Of High Grade and Old Friends
Disclaimer: I don't own them, as much as I want to. Warnings: Slashy. If that isn't your cup of tea, don't read it. Pairing: You'll find out.
"Shhh," Sunstreaker hissed at his brother and Bluestreak. "Do you want us to get caught with this stuff?" He gestured to the energon cubes in the pair's arms as well as the one in his own.
"What are we gonna do with this stuff?" Bluestreak asked quietly.
"We're gonna put it in the one place no one with think of looking for high grade, the lab." answered the yellow warrior.
"But what about? ..."Sideswipe was cut off as his counterpart made a 'quiet' motion and signaled the three to sneak into the lab.
They placed the cubes towards the back of the pile as quickly as possible and left. Sideswipe was the only one to look back.
'I have a bad feeling about this', he thought to himself.
***** Wheeljack distractedly grabbed an energon cube from the lab's stockpile. He was working on a new project, modifying a new set of high frequency speakers for Jazz and Blaster. The tip of his right index finger flipped open, revealing a sharp siphon, which he stuck into the cube. So absorbed was the engineer in his work that he did not notice the cube's content was of a formula that was the Transformers equivalent of several shots of tequila.
***** Ratchet looked up from the report he was writing when he heard someone enter the main med-bay doors.
"If it's one of the twins I'll...I'll...I don't know what I'll do." He sighed grumpily to himself.
"Hello Ratchet."
"Oh, hello Wheeljack. What brings you here?" The medic's look darkened. "Don't tell me something blew up in your face again."
The head of Autobot engineering gave the CMO a strange look. 'No, I just came to visit, and talk," and maybe more.
Ratchet stiffened at the internal communication. Usually that type of communication was only used on the battlefield when all other sounds drowned out any chance of hearing your voice...or when someone was talking to a gestalt or bond mate.
Wheeljack took slow steps towards the weary mech. When he got to a few feet of him, he started to circle Ratchet, examining every inch of his frame.
"Wheeljack? What's going on with..."
Ratchet stopped when the other laid a finger on his lip components. Not only did the residue of high grade give him pause, the proximity and variation of the Lancia's energy field.
As chief medic, Ratchet knew that a mech's emotions affected one's field. He was also versed in the feeling of such fields. Fear caused a field that was larger than normal, as well as running on a higher energy frequency. Sadness was a shrunken, 'heavy' field. But this, this was...want...desire...lust...and, dare he say it?, love.
Wheeljack removed his finger from Ratchet's lips, trailing down his shoulder and arm to the medics hand.
"Wheeljack, you're overcharged. You don't..." Once again he stopped, but this time it was from the shivers of pleasure. Wheeljack was tracing the lines and joints of Ratchet's hands, sending more energy into the field surrounding his own fingers. As a medic, Ratchet's sense of touch needed to be amplified, thus his hands were filled with more tactile and energy sensors then a normal bot. The bursts Wheeljack were sending lit up the sensors in ways they hadn't since...well, for a long time.
The engineer abandoned the hand and Ratchet almost made a sound of disappointment. That is, until the other's hands started to explore his face. He traced around the edge of the helm, caressed his nose from base to tip and started to trace the edges of the chevron on his forehead.
There's another side of you the mech here does adore. Aside from your temper everything else is secure. You're good for me baby. Of that, I am sure Wheeljack sent softly, lovingly.
Ratchet managed to get a grip on his emotions, realizing that this could not go any farther. He gently gripped his friend's hand and pulled them away from his body.
"We can't do this," he insisted gently.
The other lifted his optics, now glowing darkly, and sometimes flickering, to the medic's own light blue ones.
"But..." he said weakly, as if his energy, now not concentrated on seducing (Yes seducing, Ratchet admitted to himself. And it had been working too), was disappearing.
'With the formula of that energon, it probably is' Ratchet though to himself.
"I know, but it won't work. We'll only end up hurting ourselves in the end. Now come on, let's get you to a flat before you keel over."
Ratchet led Wheeljack over to one of the more secluded med tables, easing the engineer onto it. He turned to go back to his office, but Wheeljack's voice, still growing weaker, stopped him.
"I'm sorry Ratchet. I...I...just don't want to be alone again."
Not many people knew, but before the war broke out, Wheeljack had had a bond mate. They were very close and both worked in the same field. However, during their first battle as members of the Autobot Army, his partner, Charge, was fatally wounded. He died in Wheeljack's arms, and the engineer grieved for a long time. Then he met Ratchet and the wounds started to heal as the two became good friends, working their way up the ranks to become Prime's senior officers.
Ratchet's face hosted a ghost of a smile. "I know old friend, I know." He smiled again as Wheeljack drifted into recharge, the high grade finally out of his system.
As he reached his office, he turned back to look at his patient and reached to dim the main lights.
'Maybe someday. But just not yet. We both have some changing, and healing to do, even after all these years.'
A.N.: This was my first try at slash-fic, so I'm open to any suggestions. I wanted to explore a possible relationship between Ratchet and Wheeljack, as well as the fact that they might not be quite that compatible.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, as much as I want to. Warnings: Slashy. If that isn't your cup of tea, don't read it. Pairing: You'll find out.
