A/N: Wheeljack x Ultra Magnus. Non-sticky. Ficlet. Based on fuzzy RP timeline.

Hit me hard, hit me right between the eyes
Wanna see the stars
Hit me, hit me!

- The Sounds, "Hit Me!"

The day Ratchet returned to a serene and static-free base, he knew it had finally happened. Ultra Magnus was typing softly at the console and at the wall was Wheeljack, slack-winged, practically dozing off sitting up with a cyg burning away in his fingers.

It had been a typical sort of day. Wheeljack cut corners with rules and Ultra Magnus hounded him about it until Bulkhead or Arcee said something, and they had to take Wheeljack out for a smoke until he stopped saying he was leaving, he was done.

The amount of fighting had put Ratchet so on edge that Optimus made him take a vacation which really meant "you are not allowed to do anything for a few days, Primus, just rest".

So naturally Ratchet went for a leisurely drive and bent the rules to catalog as many plant species as he could. It was... a hobby. It didn't count as work. (He could hear the sigh from Optimus already but frag it, he liked Earth plants.)

So back at base, no one was around when the fight started.

"I am going to make Ratchet give you a psych evaluation."

"Say my circuits are impaired one more time, sir."

Wheeljack's plating flared and angled like an angry metal pufferfish. Magnus curled his fist.

Punching, whacking, scratching. They had to hurt each other enough before they moved onto rough grappling. Ultra Magnus slammed the Wrecker down repeatedly, growling low in his throat.

Between the fourth and fifth time Wheeljack slammed back.

Somehow a nasty fistfight turned into rough fragging in the common room. Wheeljack didn't have time for full ventilations between each punishing thrust and he glared, dentae grinding, holding onto optic contact like he wanted Magnus to see how fucking angry he made him. And of course to encourage him not to stop.

But even an experienced old mech might be a little out of practice after going so long without this particular sort of interaction.

When the commander paused to ventilate and let his fans run for a klik, Wheeljack was digging his fingers under blue plating, squeezing his strong legs around the waist he wished would keep pounding him senseless.

"C'mon," he rasped, such a view beneath Ultra Magnus that no mech alive would believe about the war hero Autobot Wheeljack.

When they resumed, his helm thunked back loudly, no longer able to keep a locked gaze as plating contracted tight. The static release had them both reeling, scorching hot.

They were very lucky that Ratchet had decided to take the long way to base so he could smell the jasmine flowers at the park again. Though it didn't change the fact that he could tell they'd fragged just by looking at them, for Primus' sake.

This did raise some questions, however. Was he going to need a bigger berth?