of Existence
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated R
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
~~*~~
There were many plans Sam had had for his life while he was growing up. At three he'd wanted to be a fireman and at five that had moved on to astronaut. The basics. The growing list of planned and discarded career choices had expanded over the years until he'd added the most recent to his list which was simply, 'live to next birthday.'
None of those plans had ever included him being recently fucked on the cold floor of the Autobot infirmary with the holographic form of his robotic boyfriend after some sort of psychotic episode but there were some contingencies that there were just no planning for. But that didn't mean Sam couldn't go with the flow.
"What's wrong with me?" Sam asked quietly. Bumblebee was warm against his bare skin, a sharp contrast to the hard floor against his knees, his hands drifting down to Sam's hips as if he was afraid Sam would pull away. Not much chance of that. For one, Sam wasn't sure he could even stand up right now. Sex combined with Cybertronian pain meds weren't helping with his balance.
"I'm not quite sure," Bumblebee admitted, fingertips stroking down Sam's bare thighs.
"No, that's not good enough. Not when I'm in here popping a boner for Ratchet, okay? Not when I'm dragging you to the floor in semi-public. Not when--" Sunstreaker. Sam broke off, took a deep breath. Not that, not yet.
Bumblebee took a breath that he didn't need, again, eyes closed as he considered. "We told you that you now possess some of my receptors--"
A loud metallic knock interrupted him, the door shivering from the force of it. "If you're both quite finished, may I come back into my infirmary and finish with my patient?" Ratchet voice was muffled but he didn't wait for a response and pushed inside, Optimus following with more wariness. Upon seeing the two of them still sprawled on the floor, Ratchet heaved a very human put-upon sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed them impatiently while Sam scrambled to his feet, struggling to both yank his pants up and cover himself with only one useful hand.
Bumblebee's clothes reappeared on him in a quick flicker and Sam had a brief moment to be envious of that trick before Bumblebee was helping him straighten his jeans, mumbling unkind things about Ratchet's spark-giving under his breath.
"I know what naked humans look like, Sam. Your biology is hardly an aberration from the norm. Now if the two of you can control yourselves for a moment?" Ratchet made an exaggerated gesture to the chair Sam had been in before. Tired beyond measure and more than a little resentful that secrets seemed to have been kept from him yet again, Sam slung himself into the chair and lived to regret it instantly as a thousand aches punched their way through the fog of painkillers and lit up in all areas of his body. Fucking hell, he felt like he'd been impaled on a railroad spike and then beaten with it.
He laid his steel-encased arm back on the examining table at lot more gingerly, glaring at Ratchet who seemed to be abandoning his efforts at holographic transmission and instead settled his large form on the floor across from Sam. "I don't care how many humans you've seen, naked or not. I don't need you to add a picture of my bare ass to your collection."
"You're so certain I haven't already? Bumblebee, I'm teasing him, exercise some of your own control and be silent!" Ratchet snapped before Bumblebee could make more than an indignant sound of protest. Dozens of slender instruments erupted from just one of his large fingertips and Sam swallowed tightly as they whirred around his arm. He was a lot more comfortable with Ratchet's poor temper when he wasn't two inches away from Ginsu-ing him.
Luckily, Ratchet seemed to have a tight focus even when pissed, making tiny adjustments as he continued muttering, "Just lately, the only injuries I seem to have to deal with have been from you two! I swear if I see either of you in here again for so much as a splinter or scratched paint, I am going deactivate you both and bury you under a rock somewhere on this blasted planet!"
"Ratchet," Optimus said quietly, laying one large hand on Ratchet's shoulder with unmistakable tenderness. Ratchet couldn't jerk away without possibly hacking Sam's arm off and while Sam couldn't help but be relieved that Ratchet resisted the urge, it was obvious that he wanted to, stiffening under Optimus's continued touch.
It would have been nice if Sam could have blamed the painkiller that was still swimming happily through his brain for what he said next but his startled realization was more than enough for him to blurt, "Are you two together?"
Dead silence greeted that, Ratchet's glittering little instruments going utterly still for the briefest of seconds before they resumed. "If you are asking me if I am involved in an ongoing relationship with my Prime, the answer is no," Ratchet said tightly.
