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keelywolfeTitle: Of No Consequence
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Prime
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Optimus/Ratchet
Notes: Third in another series that I don't need to be writing. 9_9 Oh, well, sometimes you just have to go where the bunnies are chewing.
Summary: Set after the episode, Convoy (minor spoilers), third in the series that began with Something You Miss and continued in, Slow Motion Envy
~~*~~
"Hold still," Ratchet said, calmly. He didn't look up; his optics were set to magnify the damage in front of him and changing his perspective was disorienting. Optimus didn't protest, not even that he had been holding still. He'd been trying anyway, but the sensors that Ratchet was very carefully adjusting were quite sensitive.
He deliberately gentled his touch and didn't bother asking Optimus if he'd like his pain sensors turned off. Inevitably, the answer would be no and Ratchet only overrode such protests when the damage was critical.
Having grit and other particles ground into his pedes wasn't critical, per se, only uncomfortable, a small price to pay for stopping a train with nothing but his hands and strength. Ratchet was counting them both lucky that it was only minor damage, easily repaired with a little judicious treatment. If the little human's nuclear device had gone off, well, he would possibly be burying his team rather than repairing minor damage. Being trapped here on his planet alone was a fate that Ratchet did not care to consider.
They were alone in the small alcove that Ratchet generally used as a sort of tiny medical bay, offering what little privacy he could for issues that couldn't be tended to within quarters. The space their base offered was limited, enough that Ratchet could reach anything he needed without even standing from the supplies that were stacked neatly against one wall. There was no berth in this room, forcing Optimus to sit on the floor while Ratchet kneeled at his feet, working with quick, precise movements.
Once, he'd worked in some of the finest facilities on Cybertron. Memories of having an abundance of both the tools and the parts he needed was little more than a wistful dream at this point and one that Ratchet found easy to set aside. His tools might be limited but his skills were not, and all his team was alive. He'd thank Primus for that and not trouble him with the foolish wishes of an old mech.
Instead, he concentrated on the stripped gears in Optimus's tarsal apparatus. He adjusted the work light for a better view before prodding at the overstressed tibial tension cable. Replacing it would be better, except that their parts were so limited and Optimus was hardly a standard size. Grumbling to himself, Ratchet chose the second best option and decided that with a little strictly enforced rest, it would heal on its own. And he fully intended to make sure that rest was strictly enforced, by any means necessary.
With a mental wince, Ratchet shied away from that line of thought. First, finish the repair and then deal with the aftermath. He could feel Optimus watching him and once, Ratchet would have been unbothered by that. It was something he was quite accustomed to; many mechs liked to watch medics work, particularly when the internals were their own. Now it felt…different. He didn't care to speculate just what Optimus saw when he looked at him.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Ratchet had woken alone in his room, his head aching less and his valve aching more. Two weeks of whatever this blasted thing was between them. Another question Ratchet hadn't speculated on. He was going to have to make a separate data packet just to keep track of all the things he didn't want to think about.
~~*~~
Two Weeks Ago
If waking up with another mech and no memory of how they'd gotten there was disturbing, then waking up alone after one of the better frags of his life was equally so. Ratchet surfaced from recharge with the ache of overcharge still lingering in his processors and a warning from his fuel tanks that the fumes lingering in it weren't going to cut it for much longer, so he needed to get his aft up.
Groaning, Ratchet pushed himself up gingerly, cycling his optics once, twice, before grudgingly deciding that the blur was a lingering side effect and not a calibration issue. His memories were still patchy, less so with time spent defragging while he recharged. There was one memory, perfectly clear, that made his engine rev and a flush of heat sent his internal thermometer into the yellow, kicking his sluggish cooling fans to a higher level.
Of Optimus, waking next to him, and the two of them…well, at least he had a memory of it this time. The berth next to him was cool to the touch, an indication that Optimus had left some time ago, while Ratchet was still insensate with equal parts overcharge and overload.
And of course he had, of course Optimus would have left, Ratchet told himself. The others would be rousing and they hardly wanted to explain to them why Optimus was leaving Ratchet's quarters so early. Doubtlessly, he'd have to have a talk with Optimus about it later, (and there was something to look forward to), and then they could put this event behind them. Go back to being friends and comrades; that would be for the best.
With the same iron determination that had carried him through a war that had destroyed most of his species, along with his home planet, Ratchet locked the memory back, refusing to allow anything past the basic recall as he rose from the berth. He couldn't help groaning at the protest in his struts, a visceral reminder of what had happened the night before whether he replayed the memory or not.
Optimus was certainly quite a mech in the berth…no, no, no, Ratchet cut off that sequence briskly. Time for energon and to face the day. Consequences would have to wait just a bit. He took the time to swab away any clinging detritus on his armor, just enough to be presentable and to not advertise just what he'd been doing that night before shuffling out the door. A little energon in his fuel tanks would clear his head.
If he believed in it, Ratchet would call it a grim sort of luck that the others would blame his stiffness on over-energizing and his surliness as normal. The others were already in the main room when he tried, and predictably failed, to not stagger in. Arcee was sitting with Optimus, both consuming their morning energon. He managed a grunt for them, ignoring the knowing smirk Arcee graced him with and avoiding Optimus's optics completely. Not now, no, certainly not now. Energon, first, then consequences. Wheeljack and Bulkhead looked a great deal better than Ratchet felt and he spared a little of his aching processor power to hate them.
Snagging a cube of his own, Ratchet chose to lean against a wall instead of sitting, not trusting his achingly sore struts and hydraulics to lift him back up again. Getting stuck sitting on the floor or worse, having to ask for help getting up was far, far down on his list of things he ever wanted to happen, right around the same level as asking Starscream for a wax and polish.
He took a sip of the clear, sweet energon, just the taste enough to let him relax back against the wall and, unthinkingly, he glanced up and caught optics with Optimus.
