Title One Size Does Not Fit All
Pairing Prowl/Ratchet, Prowl/Jazz hinted, Jazz/Someone implied
Warning Femme!Prowl is a whore (thereby continuing in the butchering of Prowl's character /running gag) especially when drunk. (See?) Ergo, unfaithful Autobots + high grade = drunken dub-con. Discomfort of private areas.
Summary Ratchet knew he was overcharged when he kept seeing a femme flitting about the room.
Author's Note I thought it'd be kinda nice to start getting out of Prowl and Sideswipe's head in this verse. Let someone else do the talking and tell the story. Seriously though, I didn't think I'd pair these two at all in this universe. O.o
This also gives me the chance to touch on something that isn't usually covered in sticky fic. Size discrepancy. This presents the problem. I have another idea (whoring Prowl with someone else ;) with the actual solution. This takes place in the interim which Prowl has left Sideswipe to join the army, and then disguises herself as a mech, before she meets back up with Sideswipe. She's a fully functioning femme, with a healthy appetite.
Also of note, femme!Prowl usually avoids interfacing of any sort with the medics. Ratchet is also not an officer at this point. The medbay is ruled by one Crossbow.
Ratchet knew he was overcharged when he kept seeing a femme flitting about the room. She taunted him with every appearance, waving her black and white doorwings as she went from one table to another, obliquely flirting with the mechs.
And then he'd reset his optics and there would be Prowl in her place.
Maybe he ought to stop while he was still ahead, he thought as he eyed his half empty cube. Just before he downed the rest.
Prowl didn't exactly flit, but stalked, from one table to another, he broke up fights too close to exchanging fists, evicted mechs who tottered too close to oblivion before they tipped over the edge. He looked to be having a grand old time of it, and Jazz, from all appearances, seemed to be enjoying the way that Prowl swept about the room like a raging hurricane.
The way that Prowl moved sent surges through Ratchet's circuits. He desired to feel that frame pressed against his, to run his hands over the smooth torso under those armored plates. His hardware twitched at those thoughts.
Oh Primus, he did need to stop.
Prowl appeared in front of him, doorwings twitching as he stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at Ratchet. He cast a look about the rest of the room, and then pulled a cube out of subspace.
"May I sit with you, Ratchet?"
Ratchet nodded in a vague direction. "Thought you'd rather sit with Jazz." His vocalizer glitched and bubbled, slurring his words with static.
Prowl lifted a brow ridge, his hips tilting to one side in a vaguely off gesture. "Jazz is entertaining someone. I doubt he'd appreciate the interruption."
Ah yes, Jazz was indeed entertaining a pretty mech, blue and wings-actual wings- adorning his shoulders.
Ratchet shrugged, never removing his gaze from the still twitching doorwings as Prowl sat down, back straight and rigid as ever, doorwings riding high on his shoulder. The medic caught himself before he reached out to feel them. Although he must have moved for them because Prowl's optics brightened and he leaned a little away.
Ratchet pushed himself to his feet to grab a second cube, only to find one pushed across the table.
"Last one."
Engine grumbling, Ratchet sat back down, taking the cube and downing a quarter of it. His fuel tank churned in protest, a warning appeared in his HUD of potential flooding of his fuel tank. "Who're you ta dictate that t' me?"
A smirk played along Prowl's lips before his cube hid it. "I'm not going to be the one dragging your aft back to your quarters."
"I'll be th' one draggin' yer weigh' lightweight! Don' ever see ya drink."
A leisurely shrug pushed a doorwing up, catching Ratchet's optic again. "Just because I choose not to, doesn't mean I can't hold my high grade." He sloshed his cube once. "Fourth."
"This is only my... um..." Ratchet had to pause and calculate, but found he couldn't. "Well, slag."
A smile pulled on Prowl's shapely lips. "This is your last one."
"Guess so. Yer the officer an' all." Ratchet tipsily saluted Prowl, and Prowl lifted the cube in return, his hand wavering only slightly.
