Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews. Now it's Ratchet's turn to have his coding changed. Other couples will appear in chapters but this fic is centered primarily around Ratchet and Moonracer. The Transformers are not mine in any shape, size or form and are legally copyrighted, trademarked and owned by others. This is for naughty fun and not money, like duh. Chapter edited and expanded 01/11/11.
The chapter names are for the phases of the moon. Ice moon is neopagan for January's full moon. Bright Moon is Celtic for May's moon.
Internal comm are shown by:: talking::
Chapter Two – Bright Moon
Revenge on Ratchet
Both mechs watched with narrowed optics. Ratchet intent on the delicate rotating parts adjusting for a perfect fit and Optimus watching him as his hands touched Elita. The sedated femme lay on her rose-colored side, foot resting on a padded block as repairs continued. Med bay remained silent, only the clunk of metal parts and tools interrupting the silence.
"The nannites will finish overlaying her rebuilt parts then I can attach the external armor. Normal use immediately though I suspect you will keep her on your berth once she leaves med bay," Ratchet chuckled, his tool extensions transmorphing back to fingers.
"I should offline you right here and now," Optimus growled, the barest trace of red seeping into his optics as he stalked around the medical berth towards the medic.
"Over a prank? Your own law says two spark endangering events happen before you permanently throw a bot into stasis." Ratchet was confident in his own med-bay, the automatic systems disabling all weapons. 'Though I didn't think he'd be this slagged off.' He circled to the side, keeping Elita and the medical berth between them.
"Two events to lock into permanent stasis not disassemble a traitorous mech," he snapped, folding massive blue and red-flamed painted arms across his chest plates. Imposingly tall, the heavily armored warrior radiated his anger without moving.
"Traitorous? Adding lines of programming code is not treason even by human laws. You hurt no one; the coding disabled itself and proved my point. You cannot resist her and don't tell me its passion," he said, controlling the smirk he wanted to show. Disabled weapons would not save parts being torn off.
"You feel no passion or joy towards femmes or little else as far as I can tell," his regal baritone stated.
"Passion? When I am surrounded by death and pain? I repair what I can, replace what I can't and pray to Primus no more offline under my hands!" Ratchet yelled, optics spinning wildly in distress before snapping them shut. His yellow green chassis shook briefly then stilled.
"I'm sorry," Optimus immediately apologized. "I know what you go through."
"I'm tired," he held up his hand, forestalling the apology. "I was busy yesterday and had emergency calls last night. Minor repair on Bluestreak but you know how upset he gets. Ever since his capture he fights any system intrusions, even my repairs. I didn't even lay back down in my own quarters and Sunstreaker's prank backfires bubbling off half the paint on his leg armor."
"Truly a disaster," Optimus joked, moving closer.
"You'd have processed it from the way his twin freaked out on the emergency call to me," Ratchet sagged tiredly before backpedaling, armored hands raised half defensively.
"Easy, you are off the hook for now. However, ever touch my coding for my interface rod or spark sliders and I will turn you over to the Dinobots for a chew toy. Is that understood?" he rumbled menacingly.
"Completely," the CMO agreed.
Two earth weeks later, with the help of Jazz, their resident spy and saboteur, Optimus changed the medical bay computers. The next time Ratchet downloaded reports on the status of his patients, a single patch of coding uploaded into his mech systems. Jazz assumed a harmless setting like changing the color of a bot's armor to purple or black, a common prank of late. Optimus smirked, sending out an alert to all femmes for a practice racecourse run. Naturally, he asked medical staff to attend in case of accidental injury. At the same time, a human budget meeting across two time zones would occupy Prowl, Ironhide, and himself.
Early evening had Ratchet watching the femmes on the race course. "Four dents, three paint mars and five rounds to go. Is this racing or demolition derby?" Wincing, another entry updated on his internal repair list as Elita One and Chromia's alt modes collided, scraping paint and throwing sparks down their sides.
Moonracer slid out of their way on the far turn, smacking into the protective wall before rolling down across the meadow grass. The mountain breeze whisked away what little dust thrown into the air.
