Just a short little oneshot from a bunny that wouldn't leave me alone.
Much love as always to my beta, otherwise brain fart sentences would have been plentiful!
The Autobots never needed an excuse to set up a party.
Everything from winning over the Decepticons to someone getting out of MedBay was an excuse to throw some kind of shindig, be it a small gathering with high grade or a full-on celebration complete with DJ setup courtesy of Blaster and Jazz and as much of a full bar as the Ark could put together.
The only mechs who didn't generally come were those on duty, Prowl (until Jazz forcibly dragged him into the room) and Ratchet, who was normally prepping for the inevitable injuries that came with overcharged mechs in the same room and rather violent hangovers. Most mechs never bothered their CMO, his temper was something to be feared on the best of days, but just occasionally Ratchet made his way up to the rec room to simply relax and spend some time around the healthy living.
The Autobots knew Ratchet as many things: a healer, a perfectionist, a sharpshooter with wrench-shaped projectiles, a mediator, a confidant, an officer, a miracle worker and stubborn beyond belief. What most of them didn't realize was that Ratchet was also a very jealous mech over what he considered 'his'. Therefore watching Tracks attempting to garner Sunstreaker's undivided attention with only a half-drunk cube of high grade in front of him on the table - perfectly sober - wasn't helping Ratchet relax in any way shape or form.
"You look like you're about to explode something," said Wheeljack from where he was sitting next to Ratchet, looking thoroughly amused behind his high grade.
"Yeah. Tracks," replied the CMO tersely.
"That's my gig, not yours. To be fair, if you'd let those twin terrors proclaim their love for you all over the Ark like they're clearly dying to this wouldn't be happening. You're the one who wanted to keep your relationship under wraps."
"Because I know what the others would say. They already get enough flak." Ratchet downed another large mouthful of Sideswipe's wonderful home-brewed high grade, still glaring daggers at Tracks. If looks could kill.
"They keep telling you they don't care. You clearly do." Wheeljack side-opticed Sideswipe, who was also watching Tracks but with a much more calculating gaze.
"I'm a healer," said Ratchet shortly, finally tearing his optics away from the Corvette and settling them instead on his oldest friend. "I'm meant to be taking their pain away, not adding to it."
"You ever think you're hurting them more by hiding how you really feel about them?" asked Wheeljack, much more quietly. "They're grunts, Ratch, cannon fodder. That's what they were brought into the army for, that's what they believe they are. That you love them like you do is probably something they never anticipated, but I suspect there will always be that... How does Sparkplug put it? That devil on your shoulder? Telling you that you'll never be good enough. Left alone long enough, that voice can become overwhelming." The Lancia raised his hands in vague surrender when Ratchet's face turned a little incredulous. "All I'm saying is, that voice would be so much easier to silence."
Ratchet sat and mulled over Wheeljack's words for a moment, still staring at him. It was just another piece of exceptionally perceptive and good advice from a mech full of very beneficial aid. Wheeljack had always been the soundboard for Ratchet's problems, like best friends should. The inventor was far more perceptive and empathetic than most anyone realized, and giving advice came so naturally to him that it was almost second nature. If they'd never gone to war, Ratchet mused, Wheeljack would have been one hell of a therapist. Of course, the CMO always tried to return the favor, but he was never quite as on the ball. Still, Wheeljack could often come to his own conclusions after bouncing his problems around with someone for a little while, so Ratchet's advice wasn't often needed.
That said, he mused, swirling his remaining high grade around in its cube and lowering his optics to the table, he was never adverse to itaking/i suggestions, provided they were actually good and not Sideswipe's. And perhaps Wheeljack was right. Was he really hurting the twins more by keeping their relationship a secret? He knew there was a tenseness between the twins and the rest of the Autobots; their abrasive attitude was never well received at any level, and they were never fond of the restrictions the army placed upon them, especially now they were on Earth. Sunstreaker in particular hated this planet and was thoroughly homesick.
But revealing their relationship... Ratchet knew he was feared among the ARK residents for good reason, so maybe that could afford them some protection. There would be accusations of favoritism, there was no escaping that, but there were other officers in the army that could deal with any infractions. Ratchet had never been a military medic before he joined the Autobots, and he'd only joined out of necessity after his Towers facility was destroyed in a Decepticon bombing raid. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been a prolific artist and merchant respectively before being involuntarily inducted into the Arenas. They were civilians at spark, civilians being forced to act as a military unit, and it was that realization that made Ratchet down the rest of his high grade and stand up.
He might be the Chief Medical Officer of the Ark, but he was not a military doctor. Never would be. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe might be frontliners, used as grunts and cannon fodder and for heavy ground work, but they were still young and talented and choking under military regulations. Messed up, most definitely, but that wasn't their fault. He'd like to see anyone try and go through what the twins had and come out sane.