They sat in silence, finishing off their individual cubes; Ratchet no faster than Prowl as he found his coordination overcompensating from the charge.
They dispersed the cubes with a focused jolt of electricity, and Prowl stood, coming over to stand next to Ratchet. Ratchet glared up at him.
"Though' you said ya weren' draggin' me to my quarters."
"I'm not. I'm assisting you, now stand up an' lean on me." Words slurred more than normal from his own overcharge, Prowl hooked an arm under Ratchet's shoulder joint, hauling up, urging the larger mech to rise.
Ratchet stood, leaning a lot of his considerable bulk on the black and white mech's shoulders. One hand idly brushed the protruding chest plate, and Ratchet could make out the soft squeak of dental plates squealing together. His audio receptors must be on overdrive, too. Primus, he was slammed.
They walked out of the bar, Ratchet blearily aware of the optics following them out. Ah, Primus, there goes the Autobot gossip mill.
The lithe body swayed beneath him, his other hand brushed the slim waist and he found his palm and fingers curving to the form.
When was the last time he'd had a femme under him? Slaggit, when was the last time he'd even had a mech? Even Crossbow hadn't been available for a quick jolt. Stupid, slagging war, always keeping them stupid, slagging busy, doing... um.. things. Well slag, what was he thinking about again?
Prowl staggered under Ratchet as the medic stumbled, bumping their chassis together. The contact made Ratchet groan and he was peripherally aware of the soft voice urging him to stay online for a few more steps. Then that voice turned around and asked him for his code.
Code to what? Primus, he had so many numbers flitting about his cortex how was he supposed to only pick one?
Couldn't he choose the set that interested him the most? Like the dimensions of exactly what lay under Prowl's plating, confirmed by the give of the chestplate as Ratchet absently fondled the mech. Even though the reading just didn't match up to what he thought it should be. He was probably was so overcharged he was miscalculating or misremembering or.. or.. something.
The bot supporting him vented a sigh, and leaned away from the larger mech, almost toppling them both. Prowl grunted as more of Ratchet's weight ended up on him. He turned, coming nasal ridge to nasal ridge with Ratchet.
"Y' have a beautiful face, Prowl."
The blue optics flickered, and Prowl shifted the larger mech's weight. "Ratchet, could you stand up, I'm trying to open your door."
"Think I'm jealous of Jazz."
Prowl stiffened. He turned more fully in Ratchet's arms, sending the hypersensitive sensors afire with the scraping of their chestplates. Ratchet moaned again, dropping his head onto the mech's shoulder.
"There's no reason to be jealous, Ratchet. Crossbow is a fine-looking mech."
"Looked in a reflection lately, Prowl?"
"If you straighten, I can reach your access panel. Please?"
Ratchet groaned, lifting his head, the image in his processor erotic and delightful as he thought of those slim white hands on his frame seeking out any of his access panels and the cables and ports within.
"Ratchet..."
His hands tightened where they gripped, and he nuzzled into the long neck his face was buried in. He pulled the other tighter against him familiarizing himself with her curves as he matched them to what his sensors told him. He nipped his way up her jaw, awkwardly trying for the mouth pulled teasingly away.
He caught it, a rush of sensory information that had them both staggering until Prowl's back hit the wall. He delved into the gasping mouth, hungry for the touch of another. Each of the small squeaks coming from the petite frame fired along his relays, tightening his hands as they continued their explorations of the armored plating.
He dug his hands under the plating, feeling the smooth finish of the dermaplating. He swept his hand up, finding a loose joining on the chestplate that let him dig under and caress the soft metal that molded to his fingertips.
Sweet-smelling lubricant coated her mouth, and he panted as it burned his probing glossa.. Somewhere in his cortex he recalled Prowl's peculiar problem with his lubricating systems. He just never realized how it worked. Or how delicious his problem tasted. It made Ratchet that much more aware of his shaft scraping against the groin covering. Prowl slapped his hands at the wall behind them, and a door slid open, tumbling them both in
Perfect.
