[FIC] Wheeljack/Ratchet; MA+
Title: In Good Hands (1/4) Miniseries
Chapter: 1
Author: tsarist_secret
Fandom: Transformers
Universe: AU
Characters/pairings: Wheeljack/Ratchet
Author's notes/warnings. MA+, sticky, oral sex, knotting, slapping, fluffy (barely lol), dark themes. Just some shit I slapped together. Hope you people like it. Written specifically for a_scattered_me , since it's her birthday and stuff. YAYYY BIRTHDAY GIRL. :D

Beta read bylightningscythe


Much love to you my darling, you're a great friend, writer, and shoulder to bitch on.

"We have to cut military spending! There's no other way to deal with the unemployment and energon shortages. We need to move credits and attention to other outlets and create more work! If we can't do that, a military would ultimately be pointless. We have to care about our citizens first."

Prowl's fingers were tapping gently against the desk he was sitting behind as he watched the proceedings of an emergency call of the Cybertronian senate. He glanced to the side of him, smiling wryly behind his hand at Wheeljack.

"Way to oversimplify things," he muttered, and Wheeljack nodded, his ear panels flashing in annoyance.

There was an undignified screech from across the chambers, and Wheeljack had to lean forward in his seat to be able to see the diminutive senator that had made the noise. The small mech stood up in his chair so he could be seen. "Senator Jaxuas, that's easier said than done, considering we're in the middle of a war with the Decepticons! Cutting any military spending now would be abso-"

"The senate does not recognize the senator from Praxus at this time," Emirate Xaaron's cool voice echoed down from the center dais, and the arguing ceased, for the moment.

Prowl's doorwings flared as he quickly requested to speak on the communications pad. With quite a few senators and diplomats and such a large building, every bench had them. A mech would request to speak, and he was either denied or refused, though most were allowed almost instantly.

But the red light continued to flash, and Wheeljack could tell Prowl was getting anxious. Another mech got up to speak, something else rather pointless, and then another. Finally the light turned to green and Prowl instantly stood up. He looked nice; perfect white on black, trim, sleek, and carried a commanding looking demeanor. Wheeljack thought the red chevron on his forehead added the perfect touch of seriousness.

"With all due respect," his feathery smooth voice rolled across the chambers, "we simply cannot cut down on military spending now."

Wheeljack tuned out the rest of what his colleague was saying. Instead, he concentrated on counting how many open senate seats there were. There was the senator from Crystal City – he'd been assassinated just last week- then there were twenty seats from the Decepticon ruled cities, who don't engage in peace talks, or any kind of diplomacy. Then a few more had been killed off in the past while. All in all, a very good portion of the senate was missing.

Wheeljack shifted back in his seat and gazed at the ceiling. He was too old for this slag.

After several more cycles, it was finally over, and as typical as usual, nothing had been solved. Nothing had been done, and Wheeljack doubted anything ever would change- same stagnant war, same bureaucracy, and same exploitation of the underclass.

Prowl walked steadily beside him as they left the building, one of a cluster in Iacon that hadn't been pummeled into the ground by Decepticon raids, mostly because of the thick metal wall on the ground and the electroshield overhead. It was dark and cold outside, Prowl's vents spewed white fog as they walked along back towards the military base. It was on the complete other side of the city, which was probably a good thing.

Wheeljack noticed him struggling with walking as they turned down another street. His pedes slowed to a stop and he watched Prowl amble up to his side, concentrating on the ground. The mech looked up when he noticed he'd attracted the inventor's attention.

"I'm fine," he growled, waving his hand dismissively as he passed.

Wheeljack chose not to comment, but his lips were pursed as he followed, blocking out everyone on the side streets. Most of the buildings weren't taller than they were now, just piles of rubble. Everything was underground farther into Cybertron, or destroyed.

"This is ridiculous. Military officers can't even get slagging private transport anymore," Wheeljack muttered, breaking the silence between them as they slowly padded through the debris strewn streets. His blue optics were probing the hip Prowl was savoring. Scar tissue on his protoform had probably built up again, and there seemed to be something lodged into the joint, because he could tell the pain was positively jarring the stoic commander.