"Shhh," Sunstreaker hissed at his brother and Bluestreak. "Do you want us to get caught with this stuff?" He gestured to the energon cubes in the pair's arms as well as the one in his own.
"What are we gonna do with this stuff?" Bluestreak asked quietly.
"We're gonna put it in the one place no one with think of looking for high grade, the lab." answered the yellow warrior.
"But what about? ..."Sideswipe was cut off as his counterpart made a 'quiet' motion and signaled the three to sneak into the lab.
They placed the cubes towards the back of the pile as quickly as possible and left. Sideswipe was the only one to look back.
'I have a bad feeling about this', he thought to himself.
***** Wheeljack distractedly grabbed an energon cube from the lab's stockpile. He was working on a new project, modifying a new set of high frequency speakers for Jazz and Blaster. The tip of his right index finger flipped open, revealing a sharp siphon, which he stuck into the cube. So absorbed was the engineer in his work that he did not notice the cube's content was of a formula that was the Transformers equivalent of several shots of tequila.
***** Ratchet looked up from the report he was writing when he heard someone enter the main med-bay doors.
"If it's one of the twins I'll...I'll...I don't know what I'll do." He sighed grumpily to himself.
"Hello Ratchet."
"Oh, hello Wheeljack. What brings you here?" The medic's look darkened. "Don't tell me something blew up in your face again."
The head of Autobot engineering gave the CMO a strange look. 'No, I just came to visit, and talk," and maybe more.
Ratchet stiffened at the internal communication. Usually that type of communication was only used on the battlefield when all other sounds drowned out any chance of hearing your voice...or when someone was talking to a gestalt or bond mate.
Wheeljack took slow steps towards the weary mech. When he got to a few feet of him, he started to circle Ratchet, examining every inch of his frame.
"Wheeljack? What's going on with..."
Ratchet stopped when the other laid a finger on his lip components. Not only did the residue of high grade give him pause, the proximity and variation of the Lancia's energy field.
As chief medic, Ratchet knew that a mech's emotions affected one's field. He was also versed in the feeling of such fields. Fear caused a field that was larger than normal, as well as running on a higher energy frequency. Sadness was a shrunken, 'heavy' field. But this, this was...want...desire...lust...and, dare he say it?, love.
Wheeljack removed his finger from Ratchet's lips, trailing down his shoulder and arm to the medics hand.
"Wheeljack, you're overcharged. You don't..." Once again he stopped, but this time it was from the shivers of pleasure. Wheeljack was tracing the lines and joints of Ratchet's hands, sending more energy into the field surrounding his own fingers. As a medic, Ratchet's sense of touch needed to be amplified, thus his hands were filled with more tactile and energy sensors then a normal bot. The bursts Wheeljack were sending lit up the sensors in ways they hadn't since...well, for a long time.
The engineer abandoned the hand and Ratchet almost made a sound of disappointment. That is, until the other's hands started to explore his face. He traced around the edge of the helm, caressed his nose from base to tip and started to trace the edges of the chevron on his forehead.
There's another side of you the mech here does adore. Aside from your temper everything else is secure. You're good for me baby. Of that, I am sure Wheeljack sent softly, lovingly.
Ratchet managed to get a grip on his emotions, realizing that this could not go any farther. He gently gripped his friend's hand and pulled them away from his body.
"We can't do this," he insisted gently.
The other lifted his optics, now glowing darkly, and sometimes flickering, to the medic's own light blue ones.
"But..." he said weakly, as if his energy, now not concentrated on seducing (Yes seducing, Ratchet admitted to himself. And it had been working too), was disappearing.
'With the formula of that energon, it probably is' Ratchet though to himself.
"I know, but it won't work. We'll only end up hurting ourselves in the end. Now come on, let's get you to a flat before you keel over."
Ratchet led Wheeljack over to one of the more secluded med tables, easing the engineer onto it. He turned to go back to his office, but Wheeljack's voice, still growing weaker, stopped him.
"I'm sorry Ratchet. I...I...just don't want to be alone again."
Not many people knew, but before the war broke out, Wheeljack had had a bond mate. They were very close and both worked in the same field. However, during their first battle as members of the Autobot Army, his partner, Charge, was fatally wounded. He died in Wheeljack's arms, and the engineer grieved for a long time. Then he met Ratchet and the wounds started to heal as the two became good friends, working their way up the ranks to become Prime's senior officers.
Ratchet's face hosted a ghost of a smile. "I know old friend, I know." He smiled again as Wheeljack drifted into recharge, the high grade finally out of his system.
As he reached his office, he turned back to look at his patient and reached to dim the main lights.
'Maybe someday. But just not yet. We both have some changing, and healing to do, even after all these years.'
A.N.: This was my first try at slash-fic, so I'm open to any suggestions. I wanted to explore a possible relationship between Ratchet and Wheeljack, as well as the fact that they might not be quite that compatible.