Chapter 3: To Dare

XXX

Prowl walked down the halls, vid screen in hand, a frown on his face. He had been looking for Optimus Prime during the last human hour and hadn't found him. It was very unlike Prime to just disappear like that without even a word as to where he was going, for that manner, to leave his office unlocked. Where could he have gone? Despite his worried nature, he found it best to continue looking for a few more minutes by himself. The last thing he needed was to tell the rest of the men and have this turn into a full blown riot, bots running around crying obscenities that Prime had been kidnapped by Megatron. Or worse … Jazz or the twins would find out. Oh, that would not be good. There would be something worse than a riot … a full scale party. Ugh.

The tactician continued to walk down the hall, his wings twitching as he unremittingly played this game of hide-and-seek-Prime. Where could he be?

He wasn't in the medical bay.

He wasn't in the Rec. room.

He wasn't the shooting range.

He wasn't in the practice room.

He wasn't in his quarters.

He wasn't in the storage room with a bleeding Sunstreaker.

He wasn't in …

Frag.

The tactician was against the wall in a quaking second, his gun pulled out and his optics wandering for signs of Decepticon activity. He didn't see any and his audios could barely pick up the sigh or soft hiss of Sunstreaker's vents. Given that dooming fact, it seemed he'd have to risk wandering into the room, but first he'd comm. Ratchet. It was not wise to step into a dangerous situation without someone knowing what was going on.

"Ratchet. Come in Ratchet," said the mech, his optics dimming for a moment in worry.

A grumble came across the line followed by medic's irritated tone, "This better be good, Prowl. If it's the twins… I don't care."

"Yes and no. Sunstreaker's bleeding out in storage room nine and I need back-up. I'm going in to access the situation," said Prowl as he turned off his communicator and rounded the corner, his gun pointed high. His optics roamed over the room as he searched for any signs of a potential threat. After his scanners had finished tasting every corner of the room, his feet started to pull him towards the frontliner. Yet, before he could even get on his knees to check and see where all the energon was coming from him, the ground swallowed him up like a hungry juggernaut.

A choking gasp escaped the tactician as he started to fall like an Alice to her wonderland. This was a trap after all. Megatron must have had the Constructicons dig a pit underneath the Ark, setting Sunstreaker out as bait and he had fell for it. Why hadn't looked to the ground for answers and noticed the obvious placement of the yellow titan's form. He had fallen for an ambush … and now all that was left was to crash.

Squeak!squeakkk-squeak- squeeeeek.

Or not. A sigh escaped the mech as he left his optics off for a moment, his hands becoming fists as he struggled to keep his cool.

"I'm going to kill them," said the mech, onlining his optics, a bit taken back as his sight was welcomed by four other pairs of optics in the gloom of the pit. Prowl sighed again, his wings dipping slightly. Well, at least he had found Prime … and Jazz … and Cliffjumper … and Ironhide.

"You and me both," grumbled Ironhide from the corner, his legs shifting slightly and causing a thousand squeaky ducks to speak in their irritating tune. "You and me both, Prowl."

…

Sideswipe rolled his optics as he watched the trapped door shut again. How many more was he going to have to trap until Ratchet showed up? The shock on their faces had been funny for the first few victims, but now it was just getting old. Not that he was going to stop, mind you, because nothing and nobody was going to ruin this moment for his brother.

No one … no matter how much he knew it was going to hurt when Prime and the others finally managed to crawl out of the pit o' doom. No one! But where was Ratchet! This was going to be pointless brig time if the Hatchet did …

The soft clang of footsteps filled the red mech's audios and with well timed ease, a head peaked around the corner. Speak of the devil.

…

Ratchet found his feet moving him forward as if he was a train on a predestined track. He had tried to call for some back up, but he couldn't get a hold of Prime, Jazz, Ironhide, or even Bumblebee. He managed to get a hold of Wheeljack, Brawn and Smokescreen; they were on their way with anyone they'd pick up in the halls, informing Red Alert that the Ark might have a possible break in. That wasn't his concern right now though. Prowl had sounded worried and he still hadn't called in. Sunstreaker must have been of a quickly decaying state for Prowl not to call in. He wasn't going to wait for the tactician to confirm anything anyway. He had a patient to get to.

It was silent when he finally got to the storage rooms. Ratchet generally praised silence, but for some reason it was just unnerving. True, this hall was no place for a social gathering, but still … something was wrong. His peds were silent as he crouched, sneaking down the hall like common criminal hiding from the light. His optics didn't capture any signs of a threat and he really didn't want to move before backup showed up … but he could smell energon … and it was cold. There was not an energon dispenser anywhere nearby so that meant that it had to be energon from a wound. He would wait no longer. Crouching low and making his way forward, he knew he had to save Sunstreaker. He cared for the twins despite his growly irritating behavior, and he would not allow one of them to bleed to death due to a questionable Decepticon agenda … if it was Decepticon at all.