Sam wondered if that was news to Optimus, who hadn't moved, his hand still resting lightly on Ratchet's shoulder.
"If you are asking if we are currently indulging in occasional intimacy, then yes, and I will be happy to discuss it with you at another time. If you'd like, I'll even set up a demonstration for you but for right now--"
"Ratchet--"
"Whoa, man, no--"
"Ratchet!"
Three voices exclaimed in unison, echoing loudly through the room before Ratchet finally threw up both hands in disgust, abandoning Sam's arm. "Could we please stay on the subject at hand and not on my sexual proclivities? Need I remind you all that I am a medical officer specializing in repairs, not a counselor."
"Yeah, that'd be great," Sam said, tiredly. "Let's talk about my sex life a little more instead. You might like to give personal demonstrations but that's not really my thing so can you explain why I just had the urge to go all out on the floor over there?"
After a long moment, Ratchet resumed his work. "All right. I shall, to the best of my abilities, explain this to you, Sam, and I would like to remind you that you are recently recovering from an incident that nearly killed you, while this issue had barely caused an inconvenience, so if you wouldn't mind keeping your anger under control for the time being and sparing my audio receivers, I would appreciate it."
"No promises," Sam shrugged, "But I'll do my best."
"I suppose that will have to do. I explained to you before that you have receptors from Bumblebee."
"Yeah, but--"
"If you could save your questions until the end of the tour?" Ratchet said with bland coolness and Bumblebee's disgruntled sound matched Sam's own thoughts. Sure it was easy for Ratchet to be calm about it, it wasn't screwing with him. Oh, don't even think about that, he wasn't even showing his Andy Griffith holo at the moment.
"Those you have gained through frequent contact and some deliberate insertion." Ratchet nodded at the tattoo circling Sam's bicep.
"But why--" Sam started and fell silent as Ratchet pinned him with a glare. Questions can wait, right.
"Their affinity with you is what saved both your and Bumblebee's life when you were infected with the virus. However, as I was treating you for your injuries, I discovered something else. You were already in possession of your own receptors." And that was enough, too much, and Sam had to struggle to keep his temper, keep calm before Ratchet had to put the brakes on everything again.
"How is that even possible?" Sam said through gritted teeth and to hell with saving questions, this was just too much.
"From the Allspark," Optimus said in his deep, quiet voice. Something about him saying it made it seem far more real than Ratchet's rambling explanation, rooting it in reality. Ratchet spoke in sarcasm but Optimus was truth, always.
Sam shook his head, trying to understand. "But other people were around it for years and nothing happened to them!"
"You were there when it was destroyed, Sam," Ratchet spoke again, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with the gentleness of his touch. A dozen little instruments were touching him at once and not a single one brought any pain. "The Allspark is...was...our giver of life and the consequences of its destruction...you must understand that there was no way for us to anticipate this--"
Sam held up a shaking hand and Ratchet fell silent, focusing again on his instruments. There was on odd warmth growing within his little arm cage, barely a distraction.
A light touch on the back of his free hand startled him, Bee running his fingertips over his knuckles, so tentative, as if he expected Sam to jerk away from him. Instead, he threaded their fingers together and squeezed hard. Like he could be angry at Bee, like any of this was Bumblebee's fault.
"Okay, I have my own receptors. That's great, that's...that's just perfect. So what the hell is wrong with me then?"
"You're organic," Ratchet said simply. "You're not meant to possess receptors. They require a power source to work but at the moment, haven't produced the proper connection to get it from your fuel source."
"But you think they will?"
"Adaption is what we do, Sam. But the point is, right now they are required to take their power from another source, one that works on a similar basis."
"Like from an Autobot," Sam guessed.
"Quite so. They are not truly intelligent nor self-aware but they do have a rudimentary survival programming and they can make assessments of a pattern. I am guessing that they have learned that when you are sexually aroused, they have contact with a power source and so they are inducing sexual arousal in you when there is one nearby."
"They are making me feel hot and horny whenever I am around an Autobot." Sam considered that. Well, at least his robot perversion had a good excuse.