Transforming, the sharpshooter femme rubbed at a dent on her lower arm, just above her gun bracing. Her lip plates moved but the swearing too soft for even Ratchet's hearing to discern over the other femmes racing engines. His enhanced optics immediately spun, focusing in, 'negligible damage,' sensors noting the location and updating the repair lists. Unaware of his watching, she kneeled down in one graceful motion, stretching her armored arms over her head. Then twisting her upper chassis his direction, she reset a loose cable on her back struts.
"Needs a brace to keep that cable from entangling during rapid transform," he murmured. Bending down, Moonracer reached her arms forward, small twitches identifying her spine connections stretching and sliding into place. Then his optics focused on her aft. The squared, angular shape of her dark blue plating overlaying the light blue protoform as it faced his direction. "Perfect size for her leg extensions to connect into. Or anything else," he murmured. His vision darkened then brightened as golden lines of unfamiliar medical code flowed across and disappeared. "What the?" He ran a quick self-diagnostic.
Core system undamaged - Normal functioning. No upgrades, patches or virus detected. No port intrusions, all systems running at full functionality.
His crotch plate locks released with a click. Embarrassed, he covered himself with one hand, running a diagnostic on guidance controls.
No coding errors found - All systems working at full functionality.
He manually snapped the locks, glad no mech or femme was nearby. Moonracer rose back to her feet pads, brushing off the dust and he felt a tingle inside his middle. Elita One made a comment as she raced by and Moonracer laughed, her chassis bouncing with the amusement. The warmth inside his middle grew and spread as she moved, gesturing in a conversation too far away to overhear. The afternoon breeze swirled around him, rippling across his member.
Horrified, Ratchet snapped his optics down at the full-extended length of his interface rod now visible. His system ignored the immediate command to disengage and return. Attempting to hide it under his hands, he ran a frantic diagnostic and command override. It stayed extended and his cooling system kicked in, trying to adjust. Moonracer turned his way, finally seeing him.
::You available for a quickie touch up?:: Moonracer gestured to her arm dent and he did the unthinkable.
Transforming, he barely suppressed the scream as the transform trapped his extended rod inside his alt form. "That slagging hurt!" he swore, rocking on his wheels. Racing away, he missed the distress on Moonracer's face.
Reaching med bay, he slid inside the doors, transforming and screaming. Venting hard, Ratchet remotely triggered the security locks. Extending his wrist cable connection, he plugged into the medical frame database diagnostic system.
Program code change. Patch uploaded at 06:00 hours, medical interlocks engaged per line coding.
"Program uploaded? What code lines?"
The system ran through its computations again, popping up a message display window.
Program will self-remove after twenty-four hours human time. Enjoy the uplifting experiences, Optimus Prime.
"That thick chipped slagging Prime! I will remove this program and weld his aft to the ceiling for this!"
Three breems later, Ratchet admitted defeat. The program enhancements were not removable, repairable, or changeable and every attempt only excited his system further. Straining, he stumbled forward, leaning against the medical berth. Too ashamed to call for help and too proud to admit defeat and ask Prime for the unlock code he did the only thing he could. One hand gripped his extended rod length while the other braced his weight against the medical berth. He began pulling on it from base to rounded tip. Less than half a breem later he overloaded, spewing transfluid onto the floor before sinking to his knees.
Ratchet hands flattened on the medical berth, tightening into fists. He was disgusted with himself. "First time medic? A third frame youngling just learning control could have lasted longer than that. Enhanced program or not."
::Moonracer to CMO. Are you available for minor repairs?:: Moonracer
::Not now. If minor, please schedule with First Aid for later. I am unavailable:: Ratchet sent back, quickly closing the line as her voice activated a tingling sensation inside his systems. Imposing the same self-control that kept him focused on repairs in the middle of a battle, he kept a repeat from happening, but barely. Sani rags cleaned up the oily mess, removing any evidence.
