~Chapter 6~

Cybertron—Distant Past

His trainer was 'it' this time, his quarry, his prey. Barricade's sensors tested the air for faint odors, picked up traces of a cloaked energy signature; infrared sensors tracked the telltale signs of heat. Disruption, disturbance. The trail split into two. He stopped, every sensor straining to its limits, instincts stretching, casting about. A trace, miniscule, very faint. The subtle indicator of a dampening field, set on yet another path. The true trail. He smirked and continued on, crept cautiously over the small rise, and froze as he spotted his quarry. He studied it, noting the posture, the lack of tension in the frame. It was not expecting him this soon, and its back was turned to him. All too easy. A smile stretched his lips, predatory, eager. He moved stealthily, masking his own signals, the thrill of the hunt coursing through him.

The scent was strong, the energy signature bright, the heat of his prey excited him, made him wild, filled him with a strange urge. He pounced on his trainer, knocking him to the ground, and shouted in ecstasy as spark energy left him in a violent rush. The old one grunted with surprise and pain.

Barricade was gripped hard and thrown to his back, the old one's weight crushed him down. Powerful energy swamped him, rebuffed his with ease, made him scream in agony as it backlashed through his systems. His trainer stood up and stared down, expressionless, as he lay on the ground, panting and whimpering with pain and shock.

:We do not take without asking, young one: Stern tones, a harsh rebuke, but under them, pride in Barricade's strength and skill, concern, thoughtfulness, sudden speculation.

His trainer's expression softened to warmth, and he pulled Barricade up into an embrace. Barricade held him tight and sobbed with shame, and the old one gentled him with soothing strokes and a soft hum.

:Have you interfaced before?: Questioning tone, but with a sense of knowing, of resignation.

Barricade shook his head, too overwrought to speak. His intakes heaved another sob. More soothing strokes and a sigh.

:I am sorry I was so harsh, young one. I did not think of that possibility. I assumed a deliberate attack: Tones of apology, sympathy and regret, a deeper understanding.

Barricade shuddered and clutched tighter. :I'm sorry, too: Barricade's tones held the slow, deep notes of anguish, pain, shame, and failure.

:You do not need to be, the fault is mine. Come to my quarters tonight and share my berth, young one. I will teach you what you need to know: His trainer's harmonics were layered with authority, the need to impart knowledge, acknowledgement of youth, but concern that one so strong had received no training.

:You wish to train me in this also?: Doubt, hesitancy, shyness, a wistful yearning for something less formal, more intimate.

Barricade's uncertainty was answered with soft tones of agreement, the promise of enjoyment and intimacy. :If you are willing, I shall become your guardian. I will guide you and teach you control, how to give and take pleasure without harming others:

A deep hum from the old one vibrated through his frame, causing his systems to rev. Barricade moaned with arousal and pressed closer, signaling his acceptance.

-------------------

He shivered, half-fearful, as his guardian joined him on the large berth. A hand stroked down his front, glowing purple optics studied him. He startled at the use of his name.

:No pain this time, Barricade, only that which will increase your pleasure. Your energies are violent. We will take the edge off them, to start. Learning control will be easier when they are less forceful:

:I will become weaker then, as I learn?: Barricade sneered at the thought, his harmonics clashing with the discordant tones of disgust, a rejection of weakness, arrogance and pride in his strength, a desire for more.

The stroking hand was withdrawn, purple optics narrowed. :Be careful, young one, not to mistake violence for strength. The true test of strength lies in your ability to control it, rather than force it upon those around you. That is the standard by which you will be judged by others:

Barricade's optics dropped away in apology. His guardian sighed.