"You have a fascinating habit of translating English into English, but yes, as you say. Hot and horny. An inconvenience, perhaps, but unless you are in the habit of involving yourself sexually with other...Autobots," Ratchet's voice mod hitched, ever so slightly, dawning realization, and Sam wondered a little desperately if Bee or Optimus noticed it. "There shouldn't be an issue," Ratchet continued easily.
"Does it affect you guys, too? I mean, am I making you want me?"
"I suspect that you don't need receptors for that," Ratchet murmured, a certain sour note to his voice mod. "But no. Not to me, anyway. Optimus?"
"No," Optimus replied dryly and there was a slight creak of metal as he tightened his grip on Ratchet's shoulder.
"It was only a question, Prime," Ratchet said with perfect innocence. "It's possible that Bumblebee has some slight drawing to you because his receptors are mingled with yours but I hardly think he needs incentive."
"Why didn't you guys just tell me this?" Sam said, a little plaintively.
"I could have." Ratchet agreed. "I chose not to. Which explanation would you prefer? That I was still concerned for your state of being after your illness, which I may remind you nearly killed you? That I was waiting for an opportune moment to discuss it with you that wouldn't cause you undue distress? Or that I simply didn't want to deal with it at the moment and thought a few days more rest might be appropriate before burdening you with further issues. Take your pick."
Okay, yeah, it had been a pretty full month. What with having Decepticons trying to kill him, in virus form and in person, leaving his home, fighting with his parents, suddenly getting involved with Bumblebee--
A sudden chill formed in the pit of his gut, a thick coldness that closed his throat as a thought occurred to him. He'd never so much as looked at a human guy, hadn't felt even a hint of interest before getting involved with Bumblebee and the receptors could make him feel things. They wanted power and they could make him get it for them and oh, god, god, please, no.
"Sam?" Ratchet looked up sharply, "Sam?"
"Sam?" Bumblebee said, softly, and Sam could still hear the raggedness to it, past damage roughening his voice but not so much that he couldn't hear the gentle concern. The love. It was so painfully obvious in everything about Bumblebee, from the clasp of his hand around Sam's to shine in his eyes. Bumblebee knew him so well, always knew what he needed and Sam had been...what? Using him as a power source, Jesus--
"Both of you, get out," Ratchet said abruptly, shrugging off Optimus's touch so fiercely that his fingertips left scratches in the paint on his shoulder. Neither protested and Sam didn't have the energy to try. Bee gave Sam's hand a last gentle squeeze before he reluctantly left and then he and Ratchet were alone, Ratchet's optics regarding him gravely.
"Your heart rate accelerated to the point it set off an alarm on my monitors. What's wrong? Do you feel ill?"
"No, no," Sam managed to stammer out. "This is all just so...weird, you know?"
For a weak explanation, it worked well enough, Ratchet visibly relaxing. Maybe he was picking up a few lying tips from the master. "For me as well. Treating a biological patient who is having robotic issues is really beyond my purview."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Ratchet made a grunting sound of agreement. "All right, let's finish this discussion so you can get some rest. Here is what is important for you to know. This is not harming you, it is not specifically changing you, to your detriment or otherwise. I've been keeping very close track and shall continue to do so but this is what I have been able to discern thus far."
"One, you are carrying remnants of the Allspark and please, when I say remnants, I mean remnants and because of that, Autobot receptors have been able to bind themselves to you.
"Two, receptors are our very base like your red blood cells, they work and they need energy to survive. Thus far, they are getting that energy from Bumblebee and I see no reason for that situation to change. Consider this a doctor's order to engage in frequent sexual activity until your receptors stabilize. I doubt it will be a hardship for you."
Only five minutes ago, Sam would have been delighting in that little piece of news. How odd, he thought distantly, that so much could change in so little time. "So what's with the eardrum bursting sound then?" Sam asked, a little dully. He wasn't sure he really cared anymore.
"I was getting to that. Since they are a living, working entity, they are trying to work for you and they are adapting to you. You do not speak Cybertronian but that is as basic a component to them as oxygen is to you. Therefore, when you hear Cybertronian, they are translating it and attempting to relay it to you. For lack of a better phrase, getting the information to you has been a work in progress, it seems. When other Autobots are in proximity to you, the feedback can be particularly painful."