"That transport would be enough energon for you to have for a few days. I think we can walk," Prowl replied.

"Electric skiffs are the worst," Wheeljack said.

"Too bad."

The conversation hadn't really been meant as an argument, just used as something to say. Wheeljack's optics darkened as Prowl tripped and barely managed to straighten himself.

"I'll put you down on the operating table when we get back, won't even have to bother Ratchet for it."

"How's Sideswipe?" Prowl flippantly replied, and Wheeljack felt his spark twist painfully in on itself. He could see the building up ahead that led to the underground skiff.

"Well… If he's lucky, he'll last the rest of the week. I don't know how long I can take watching him moan in agony."

He'd been the target of a well aimed sniper's bullet. Both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had been out on patrol after the siege of Uraya, the city-state that bordered Altihex and Iacon along with some northern neutral territories. They'd taken the city several weeks before, and the pair of brothers had just been on a routine patrol that had turned deadly.

Prowl didn't say anything back.

The guard at the entrance for the underground waved casually as Wheeljack and Prowl passed through the security. "See ya 'Jack," he nodded to Wheeljack, and said, "Sir," to Prowl. Wheeljack nodded back. Once they were through, the thick metal doors closed behind them.

It was far busier here; mechs were going to and fro about their business, and notably, it was much cleaner.

Prowl stepped to the side and turned to Wheeljack, resting his hand on the inventor's shoulder. He squeezed gently, and Wheeljack had to look away from his piercing blue optics.

"It's not your fault, Wheeljack. It's this entire slagging war. There's nothing anyone can do anymore. It's your call."

A rush of air released from the inventor's vents, and he nodded. "Yeah, I got it under control Prowl."

Wheeljack's commander looked hard at him for a few more astroseconds before he shrugged it off and continued walking. The inventor had an almost irresistible urge to push Prowl down the last few steps just to prove his mobility wasn't as good as he thought it was.

But Wheeljack did not; he merely amused himself with the thought as he flanked Prowl. They stepped onto a platform and Wheeljack tightly gripped the horizontal metal poles. There were four of them, each in long rows. A mech shut the metal cage behind them, and Wheeljack gripped tighter to the pole. "I hate this part…" he muttered, and Prowl snickered beside him.

The skiff jerked to life and Wheeljack grunted as his arms were twisted to the side. The conveyer overhead started spinning, and a second later, the inventor was holding on as hard as he could as the skiff rocketed off. The lights overhead flashed by and then went dark, over and over until Wheeljack's optics hurt. They stopped just as fast and Wheeljack let go, shuddering.

"See, this is why we should use ships, most of the mechs on here regurgitate their energon after riding this anyways," he sniped. Prowl laughed and stepped off as the door opened, and Wheeljack followed as best he could, feeling tipsy. They were now in the underground parts of the Autobot base.

Another door opened and they were inside, where it was much warmer. Wheeljack shuddered at the pleasant feeling that seeped into his joints.

"I'll see you later," Prowl waved, and he took off down hallway. Wheeljack then remembered he had planned to look the mech over, but he waved his hand dismissively and cursed at him instead. Fool would be coming in later when he couldn't even move.

There were few mechs in the hallways as he traipsed through, glaring at anyone who passed a look his way. Some were more prone to starting fights for no reason nowadays.

Eventually he came in sight of the medbay doors, but stopped short, having almost collided with a very brightly colored mech that suddenly darted into his view. Sunstreaker growled low in his throat at him as he crowded the medbay doors, the yellow mech's optics fierce and angry. The toughline must've known quite well that his brother wasn't doing good; he could probably feel it in his spark.

Sunstreaker's hand flashed out and his brutal grip held tight to the plating of Wheeljack's shoulder, pulling him to the side. The inventor hissed, his audio finials flashing angrily. Just as quick, the smaller mech pulled something out of his subspace, and he slapped it against the mech's wrist and then twisted away.

Sunstreaker recoiled with a holler and stepped away, his denta snapping as he flopped his suddenly lifeless hand around, furious. "Wheeljack," he hissed, and the other bystander, Bluestreak, put his hand on the yellow mech's shoulder to hold him back. "How is my brother? Why can't I see him!?" the yellow mech shouted, stepping forward so he was pede to pede with Wheeljack.