:Have no fear that you will weaken. Quite the contrary. There is a wild thing that lives in our sparks, Barricade, all those with instincts such as we possess. Ages ago, we hunted, fought, killed almost daily in order to survive. We no longer live like that; our instincts are not needed, yet here we are. We were sparked outside of our proper time and place, and Primus alone knows why we are here:

:The wild thing is strong, it cannot be tamed, time will not weaken it. It will desire many things, but only one thing will content it. For some, it is exploring the endless reaches of space; for others, the struggle to tame a new world proves enticing. Many more have answered the call to war, where our instincts can be fully unleashed. You will have to discover for yourself what will bring it, and you, peace:

:But come. I did not bring you here to talk. I will teach you a different language now:

A soft, husky purr as his guardian moved closer, optics beginning to brighten. The mask was removed to reveal pleasant features, a slight smile on a well-shaped mouth. Barricade was pulled close, his chin tilted up, a whisper to shutter his optics. Then his mouth was pressed, he felt firm lips moving against his, a gentle coaxing pressure, and he began learning, exploring curiously, testing and tasting.

A tilt of the head above his, and the kiss became deeper, harder. It jolted his systems, made him run hot, vents hissed to life. The kiss ended. He keened a little with disappointment. A soft chuckle, lips moving over his face, a low purr against his audial. He nodded his head and whimpered a plea, lifting his face for another kiss. Hands held his head, his mouth was taken and ravished, he moaned with it.

He was hot now, burning, intakes cycled furiously as the kiss gentled and ended. Clever fingers began to move over his frame, feather-light, barely touching. Energy gathered, racing through him, his systems roaring. He growled with frustration, pushing against the taunting hands, the teasing half-touches. The touches became tweaks, half-twists of delicate wires, cables were palmed, squeezed and pinched. The mouth joined in, closing over him, nipping and biting. He groaned, his frame twisting with the pleasure-pain.

His world narrowed to that mouth, those hands. They moved over his frame, skillfully dipping into seams, under plates, entering delicately into hidden recesses, places so intimate he gasped with shock as he writhed in ecstasy. He was brought to overload twice by touch alone, before his guardian released the powerful energies that made him arch up and scream out his pleasure, and then threw him down into darkness.

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He was desperate, passion raged. :I want you, I want you! Please, let me have you!: Lust and violence laced through his tones, the urge to take what he needed by force:

:Very well. You may take me:

The cool, passionless response confused him for a moment, but he was too aroused to stop. He kissed, he stroked, he kneaded. His mouth moved over sensitive nodes, teeth bit into cables, his energies surged relentlessly. His guardian lay beneath him, no whispers, no soft moans, no passion. Nothing.

Barricade snarled, bit his guardian's throat, and took him harshly, brutal and uncaring. He spent his energies and collapsed with another snarl, angry and frustrated. The wild thing behind his chestplates snapped and raged at him. He rolled off, and lay staring at the wall, sickened, empty, a bitter taste in his mouth.

:You didn't want me. Why did you agree?:

:We have been over this so many times and still you have not learned. You do not take without asking:

:I did ask! I did!:

:No, you did not. You whined, you pleaded, you pushed me to agree. There is a reason I insist on using our ancient language of tones. Nothing can be hidden then, all emotions are revealed. Did you think I missed the violence in you? You would have tried to take me by force, if I continued to refuse. I chose to accept you:

:But there was no passion in you, no hunger! You gave me nothing!:

:That, too, was my choice:

Barricade curled into himself with a sob. :I don't understand:

:And you will not, until you learn that the taking of a mate unwilling is an empty thing, like hitting a mark set too low, the taking of an easy prey. There is no challenge, no thrill, no honor or satisfaction in that. You must learn to listen with all your skills. Did you scent my readiness in the air? Did you see the welcoming glow in my optics? Did your audials register the sounds of my passion? Did your sensors track the building heat in my systems? Of course not. All the signs of my refusal were there, yet you ignored them. You shame yourself as a hunter, and me as your guardian, by doing so:

Barricade turned to the old one and pressed up against him. :I'm sorry, I'm sorry:

A gentle hum, a soothing vibration, a hand stroked his back. :I was young once, too, and it is a hard lesson to learn. Our instincts urge us to take our prey violently. We walk a fine line between that and the taking of our mates. That is why you must listen carefully to your mate to know what is desired, to give them pleasure as you take yours. That is also why I teach you how to take and be taken, to have control and to give it up, so that you will understand the pleasure in both:

:Remember your grief, your emptiness, the taste of sickness and bitterness. I do not need to ask to know that the wild thing in you is far from content. Remember this lesson, and take it deep inside of you:

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Pain. Chaos. Death.