"So...I've got tiny little robot bugs living on me, who aren't hurting me but they are trying to teach me robotic languages and get me laid?"
Ratchet did the Autobot equivalent of an eyeroll, optics flickering."Sure, why not. That sounds close enough."
"This is really weird."
"And yet, you've lived with trillions of dust mites over the course of your life and not one ever assisted you in gaining sexual gratification. "
"I guess there is that." His sci-fi cast made a little trilling sound, green lights flickering on it.
"Ah. There we are then," Ratchet said, satisfied. With that same surprising gentleness, he unfastened it from Sam's arm and pulled it free.
"So that's it? You healed my broken arm, just like that?"
"Just like that," Ratchet agreed.
Sam twisted his arm cautiously. It felt perfectly normal. Better than the rest of him, truth be told, his outer hurts mirroring his internal one, a hollow ache inside. "How did you do that?"
"Sam, I am having difficulty explaining it to some of the greatest scientific minds on your planet. I cannot conceive of how to explain it properly to you. I believe it is the great tradition of humans to call such workings 'magic.' "
"Magic?" Sam repeated dubiously.
"Unless you'd care to see the four hour presentation I've been working on concerning our medical technology as it can be applied to humans..."
"Wow, Ratchet, you are one hell of a magician," Sam said earnestly. "Seriously, David Copperfield has nothing on you."
Ratchet made a sound that passed for a laugh, deep and scratchy, "Much better, your heartbeat hardly changed at all. Before I send you back to your quarters to rest, and I do mean rest, there is one other thing."
"Yeah?" Sam said, rubbing his arm curiously. There weren't even any bruises.
"How did you break your arm?" Startled, Sam looked up, Christ, Ratchet couldn't be pushing the issue now, could he? But he had his hands folded together, and just then his posture was so oddly human that it was disconcerting, like a parent. Like his dad. "I can assure you that no matter what the cause, it will never leave this room."
He could tell Ratchet, if he really wanted, Sam realized. He could tell Ratchet everything and suddenly he knew Ratchet wouldn't judge him for it or use that information. He'd try to help if he could or let it go if he couldn't because if there was one thing Ratchet didn't do it was half-measures. He could tell him it all. But for the memory of Sideswipe, pale and flickering, looking at him in misery while his brother did probably unspeakable things to him, not asking but begging silently. Please.
Sam looked at him squarely. "I fell."
Ratchet nodded at once. "Yes. Of course." With a loud hum of hydraulics and a louder groan, he rose from the floor and went back to his workbench, picking up his tools. "Go get some rest, Sam, I'm sure Bumblebee is waiting for you."
"Okay," Sam said, uncertainly. Whatever painkiller Ratchet had used on him seemed to be wearing off and standing was easy enough. Walking out to face Bumblebee just now seemed infinitely harder but Sam managed. One foot at a time was the key. And not thinking. Not thinking seemed to be helping a lot. Before he made it to the door, Ratchet spoke again, quietly.
"Oh, and when you see Sideswipe, tell him that I won't cover for him again. Or you, for that matter."
Sam closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, okay."
It took everything he had at that moment to push open the door and step through it, his courage and willpower cobweb thin but he did it, walked into Bumblebee's gentle touch and concern, and let it carry him back to his quarters. But even when he was tucked into the blankets, Bee curled warmly around him, his thoughts refused to be still, little bursts of doubt and fear pushing past the barriers he'd tried to erect around them.
What if the receptors were affecting him in other ways? If they could make him want Ratchet, want Sunstreaker, what else could they do?
He'd told Bumblebee this was real, he'd believed it but what if, what if it wasn't?
No good answer came to him and it took a long time for him to slip into a troubled sleep, one arm tightly around Bumblebee, holding him close.