::Prime to CMO. Femmes are done on the racecourse. Are you available for repairs?:: Optimus
::NO! You pit spawned glitch!:: Ratchet
::Unexpected result?:: Optimus sent, his mental tone smug.
::Results like your next ten physicals and system flushes are going to be very interesting:: Ratchet snarled over their private comm line.
::Looking forward to them under your qualified medical expertise. Keep me informed of any rising situations:: Optimus closed the comm line with a hearty chuckle.
Ratchet considered beating his forehead plate on the berth while slumping down to the floor. "One earth day to survive this. Reschedule all my appointments, transfer emergencies to my assistant First Aid then hide in my personal quarters. Hardest part is transforming and staying in my alt mode. I hate my alt mode but I don't dare see any femmes," he groused, feeling the faintest tingle while thinking about meeting a femme in the hallway. Seeing one would cause the unthinkable.
The trip to his quarters was short and without incident. No other transformers appeared and he steadily disregarded the base areas still under construction, roling around the stacked materials in the half built hallways. Stone walls disappeared behind metal plating, both comforting as a reminder of their home and disheartening it only hid the alienness of the earth to their optics. Remotely triggering his door locks, Ratchet rolled to a stop inside, transforming and sliding the door closed. A few steps before flopping face down on the recharge bunk, he rested his hands on his helm and resisted the urge to whimper.
'Bested by a red and blue joker of a Prime. Moreover, in a publicly degrading way. Our pranks are between us, not for the whole world to see. Except when I painted him pink and added the shifting flower holograms. Okay, maybe deactivating his systems with Elita One returning from a long term scouting mission was a bit much but he could have returned the favor. Instead of boosting it a thousand slagging times!'
A knock on his outer door distracted him. "Who is it?" he asked, sliding off the bunk.
"Moonracer. Can I come in?"
"No! I am busy. Call First Aid!" he shouted feeling his systems engaging. To his horror, the outer door began to slide open, her blue armored hand on the edge. He spun, facing the bunk as though working on it. "Please leave. I am unavailable."
"Why?" she asked softly, entering. "Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" her tone was light and danced across his audio sensors.
"No, it's not you. I am… not functioning completely," he admitted, looking over his shoulder at her.
"Do you need medical attention?" Moonracer asked, stepping inside the second room. His optics spun, the very sight of her slim chassis engaging his interface rod response. It extended fully and remained out despite dozens of rapid commands to disengage and return.
"I need to be left alone," he gripped the bunk edge, lowering his optics in shame. "Please leave Moonracer. I will explain later but," he hesitated, the barest quaver showing in his vocal tones. "I need you to leave."
"You can't even face me and tell me to get out!" she growled, grabbing him and spinning him around. Unprepared, he flailed his arms for balance and steadied against her arm plates. Optics wide, she was staring, no gaping down at him.
"I won't… that is…I want…" He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue, his desire showing. He waited for her screams, her rifle blast, and her angry voice telling him to go frag himself and never approach her again. Instead, she curved her lip plates into a smile.
"Is this the reason?" she stepped back away from him, gesturing.
"Yes," he admitted.
"You want me?"
"Isn't it obvious?" He challenged softly, the bitterness of his tone surprising even him.
"All you had to do was ask," she stated, matching optic to optic. Grinning, she stepped forward, bracing on his shoulder plates and pushed. He stumbled backwards, bumping against the recharge bunk. Trying to get away from her, he hopped onto the bunk. The door slid back shut, the locks engaging as she raised her hand. "Privacy if you don't mind." Without warning, she jumped for the bunk, swinging her leg up and over him, knocking him flat on his back plates.
"Are you?" he asked, cooling system failing as his spark rattled in his chest. She straddled him at his hip plates, bracing her hands on his heavily armored chest. A click signaled her port opening.
"I want what you want," she stated firmly, leaning down face plates to face plates.
'Optimus offline and his aft on a platter?' he thought then stopped processing as their lip plates touched. Arching up, he rubbed against her. She responded, pressing her lower chassis down against his. He could hear and feel the vibration of her systems revving with his interface rod trembling with building pressure.