His entire world was destroyed in less than two cycles.

All around him, the elder ones of his settlement fought against the invaders. Outnumbered, outsized, yet still they fought on. One hunter leapt up the sword arm of a giant gestalt mech and then onto the torso. Another leap, and he was in position at the head. Fangs bared, claws swiping savagely, the hunter ripped out an optic. With a howl of pain, the giant mech seized the hunter in an enormous hand and crushed him into shards. A dozen hunters fell at the sweep of the giant's sword. A dozen more swarmed in to take their place.

Barricade hunched over the body of the old one, a keen ripped from his vocalizer.

A hand shook him roughly. "We have to go!"

Barricade hissed at the mech, just a few vorns older than himself.

"I'm not leaving him!"

The other crouched by his side. "He's dead."

"He was my guardian!" Barricade keened again, wild with grief.

Hands grabbed him and hauled him up. A harsh growl rattled his audial. "He died for you. Repay him now, by living."

Barricade snarled and tried to shake him off. Three other young hunters ran up. "That's it, we can go. Everyone we could find is out."

The older mech released him. "You coming? Or are you waiting on them?" He nodded at two more huge gestalts slowly coming towards them.

Barricade knelt down beside his guardian. He kissed the lifeless hands, the cold lips, and bit back the wail of pain and anguish that threatened to tear him apart.

He channeled it all into rage instead, climbing to his feet and screaming hate and defiance at his enemy.

Then he turned and ran with the others.

-------------------

The two friends sat at their usual table outside of the energon station, watching the public vid screen showing a follow-up to a news story. An 'incident' had occurred earlier that week, involving neutrals. Such incidents were occurring all too frequently, but this one stood out because of its targets.

A settlement of Hunter mechs, a reclusive subgroup of Cybertronians. They had their own customs, their own culture, and were largely a mystery to everyone else. The attack itself was baffling. The leaders of the settlement had declared their neutral status less than a vorn ago. The vid screen flashed through images of the aftermath.

"They didn't go down without putting up one Pit of a fight," Ratchet commented, expert optics assessing the battle damage to the empty shells, both the smaller hunters and their larger foes alike.

"They wouldn't," Orion agreed. "The older ones would have fought 'til they off-lined, allowing their young time to escape."

Ratchet looked at him.

"Archivist," Orion reminded. "We get to see quite a lot of interesting data."

"Ah."

Ratchet's attention shifted to the medics moving among the fallen mechs. A small sigh, a worried look, and Orion's optics were focusing on his friend. Ratchet nodded at the vid screen.

"I've seen some older medics like that at the hospital. They've been at this a lot longer than I have and they're almost like drones. They've seen too many wounded, too much death. Slag it, they don't even seem to notice if someone's in pain. It's as if they've shut a part of themselves down and they just don't care anymore. Primus forbid the same thing happens to me, but I'm afraid that it will, sooner or later."

"That could never happen to you, Ratch," Orion assured him. "You've got too much passion in you, and you care too much about your patients to ever let that happen."

"You know me that well, do you," Ratchet remarked. "What am I? A datapad?"

"To me you are," Orion said. "You wear your feelings right out in the open." One optic shuttered in a wink. "It's us quiet ones you have to wonder about. You never know what's going on inside."

Orion gave him that slow, easy smile, and Ratchet felt the stutter ripple through his processors. Again. For the hundredth time.

The news story ended, and Orion's attention returned to the vid screen. Another announcement. No suitable Matrix Bearer had yet been found. The Temple priests continued to search for candidates.