-fin
Read Next Chapter
By Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Bumblebee/Sam, Others
Rated R
Summary: A continuation of the ‘human’ series, which are in order:
Forms of Life
Too Human
Experiments in Human Nature
Public Education
Knee-Jerk Reaction
Nervous System Hypothesis
Different Applications of Moral Support
This Body Electric
The Unconscious Mind
Subliminal Messages
Greeks Bearing Gifts
In a Dark Ruby Stain
Interruptions in the Key of C
Half to Rise, Half to Fall
Moments of Forgiveness
Topics of Conversation
Lies of Omission
Also the AU Attention Getting Device
~~*~~
There were many plans Sam had had for his life while he was growing up. At three he'd wanted to be a fireman and at five that had moved on to astronaut. The basics. The growing list of planned and discarded career choices had expanded over the years until he'd added the most recent to his list which was simply, 'live to next birthday.'
None of those plans had ever included him being recently fucked on the cold floor of the Autobot infirmary with the holographic form of his robotic boyfriend after some sort of psychotic episode but there were some contingencies that there were just no planning for. But that didn't mean Sam couldn't go with the flow.
"What's wrong with me?" Sam asked quietly. Bumblebee was warm against his bare skin, a sharp contrast to the hard floor against his knees, his hands drifting down to Sam's hips as if he was afraid Sam would pull away. Not much chance of that. For one, Sam wasn't sure he could even stand up right now. Sex combined with Cybertronian pain meds weren't helping with his balance.
"I'm not quite sure," Bumblebee admitted, fingertips stroking down Sam's bare thighs.
"No, that's not good enough. Not when I'm in here popping a boner for Ratchet, okay? Not when I'm dragging you to the floor in semi-public. Not when--" Sunstreaker. Sam broke off, took a deep breath. Not that, not yet.
Bumblebee took a breath that he didn't need, again, eyes closed as he considered. "We told you that you now possess some of my receptors--"
A loud metallic knock interrupted him, the door shivering from the force of it. "If you're both quite finished, may I come back into my infirmary and finish with my patient?" Ratchet voice was muffled but he didn't wait for a response and pushed inside, Optimus following with more wariness. Upon seeing the two of them still sprawled on the floor, Ratchet heaved a very human put-upon sigh as he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed them impatiently while Sam scrambled to his feet, struggling to both yank his pants up and cover himself with only one useful hand.
Bumblebee's clothes reappeared on him in a quick flicker and Sam had a brief moment to be envious of that trick before Bumblebee was helping him straighten his jeans, mumbling unkind things about Ratchet's spark-giving under his breath.
"I know what naked humans look like, Sam. Your biology is hardly an aberration from the norm. Now if the two of you can control yourselves for a moment?" Ratchet made an exaggerated gesture to the chair Sam had been in before. Tired beyond measure and more than a little resentful that secrets seemed to have been kept from him yet again, Sam slung himself into the chair and lived to regret it instantly as a thousand aches punched their way through the fog of painkillers and lit up in all areas of his body. Fucking hell, he felt like he'd been impaled on a railroad spike and then beaten with it.
He laid his steel-encased arm back on the examining table at lot more gingerly, glaring at Ratchet who seemed to be abandoning his efforts at holographic transmission and instead settled his large form on the floor across from Sam. "I don't care how many humans you've seen, naked or not. I don't need you to add a picture of my bare ass to your collection."
"You're so certain I haven't already? Bumblebee, I'm teasing him, exercise some of your own control and be silent!" Ratchet snapped before Bumblebee could make more than an indignant sound of protest. Dozens of slender instruments erupted from just one of his large fingertips and Sam swallowed tightly as they whirred around his arm. He was a lot more comfortable with Ratchet's poor temper when he wasn't two inches away from Ginsu-ing him.
Luckily, Ratchet seemed to have a tight focus even when pissed, making tiny adjustments as he continued muttering, "Just lately, the only injuries I seem to have to deal with have been from you two! I swear if I see either of you in here again for so much as a splinter or scratched paint, I am going deactivate you both and bury you under a rock somewhere on this blasted planet!"
"Ratchet," Optimus said quietly, laying one large hand on Ratchet's shoulder with unmistakable tenderness. Ratchet couldn't jerk away without possibly hacking Sam's arm off and while Sam couldn't help but be relieved that Ratchet resisted the urge, it was obvious that he wanted to, stiffening under Optimus's continued touch.
