Title: Hint of a Spark
Rating: R(?)
Warnings: sexuality (sparkbonding); I dunno if this form of sexuality counts as an R, but whatever; spoilers for episodes "Con Job" and "Triage"
Summary: Transformers: Prime. Time for healing.
Notes: This is a sequel to December Sun; you'll need to read that in order to understand a good deal of what's going on in this fic. Both fics are, of course, an alternate reality in how Ratchet and Wheeljack meet and know each other. Takes place shortly after "Triage". Also, should note this is a gift for Bunny/bunnybot on deviantART; thanks for being patient! :D
Disclaimer: I own none of these chucklefucks.

"I just want to double check something before I discharge you."

Wheeljack blinked and looked down, over his chest. Ratchet had finished welding closed the gash along the Wrecker's foot, sitting the tool down. "Somethin' up?" Wheeljack asked, though he was hardly concerned. He was as calm as the moment his battered body was put on the berth an hour ago.

Ratchet stood beside his head a second later. "Nothing, really, I just want to make sure your pulses are normal," he explained. "Last I checked, they were still a little erratic." Without a word, he gently knocked a couple knuckles against Wheeljack's chest. The Wrecker smirked and with a few clicks, the plates on his chest opened and spread; his spark chamber half-emerged from its protective nest of circuits, sliding open. His spark gleamed soft blue against Ratchet's face.

Without a word, Ratchet carefully monitored the beating spark. It would usually take a machine to track the pulse patterns, but as a medic, it was a simple matter of observation. His scan read the spark was beating at a normal, steady rate. Ratchet smiled and went to step back. "You're good to go-"

"Wait."

Ratchet blinked as Wheeljack reached out, took his hand. Held him in place. The Wrecker smiled mischievously at the medic. "Since I'm all ready open and the mood ain't bad, either..." he purred, and his spark gave a bright wink.

Ratchet stared a moment, then it hit him. "Vector Sigma," he sighed and rolled his optics. He pulled himself free, arms akimbo. "You just got your aft dragged out of the Pit, and you want to interface?"

"I'm celebrating," Wheeljack hummed, opening his hands, looking and sounding completely innocent. He grinned. "Don't I get a 'get well' party or something?"

"If you want a party, ask Miko. She'd be more than willing to help."

Wheeljack chuckled. He went to sit up, but paused, grunting. Ratchet mechanically took him by the arms, helped him up. The Wrecker's slight look of pain was quickly replaced with a leer, and he latched onto the medic, pulling him closer. "Sorry for tricking you," he apologized insincerely.

Ratchet scowled. "I can't tell if you're more a pain when you're half-alive or your usual, healthy self."

"You take me for what I am."

"A reckless lunatic?"

"That, too."

Ratchet sighed; Wheeljack was massaging little circles along the seams and and joints in his elbows. His exposed spark warm against his chest. "This goes against doctor-patient relationship protocol," he stated firmly.

"You just discharged me, though," Wheeljack snickered. He pressed a small kiss to Ratchet's crest. "So I'm not your patient anymore."

"I hope not," Ratchet said, but he remained in place. "I don't want your stubborn aft back in my medbay for a very long time." He had a feeling it wouldn't be very long before Wheeljack came calling for his help again, given his character. "I swear," he murmured, his arms relaxing into the Wrecker's hands, "you're trouble on your own, but when teamed up with Bulkhead, you're a nightmare."

Wheeljack laughed. "Bulk's got himself a new partner," he said. "Says even though she's tiny and fragile, Miko can kick some aft."

"I've seen it."

"Do you ever feel a little cheated?" Wheeljack asked. "Bulk's got Miko, Arcee's got Jack, 'Bee's got Raf, and I guess Optimus and that one screamy old guy seem to be on the level, but you..." He pulled his head back, smiling sadly. "Where's your fleshy friend?"

Ratchet snorted. "Their friendships aren't exclusive only to their guardians, you know," he explained. He smiled wryly. "But June - she's okay. Works in the medical field as well."

Wheeljack squinted. "You like her?" he asked, playfully.

Ratchet blanched, optics widening. "No!" he snapped, shut his eyes and shook his head. He glowered at his grinning comrade. "Come on! That's going too far!"

"Well, y'know, I've met some people like that. After leavin' Cybertron far behind, being by themselves for so long, and in dire need of company, they took what they could-"

Ratchet raised a hand to Wheeljack's face, silencing him. "I don't," he grumbled, shuddering, "want to know."

Wheeljack snickered. "Sorry, doc, didn't know you were so squeamish," he teased. He lowered Ratchet's hand, curled fingers between his. A moment later, Ratchet slowly returned the grip. The two looked at one another. "But, seriously... I hope you're not lonely." Wheeljack's smile weakened slightly. "It's not always fun."

Ratchet frowned. He sighed. "No," he reassured, and lifted his second hand. Placed it on the side of Wheeljack's head. "I'm not lonely. No, I think..." He paused. "I think you're the one that's lonely."