For just a klik, Ratchet couldn't force himself to look away again, his optics drifting down to the smooth line of Optimus's mouth. A flash of memory cut through his processors, of the things that mouth could, and had, done. It made his interfacing protocols perk up, eager to online, made his cooling fans give a quickly aborted whir.
It was Wheeljack that broke through his rapidly heating thoughts and Ratchet could appreciate the interruption, if not the sentiment behind them.
"Feeling all right, doc?" Wheeljack asked, good-naturedly. "That rotgut goes down a little rough, 'specially on a frame model like yours."
Ratchet snorted loudly, "Please. I've had low-grade energon that would strip the internals off a youngling like you. Your piddling fusel oil was barely enough to grease my processors."
Wheeljack was chuckling gleefully before Ratchet had even finished, gave Bulkhead a hard slap on the back that rang loud enough to make Ratchet suppress a wince. "You got a good group of mechs here, buddy. The doc would have been right at home back with the Wreckers."
"Something to aspire to," Ratchet murmured drolly, setting off another round of processor splitting chuckles and playful smacks.
"Yeah, the doc's all right," Bulkhead agreed, affectionately, "But don't try going to him with sand in your articulators. If you think that energon of yours could blister paint, you should hear the doc swear, I'm telling you—"
Ratchet tuned out the easy chatter between the two, slowly nursing his cube of energon. Relief was far from instantaneous though after a few sips his low energy warnings abated. He'd probably need an extra cube this morning and that fact sent a sharp pang of guilt through him. He of all mechs knew that their energon supplies were low and while he could excuse Bulkhead and Wheeljack for their celebrations, he had no such justification.
Far from relieving his aching processors, coming out of the fog of overcharge was giving him a chance to brood instead. With a sigh that was only just barely kept internal, Ratchet set aside his weariness and started planning out his day.
The ground bridge was still in need of repair, like so much else in their base; the scraplet damage taking far too long to repair with Ratchet the only one capable. They were vulnerable, as demonstrated by the debacle of Wheeljack's arrival, and here he was, acting like a youngling barely into his adult frame. Guilt thickened, setting up firm residence in his spark, and Ratchet forced himself to take another sip of energon. Add in the fact that there was a fair chance after his work for the day he was going to owe a very close, very dear friend a number of apologies and he'd rather have a clear head for it.
Again, his optics lifted unwittingly and met Optimus's. Optimus gave him a little smile that did nothing to alleviate the guilt churning in his tanks. He did have a chance to blink in surprise when Optimus set aside his own cube and stood, walking over to Ratchet and well into his personal EM field. Instinctively, Ratchet started to take a step back, blocked by the very wall he'd chosen to lean against. With wide optics, he watched as Optimus slid a finger under Ratchet's chin, tipping his head up, nearly straining the tension wires in his neck as they again met optics. That little smile lingered bafflingly on Optimus's lips, warmer than he would have expected, what in the name of the Allspark was he--
"Good morning," Optimus murmured softly, the curve of his lips rising into almost a smirk, had Ratchet ever believe Optimus could smirk, much less would.
"Wha—" he started to ask, cut off when Optimus kissed him.
No small peck on the lips, either. His Prime swooped in, quashing any protests that might have been forthcoming with a forceful press of his mouth. His mouth was cool and wet, sweet with the taste of fresh energon and Ratchet was opening to it dumbly, already half-lost in the feel of it. The stone wall behind him was hard against his shoulders, no escape there, not that Ratchet was considering it. Not one fraction of his processors was looking for an out, every sensor he had yielding beneath the warm, tender pressure of Optimus's mouth.
Dimly, Ratchet heard a clatter, wetness splattering over his pedes. His olfactory sensors detected energon and logic dictated that someone had dropped their cube. From the size of the puddle Ratchet was now standing in, he suspected it had been Bulkhead. Not that he blamed him; he could feel the tremor in the energy field of his own cube, close to collapsing from the pressure of his shocked grip.
Faintest flicker of a slick glossa over his lips and then Optimus pulled back. Abortively, Ratchet started to reach for him, only catching himself when he noticed the others staring, their mouths open and optics glaring near-white in shock. Optimus kept one hand on Ratchet's shoulder and the medic leaned into it automatically, accepting the support with numb relief.
"Perhaps it's best if we inform you now. Ratchet and I have decided to begin a relationship," Optimus stated, matter-of-factly. No, not quite matter-of-fact; Optimus was always dignified and composed but if he had ever attempted to glow with happiness, Ratchet suspected he'd look just as he did now.
He doubted that any of them could look more shocked if Optimus had suddenly announced their intention to go on that Dancing with the Stars show that Bulkhead was so fond of.
Ratchet gave them a baleful glare and tried to pretend that Optimus's announcement wasn't a surprise to him. And why not? Back on Cybertron, he'd been quite a catch, a doctor and all that. Perhaps not the expected mate for a Prime, but it wasn't as though there were many left who were.
At once, they all seemed to realize that Optimus was still standing there, waiting for a response. It was Arcee who managed first, her vocalizer clicking at the point of resetting as she said, weakly, "Congratulations?"
"Yeah, 'grats, you two," Bulkhead said, almost too enthusiastically after nearly five kliks of utter silence. "That's great, that's…that's slagging terrific! You two…together…and yeah…uh…time to get Miko off to school. You two…you…C'mon, Jackie, you can at least check out the world a little before you take off."
"Sounds like a plan," Wheeljack said agreeably, trailing after Bulkhead and Ratchet could do little but glower at the brilliant humor sparkling in his optics as he glanced back, "Probably better to leave the lovebirds alone for a while, anyway."
From the low squawk of static that Arcee only just choked off, her processors were veering off in the same direction that Ratchet's lurched into and he only barely cut off his own frantic protests as she gave them both a curt nod before transforming and tearing off after the others. Leaving Ratchet and Optimus, alone.
"Optimus…" Ratchet hesitated, helplessly, because what could he say? Optimus was standing before him with bright optics and that same little smile, and he could still taste that kiss, feel the warmth against his lips and finally Ratchet managed to blurt out, "I need to get to work."