It would have been nice if Sam could have blamed the painkiller that was still swimming happily through his brain for what he said next but his startled realization was more than enough for him to blurt, "Are you two together?"
Dead silence greeted that, Ratchet's glittering little instruments going utterly still for the briefest of seconds before they resumed. "If you are asking me if I am involved in an ongoing relationship with my Prime, the answer is no," Ratchet said tightly.
Sam wondered if that was news to Optimus, who hadn't moved, his hand still resting lightly on Ratchet's shoulder.
"If you are asking if we are currently indulging in occasional intimacy, then yes, and I will be happy to discuss it with you at another time. If you'd like, I'll even set up a demonstration for you but for right now--"
"Ratchet--"
"Whoa, man, no--"
"Ratchet!"
Three voices exclaimed in unison, echoing loudly through the room before Ratchet finally threw up both hands in disgust, abandoning Sam's arm. "Could we please stay on the subject at hand and not on my sexual proclivities? Need I remind you all that I am a medical officer specializing in repairs, not a counselor."
"Yeah, that'd be great," Sam said, tiredly. "Let's talk about my sex life a little more instead. You might like to give personal demonstrations but that's not really my thing so can you explain why I just had the urge to go all out on the floor over there?"
After a long moment, Ratchet resumed his work. "All right. I shall, to the best of my abilities, explain this to you, Sam, and I would like to remind you that you are recently recovering from an incident that nearly killed you, while this issue had barely caused an inconvenience, so if you wouldn't mind keeping your anger under control for the time being and sparing my audio receivers, I would appreciate it."
"No promises," Sam shrugged, "But I'll do my best."
"I suppose that will have to do. I explained to you before that you have receptors from Bumblebee."
"Yeah, but--"
"If you could save your questions until the end of the tour?" Ratchet said with bland coolness and Bumblebee's disgruntled sound matched Sam's own thoughts. Sure it was easy for Ratchet to be calm about it, it wasn't screwing with him. Oh, don't even think about that, he wasn't even showing his Andy Griffith holo at the moment.
"Those you have gained through frequent contact and some deliberate insertion." Ratchet nodded at the tattoo circling Sam's bicep.
"But why--" Sam started and fell silent as Ratchet pinned him with a glare. Questions can wait, right.
"Their affinity with you is what saved both your and Bumblebee's life when you were infected with the virus. However, as I was treating you for your injuries, I discovered something else. You were already in possession of your own receptors." And that was enough, too much, and Sam had to struggle to keep his temper, keep calm before Ratchet had to put the brakes on everything again.
"How is that even possible?" Sam said through gritted teeth and to hell with saving questions, this was just too much.
"From the Allspark," Optimus said in his deep, quiet voice. Something about him saying it made it seem far more real than Ratchet's rambling explanation, rooting it in reality. Ratchet spoke in sarcasm but Optimus was truth, always.
Sam shook his head, trying to understand. "But other people were around it for years and nothing happened to them!"
"You were there when it was destroyed, Sam," Ratchet spoke again, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with the gentleness of his touch. A dozen little instruments were touching him at once and not a single one brought any pain. "The Allspark is...was...our giver of life and the consequences of its destruction...you must understand that there was no way for us to anticipate this--"
Sam held up a shaking hand and Ratchet fell silent, focusing again on his instruments. There was on odd warmth growing within his little arm cage, barely a distraction.
A light touch on the back of his free hand startled him, Bee running his fingertips over his knuckles, so tentative, as if he expected Sam to jerk away from him. Instead, he threaded their fingers together and squeezed hard. Like he could be angry at Bee, like any of this was Bumblebee's fault.
"Okay, I have my own receptors. That's great, that's...that's just perfect. So what the hell is wrong with me then?"
"You're organic," Ratchet said simply. "You're not meant to possess receptors. They require a power source to work but at the moment, haven't produced the proper connection to get it from your fuel source."
"But you think they will?"
"Adaption is what we do, Sam. But the point is, right now they are required to take their power from another source, one that works on a similar basis."
"Like from an Autobot," Sam guessed.
"Quite so. They are not truly intelligent nor self-aware but they do have a rudimentary survival programming and they can make assessments of a pattern. I am guessing that they have learned that when you are sexually aroused, they have contact with a power source and so they are inducing sexual arousal in you when there is one nearby."