Wheeljack's face twitched minutely. He chuckled quietly. "Sometimes," he agreed, sniffed, and shrugged. He reached up and touched Ratchet's hand on his head. "But, hey, thoughts of you keep me goin'. Though not all of 'em are very wholesome and clean-"

Ratchet drew back his hand just a couple inches to smack Wheeljack's head. The Wrecker laughed. "Don't ruin the moment," the medic growled.

Wheeljack looked surprised, but it quickly melted into another coy, perverse grin. "Oh?" He cooed and leaned forward, his spark just barely grazing Ratchet's chestplates. "We're having a moment?" His hands slipped slowly down Ratchet's waist, resting on his hips.

Ratchet frowned. He was quiet a second or two. "I guess," he finally said, though the irritation in his voice lacked any true anger or agitation. He looked down between himself and Wheeljack, at the Wrecker's bright, bright spark. "Surprised that thing's not scratched and scarred up to the Pit as well."

"C'mon, doc. Give me some credit. Besides, you - "

"No," Ratchet interjected sharply. Jabbed a finger against Wheeljack's shoulder. "If you start spouting flowery 'you're my spark' romantic slag, I'm going to knock you offline for a week."

"Oh, I think that'd be going against a few rules, don't you think? Abuse of power; why, Ratchet! Didn't think you had it in you."

Ratchet sneered. "The rules are a little different here on Earth. And you'll come to find I'm a bit more... aggressive than I was on Cybertron."

"Easy now, easy," Wheeljack chuckled. He curled fingers around the back of Ratchet's neck, pulling him closer. "You're starting to turn me on," he mumbled against the medic's faceplates, the bright flare from his spark emphasizing his point. Ratchet might have said something - a curse or grumble - but then Wheeljack took him into a kiss. Any hesitation or annoyance subsided quickly; Ratchet let his hands fall to rest on the Wrecker's shoulders. Returned the soft, deep kiss with the same attention and focus. Both their optics offlined, the sound of their engines humming filling the small medbay.

Nudging nose ridge to Ratchet's, Wheeljack's free hand moved up. Fingers pushing and kneading at the seams between chassis and armor. The medic shivered; he pulled his mouth back, cycled air. "Vector, you're impatient," he grunted. Wheeljack just smiled; nonetheless, the medic moved back a few inches, letting his chestplates slide open. Wheeljack watched as his chamber opened next, spark floating warily at the entrance.

"It's..." Ratchet swallowed, a little embarrassed. "It's been a while." He stared down at his shy spark.

Wheeljack hummed. He sat forward, and the warmth of his own spark brushed with Ratchet's. Ratchet quivered, and the light of his spark brightened. "Don't worry," Wheeljack reassured, bowing forward to nuzzle against the cords lining the medic's throat. Ratchet choked down a whimper, and his spark peeked even further out its chamber. "It'll be okay. Trust me."

Ratchet winced. Trust... It had been a very, very long time since he last trusted Wheeljack. Then, after the incident at Warrens, he thought he'd never see the mech again. Never wanted to; blamed him for Moonracer's death, hated him, though all the while, wishing he didn't, knowing it wasn't Wheeljack's fault. To trust Wheeljack again hadn't been easy, even during their battle together that nearly cost the Wrecker his life... Then again, trust was a rare commodity in war anyway.

Suddenly, Wheeljack had Ratchet's face in his hands. The medic widened his optics, surprised, as his head was forced up, baffled gaze meeting Wheeljack's. The Wrecker looked serious, and yet, warm and comforting. "Trust me," he said, again, and he knew Ratchet's doubts. He closed his eyes and his spark sent a tendril of energy into Ratchet's. A surge of trust and love and devotion manifested in energy and electricity. The medic felt his knees almost lock.

Ratchet closed his optics. His body relaxed, and his spark flitted forward. "I do," he murmured genuinely.

Wheeljack smiled and pulled him back into a kiss, just as their sparks merged.

It was not without its pain; neither had interfaced for many centuries now. It was a slow burn, white hot, and they almost felt like breaking away, ending it before it could even begin. Though they rode through the pain, holding one another tightly, and Ratchet kept the kiss going, his glossa pushing against Wheeljack's.

When the pain finally faded, it was nothing but pleasure and a sense of floating thereafter. Slowly, gateways opened, and their minds and souls were exposed both literally and figuratively to one another. Ratchet was nearly overwhelmed by Wheeljack's scars, those he had not seen on the surface or in the ragged, tired tone of his voice. The battles won, and the battles lost, and how the latter always carried more of an impression than the former. He felt waves of both happiness and love alongside exhaustion and anxiety.

It was just the same for him.

Wheeljack could still feel the loss Ratchet carried. An old scar that would never truly heal. His love for Moonracer had not died after all these years - but nor had his love for Wheeljack passed either, even when it was shrouded for so long in hate and darkness. It almost felt wrong to bond with him when he still carried some iota of feeling for their comrade lost eons ago. Yet Ratchet was soon to cripple that string of doubt with a spark pulse encouraging him to continue. Wordlessly, he knew Ratchet no longer blamed him, and he knew Moonracer would only wish them happiness.