Ratchet staggered to come to a stop, barely managing to remain upright as he pawed at the white thigh braced for his weight.
"Ratchet, get a hold of yourself." The voice mumbled into Ratchet's questing mouth, switching between low and high pitches, continuing the assault on his auditory sensors.
"Rather keep a hold on you." He pulled away, ventilator rasping as he cast about for somewhere more comfortable to continue.
"That way." A rough shove had him reeling toward a berth. "Next time I'll let Crossbow come get you." The muttered words normally wouldn't have reached Ratchet's sensors, but their gain was set so high, he couldn't help but understand them. "Get on the berth." He shoved Ratchet down.
Ratchet grabbed the black and white mech, rolling him into a tangle and laughing at the curses spat at him. He muted the irritating white noise by smothering the words with his eager mouth, fingers digging again into the plating, trying to find the clasps that held the chestplate in place.
"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," but she didn't resist terribly much as he revved his engine at her. His hardware strained to be put to use, the curvaceous frame under him too much for his programming to stand.
Certainly she moaned back at him, as he unhooked her waistplates, tossing them off to the side, somewhere. He ground his torso against her groin, reveling in the feel of Prowl beneath him.
He fumbled at his groin cover, panting eagerly to release the overcharged energy that seemed to culminate within his shaft. His lips slid over Prowl's, his other hand dug deeply under his chestplate, scraping against the soft metal underneath. His glossa danced down her jaw and neck, biting him hungrily.
Prowl's hands slid over his side and shoulder, his glitching moans adding to the fuel that burned in Ratchet's arousal. The tactician spread his legs enticingly, barely able to reach his knees around Ratchet's waist.
Groin cover removed, Ratchet indulged in one more sweetly lubricated kiss, his glossa invading Prowl's mouth, and Prowl's glossa sweeping across his. Then he broke away, unable to stand the pressure anymore. He slid up, his larger frame covering the slighter one beneath him, some distant part of him that still thought clearly wondered if maybe he should have rolled them over, but that was promptly dismissed as he fumbled himself into the attachment Prowl had slipped on when he wasn't paying attention. Whenever that was.
The fitting was tight. "Didn't ya have a larger...one...unh, Prowl?" He pressed himself in, clutching at the bare waist.
Prowl didn't answer, his fingers digging into Ratchet's side, his frame shaking as Ratchet thrust in. A keening whimper answered Ratchet's next thrust, a sound so needful it sent a shiver through Ratchet's drunken processor. He panted at the air, squeezing whatever bit of Prowl he had in his hands as he shoved himself deeper into the port attachment. The friction burned, a pleasant tingle that made him drive himself in harder, eliciting another high whimper.
One of Prowl's hands disappeared from where he clutched at Ratchet, the scraping of joints against dermaplating indicating that Prowl wiped his fingers over his facial planes. He didn't meet Ratchet's thrusts, his ventilations ragged, and his engine chugging.
That nagged at something within Ratchet, only to be ignored in the sudden need to move faster. The pressure within his hardware built insistently, and a charge zinged from the tip of his plug. He couldn't figure out why he hadn't hit the attachment's receptive port, only continue in his motions until he scraped against the desired equipment. Ratchet jammed himself in after several unsuccessful tries, crying out at the sudden discharge that arced through his entire body, jolting the slight frame under him.
He rested his head on a balled up fist, aware of an insistent pushing at his frame. He groaned irritably, but drew himself out of the delicious femme under him. He slid down to snuggle against her neck, his systems shutting down.
As they did, he thought he heard someone with a sweet voice calling his name.
"Oh Ratchet, don't go offline! Primus, Ratchet, move! You're too slagging hea-"
The light hurt, he decided, shutting his optics against the raging power drain that ached through his systems. Someone lay next to him, and he had a blurry recollection of some sweet thing that had occupied his sensors since teasing him in the rec room the night before. Except that when he managed to focus his optics, Prowl's offline visage greeted his sight.