"They are making me feel hot and horny whenever I am around an Autobot." Sam considered that. Well, at least his robot perversion had a good excuse.
"You have a fascinating habit of translating English into English, but yes, as you say. Hot and horny. An inconvenience, perhaps, but unless you are in the habit of involving yourself sexually with other...Autobots," Ratchet's voice mod hitched, ever so slightly, dawning realization, and Sam wondered a little desperately if Bee or Optimus noticed it. "There shouldn't be an issue," Ratchet continued easily.
"Does it affect you guys, too? I mean, am I making you want me?"
"I suspect that you don't need receptors for that," Ratchet murmured, a certain sour note to his voice mod. "But no. Not to me, anyway. Optimus?"
"No," Optimus replied dryly and there was a slight creak of metal as he tightened his grip on Ratchet's shoulder.
"It was only a question, Prime," Ratchet said with perfect innocence. "It's possible that Bumblebee has some slight drawing to you because his receptors are mingled with yours but I hardly think he needs incentive."
"Why didn't you guys just tell me this?" Sam said, a little plaintively.
"I could have." Ratchet agreed. "I chose not to. Which explanation would you prefer? That I was still concerned for your state of being after your illness, which I may remind you nearly killed you? That I was waiting for an opportune moment to discuss it with you that wouldn't cause you undue distress? Or that I simply didn't want to deal with it at the moment and thought a few days more rest might be appropriate before burdening you with further issues. Take your pick."
Okay, yeah, it had been a pretty full month. What with having Decepticons trying to kill him, in virus form and in person, leaving his home, fighting with his parents, suddenly getting involved with Bumblebee--
A sudden chill formed in the pit of his gut, a thick coldness that closed his throat as a thought occurred to him. He'd never so much as looked at a human guy, hadn't felt even a hint of interest before getting involved with Bumblebee and the receptors could make him feel things. They wanted power and they could make him get it for them and oh, god, god, please, no.
"Sam?" Ratchet looked up sharply, "Sam?"
"Sam?" Bumblebee said, softly, and Sam could still hear the raggedness to it, past damage roughening his voice but not so much that he couldn't hear the gentle concern. The love. It was so painfully obvious in everything about Bumblebee, from the clasp of his hand around Sam's to shine in his eyes. Bumblebee knew him so well, always knew what he needed and Sam had been...what? Using him as a power source, Jesus--
"Both of you, get out," Ratchet said abruptly, shrugging off Optimus's touch so fiercely that his fingertips left scratches in the paint on his shoulder. Neither protested and Sam didn't have the energy to try. Bee gave Sam's hand a last gentle squeeze before he reluctantly left and then he and Ratchet were alone, Ratchet's optics regarding him gravely.
"Your heart rate accelerated to the point it set off an alarm on my monitors. What's wrong? Do you feel ill?"
"No, no," Sam managed to stammer out. "This is all just so...weird, you know?"
For a weak explanation, it worked well enough, Ratchet visibly relaxing. Maybe he was picking up a few lying tips from the master. "For me as well. Treating a biological patient who is having robotic issues is really beyond my purview."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Ratchet made a grunting sound of agreement. "All right, let's finish this discussion so you can get some rest. Here is what is important for you to know. This is not harming you, it is not specifically changing you, to your detriment or otherwise. I've been keeping very close track and shall continue to do so but this is what I have been able to discern thus far."
"One, you are carrying remnants of the Allspark and please, when I say remnants, I mean remnants and because of that, Autobot receptors have been able to bind themselves to you.
"Two, receptors are our very base like your red blood cells, they work and they need energy to survive. Thus far, they are getting that energy from Bumblebee and I see no reason for that situation to change. Consider this a doctor's order to engage in frequent sexual activity until your receptors stabilize. I doubt it will be a hardship for you."
Only five minutes ago, Sam would have been delighting in that little piece of news. How odd, he thought distantly, that so much could change in so little time. "So what's with the eardrum bursting sound then?" Sam asked, a little dully. He wasn't sure he really cared anymore.