The inventor was forced to take a step back, angling his back so he was towards the medbay doors.

"He'll be fine, you slaggin' maintenance drone!" Wheeljack yelled back. Bluestreak looked on helplessly at the yellow mech. But overall, Wheeljack felt the worst for the little mech. He was Sideswipe's bondmate and could no doubt feel the agony the red toughline was in. The doors opened just enough to admit Wheeljack through. Once he was on the other side, he bowed his helm. "We're doing all we can for him but sometimes things can't be fixed."

Sunstreaker let out a furious growl like cry and lunged towards the door, but it had already closed. Wheeljack could hear the dull ringing sound of Sunstreaker colliding with the solid metal doors.

The inventor shook his head and turned around, carefully avoiding looking at the spot where Sideswipe was being kept. Though Ratchet was nowhere to be seen…

Wheeljack looked in the office, back in the surgery and specialized soldering rooms, and the plate making room, but he was nowhere. He sighed and approached the final door; Ratchet's quarters. The mech entered the code to get in, and then slipped inside the dark and very messy apartment. He flicked on the switch near the door and stepped forward over a stack of datapads lying on the floor. Some of them were on so he suspected Ratchet had been looking for something. The medic had been worrying incessantly about Sideswipe and had been trying his hardest to find some sort of cure. Wheeljack felt a bit of pity in his spark for the old mech.

"Ratchet?" he called out, shifting his slim form to the side so he could squeeze past a shelf and the wall. The door was propped open in the back so he padded carefully toward it and when he pushed it open, Ratchet was laying on his back on the berth inside. He was awake though if the bright light from his optics was anything to go by.

Wheeljack itched the side of his helm when Ratchet didn't answer. "It's alright you know. Slag happens…" he muttered awkwardly, taking a small step forward.

Ratchet shifted and sat up, his hand covering his mouth as he gazed at the floor. "I know…" he murmured back. He scrubbed at his face, venting a deep sigh. Wheeljack inched closer until he could sit down on the edge of the berth, a friendly but tentative distance from his colleague. "Well…" he started, "Maybe if you took some time off for a bit. Me and First Aid can run the place for awhile…"

Ratchet peered through the side of his hand at his old friend. "I couldn't let you do that. It's too much," he murmured quietly, weakly smiling. They'd been in a relationship, somewhat of one, but the feelings hadn't been as mutual as Wheeljack had thought. It hadn't been bad but Ratchet had made clear there would never be anything more between them and it had left an empty feeling in Wheeljack's spark. He was ready to be in a relationship, wanted to feel loved, and most specifically he had a great desire to bear sparklings in the future.

"Ratchet…" Wheeljack murmured, his hand tentatively reaching up to rest on the medic's shoulder. The plating underneath his fingers was warm, and it sent a slight thrill through his systems. "You just need to relax for awhile. That's all…" With a soft sigh, he drew his hand away, but stopped as Ratchet's hand touched his leg, resting just above his knee. The mech wasn't looking at him though, staring at the wall in front of him, his expression pained.

"I'm sorry about…" he said, voice hoarse.

"It's okay," Wheeljack replied quickly, his hands coming to rest in his lap. He stirred slightly when Ratchet squeezed his fingers tightly along his leg.

"No…I shouldn't have been so mean to you. I mean don't get me wrong Wheeljack, I do want to be in a relationship with you, I really do, but with all that's happening… I mean Prime's dead, Jazz is missing in action, Prowl's not doing too good either-"

"I understand."

Wheeljack finally looked at his friend, probably at the same time Ratchet decided to look up, and their optics connected. It was searing, and the inventor felt the old urge fall over him, deep and powerful. He sighed softly when Ratchet's hand made its way to his neck, and he leaned into it, cherishing it. Wheeljack moved forward, and realized halfway that his mask was still on.