Ratchet paid it scant notice, instead letting his optics wander over Orion, sitting with his arms crossed over his large chest. Those arms had held him several times now, supporting him through the grief and turmoil of losing a patient. Orion's smile still lingered, his mouth lifting at the corners. Those lips had brushed Ratchet's helm, the deep voice had murmured comfort into his audials.

The more time they spent together, the more Ratchet appreciated the calm depths in Orion, let Orion wash over him, ease his worries and fears, soothe the hurt and anger that failure always brought. Ratchet in a temper had everyone scattering, but Orion could weather his harshest mood with that same steady calm, and quell him with a word or look if he went too far. They were a good fit, Orion was handsome, and Ratchet was ready for more.

Orion shifted, and Ratchet's optics were drawn to the rippling, flexing dermal plates, gleaming with good health. Orion's frame build boasted strong, clean lines, his shoulders broad, tapering to a narrower waist and long, powerful flanks. Ratchet gazed openly. A soft sound drew his attention.

His optics raised to see Orion watching him, an optic ridge lifted slightly. Ratchet was sure he caught a glimpse of returned interest, a flash of heat glimmering in Orion's optics.

Orion leaned forward, Ratchet opened his mouth to invite him to his berth… and then his medical comm interrupted, signaling him to report immediately to the hospital. Again. For the hundredth time.

Ratchet snarled and turned the signal off. Orion was already rising to his feet, anticipating his departure. The hint of passion was gone, the moment was over. Orion looked down at him, calm and reserved, and Ratchet's vents blew out air in frustration. Orion's control could be truly maddening, and Ratchet decided he'd had enough. No one could be that slagging calm all the time.

"You're coming to my graduation tomorrow, right?"

"Mmm-hmm. I'll be there." Orion left him with a squeeze of his shoulder. Ratchet watched him until he disappeared into the Archive building.

-------------------

Ratchet scanned the crowd restlessly as he finished his cube, waiting for his friend. He spotted Orion's tall figure as soon as he entered the room and began making his way over to him, murmuring apologies and 'excuse me's' and when that didn't work, glaring and pushing at a few of the bulkier mechs to get them to move.

Orion smiled as Ratchet came up to him. The new medic's optics were bright with excitement, his speech the slightest bit slurred. "You missed it! I took first honors in my graduating class, Orion, and they voted me 'Most likely to yank sparks back out of Primus' hands'." He grinned and swayed a little, and Orion laughed and put a hand out to steady him.

"I never had any doubts that you'd be first in your class, Ratch. I'm just sorry I got here too late to see the ceremony. Okay, show them to me."

Ratchet unsubspaced his new credentials and displayed them proudly, watching as Orion looked them over and nodded his approval. "Congratulations, and they even spelled your name right."

His friend huffed a laugh and poked him in the chest. "Figures you'd focus on the minor details. Look, right here." He pointed to a silver-grey and red emblem. "That means first honors, and it also means that I get the best upgrades available for my hands and additional medical programming. And this," he tapped his chevron lightly, "goes from plain white to silver-grey, and these," he held up a white hand and wiggled his fingers in front of Orion's optics, "will be red when next you see me."

Orion chuckled and clasped Ratchet's hand, drawing it down for a closer look. "Upgrades, huh? They look fine to me." His thumb smoothed over Ratchet's palm. "But I bet red'll look good on you, Ratch." A tremor went through the hand he was touching, and he looked up. Ratchet was smiling at him, his optics very bright.

Oops. Now was definitely not the time, and his friend was drunk, too. Slag. Orion sighed and released Ratchet's hand, and pointed to the credentials. "Better put them away before you lose them, and congratulations again. You did great."

Ratchet subspaced them and looked up at Orion. "Yes, I did, didn't I?" He laughed, his systems revving with excitement and elation. Someone jostled past him in the packed room, he swayed again, and Orion drew him close to steady him. Ratchet laid his hand on Orion's chestplates, and Orion watched, fascinated, as that hand began to trace the large center seam. He startled at the rev of his own systems, and Ratchet gave him a wicked smile, drew his head down, and kissed him.