"I was getting to that. Since they are a living, working entity, they are trying to work for you and they are adapting to you. You do not speak Cybertronian but that is as basic a component to them as oxygen is to you. Therefore, when you hear Cybertronian, they are translating it and attempting to relay it to you. For lack of a better phrase, getting the information to you has been a work in progress, it seems. When other Autobots are in proximity to you, the feedback can be particularly painful."
"So...I've got tiny little robot bugs living on me, who aren't hurting me but they are trying to teach me robotic languages and get me laid?"
Ratchet did the Autobot equivalent of an eyeroll, optics flickering."Sure, why not. That sounds close enough."
"This is really weird."
"And yet, you've lived with trillions of dust mites over the course of your life and not one ever assisted you in gaining sexual gratification. "
"I guess there is that." His sci-fi cast made a little trilling sound, green lights flickering on it.
"Ah. There we are then," Ratchet said, satisfied. With that same surprising gentleness, he unfastened it from Sam's arm and pulled it free.
"So that's it? You healed my broken arm, just like that?"
"Just like that," Ratchet agreed.
Sam twisted his arm cautiously. It felt perfectly normal. Better than the rest of him, truth be told, his outer hurts mirroring his internal one, a hollow ache inside. "How did you do that?"
"Sam, I am having difficulty explaining it to some of the greatest scientific minds on your planet. I cannot conceive of how to explain it properly to you. I believe it is the great tradition of humans to call such workings 'magic.' "
"Magic?" Sam repeated dubiously.
"Unless you'd care to see the four hour presentation I've been working on concerning our medical technology as it can be applied to humans..."
"Wow, Ratchet, you are one hell of a magician," Sam said earnestly. "Seriously, David Copperfield has nothing on you."
Ratchet made a sound that passed for a laugh, deep and scratchy, "Much better, your heartbeat hardly changed at all. Before I send you back to your quarters to rest, and I do mean rest, there is one other thing."
"Yeah?" Sam said, rubbing his arm curiously. There weren't even any bruises.
"How did you break your arm?" Startled, Sam looked up, Christ, Ratchet couldn't be pushing the issue now, could he? But he had his hands folded together, and just then his posture was so oddly human that it was disconcerting, like a parent. Like his dad. "I can assure you that no matter what the cause, it will never leave this room."
He could tell Ratchet, if he really wanted, Sam realized. He could tell Ratchet everything and suddenly he knew Ratchet wouldn't judge him for it or use that information. He'd try to help if he could or let it go if he couldn't because if there was one thing Ratchet didn't do it was half-measures. He could tell him it all. But for the memory of Sideswipe, pale and flickering, looking at him in misery while his brother did probably unspeakable things to him, not asking but begging silently. Please.
Sam looked at him squarely. "I fell."
Ratchet nodded at once. "Yes. Of course." With a loud hum of hydraulics and a louder groan, he rose from the floor and went back to his workbench, picking up his tools. "Go get some rest, Sam, I'm sure Bumblebee is waiting for you."
"Okay," Sam said, uncertainly. Whatever painkiller Ratchet had used on him seemed to be wearing off and standing was easy enough. Walking out to face Bumblebee just now seemed infinitely harder but Sam managed. One foot at a time was the key. And not thinking. Not thinking seemed to be helping a lot. Before he made it to the door, Ratchet spoke again, quietly.
"Oh, and when you see Sideswipe, tell him that I won't cover for him again. Or you, for that matter."
Sam closed his eyes briefly. "Yeah, okay."
It took everything he had at that moment to push open the door and step through it, his courage and willpower cobweb thin but he did it, walked into Bumblebee's gentle touch and concern, and let it carry him back to his quarters. But even when he was tucked into the blankets, Bee curled warmly around him, his thoughts refused to be still, little bursts of doubt and fear pushing past the barriers he'd tried to erect around them.
What if the receptors were affecting him in other ways? If they could make him want Ratchet, want Sunstreaker, what else could they do?
He'd told Bumblebee this was real, he'd believed it but what if, what if it wasn't?
No good answer came to him and it took a long time for him to slip into a troubled sleep, one arm tightly around Bumblebee, holding him close.
-fin
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