With soft feet he trudged forward until he turned fast around the corner, gun held high. He was willing to fight for his patient if need be, but the only being he saw in the room was a downed mech on the floor. His feet were no longer quiet as the medic race forward, sliding on his knee beside Sunstreaker, leaving a trail of sparks in his wake. His fingers were automatically upon the mech's armor, feeling for wounds. From first glance it seemed he had terrible wounds, but now he didn't see much cosmetic damage. There was a lot of blood here though meaning that these wounds must have been coming from Sunstreaker's internals, the fluids seeping from the seams. The energon was starting to dry too, which could be a good thing or a really bad thing. Either Sunny's repair systems were starting to take care of the wounds or maybe the vital fluids were just starting to pool into any available cavity in the younger mech's internals, drowning important or even vital circuits.

Sunstreaker nearly jumped out of his chassis when he felt fingers on his form. It was Ratchet; he knew those fingers far too well not to realize who was now touching him. Whenever he was in the med bay he was entranced by them, sometimes even nearly overheating from their touch, like what he was feeling now. Slag, what was his brother doing? He said Ratchet would be in the pit o' doom by now, not … oh Primus! Ratchet was now feeling into his seams, and it felt so good.

Where was Sideswipe!

The yellow titan tried to resist, tried to ignore the careful and knowing fingers that traced up and down his chassis, plunging into seams and touching wires like a lover more than a medic. Finally, unable to take much more, Sunstreaker let out a gasp of pleasure when Ratchet got a little too close to his hip seam and arched his back.

Ratchet withdrew his fingers, immediately, the truth hitting him. He was arousing Sunstreaker … meaning the slagger wasn't injured. And if Sunstreaker wasn't injured then… Ratchet threw his gaze up blue optics meeting another pair of blue optics in the rafters. His optics nearly became slits as Sideswipe gave him a wicked grin and then, as if answering the medic's glare, he pulled out what looked like a controller of some sort.

"Sorry, Ratch'. This is for everyone's own good, especially Sunny," said the red mech and then the pressed the red button.

"Side-!"

….

"Slaggen, fraggen, no-good, glitch-head!" grumbled Sunstreaker as he laid there at the bottom of the pit, cursing his brother. What the slag was that about anyway? The prank had been meant for Ratchet, not him to. At least his brother had a little foresight and he landed on what seemed to be a collection of old mattresses … with a now unconscious Ratchet on top of him. If he had the ability the yellow twin would have blushed as he looked up at the unconscious face of the medic. The Hatchet had hit his head on the way down it seemed and Sunstreaker couldn't decide if he was glad about that predicament or not. He was still aroused, really aroused, and if Ratchet woke up to check him for wounds again … well, he didn't want to think about it.

Sighing, Sunstreaker looked up at the red and white mech once more. He could not recall why he did what he did after that, but he had a feeling it was purest thing he had ever done; he ran his hand over Ratchet's face. He allowed his artist's hands to feel each indent and seam. His mind recorded the way the medic's metallic lips felt on his finger tips, stalling there for a moment to absorb the feeling properly because he knew that he'd never get to touch those lips ever again and certainly not in the way he wished.

It felt like forever to Sunstreaker, his fingers memorizing the mech's face as if Sunny was blind and planning on making a sculptor of the features later. In truth, it was more like five minutes than forever before there was a soft warm sigh from the vents above him. The yellow twin's hand snapped away as if bitten and he held a baited breath praying he hadn't been the one to wake the medic, his fans still.

Slowly, the sigh turned into a murmured cursed and then Ratchet reached an arm upward. Sunny was afraid that the mech was going to touch his own lips, remembering that someone had touched him there. Instead, the red had reached upward and rubbed his cranium.

"Slaggen, red slagger, I'll turn him into a portable toilet and then send him to the nearest fat farm. Slaggers going to pay for that and Sunny … he's … Sunny?"

Sunstreaker quickly offline his optics, making it seem as if he had been knocked unconscious as well. It took all his self control not to twitch as an angry rev escaped the medic above him. Then, with a quick twist, Ratchet was sitting up … straddling the yellow, seemingly, unconscious mech. The angry rev turned into a frustrated sigh and a hand reached down and ran itself over Sunstreaker's cheek.

"Seems I wasn't the only one pranked here, huh, Sunstreaker?" said the CMO. "Now, hold still while a look you over. Not that I think you'll be moving. I don't see any dents in your cranium so hopefully it isn't anything serious."

A dry chuckle escaped the older mech and soon those excellently crafted fingers were roaming over Sunstreaker's form seeming to touch every inch. At first the yellow front-liner was able to strive off any reactions to the medic's touches and his perfect finger prodding.