Fraggit, he must have been absolutely volting last night if he thought Prowl was a femme. What exactly had they done? They were both plated, not plugged in.. Then why did his hardware feel like it had been squeezed by a compactor. It only served to compound the overall ache from too much highgrade.
He moaned, and automatically brushed his fingers against the sensitive bits covered by plating.
His memory of the previous night consisted mostly of sensor readings (and Pit if he could trust those readings.); he couldn't even remember who had started it.
He groaned again, feeling the numbness of systems that weren't receiving a proper supply of power. Scuffs marred his frame, a trail that led from Prowl's equally marked frame. Only Prowl's legs remained pinned under his weight, and he scooted off those out of courtesy to his superior. Had Prowl shoved Ratchet off before falling into recharge.
He could not resist the light caress of his fingers over the white hood, fingers following the curve of the headlamps, and down the seam of his bumper. His hardware didn't so much as twitch a line of code, in too much pain to even come online.
White fingers wrapped around his wrist, and Ratchet belatedly realized that the sounds had shifted from that of a recharging mech.
Prowl looked up at him, face neutral, despite the tight grip he kept on Ratchet's hand.
Ratchet blanched, pulling his hands out of the officer's grasp.
Ratchet opened his mouth, to speak, but closed it again without even clicking his vocalizer on.
Finally the other mech sat up, swinging his legs off the berth. He paused, resting his hands on the edge of the pad as though he needed to brace himself for the next movement.
"Prowl…"
Prowl's head turned toward Ratchet, giving the medic only a glimpse of optic, and hint of the finely sculpted nasal ridge.
"I'm late for an appointment with Crossbow, I should not keep him waiting much longer."
Ratchet grabbed his arm, disregarding the way the other mech immediately tensed at his touch. The shifting of his weight sent another jolt through his aching hardware. "That's it? You don't think anything else needs to be said?"
Prowl turned more of his profile toward Ratchet, dental plates clenched together. "What is there to say, Ratchet? We were both overcharged to slag, and not thinking straight. You clearly were not, as you seemed to keep mistaking me for a fragging femme. It will not happen again."
He had? Still, Ratchet didn't release the tactician's arm, instead tightening his fingers, aware of the way the metal bent under them. "Don't you have any slagging tact, Prowl? Is this why you and Jazz fight so much, because you spark his circuits and then up and leave him like it was nothing."
"This was nothing. Don't try to make it into something it's not."
Ratchet sat up, systems heating with familiar ire, the pain from his hardware inconsequential. "It isn't that! I'd just like some damned courtesy shown when I've shared my berth with a mech."
Prowl glared down at a spot on the berth. "I'm sorry that I don't have time for pleasantries. I need to make my appointment with Crossbow."
Ratchet knew that Prowl saw the CMO often for the problems related to his lubrication systems, but…
"You don't have an appointment today."
The tactician's optics flashed, but his actions remained smooth and unhurried. A sparkpulse of silence and then, "Am I often on the schedule, Ratchet?"
Ratchet's fingers tightened briefly before going lax, until they only loosely encircled Prowl's wrist. "No."
"Then let go of my arm, and I'll be on my way."
Reluctantly, Ratchet released the mech, leaning back against the wall with another twinge of pain.
Prowl rose, pausing as he straightened, though any reaction had been programmed out of his face.
Had the lubrication malfunctions extended beyond their normal range? "Need help getting to the med bay?"
Prowl stood there for a brief astrosecond, but he didn't even turn to look at Ratchet. "I will manage." He tilted his head as though considering. "Thank you."
Hands clenched at his side, Prowl made his stiff way out of the room.
Ratchet sighed, and laid back down. He rubbed at his still sensitive groin plating, removing it to feel the damage done. Dents rippled across the shaft, throwing the jacks out of place. He switched his finger out and popped the metal back into shape with gentle tugs on the peripheral jacks. Why didn't it ever occur to mechs to carry the receiver accessories sized for larger mechs, Primus
Finished with that painful operation, he curled up on his side, one arm tucked under his head as a support and drifted off until his systems sorted out the power surges.