"Fuckin' thing," he growled, reaching up to fiddle with the clasps so he could remove it. Ratchet just chuckled low in his throat, his blue optics low with desire. He tossed it to the side once it was out of the way and pressed his mouth quickly to Ratchet's, not giving the mech time to look at all the scars.

It wasn't long before Wheeljack found himself on his back, his arms wrapped around Ratchet while they kissed, grinding their hips together, biting harshly at each other's lips. The medic's erection kept jutting gently into his stomach, causing him to groan and his valve to shiver with delight. Wheeljack's hand fastened around it, and he gasped aloud at the feel of the knot towards the base - a special modification of the medic's.

Though…there was always something that Ratchet liked doing first, and Wheeljack still couldn't decide if he was pleased by it, or repulsed. Ratchet had a very odd… thing – he absolutely loved cumming on the scars of Wheeljack's face. There were several of them. One was from his cheek all the way to his opposite jaw line, marring his face. It had split both of his lips, and at the time, Wheeljack hadn't been able to get medical assistance, so they had healed improperly, and it showed. His lips were uneven, making it that much more obvious.

"You…?" Ratchet breathed, his glossa lapping at Wheeljack's lips, nibbling at the scar line.

The inventor knew exactly what he meant, and he nodded, breathing a hot breath against the medic's jaw. "I don't understand why you like it so much," he grumbled, his hands scraping at the protoform he could reach within Ratchet's plating.

Ratchet grinned, his hand teasing the hot metal of his partner's codpiece. "Because it makes you look fuckin' hot," he murmured, pushing gently at Wheeljack's shoulders, kneading the metal. "A…facial cream you know…" he chuckled, kissing the hollow of the inventor's throat, his glossa sliding up and down the neck tubing to smear them with oral fluids.

"Fine, you perverted medic," Wheeljack replied, glowering up at the other mech before he surged upwards, forcing Ratchet to roll over on his back. He leaned back, his fingers gripping to Ratchet's spike right before the bulge of the knot, towards the base. With a smile and a sultry lick of his lips, he took the hot spike in his mouth, going down until the swollen knot. It was far too big and there was no way he'd be able to get that in his mouth, so it wasn't even worth trying. But the bulbous tip was enough to satisfy him, and he bobbed his head up and down, his fluid streaking down and beading over the pliable, shiny metal.

Ratchet groaned deeply, his head tossed back while he gripped the metallo-mesh coverings of the bed. There was just something about Wheeljack that he couldn't resist, even when they weren't on the best of terms. Hopefully…things would turn out alright after this. His hand drifted upwards, running along an arm positioned by his thigh and smoothly over the panes of Wheeljack's back, up along the top of his helm to hold him in his position.

It was fine, and Wheeljack didn't mind at all. He rather liked the display of dominance, even if everything still felt so out of place. But instead of approaching the subject, he worked more at the spike in his mouth, deepthroating it with an expert ease that came with his experience. Wheeljack laved his glossa along the underside, stroking at it while he bobbed his head.

He let go of the spike with a small pop of his mouth, strings of oral fluid and precum connected between his lips and the head. Wheeljack massaged his glossa into the swollen slit, tasting the sweet transfluid that was slowly leaking out. It was addicting, and he wanted more. Carefully, using only the bare flats of his denta he nibbled down the shaft, paying special attention to the knot before starting up the opposite side, and then wrapping his lips around the tip. Ratchet bucked and groaned, rubbing his hands over his neck and chassis.

"Okay stop," he finally muttered, and he reached down to take his cord in his hand, overload only a few short moments away. Ratchet squeezed gently at the knot, feeling more and more pressure build as the warm pleasure seized his circuits, spreading quickly throughout his systems. He came with a soft grunt, stroking the shaft of his spike, his hot cum splashing over Wheeljack's face.

"Ahh you're such a bastard," Wheeljack muttered, his one optic squinted shut slightly as some of the oily transfluid dribbled slowly down his optical lens.

Ratchet smiled, the knot on his spike depressurized for the moment. He reached down and smeared some of the hot fluid with his thumb, tracing the junctures of dermal metal with scars. Wheeljack winced and tilted his face back, his lips parting as he tried to ignore what Ratchet was doing. It always reminded him of how hideous he looked.