Orion hesitated only a moment, before a growl vibrated through his plates and he pulled Ratchet into his arms. Desire sparked through his processors, he felt heat flaring out from Ratchet's chestplates, and his own systems surged with the burn of passion. Their kiss deepened, he heard Ratchet moan, and Primus, the sound of it, erotic, yearning. He growled again and tightened his arms, too caught up to even think about what attention they might be attracting.

Orion uttered a sound of protest when the kiss ended, and then his head fell back as Ratchet's mouth trailed down the cables of his neck, and moved to his chest seam. Orion gasped. Energy roared through him, and he barely kept his chestplates from springing open. It shocked him enough to bring back awareness of his surroundings. Even more shocking was the possibility of overloading, in public, if Ratchet continued. He clasped Ratchet's hands firmly and drew him into a hard embrace, struggling for control. "We have to stop, we're drawing attention."

"No one's paying any attention to us," Ratchet murmured.

Orion looked around. The lights were dim, the edges of the room in near darkness. No one even glanced their way, and there were several other pairs off to the sides engaging in similar activities and even further along. Some had their chestplates wide open, enjoying their partner's attentions. The sight was shockingly intimate, and incredibly arousing.

"Relax," Ratchet said, with a chuckle, "we're medics. There's nothing we haven't seen or done before, and our parties tend to get a little wild."

"But you're overcharged, I'd be taking advantage," Orion protested weakly, almost moaning out loud when Ratchet's mouth began tracing along his chest seam again.

Ratchet paused to look up at him, optics brilliant and glowing with passion. "I'm definitely not too overcharged for this. I've been wanting you for a long time now."

His processors barely had time to register the fact that Ratchet's desires were a match for his own, and then Ratchet drew him into another demanding kiss and Orion's systems flooded with lust. His mouth crushed down in fierce response, and Ratchet shuddered in his arms, moaning. That soft, yearning, erotic sound was nearly enough to push him into overload right then, when suddenly the lights blazed up around them, and a voice was calling for attention over loud groans and cries of protest.

Orion broke the kiss, but kept Ratchet in a firm embrace. Ratchet dropped his head down to Orion's shoulder and leaned against him, shaking a little. Fans whirred, dispelling heat from their systems. Orion brushed his lips against an audial with a low growl. "Been wanting you for quite some time, too, Ratch. As soon as you're done here, let's go back to my quarters." Ratchet nodded and then the same voice was calling out for silence again, and the protests died down to soft murmurs.

They both listened as an official briefly announced that an accident had occurred at a large industrial plant… "aka, an attack," Ratchet commented cynically and Orion quietly agreed… and that emergency protocols were now in effect for all hospital and clinic personnel.

"And that would be me." Ratchet sighed, looking up at Orion with lingering passion and regret in his optics. "I have to go now, but come and see me at the clinic tomorrow." He left to join his classmates as they hurried towards the exits.

Orion walked home alone, deeply disappointed, and sat in his quarters, his systems still surging from time to time, the ache of desire making him restless and unable to settle into recharge. He was tired and distracted the next day, and for once he rushed through his work, paying little attention to the numerous files and reports, and then hurriedly left to go and see his friend.

Ratchet wasn't at the clinic, and the supervisor told him that the medic and most of his classmates had been sent to cover the emergency. Orion was even more disappointed to learn that the accident was in a completely different city. He wondered about Ratchet for the next decacycle, missing his friend keenly, hoping for a call, debating about traveling to see him, but by all accounts, it was chaos there, and Ratchet was no doubt swamped with patients, and Orion would only be in the way.

When the officials came to bring him to the temple complex, and he realized with a shock that he was being chosen, Orion's last thought as the Matrix took him and the incredible changes began, was of Ratchet's passionate kiss, and the deep regret that he would now never know where that might have led.

A/N: Thank you all once again for your alerts, faves and reviews, you have made my year! A big thank you as always to my wonderful betas, Lady Dragon2, lb82, and chaitea16, and Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! ~aprilraven ;)