To his shamed relief, Optimus only nodded gravely. "Of course," he said, and Ratchet resolutely did not shiver at the low thrum of his voice, spoken so closely to his audials. Optimus was still standing so close that he could feel the warm, steady pulse of his EM field, almost a caress. "I shall see you tonight?"
It was a testament to Ratchet's scrambled processors that he'd already given a distracted nod before he could stop himself, and then there was nothing left to say, Optimus squeezing his shoulder with deliberate intent, his fingertips lingering briefly before he finally strode away and left Ratchet standing in a pool of cooling energon.
"What just happened?" Ratchet said aloud, weakly. Predictably, the still room offered no response and to be honest, he preferred that it hadn't. If anything else unexpected happened today, Ratchet suspected he would terminally glitch.
There was nothing for it. Ratchet stooped to clean up the spilled energon and prepare it for recycling. He let his thoughts compile was he worked, considering. Had he just…agreed to a relationship to Optimus? It certainly seemed like he had and yet, Ratchet was quite sure it was traditional to actually ask the other mech before making any announcements, happy or otherwise. Sure, it'd been a while but Ratchet was fairly certain on that point. Then again, last night's memories were still a fragged-up mess; in his condition, Ratchet might have agreed to any number of things, up to and including this.
A relationship with Optimus. Their Prime. The more he considered it, the more Ratchet decided that this was possibly the worst idea he'd ever heard. He was an old, grouchy medic who worked too hard and basked in the wreck of his own tempers and Optimus was a young, vibrant Prime, dignified and strong. More of their kind would surely come to this planet eventually, following their leader, and Optimus wanted to introduce Ratchet to them as his chosen mate?
Ridiculous. They could not do this, Ratchet decided. Optimus was one of his closest friends and a silly, drunken frag was one thing. Anything more would lower him in the estimation of others and that was something Ratchet would not allow to happen.
Only, Optimus had seemed delighted at the idea of being in a relationship with Ratchet. Just how was he supposed to break things off and still retain their friendship? How was he going to get out of this? He couldn't, Ratchet decided with rising panic. Oh, Primus, he was going to have to bond with him and Optimus would probably want to adopt those wretched little human children and soon they'd be living some horrific nightmare where humans and Autobots alike would be begging Ratchet for bedtime stories and energon treats. He could almost see Miko and Bulkhead curled together, pajama-clad and fresh from a bath, Optimus smiling indulgently and--
No, no, he was still suffering from lack of recharge. He'd find a way to let Optimus down gently. Likely, he wouldn’t have to; a week or so in Ratchet's constant company and Optimus would probably be the one breaking things off. Possibly begging.
He tried to pretend that thought didn't ache, just a little.
~~*~~
Two weeks later and Optimus had yet to show signs of wearying of Ratchet's company. His calm acceptance of Ratchet's blustering was not unfamiliar; his pulling Ratchet into the berth and fragging the irritation out of him was a bit of a change, though.
Ratchet pulled out another stripped gear, rougher than he'd intended and he regretted it when Optimus made a soft sound of pain before he could stifle his vocalizer.
"Sorry," Ratchet murmured and again, he gentled his touch. There was no reason to take his frustrations out on Optimus, more's the pity.
Ratchet had no one but himself to blame for his little problem, but how was he supposed to have known how randy Optimus was going to be? He'd certainly given no indication of it before. Now he seemed intent on making up for lost time; at the rate they were 'facing, Ratchet would have suspected Optimus was trying to break some sort of record on Ratchet's aft. In the morning, Ratchet would haul himself out of bed, his struts and tension wires aching from his hips down, stagger into the main room without even lighting his optics, guzzle a cube of energon and finally wake up enough to consider what he was doing that day.
He still hadn't forgiven Arcee and Bumblebee for the time they'd let him attempt to drink from an empty cube for nearly five minutes before he'd realized. Their shock seemed to have worn off and now the others were simply enjoying the view at Ratchet's expense. That was all right; he'd get them back when they drank the next batch of energon he'd prepared and it turned all their waste fluids fluorescent green. A few days of them on bed rest with 'Robonical Flu' and Ratchet figured his own good humor would be restored.
Some of it, anyway. He still wasn't sure what to do about fragging Optimus. Literally. After two weeks, Ratchet had finally sunk to leaving his proximity sensors on their highest level at all times. Otherwise, he would be in the middle of some project or another and suddenly, before any protests could be made, large hands would be on him, a strong body behind him, and protests were much more difficult to make when he was already halfway to overload.
"Is everything all right?" Optimus asked, quietly, and Ratchet startled, realized he'd been lost in thought for several kliks.
"Of course," Ratchet said briskly. "I'm almost done. You're low on energon and high on maintenance issues."
"Aren’t we all?" Optimus murmured and Ratchet paused, glaring back at him.
"It's not a joke," Ratchet scolded, snapping the new gears into place with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.
"And I am not joking," Optimus hissed from between gritted denta. "My maintenance issues can wait."
"But your ankle couldn't," Ratchet snapped, replacing the armor plates. "I'm finished. Stay off it the rest of the day, do you hear me? And I expect you to take your orders!" he snarled, even as Optimus opened his mouth to protest, "If I catch you up and strolling around, I will tie you to the berth. I mean it!"
He knew that choice of words was a mistake the moment they left his vocalizer and Ratchet was already resigned to his fate when that now-familiar smirk twisted Optimus's mouth into a warm curve. "If you're going to make threats like that, I may be inclined to test your sincerity."
"How can you be such a pervert?" Ratchet groaned, mostly to himself, rhetorical question that it was.
Optimus answered him anyway, pulling him up and into his arms, and nuzzling at the delicate sensors next to Ratchet's optics. "I think you bring out the best in me."
"I thought you called that your spike," Ratchet grumbled, his fans whirring to life.
"That, too."
It was far too late to escape and not just because Ratchet had yet to figure out how. Optimus was already squirming into a better position beneath him and to Ratchet's shock, he slid his legs under Ratchet's hips, drawing his knees up until Ratchet was kneeling between his thighs.
