NOTE: This story takes place in an alternate universe. In this universe, Cybertron is organic and very much like earth (i.e. Cybertronians live in houses, there are trees, etc.), but Cybertronians themselves are still made of alloys. Enjoy!

It breathes, and if anyone tells you it doesn't, they are so, so wrong.

Fire is very alive.

And I have seen the beast gorge itself on so many Cybertronians.

The inferno was starting to prick at my watering optics, and the quivering heat fed itself into my head. My mind was cloudy with the overwhelming strain of adrenaline, and the world was locked in slow-motion as I turned my foggy head to look longingly at Rung beside me. The squirming, shrieking sparkling was huddled in his mothering grasp, and the reflection of the vicious, searing flames reflected off his smudged glasses. His shivering mouth was slightly ajar as if he was on the verge of releasing his own scream into the hellish abyss surrounding us.

I don't think hell is a flaming pit. It's probably just ice. The people that go there are empty like the frozen wastelands of the north.

Why can't I ever focus when I am stressed?

A wooden suspension beam finally gave in to the torture of the fire, and it dropped its splintery corpse to floor, sending up a horrible gust of embers. I rushed behind Rung and blocked the stinging sparks from making contact with his delicate body and the infant. A frustrated grunt dropped out of my throat, and a pale, condensed breath fogged up my transparent breathing mask.

"Hold on!" I hollered, and my massive hand tightened its aggressive grip around the black axe locked between my shivering fingers.

The blade ripped upwards into the air, catching a ray of icy moonlight on its deadly blade, before whistling down into the damaged floorboards sleeping beneath our feet. I scooped up the petite Rung and our precious cargo like they were a light handful of water, and my knees curled around their quaking bodies as we toppled to the main level of the burning house. I shrieked as I collided with a ground constructed of tile, and my nerves sparkled with surprise. I released Rung. Something was wrong with my poor, poor back.

Rung's face contorted as he gazed upon my struggle, horrified. "Ratchet?" he whispered.

"Get out of here!" I snapped.

He was hesitant to abandon me, but after one glance at the terrified child pressed to his lithe chest, he dashed out of the tumbling building. I attempted to get on all fours, but the agony kept me pressed to the hot floor. A pair of hunky, blue feet appeared before my stinging eyes, and I glanced up at our fire captain, Ultra Magnus. His firefighter helmet was perched atop his dignified head, and he frowned at the miserable sight before him.

"Going through the floor again?" he called down, not even a slight smile cursing his serious expression.

"Yeah," I groaned, and a small yip discharged from my blackened mouth as he pulled me up and carried me out to the cold night.

. . .

My arms trembled as I pressed my filthy palms to the wall for support; Rung cautiously unzipped my yellowish protective suit, trying not to twist my back in any way. The crew had taken a good look at me on the brief journey back to the station, and they determined nothing was shattered. I was one lucky lad with just a sprained back.

Rung was now assisting me in the dressing room. Without a sturdy back strut, it was near impossible to remove the gear that was strapped to my dirty body. Rung and I are close; we have been serving the people of Iacon for many generations, saving them from flaming buildings and woodlands. He is a wholesome firefighter, but his frail physique sometimes poses an obstacle for the rest of us. Red Alert is bulky, I am bulky, and so is Ultra Magnus. Rodimus is lithe but built like a champ. Starscream's ability to take flight is incredibly useful, and he is an expert on escaping from tight situations. When Rung is in the arena, it seemed like we are keeping one optic on the victims and one optic on him.

Anyways, Rung is caring, and that is what all firefighters are required to have. Scratch that. Starscream doesn't care. He's just kinda a pyromaniac.

Rung managed to dislodge me from the constricting gear, and as it fell to the ground in a clumpy pile, I gingerly stepped out of the hill of fabric. Our firefighting suits are somewhat unneeded; we are constructed of alloy that takes great temperatures to melt. The suits are just an extra measure to protect us. I groaned as I trudged over to a lengthy bench in the center of the room; it was typically used to sit down to pull on our clunky boots. Rung wet a washcloth at the stained sink in the corner of the room, and he nimbly darted over to sit next to me. He got to work washing my distraught, frozen face. I had caught my reflection in a washroom mirror on the way to the dressing room, and I looked like I had been living underneath a bed for a millennia.

We had the same routine after every flaming escapade. If I had thrown out my back, Rung would help free me from my gear. Then, we would rest our wary souls and clean each other up by hand. The others just took a quick, lukewarm rinse in the showers, but Rung and I felt a strong connection during this ritual. I am aware that I am more rough with Rung's sweet little body; he grunts many times while I press against his metal plates.

I gently shut my optics while Rung busily scrubbed the grime away; the warm cloth felt so wonderous compared to the nasty fire we had just faced about a cycle ago. The cloth fell away as he moved on to a different segment of my ash covered figure, but something hot fell upon my lips.

My optics innocently opened before snapping ajar to their full width. Rung's orange, pale face was much too close to mine, and he was planting a lovely little kiss onto my broad mouth. He ended the smooch with a soft smack before pulling back to gaze at me with seductive optics, silently inquiring if I desired more.

I grabbed his cheeks, sandwiching his beautiful head between my broad palms, before launching my body forwards, ignoring the horrific shot of anguish. My lips slipped chaotically over his mouth, and Rung's slender fingers angled my jaw so his mouth could fit into mine better. I'm not a great kisser.

Rung's slender glossa tapped my slippery teeth, and I couldn't resist the joyous grin crossing over my white, shiny face. This was one of the greatest experiences of my existence, and I was enjoying it with my best friend. But I guess this makes us more than best friends.

Ultra Magnus burst into the dressing room, desperate to learn what was taking his comrades so long. A gasp locked in his tight throat.

"Boys, firefighters cannot do this! It is against the code!"