Point was, he was too worried about what ipotential/i repercussions there would be when he had no idea what would actually happen, and for all they were in an army Ratchet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had only joined up to fight for their home, much as many of the others had. If anyone had a problem, the CMO decided, they could shove it up their tailpipes and hope Hoist would fix it because he certainly wouldn't.
"Thanks, Wheeljack." Ratchet clacked his cube onto the table and left his best friend to make a beeline for Sunstreaker. His golden lover was still being hounded by an undeterred Tracks, looking thoroughly disgruntled at the whole situation, but his expression cleared when he noticed Ratchet striding purposefully over.
"Hey Ratch!"
"Sunstreaker. Tracks," he added, a little icily. Tracks nodded in return, looking slightly taken aback. Ratchet focused all his attention onto Sunstreaker once the pleasantries were out of the way. "Sunny, dance with me?"
Whatever Sunstreaker had been expecting it clearly hadn't been that. His optics went impossibly wide. "I... what?"
"Dance with me." Ratchet thumbed over at the dancefloor where several Autobots were already making idiots of themselves.
There was silence from the golden twin for several long seconds, violet optics studying him intently, and then he suddenly stood up and moved very much into Ratchet's personal space. Ratchet didn't mind, it was honestly taking all his willpower not to lean up and press kisses to the corners of a thinned mouth.
"Are you sure?" Sunstreaker asked, so quietly that his lips barely moved.
"Yes," Ratchet breathed. "I don't want the secrecy, the what-ifs anymore. I want you. Both of you. To the Pit with everyone else." He reached up, tracing a red digit down the side of Sunstreaker's left finial and making his lover lean into the caress. "Dance with me, Sunny."
Sunstreaker needed no more encouragement. Taking Ratchet's hand he led them both to the dancefloor, ignoring Tracks' spluttered confusion, and once there they took a moment to find their rhythm, but as soon as they did Ratchet let go of most of his inhibitions and surrendered to the music and his lover. Most mechs didn't know that Ratchet was an excellent dancer, that he'd spent much of his youth in night clubs and bars, that he'd been a champion dancer at many of them. As he moved around and with Sunstreaker he had a vague sensation of disappointment that one of his longest held secrets wasn't so secret anymore, but that was quickly forgotten when Sideswipe joined them both without a word.
Going through the Academy and his internship, Ratchet had been flashy. His frame had been sleeker and slimmer, reds and creams and pearlescent black highlighting every inch of his assets. He'd looked good and knew it. Life as a medic, however, very quickly taught him to forgo ostentatious and embrace the practicality and simplicity of a more traditional medic's frame. He sometimes missed his old looks, but he'd never needed them to stand out.
"Primus, Ratch," Sideswipe murmured into an audial. "I had no idea you could dance like this. Talk about a turn on, lover."
"I have to keep some things to myself," Ratchet retorted easily, twisting into Sunstreaker and grinning mischievously. "I couldn't possibly tell you everything about me. Leaves more to discover."
"If it's more like this, I look forward to it," growled Sunstreaker, and Ratchet made a pleased noise when Sideswipe's arm came around his waist and the frontliner pressed his entire frame in a warm line all the way up Ratchet's back struts. He swayed and shifted as Ratchet did, never losing contact, and it shouldn't have been nearly as much of a turn on as it was but Ratchet's fans kicked on not long after. It didn't go unnoticed and the twins shared a smug look over his shoulder.
Wanting to wipe the expression off Sunstreaker's face Ratchet made a point of yanking the golden twin down and kissing him fiercely, reveling in the stumbling surprise displayed in wide optics and flared plating because he could basically see the thought processes in Sunstreaker's head. It was a brief shock only, though, and as soon as it registered that yes, Ratchet iwas/i kissing him in front of basically the entire Ark, he didn't hold back.
Their embrace was short but intense and Ratchet's fans weren't the only part of his frame humming happily as a result. Sideswipe tucked his head onto Ratchet's shoulder as Sunstreaker pulled away slightly and out of the corner of his optic Ratchet saw Tracks' gobsmacked expression from the bar, high grade all but forgotten in the wake of the scene unfolding in front of him. A sense of territorial satisfaction welled up through his systems even as he started to register the wolf-whistles and jeers from the other residents of the Ark and the huge thumbs-up Wheeljack was giving him from the corner of the room.
Abruptly he pulled away from Sideswipe and grabbed both of the twins' hands to lead them off the dancefloor and out of the rec room. He felt Sunstreaker's hesitation at the sudden move, but Sideswipe's knowing grin he could see in his periphery and their rather obvious destination very quickly put the golden frontliner more at ease.
"You're mine tonight, both of you," Ratchet growled heatedly.
"Our pleasure," Sideswipe purred back.
Sunstreaker took one last look behind him as they left the rec room, caught Tracks' optics and if the smirk he threw in response was just that little too self-satisfied, that touch more smug than necessary, well...
He had good reason, didn't he?