Ratchet went very still, shuttering his optics even as Optimus pressed a soft kiss against the wildly sensitive sensors in his chevron. Thus far, they'd never reversed their positions; all Ratchet's grudging willingness had been focused around Optimus taking him. Something about actually spiking Optimus was unsettling. It would be the last blow in the demise of his resistance, finally acknowledging that he had a choice in this and wasn't just getting pulled into the gravitational well that was Optimus Prime.
He shifted back, resting his weight on both hands against Optimus chest and he could only watch helplessly as Optimus tilted his head up, expectantly, until all Ratchet could do was lean in and kiss him because he still didn't know what else to do.
"Hey, how's is—hrrk!" They jerked apart with a loud screech of metal against metal, both of them looking at the door. To see Jack standing in the entryway and any hope that the human didn't realize exactly what he was seeing dissolved at the high crimson color that flooded the boy's cheeks.
Lovely.
"Did you need something?" Ratchet ground out. Jack shook his head and backed out, eyes wide. No doubt ready to run back to the others and report what he'd just seen.
Ratchet shook his head, already resigned to losing the last vestiges of his dignity. With a sigh, he turned back to Optimus, wondering if the mood was thoroughly dead. And blinked. He would never have believed anyone could look more horrified than that human just had but here was Optimus, putting lie to that.
"I believe we may have damaged that poor child's mind," Optimus said faintly, his optics still pale with embarrassment. Well, now, it would seem that Optimus had finally found his shame, untucking it from wherever he'd had it stored for the past two weeks.
"Good," Ratchet growled. "It'll teach him the value of taking a moment to knock."
It was easy, too easy, to press their mouths back together. To feel Optimus nearly flinch away, at first, resisting the coaxing pressure of Ratchet's lips for a bare klik before opening to the slick touch of his glossa, gentle at first, and then urgent, his hands moving restlessly, stroking over sensitive nodes and plucking gently at delicate wires until Optimus was shuddering beneath him, cooling fans a high whine as his panel clicked open, his hips already arching invitingly.
Ratchet pulled back, rested his head on Optimus's chest as he vented deeply, once, twice, Primus, this was going to be embarrassingly quick. He reached down to touch, the one place on Optimus he'd never even seen, not even in a medical capacity. The heat, the slickness that greeted his fingertips drew another wracking shudder from him and a loud moan from Optimus. So ready, drenched with lubrication, and Ratchet dimly wondered if Optimus had actually been getting off on watching Ratchet work. Nothing would surprise him at this point.
With as much shaky care as he could, Ratchet guided his spike into that hot, slick heat, hissing out a vent of air at the exquisite tightness that surrounded him. Slag, so tight, tighter than he would have believed and for a brief moment of wild panic, Ratchet wondered if perhaps Optimus had never done this before and now Ratchet was relieving him of the last vestiges of his virginity on the filthy floor of a pretend medbay.
There was no seal blocking his entrance though and with a relieved sigh, he sank in as far as he could, relishing Optimus's choked sob of pleasure as he arched up, thighs tightening around Ratchet's hips to draw him ever deeper.
"You feel so good," Ratchet groaned, struggling against Optimus's clinging grip to pull back, just enough to thrust strongly back in to that perfect tightness.
"So do you," Optimus choked out. He seemed to be composed of nothing but needy hands, scrabbling frantically over Ratchet's frame, his valve spasming so hard around him that Ratchet cried out, halfway to a scream at the ripple of sensation against his spike.
There was no possible way to slow it, barely enough room in this cramped alcove for Ratchet to move with more than the shallowest thrusts, dragging his spike against the sparking nodes inside Optimus's valve, driving the charge as best he could.
Optimus was squirming beneath him, begging him, oh, Primus, beautiful, and Ratchet drove in again, harder, Optimus was so tight and hot around him, rocking up into every thrust and several boxes behind them clattered to the ground, their contents showering their feet and Ratchet did not, could not, care, lost in the slick, sweet depths of Optimus's valve.
"Oh, oh, Primus, oh slag, oh, that…oh, yes, yes," Optimus whimpered beneath him, his rich voice crackling with static and that was nearly as satisfying as the way his valve went tight, clenching around him as Optimus gave a last, choked cry, the electric wash of his overload swamping over Ratchet's EM field, his vocalizer shorting into white noise as he rocked in once, twice more, clinging to Optimus as his own overload crashed over him, his optics flaring to white.
With a groan, Ratchet collapsed down on Optimus, venting heavily, their howling fans drowning out any other sound. Beneath him, Optimus gave a contented sigh, his lips ticklish against Ratchet's throat.
The hum of his own fans was still blaring in his audials, his power levels insistently trying to cycle him into recharge, and Ratchet was halfway to obeying them, curled up sleepily against Optimus chest when a soft murmur, barely audible, sent a wild flare of terror through his sensor net.
So softly, Optimus sighed out, "I love you."
Oh dear Primus…Ratchet couldn't move, trapped in the warm strength of Optimus's arms, his vocalizer frozen, any response he could have possibly made trapped behind the choking thickness. He cycled it once, desperately, twice, frag it, he had to say something, finally managed to squeak out a pathetic whisper of sound.
"Optimus—" Ratchet said, weakly. His only response was a deep ventilation. Blinking, Ratchet managed to lift his head and found Optimus already deeply into recharge. With a solid thunk, Ratchet dropped his head back down. Past experience had taught him that while Optimus might usually recharge lightly, he was not to be easily roused after an overload.
He'd also learned that there was no escaping from Optimus's grip while he was in recharge and so Ratchet settled in, thoughts of his own recharge as distant as the next solar system as he absently traced the seams of Optimus's armor and tried to figure out what in the name of the Allspark he was going to do.
tbc
Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Prime
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Optimus/Ratchet
Notes: Third in another series that I don't need to be writing. 9_9 Oh, well, sometimes you just have to go where the bunnies are chewing.