Ratchet blew out a breath, leaning down to kiss the inventor on the lips. "Stop it. You're beautiful, and you have no idea how hot this makes you look," he murmured, and Wheeljack moved to straddle his hips, looming above him, pushing his shoulders down.

Wheeljack quirked his lips, smiling. "Yeah yeah, whatever you fucker," he said, sliding back down so his chassis and Ratchet's were pressed together, along with their mouths.

"Now where's mine?" he asked, voice breathy as Ratchet nipped at the tubing of his throat. The medic laughed, slapping his hand against the mech's aft. "You'd get if you'd stop kissing me," he muttered. "Roll over on your stomach," Ratchet added.

Wheeljack did so, his panel open and his dripping wet valve exposed as he turned over, stretching first like a cyber-cat, then settling down on his knees and chassis with his aft in the air. He grinned as Ratchet shifted behind him, and his hard spike extended fully when Ratchet's hand connected harshly with his aft. He let out a low moan, his valve clenching in on itself.

"Does that feel good?" the medic murmured, rubbing at the spot before he drew his arm back, flicking his fingers and palm sharply against the metal again.

"Ungh, yes," Wheeljack hissed, his finials lighting up with a red hue. His valve was needy, ready to be filled to the brim with a thick spike and be stretched wide to the point of pain. He couldn't even imagine how amazing the knot would feel again. Every time seemed like the first time. The prone mech nuzzled his face into the soft blankets on Ratchet's berth, heedless of the congealed cum he smeared around. The stuff itched his face after awhile.

"Please, don't be an annoying fucker and do this to me again," he growled, tilting his head to the side so he could peer back at his lover. Lover.

"I'm not, calm down," Ratchet growled back, gently playing with his spike. He was still very sensitive from his overload, and the knot was taking a bit longer than he'd expected to re-pressurize. Once it had swollen to an acceptable measure, he pressed himself in the tip of Wheeljack's valve, letting his spike rest there.

"What can't get it up – ah!" Wheeljack howled as Ratchet suddenly thrust in, spreading the tight, fairly un-fucked walls of his valve. He hadn't had sex for…awhile. With a soft keen, he stiffened, his backstrut threatening to bow upwards.

Ratchet prevented that though by slamming his weight forward, and at the same time shaping his body over Wheeljack's, his front pressed to the inventor's back. The medic bit at Wheeljack's shoulder blades, the metal quivering under his denta. "No no," he husked, "take it like a mech."

But Wheeljack couldn't help it, not when each time Ratchet thrust forward he could feel the thick knot trying to be pressed tightly inside. He wailed and moaned like a virgin getting their first real fuck, fluid streaming down his chin and inner thighs, his mouth wide and gasping.

Ratchet snapped his hips forward with concise precision, biting at the back of Wheeljack's neck as he tried to force his spike inside all the way, but whenever he was close the mech would clench his valve too hard and force him back out. He was beginning to think it was intentional. "Agh you're the fucker now," he growled, his hands gripping the bed underneath the mech's chassis. Steam wafted out of both of their vents, and Wheeljack feebly laughed, his hips rocking upwards with each amazing thrust. He was on the cusp of orgasm, his valve relaxing once before it would clench down.

It was then that Ratchet finally managed to force the knot inside, and Wheeljack choked up on an instant overload, his valve giving sharp spasms as he stiffened fully. Wheeljack bucked his hips back as he cried out wordlessly, feeling the hot spill of cum in his valve, along with a hot gush of lubricant stream down his thighs, spilling unto the berth below.

Wheeljack quivered, his strength threatening to give out on him as he waited, his valve clenching around the thick knot that still hadn't de-pressurized enough to easily slip out. Ratchet realized this, and he waited until the inventor relaxed enough. He gently kissed the back of Wheeljack's finial, breathing quickly. "Told you this was a good idea when I modded," he murmured, shifting his hips back to slide the knot of his spike out, watching it as it slowly depressurized back into something that looked like a normal spike. Wheeljack collapsed forward, his face buried into the pillows.

He'd only meant to come in to ask Ratchet if they should put Sideswipe down or not.

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