Their scars were many and varied; deep and shallow, old and new. Some would disappear over time, some would stay forever. They'd never quite forget the incident that lost them one of their most valued comrades and tore apart their friendship for so long. Yet, they accepted that; there was no use focusing on the past, not anymore.

With each thought, with each brush of their sparks, they touched those scars and caressed those wounds, acknowledging them, forgiving them.

Ratchet tore back with a small gasp. He pressed a hand to his face, cursing. It was - it was all so overwhelming. His spark ached as it was forced back. Wheeljack, however, did not push. He sat and watched the medic gather his bearings, his shoulders heaving as his chassis cycled heavy gulps of air. Wheeljack watched him in silence for nearly three minutes; he didn't speak or ask what was wrong. He knew, and it was better to be quiet anyway.

Ratchet, however, dropped his hand after the fourth minute, and raised his head. Looked into Wheeljack's pale blue optics. Wheeljack smiled crookedly, warmly. That apprehension weighing Ratchet down slowly slipped aside, and the medic moved in again.

"Are you sure?" Wheeljack asked, voice raspy.

Ratchet nudged forehead to forehead. "Yeah," he replied, "yeah, I'm sure."

Wheeljack wrapped his arms carefully around Ratchet's waist, tugging him closer. He slowly laid back on the berth, the medic following. Soon, Ratchet was hovering over him, the bright light of his spark nearly blinding. Wheeljack reached up to take his face, pull him down slowly; their sparks met first, and they kissed around a small grunt, before relaxing again, their tongues pressing, tasting.

Their sparks rolled against one another, in flowing waves; inhale, exhale. Chassis and plating ground, creaking, flecking away paint. Soon Ratchet was chest to chest with Wheeljack, and the lights of their sparks were barely visible. They felt warm, so very warm, and Wheeljack just wanted to keep kissing, wanted to go deeper. His fingers pushed against Ratchet's helm, body curving just enough to seal any remaining space. Rubbing and grinding, and Ratchet's moan in his mouth was intoxicating.

Hands wandered along their bodies, tracing every contour, every nuance, every bit of detail they found. Fumbling fingers stroking thighs and hips, dipping into seams, brushing edges of peripheral circuitry. Pushing and drawing out moans and whimpers from their rattling chassis.

Wheeljack broke the kiss first, hot air moist against Ratchet's white faceplates. He raised his hand, tongue drawing a line along the medic's crest, the body on top of him giving another quiver. Ratchet turned his head, pecking a kiss to the left siren fin on Wheeljack's helm. He kissed the edge, again, before very carefully nipping. Wheeljack groaned, arching against him.

The first tight sensation coiled around Wheeljack's spark. He winced, and looked at Ratchet, who seemed prepared. They slowly wrapped their arms around each other, synching, timing. It didn't take very long, and soon, the threat of overload took both of their sparks at once. It took another moment before Wheeljack's released first, his overload triggering Ratchet's own. Their bodies stiffened, gasping and moaning face to face as the pent up energy dispersed, flowing between their bodies in a bright flash of white-blue light.

The surge of energy died some minutes later, and the glow of their sparks dimmed considerably, both very tired. They stayed in place, embracing one another, for some time, simply recalibrating and enjoying each others warmth. As their systems finally stabilized themselves, Ratchet braced his hands to the berth, pushed himself up. Wheeljack twitched as their sparks finally lifted from one another, winking tiredly.

Ratchet ignored his spark as it sunk back into its chamber, gathered to his feet. Even dizzy and tired, he quickly went back into work mode, running a diagnostic scan on Wheeljack. The Wrecker smirked. "I'm fine," he insisted, gesturing to his spark. It disappeared back into its chamber; seconds later, plating closed, and Wheeljack felt his body cool down.

Ratchet sighed. Everything was good. "I shouldn't be interfacing with a patient just after they've been repaired," he scowled, more disappointed with himself. He slapped his chestplates closed with a grunt.

Wheeljack laughed. "Aw, doc, c'mon. Don't be so hard on yourself. I was - I'm fine." With a grumble, he hoisted himself up; just a little effort required, but he managed to sit, slip off the berth. Ratchet automatically reached out, the two falling against one another, arm in arm. They looked at each other, and Wheeljack laughed again. "In fact, that was some of the best I've ever had. Maybe we should always do a quickie after repairs."

"Don't make me keep my threat about knocking you out for a week."

"Oh, see, now you're killing the moment."

"The moment's gone and over with," Ratchet snorted, and released the Wrecker. He stood straight, rolling his neck and shoulders. "And now it's back to business."

"But the pleasure was all mine," Wheeljack purred, and he chuckled at the medic's snort as they headed off to meet the others.

Things would be okay.

END

A/N: The title of this fic is a lyric from "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie. Felt it was necessary, since "December Sun" is a lyric taken from another DCfC song.