Summary: Set after the episode, Convoy (minor spoilers), third in the series that began with Something You Miss and continued in, Slow Motion Envy
~~*~~
"Hold still," Ratchet said, calmly. He didn't look up; his optics were set to magnify the damage in front of him and changing his perspective was disorienting. Optimus didn't protest, not even that he had been holding still. He'd been trying anyway, but the sensors that Ratchet was very carefully adjusting were quite sensitive.
He deliberately gentled his touch and didn't bother asking Optimus if he'd like his pain sensors turned off. Inevitably, the answer would be no and Ratchet only overrode such protests when the damage was critical.
Having grit and other particles ground into his pedes wasn't critical, per se, only uncomfortable, a small price to pay for stopping a train with nothing but his hands and strength. Ratchet was counting them both lucky that it was only minor damage, easily repaired with a little judicious treatment. If the little human's nuclear device had gone off, well, he would possibly be burying his team rather than repairing minor damage. Being trapped here on his planet alone was a fate that Ratchet did not care to consider.
They were alone in the small alcove that Ratchet generally used as a sort of tiny medical bay, offering what little privacy he could for issues that couldn't be tended to within quarters. The space their base offered was limited, enough that Ratchet could reach anything he needed without even standing from the supplies that were stacked neatly against one wall. There was no berth in this room, forcing Optimus to sit on the floor while Ratchet kneeled at his feet, working with quick, precise movements.
Once, he'd worked in some of the finest facilities on Cybertron. Memories of having an abundance of both the tools and the parts he needed was little more than a wistful dream at this point and one that Ratchet found easy to set aside. His tools might be limited but his skills were not, and all his team was alive. He'd thank Primus for that and not trouble him with the foolish wishes of an old mech.
Instead, he concentrated on the stripped gears in Optimus's tarsal apparatus. He adjusted the work light for a better view before prodding at the overstressed tibial tension cable. Replacing it would be better, except that their parts were so limited and Optimus was hardly a standard size. Grumbling to himself, Ratchet chose the second best option and decided that with a little strictly enforced rest, it would heal on its own. And he fully intended to make sure that rest was strictly enforced, by any means necessary.
With a mental wince, Ratchet shied away from that line of thought. First, finish the repair and then deal with the aftermath. He could feel Optimus watching him and once, Ratchet would have been unbothered by that. It was something he was quite accustomed to; many mechs liked to watch medics work, particularly when the internals were their own. Now it felt…different. He didn't care to speculate just what Optimus saw when he looked at him.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Ratchet had woken alone in his room, his head aching less and his valve aching more. Two weeks of whatever this blasted thing was between them. Another question Ratchet hadn't speculated on. He was going to have to make a separate data packet just to keep track of all the things he didn't want to think about.
~~*~~
Two Weeks Ago
If waking up with another mech and no memory of how they'd gotten there was disturbing, then waking up alone after one of the better frags of his life was equally so. Ratchet surfaced from recharge with the ache of overcharge still lingering in his processors and a warning from his fuel tanks that the fumes lingering in it weren't going to cut it for much longer, so he needed to get his aft up.
Groaning, Ratchet pushed himself up gingerly, cycling his optics once, twice, before grudgingly deciding that the blur was a lingering side effect and not a calibration issue. His memories were still patchy, less so with time spent defragging while he recharged. There was one memory, perfectly clear, that made his engine rev and a flush of heat sent his internal thermometer into the yellow, kicking his sluggish cooling fans to a higher level.
Of Optimus, waking next to him, and the two of them…well, at least he had a memory of it this time. The berth next to him was cool to the touch, an indication that Optimus had left some time ago, while Ratchet was still insensate with equal parts overcharge and overload.
And of course he had, of course Optimus would have left, Ratchet told himself. The others would be rousing and they hardly wanted to explain to them why Optimus was leaving Ratchet's quarters so early. Doubtlessly, he'd have to have a talk with Optimus about it later, (and there was something to look forward to), and then they could put this event behind them. Go back to being friends and comrades; that would be for the best.
With the same iron determination that had carried him through a war that had destroyed most of his species, along with his home planet, Ratchet locked the memory back, refusing to allow anything past the basic recall as he rose from the berth. He couldn't help groaning at the protest in his struts, a visceral reminder of what had happened the night before whether he replayed the memory or not.
Optimus was certainly quite a mech in the berth…no, no, no, Ratchet cut off that sequence briskly. Time for energon and to face the day. Consequences would have to wait just a bit. He took the time to swab away any clinging detritus on his armor, just enough to be presentable and to not advertise just what he'd been doing that night before shuffling out the door. A little energon in his fuel tanks would clear his head.
If he believed in it, Ratchet would call it a grim sort of luck that the others would blame his stiffness on over-energizing and his surliness as normal. The others were already in the main room when he tried, and predictably failed, to not stagger in. Arcee was sitting with Optimus, both consuming their morning energon. He managed a grunt for them, ignoring the knowing smirk Arcee graced him with and avoiding Optimus's optics completely. Not now, no, certainly not now. Energon, first, then consequences. Wheeljack and Bulkhead looked a great deal better than Ratchet felt and he spared a little of his aching processor power to hate them.
Snagging a cube of his own, Ratchet chose to lean against a wall instead of sitting, not trusting his achingly sore struts and hydraulics to lift him back up again. Getting stuck sitting on the floor or worse, having to ask for help getting up was far, far down on his list of things he ever wanted to happen, right around the same level as asking Starscream for a wax and polish.
He took a sip of the clear, sweet energon, just the taste enough to let him relax back against the wall and, unthinkingly, he glanced up and caught optics with Optimus.
For just a klik, Ratchet couldn't force himself to look away again, his optics drifting down to the smooth line of Optimus's mouth. A flash of memory cut through his processors, of the things that mouth could, and had, done. It made his interfacing protocols perk up, eager to online, made his cooling fans give a quickly aborted whir.