Moonracer removed her armored hands off his chest plates, leaning way back to push her hips forward to show him her femme port was open and glossy with lubricating fluids. He gasped, clinical professionalism going out the window at the sight. Sitting up, his yellow green hands clenched her forearm plates, pulling her down.
"I...please..." He began when her armored hand covered his lip plates. Wordlessly, she slid her legs out further, her valve sliding down his length until they hilted. Plunged deep inside her, Ratchet's systems revved hotter, his blue optics deepening to near purple with lust. Then they began moving in rhythm.
Pure ecstasy flooded his systems as they peaked together, the overload hitting his processors hard, optics offlining. They came online to the ceiling above, Moonracer alongside between him and the back wall. Her optics focused on his.
She mewled softly, cuddling across his broad chest. "You overloaded fast. Wow, I loved that," she practically purred to his utter shock.
"What… why?" he stuttered.
She leaned up on one elbow plate, her soft glimmering optics focusing on his. "Most mechs take slagging forever, bruise the protoform, and scrape the armor. Know why?"
"Make the pleasure last?"
She barked a short tight laugh. "Pleasure? To be hurt and pounded? Not to any femme I know!" she vented hard. "Truth is it's a process to them. A little grabbing, some rough groping then continual pounding until overload which takes awhile because they are not thinking of you as anything but a stress relief. Why do you think we femmes have our own quarters and refuse so many requests for our company? Spark mated pairs get excited by a single thought and can overload anywhere at anytime."
"I know. I am chief medical officer," Ratchet reminded, daring to trail one armored finger lightly down her cheek plates and onto her throat cables. She leaned into the caress, tracing circles on his chest plates with her hand.
"Your reaction," she laughed, "was strong and fast. All for me."
"True," he acknowledged, cupping her chin plates with his hand. He caressed down her front and onto her middle amour, and then pulled back as the feel of her smooth metal began charging his systems rapidly.
"Oh frag," he moaned.
"Hmm, what did you say?" she leaned down as his swelling rod tapped her leg. "You want more? Already?" She asked, shifting up on her side against the wall, her face plates showing no expression.
"I… understand if you don't want to…" he trailed off, ready to offline from embarrassment. The touch of her hands on his chest focused him as she leaned in very close.
"You drive this time. I understand," Moonracer smirked, tugging him up and over her. He vented, relieved at her reaction and feeling the pressure of his system building again. Ratchet nuzzled her, his hands leaving feather light caresses across her upper chassis before moving lower. He slid a finger in her valve, feeling her warm lubricant spreading. He pumped her a few times before withdrawing.
His larger hips slid across hers, his chassis sinking lower as Moonracer clung to him. Writhing, she surprised him by thrusting up and against him, spread wide. Venting, he plunged into her valve full hilt then set a fast pace.
They overloaded together, resting until Moonracer's caress across his mid plates triggered his hyperactive system again. Repeatedly, they enjoyed each other only interfacing, resting in between as evening became night. Then shifting to grab a cleaning rag, she leaned close to his chest casing, her spark thrumming. Nearing exhaustion from breems of activity without true recharge, the last safety lock on his system disengaged to pull more energon. Ratchet's spark pulsed outward, triggering the chest panels to slide open. Hers matched. The resulting spark merge had them both screaming and going temporarily offline.
A steady beeping dragged Ratchet out of recharge. The unfamiliar weight on his side and chest snapped him into true consciousness. "Moonracer," he whispered her name, feeling his spark sing in its casing. The lightest touch of his shaking armored hand confirmed she was real. Her spark sang back to his, muted but a solid presence to his processors. Venting rapidly, he nearly stasis locked as the new coding to his system scrolled by his medical sensors.
"Oh my blessed Primus. We are spark mated. She is the one. My equal," he whispered in terror and delight. His entire system had realigned to the frequency they now shared. He could feel her living presence wrapped around his own even as her chassis lay on his.
To be continued…