Title For the Love of Boom!
Pairings Ironhide/Chromia/Smokescreen/Wheeljack (hubbed: In that order for a reason ;), Prowl/Ratchet implied
Warnings None, unless you need an implied foursome warning, and warning for Jack being himself.
Author's Note The hub theory is that a femme is the central bonding point for a group of mechs; an archaic technique used for reproduction that has since become defunct. The mechs are bonded to the femme, the hub, but not bonded to each other. Often, the mechs attached to the same hub will also be one another's lovers.
This has been sitting on my backlog for far too long. I finally decided to finish editing it and get it uploaded to get it out of the way.
This has absolutely no relation to Privileges of Rank.
Ironhide didn't exactly know what Wheeljack was working on, but he knew Wheeljack. That was why Ironhide stood with Smokescreen, Chromia pressed between them, behind a giant blast shield while Wheeljack fiddled with his invention.
The lab had been built, or rather expanded, with the inventor in mind. Still fresh paint tinted the air with its shap tang. Wheeljack worked on a counter in the newer portion of the lab, his vocal indicators flashing as he spoke, occasionally actually talking to them.
Wanting to impress his recently acquired lovers, Wheeljack had promised a light show, having somehow acquired a Thekarian crystal. Thekarian crystals, a highly volatile compound used in explosives, but banned for its instability. He didn't know where Prowl had managed to dig up his Security Director, but the mech was damned good at his job. How Wheeljack managed to get one past Red Alert, Ironhide wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.
Ironhide expected quite the light show, and he planned on being over here when it happened. Chromia's fascination with Wheeljack's toy filtered through their bond. He coludn't help but follow Wheeljack going from one pile of mishmash to another, amused by her utter fascination with his work.Truthfully it was the only reason he was still standing there, instead of retreating somewhere much safer. The other side of Iacon sounded nice. To actually have Chromia here when they weren't fighting desperately for their lives; Ironhide would tolerate Gears and Huffer for that chance.
Speaking of things he'd tolerate for Chromia, there was also the fact that Smokescreen was distinctly uncomfortable, and Ironhide found that vastly amusing. Smokescreen rubbed Ironhide's circuits all the wrong ways, and if it weren't for Chromia, he would have nothing to do with the gambling tactician when their units met up.
Smokescreen stood, all but hiding behind Chromia, his doorwings flared with anxiety, one optic dark, and the other brightly watching Wheeljack fearfully. He paid no heed to Ironhide, except that his hands rested on Chromia's waist rather than her shoulders.
"He's your friend," Ironhide couldn't resist jibing. He smirked, one corner of his mouth sliding up as he glanced at the tactician.
Smokescreen's head jerked up from where it tucked into his chest. He glared at Ironhide, doorwings dipping down in aggravation. Wheeljack and Smokescreen had been friends, lovers when their triad was separated. It eased his time apart from his bond- and hubmate. Smokescreen had introduced Wheeljack to the chalk blue femme, not exactly expecting that she'd invite him into their bond. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth, irritation flashing across his optics.
:Ironhide!: Chromia's blue fist smacked at Ironhide's shoulder, and her aggravation pounded through their bond. She scowled at the big red mech.
Smokescreen leaned past Chromia, his doorwings drawn back as he narrowed his optics at Ironhide. "Saying Chromia doesn't have good taste either, 'Hide?" The blue and red Enforcer knew that Ironhide didn't like him, and Ironhide knew the feeling was mutual. They avoided each other when Chromia wasn't around and barely tolerated each other when she was. Their assignments to different units was a boon in that regard, even if it kept them both from their common attraction.
The femme threw her hands into the air, shrugging off their arms. "I'm not staying here for this. You two want to spit sparks at one another, go ahead. I'm going to see if Wheeljack needs a hand, he's grumbling at himself."
The signal that pulsed through their bond dared either of them to stop her from leaving the cover of the blast shield. Neither mech even tried. They both knew her opinion of their dislike.
They watched as she went over to Wheeljack, her affection for him singing through the bond they shared. The engineer's words filtered through as background static as he explained to her what he was doing. His hands worked at something on the side of the device. Ironhide picked out the words 'crossed wires' and he automatically cringed, anticipating.
He anticipated correctly.
The spectacular explosion rolled through the room; a ball of intense heat and light. They couldn't even hear the bang as it sounded so loudly and so close, but they felt the floor shake beneath their feet. The smoke hadn't even cleared before the two mechs swung around the blast shield, pain pounding through the bond they shared with the femme.
"Chromia!"
"Chro! Jack!"
Ironhide followed the signal to the femme, aware of Smokescreen wavering between his two lovers.
:Wheeljack?: Chromia's strong signal reassured Ironhide as he knelt by her trembling form. :Smokescreen, please...: The concern spiking through the bond left her request clear.
:Chromia, are you damaged?: Concern leached through Ironhide's side of the bond and she unshuttered her optics to look at him. He gingerly lifted her, careful of where he placed his hands.
Her scorched and cracked armor rattled even louder.
But she grinned.
The crazy femme was laughing!
:I'm fine, 'Hide.: Her attention shifted to the other one caught in the blast. :Wheeljack?:
A bleary reply came from where Smokescreen knelt, and though he couldn't understand the words, Ironhide knew that Wheeljack had sent back his own 'I'm fine' as Chromia's signal softened its agitated pulse.
The security officer listened to the feet pounding down the hall from the med bay toward the lab. He blanched, uncomfortably aware that the explosion had likely set off every alarm in the base. Already Red Alert had raised him on the comm, demanding an explanation.
The smoke slowly cleared the room, and Ironhide could see Wheeljack lying underneath one of his tables on the other side of the room. Smokescreen spoke softly to the engineer as he examined the blistered armor.
"Wheeljack," Chromia said aloud as the lab door whooshed open. Her voice drew the attention of the two mechs, and they stared at her in trepidation. This had been Chromia's first viewing of one of Wheeljack's inventions. "I loved that light show!"
Ratchet and Prowl stood in the entryway, optics wide in shock as they took in the mess that was the lab. Their bright optics, purring engines, and paint-scraped forms gave tell of just what the explosion had disturbed.
"What the slag-"
Wheeljack waved at Ratchet, hissing painfully as his hand smacked into the table. "Ratchet! You're still using Cryptic's paint? I thought I made one that was more durable."
The medic's optics narrowed, and his purring engine suddenly growled. "'Jack..."
The femme threw her head back with a laugh, interrupting Ratchet's tirade before he could even attempt to begin again. "Wheeljack, could we possibly have another one like that?"
Prowl's doorwings twitched as he frowned, looking up at the medic. "Ratchet, I believe that next time, we should use my office instead of yours." Prowl's office sat on the other side of the base, and would have permitted the obliviousness that apparently Elita-1 and Optimus enjoyed.