It was Wheeljack that broke through his rapidly heating thoughts and Ratchet could appreciate the interruption, if not the sentiment behind them.
"Feeling all right, doc?" Wheeljack asked, good-naturedly. "That rotgut goes down a little rough, 'specially on a frame model like yours."
Ratchet snorted loudly, "Please. I've had low-grade energon that would strip the internals off a youngling like you. Your piddling fusel oil was barely enough to grease my processors."
Wheeljack was chuckling gleefully before Ratchet had even finished, gave Bulkhead a hard slap on the back that rang loud enough to make Ratchet suppress a wince. "You got a good group of mechs here, buddy. The doc would have been right at home back with the Wreckers."
"Something to aspire to," Ratchet murmured drolly, setting off another round of processor splitting chuckles and playful smacks.
"Yeah, the doc's all right," Bulkhead agreed, affectionately, "But don't try going to him with sand in your articulators. If you think that energon of yours could blister paint, you should hear the doc swear, I'm telling you—"
Ratchet tuned out the easy chatter between the two, slowly nursing his cube of energon. Relief was far from instantaneous though after a few sips his low energy warnings abated. He'd probably need an extra cube this morning and that fact sent a sharp pang of guilt through him. He of all mechs knew that their energon supplies were low and while he could excuse Bulkhead and Wheeljack for their celebrations, he had no such justification.
Far from relieving his aching processors, coming out of the fog of overcharge was giving him a chance to brood instead. With a sigh that was only just barely kept internal, Ratchet set aside his weariness and started planning out his day.
The ground bridge was still in need of repair, like so much else in their base; the scraplet damage taking far too long to repair with Ratchet the only one capable. They were vulnerable, as demonstrated by the debacle of Wheeljack's arrival, and here he was, acting like a youngling barely into his adult frame. Guilt thickened, setting up firm residence in his spark, and Ratchet forced himself to take another sip of energon. Add in the fact that there was a fair chance after his work for the day he was going to owe a very close, very dear friend a number of apologies and he'd rather have a clear head for it.
Again, his optics lifted unwittingly and met Optimus's. Optimus gave him a little smile that did nothing to alleviate the guilt churning in his tanks. He did have a chance to blink in surprise when Optimus set aside his own cube and stood, walking over to Ratchet and well into his personal EM field. Instinctively, Ratchet started to take a step back, blocked by the very wall he'd chosen to lean against. With wide optics, he watched as Optimus slid a finger under Ratchet's chin, tipping his head up, nearly straining the tension wires in his neck as they again met optics. That little smile lingered bafflingly on Optimus's lips, warmer than he would have expected, what in the name of the Allspark was he--
"Good morning," Optimus murmured softly, the curve of his lips rising into almost a smirk, had Ratchet ever believe Optimus could smirk, much less would.
"Wha—" he started to ask, cut off when Optimus kissed him.
No small peck on the lips, either. His Prime swooped in, quashing any protests that might have been forthcoming with a forceful press of his mouth. His mouth was cool and wet, sweet with the taste of fresh energon and Ratchet was opening to it dumbly, already half-lost in the feel of it. The stone wall behind him was hard against his shoulders, no escape there, not that Ratchet was considering it. Not one fraction of his processors was looking for an out, every sensor he had yielding beneath the warm, tender pressure of Optimus's mouth.
Dimly, Ratchet heard a clatter, wetness splattering over his pedes. His olfactory sensors detected energon and logic dictated that someone had dropped their cube. From the size of the puddle Ratchet was now standing in, he suspected it had been Bulkhead. Not that he blamed him; he could feel the tremor in the energy field of his own cube, close to collapsing from the pressure of his shocked grip.
Faintest flicker of a slick glossa over his lips and then Optimus pulled back. Abortively, Ratchet started to reach for him, only catching himself when he noticed the others staring, their mouths open and optics glaring near-white in shock. Optimus kept one hand on Ratchet's shoulder and the medic leaned into it automatically, accepting the support with numb relief.
"Perhaps it's best if we inform you now. Ratchet and I have decided to begin a relationship," Optimus stated, matter-of-factly. No, not quite matter-of-fact; Optimus was always dignified and composed but if he had ever attempted to glow with happiness, Ratchet suspected he'd look just as he did now.
He doubted that any of them could look more shocked if Optimus had suddenly announced their intention to go on that Dancing with the Stars show that Bulkhead was so fond of.
Ratchet gave them a baleful glare and tried to pretend that Optimus's announcement wasn't a surprise to him. And why not? Back on Cybertron, he'd been quite a catch, a doctor and all that. Perhaps not the expected mate for a Prime, but it wasn't as though there were many left who were.
At once, they all seemed to realize that Optimus was still standing there, waiting for a response. It was Arcee who managed first, her vocalizer clicking at the point of resetting as she said, weakly, "Congratulations?"
"Yeah, 'grats, you two," Bulkhead said, almost too enthusiastically after nearly five kliks of utter silence. "That's great, that's…that's slagging terrific! You two…together…and yeah…uh…time to get Miko off to school. You two…you…C'mon, Jackie, you can at least check out the world a little before you take off."
"Sounds like a plan," Wheeljack said agreeably, trailing after Bulkhead and Ratchet could do little but glower at the brilliant humor sparkling in his optics as he glanced back, "Probably better to leave the lovebirds alone for a while, anyway."
From the low squawk of static that Arcee only just choked off, her processors were veering off in the same direction that Ratchet's lurched into and he only barely cut off his own frantic protests as she gave them both a curt nod before transforming and tearing off after the others. Leaving Ratchet and Optimus, alone.
"Optimus…" Ratchet hesitated, helplessly, because what could he say? Optimus was standing before him with bright optics and that same little smile, and he could still taste that kiss, feel the warmth against his lips and finally Ratchet managed to blurt out, "I need to get to work."
To his shamed relief, Optimus only nodded gravely. "Of course," he said, and Ratchet resolutely did not shiver at the low thrum of his voice, spoken so closely to his audials. Optimus was still standing so close that he could feel the warm, steady pulse of his EM field, almost a caress. "I shall see you tonight?"
It was a testament to Ratchet's scrambled processors that he'd already given a distracted nod before he could stop himself, and then there was nothing left to say, Optimus squeezing his shoulder with deliberate intent, his fingertips lingering briefly before he finally strode away and left Ratchet standing in a pool of cooling energon.
"What just happened?" Ratchet said aloud, weakly. Predictably, the still room offered no response and to be honest, he preferred that it hadn't. If anything else unexpected happened today, Ratchet suspected he would terminally glitch.
There was nothing for it. Ratchet stooped to clean up the spilled energon and prepare it for recycling. He let his thoughts compile was he worked, considering. Had he just…agreed to a relationship to Optimus? It certainly seemed like he had and yet, Ratchet was quite sure it was traditional to actually ask the other mech before making any announcements, happy or otherwise. Sure, it'd been a while but Ratchet was fairly certain on that point. Then again, last night's memories were still a fragged-up mess; in his condition, Ratchet might have agreed to any number of things, up to and including this.
A relationship with Optimus. Their Prime. The more he considered it, the more Ratchet decided that this was possibly the worst idea he'd ever heard. He was an old, grouchy medic who worked too hard and basked in the wreck of his own tempers and Optimus was a young, vibrant Prime, dignified and strong. More of their kind would surely come to this planet eventually, following their leader, and Optimus wanted to introduce Ratchet to them as his chosen mate?
Ridiculous. They could not do this, Ratchet decided. Optimus was one of his closest friends and a silly, drunken frag was one thing. Anything more would lower him in the estimation of others and that was something Ratchet would not allow to happen.
Only, Optimus had seemed delighted at the idea of being in a relationship with Ratchet. Just how was he supposed to break things off and still retain their friendship? How was he going to get out of this? He couldn't, Ratchet decided with rising panic. Oh, Primus, he was going to have to bond with him and Optimus would probably want to adopt those wretched little human children and soon they'd be living some horrific nightmare where humans and Autobots alike would be begging Ratchet for bedtime stories and energon treats. He could almost see Miko and Bulkhead curled together, pajama-clad and fresh from a bath, Optimus smiling indulgently and--
No, no, he was still suffering from lack of recharge. He'd find a way to let Optimus down gently. Likely, he wouldn’t have to; a week or so in Ratchet's constant company and Optimus would probably be the one breaking things off. Possibly begging.
He tried to pretend that thought didn't ache, just a little.
~~*~~
Two weeks later and Optimus had yet to show signs of wearying of Ratchet's company. His calm acceptance of Ratchet's blustering was not unfamiliar; his pulling Ratchet into the berth and fragging the irritation out of him was a bit of a change, though.
Ratchet pulled out another stripped gear, rougher than he'd intended and he regretted it when Optimus made a soft sound of pain before he could stifle his vocalizer.
"Sorry," Ratchet murmured and again, he gentled his touch. There was no reason to take his frustrations out on Optimus, more's the pity.
Ratchet had no one but himself to blame for his little problem, but how was he supposed to have known how randy Optimus was going to be? He'd certainly given no indication of it before. Now he seemed intent on making up for lost time; at the rate they were 'facing, Ratchet would have suspected Optimus was trying to break some sort of record on Ratchet's aft. In the morning, Ratchet would haul himself out of bed, his struts and tension wires aching from his hips down, stagger into the main room without even lighting his optics, guzzle a cube of energon and finally wake up enough to consider what he was doing that day.
He still hadn't forgiven Arcee and Bumblebee for the time they'd let him attempt to drink from an empty cube for nearly five minutes before he'd realized. Their shock seemed to have worn off and now the others were simply enjoying the view at Ratchet's expense. That was all right; he'd get them back when they drank the next batch of energon he'd prepared and it turned all their waste fluids fluorescent green. A few days of them on bed rest with 'Robonical Flu' and Ratchet figured his own good humor would be restored.
Some of it, anyway. He still wasn't sure what to do about fragging Optimus. Literally. After two weeks, Ratchet had finally sunk to leaving his proximity sensors on their highest level at all times. Otherwise, he would be in the middle of some project or another and suddenly, before any protests could be made, large hands would be on him, a strong body behind him, and protests were much more difficult to make when he was already halfway to overload.
"Is everything all right?" Optimus asked, quietly, and Ratchet startled, realized he'd been lost in thought for several kliks.
"Of course," Ratchet said briskly. "I'm almost done. You're low on energon and high on maintenance issues."
"Aren’t we all?" Optimus murmured and Ratchet paused, glaring back at him.
"It's not a joke," Ratchet scolded, snapping the new gears into place with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.
"And I am not joking," Optimus hissed from between gritted denta. "My maintenance issues can wait."
"But your ankle couldn't," Ratchet snapped, replacing the armor plates. "I'm finished. Stay off it the rest of the day, do you hear me? And I expect you to take your orders!" he snarled, even as Optimus opened his mouth to protest, "If I catch you up and strolling around, I will tie you to the berth. I mean it!"
He knew that choice of words was a mistake the moment they left his vocalizer and Ratchet was already resigned to his fate when that now-familiar smirk twisted Optimus's mouth into a warm curve. "If you're going to make threats like that, I may be inclined to test your sincerity."
"How can you be such a pervert?" Ratchet groaned, mostly to himself, rhetorical question that it was.
Optimus answered him anyway, pulling him up and into his arms, and nuzzling at the delicate sensors next to Ratchet's optics. "I think you bring out the best in me."
"I thought you called that your spike," Ratchet grumbled, his fans whirring to life.
"That, too."
It was far too late to escape and not just because Ratchet had yet to figure out how. Optimus was already squirming into a better position beneath him and to Ratchet's shock, he slid his legs under Ratchet's hips, drawing his knees up until Ratchet was kneeling between his thighs.
Ratchet went very still, shuttering his optics even as Optimus pressed a soft kiss against the wildly sensitive sensors in his chevron. Thus far, they'd never reversed their positions; all Ratchet's grudging willingness had been focused around Optimus taking him. Something about actually spiking Optimus was unsettling. It would be the last blow in the demise of his resistance, finally acknowledging that he had a choice in this and wasn't just getting pulled into the gravitational well that was Optimus Prime.
He shifted back, resting his weight on both hands against Optimus chest and he could only watch helplessly as Optimus tilted his head up, expectantly, until all Ratchet could do was lean in and kiss him because he still didn't know what else to do.
"Hey, how's is—hrrk!" They jerked apart with a loud screech of metal against metal, both of them looking at the door. To see Jack standing in the entryway and any hope that the human didn't realize exactly what he was seeing dissolved at the high crimson color that flooded the boy's cheeks.
Lovely.
"Did you need something?" Ratchet ground out. Jack shook his head and backed out, eyes wide. No doubt ready to run back to the others and report what he'd just seen.
Ratchet shook his head, already resigned to losing the last vestiges of his dignity. With a sigh, he turned back to Optimus, wondering if the mood was thoroughly dead. And blinked. He would never have believed anyone could look more horrified than that human just had but here was Optimus, putting lie to that.
"I believe we may have damaged that poor child's mind," Optimus said faintly, his optics still pale with embarrassment. Well, now, it would seem that Optimus had finally found his shame, untucking it from wherever he'd had it stored for the past two weeks.
"Good," Ratchet growled. "It'll teach him the value of taking a moment to knock."
It was easy, too easy, to press their mouths back together. To feel Optimus nearly flinch away, at first, resisting the coaxing pressure of Ratchet's lips for a bare klik before opening to the slick touch of his glossa, gentle at first, and then urgent, his hands moving restlessly, stroking over sensitive nodes and plucking gently at delicate wires until Optimus was shuddering beneath him, cooling fans a high whine as his panel clicked open, his hips already arching invitingly.
Ratchet pulled back, rested his head on Optimus's chest as he vented deeply, once, twice, Primus, this was going to be embarrassingly quick. He reached down to touch, the one place on Optimus he'd never even seen, not even in a medical capacity. The heat, the slickness that greeted his fingertips drew another wracking shudder from him and a loud moan from Optimus. So ready, drenched with lubrication, and Ratchet dimly wondered if Optimus had actually been getting off on watching Ratchet work. Nothing would surprise him at this point.
With as much shaky care as he could, Ratchet guided his spike into that hot, slick heat, hissing out a vent of air at the exquisite tightness that surrounded him. Slag, so tight, tighter than he would have believed and for a brief moment of wild panic, Ratchet wondered if perhaps Optimus had never done this before and now Ratchet was relieving him of the last vestiges of his virginity on the filthy floor of a pretend medbay.
There was no seal blocking his entrance though and with a relieved sigh, he sank in as far as he could, relishing Optimus's choked sob of pleasure as he arched up, thighs tightening around Ratchet's hips to draw him ever deeper.
"You feel so good," Ratchet groaned, struggling against Optimus's clinging grip to pull back, just enough to thrust strongly back in to that perfect tightness.
"So do you," Optimus choked out. He seemed to be composed of nothing but needy hands, scrabbling frantically over Ratchet's frame, his valve spasming so hard around him that Ratchet cried out, halfway to a scream at the ripple of sensation against his spike.
There was no possible way to slow it, barely enough room in this cramped alcove for Ratchet to move with more than the shallowest thrusts, dragging his spike against the sparking nodes inside Optimus's valve, driving the charge as best he could.
Optimus was squirming beneath him, begging him, oh, Primus, beautiful, and Ratchet drove in again, harder, Optimus was so tight and hot around him, rocking up into every thrust and several boxes behind them clattered to the ground, their contents showering their feet and Ratchet did not, could not, care, lost in the slick, sweet depths of Optimus's valve.
"Oh, oh, Primus, oh slag, oh, that…oh, yes, yes," Optimus whimpered beneath him, his rich voice crackling with static and that was nearly as satisfying as the way his valve went tight, clenching around him as Optimus gave a last, choked cry, the electric wash of his overload swamping over Ratchet's EM field, his vocalizer shorting into white noise as he rocked in once, twice more, clinging to Optimus as his own overload crashed over him, his optics flaring to white.
With a groan, Ratchet collapsed down on Optimus, venting heavily, their howling fans drowning out any other sound. Beneath him, Optimus gave a contented sigh, his lips ticklish against Ratchet's throat.
The hum of his own fans was still blaring in his audials, his power levels insistently trying to cycle him into recharge, and Ratchet was halfway to obeying them, curled up sleepily against Optimus chest when a soft murmur, barely audible, sent a wild flare of terror through his sensor net.
So softly, Optimus sighed out, "I love you."
Oh dear Primus…Ratchet couldn't move, trapped in the warm strength of Optimus's arms, his vocalizer frozen, any response he could have possibly made trapped behind the choking thickness. He cycled it once, desperately, twice, frag it, he had to say something, finally managed to squeak out a pathetic whisper of sound.
"Optimus—" Ratchet said, weakly. His only response was a deep ventilation. Blinking, Ratchet managed to lift his head and found Optimus already deeply into recharge. With a solid thunk, Ratchet dropped his head back down. Past experience had taught him that while Optimus might usually recharge lightly, he was not to be easily roused after an overload.
He'd also learned that there was no escaping from Optimus's grip while he was in recharge and so Ratchet settled in, thoughts of his own recharge as distant as the next solar system as he absently traced the seams of Optimus's armor and tried to figure out what in the name of the Allspark he was going to do.
tbc
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no subject
Date: 2011-07-28 08:27 am (UTC)Geezus I love your stuff! Ratchet is such a sucker for OP, but I can't see him with anyone else in this series.
Serious Prime is serious...ly in love. And I love that. Seriously.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-02 02:22 pm (UTC)heh, who else would put up with him? Ratchet needs someone with the patience of a saint. *G*