Each second was growing harder though and it wasn't just because of the touches, they were perfectly profession –just like Ratchet always was– it was just that he had dreamed of this for years: alone in the dark with Ratchet, being touched by him, no prying optics to pull his medic away, no one to separate them.

That very thought broke him, his systems no longer signaling his body that these were non-sexual touches but one of a probable lover. His systems started heating up immediately despite the younger mech's inner pleas. Then, in reaction, his fans kicked on and his engine gave a satisfied purr when one of Ratchet's fingers rubbed against his ear-fin when the medic was examining his head.

The older mech made a choking noise and Sunstreaker was up, the opossum-play long gone and dead as the younger soldier pressed himself against the opposite wall, his engine whining for more touches and his optics looking anywhere but at Ratchet. The both knew what had happened. Sunstreaker's body liked the touches: the attention. Arousal might happen once by accident, but a second time … there was another reason than just a natural reaction. Sunstreaker could only hope that Ratchet wouldn't figure that out, but given the way Ratchet was looking at him: he doubted his reaction would be ignorance. Of course, the medic might have just been enraged by the fact that Sunny all but bucked him off.

"Sunstreaker…"

There was that solemn tone. He could only hope that Ratchet thought …

"…Do you like me?"

Sunstreaker's optics lit up the darkness that consumed them like a living pit as his gaze fell on Ratchet with a stunned expression. For a moment, the mech tasted the words jumble about in his vocals and there were a thousand words and thousand phrases: some were tales of his choking want; his admiration since youth, his silent wishes, and his unrequited love.

The only words that came out though were simplistic and carrying none of the passion that throbbed in his chassis, "E-everyone likes you, Ratchet. You put us together all the time, after all."

Ratchet's optics dimmed in the dark, his form shifting closer to the younger mech, and this time he was optic level with the nearly trembling sunshine-colored warrior. His face was expressionless as he asked, "Do you like me … in a romantic way? I've always noticed the extra attention that you've given me compared to the rest of our comrades, but I never expect that you like me. That is, until now. I know when I accidently arouse someone and when they are already aroused."

The silence dragged on for a few minutes like slim-mold dripping off a tree in some far off forest.

Ratchet was the one to break the silence again, "Well?"

The words that had been battling in his throat were now fighting in his head, circuits slamming into each other as each thought tried to claim dominance. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to flat out deny it and keep his pride. He wanted to just ignore the mech before him and pretend things could go back to normal. He wanted … so much more.

Looking up, mouth opening as his words tried to escape, Ratchet leaned closer. He was so close that Sunstreaker could smell the slight scent of oil and steel. So close … he could see the sheen of the glass to his optics. So close … he could kiss him.

Sunny couldn't stop himself, his dragging want for hundreds of years. He quickly covered the distance between him and the older mech, his lips crashing down on the elder mechs like a meteorite to the earth. Ratchet could only let out a surprised noise, which left just enough room for the golden warrior's glossa to enter the medic's wet cavity of a mouth. The medic could only stumble backwards in absolute shock at this action, too surprised to do more than allow the younger mech to taste him … in more ways than one. Soon, yellow hands were wandering over the body he had managed to pin beneath him like a conquered land.

He had wanted this for so long. Sunstreaker had only dreamed of such things. It could only be better if Ratchet would start kissing back. He needed this from Ratchet … he needed him. He needed someone other than his brother to feel love for him. He needed soft hands to want to touch him after he came back from the battlefield covered in blood. He needed someone that wouldn't shy away. He needed someone that wasn't afraid of him.

He needed someone that was a hero to him.

With desperate, shaking hands, his fingers found Ratchet's lower back and slowly he started to lay the other down completely on the ground. He wanted to take him. He wanted to have him. He wanted to feel another mind than his brothers that would not shy away as if he was filthy. But he needed to know … if Ratchet even wanted him.

"Ratchet," gasped the younger mech as he pulled away, his fans gasping as he hanged gingerly over the older mech who seemed to be gasping as well like the long kiss had actually taken his breath away. "Do… do you like…"

"Hey!"

And then the light rained down, drowning the fires that the fallen meteorite had laid onto the earth's surfaces, shunning its magnificent fire, the young mech pulling away.

"Is anyone down there!"

Ratchet merely looked up, still on his back and staring upwards at the blackened forms above him, his lips silent. But he smiled as he spoke, "Just us. Just the two of us. Sunstreaker and Ratchet."

There was a laugh, probably Wheeljack given the light that faded in and out from their dungeon's presence, the mech stating, "Give us a minute. First we need to get Jazz out or find a rope. Oh and Sunstreaker…"

The young mech stiffly looked up, thinking that the engineer was about to call him out for his earlier actions.

"You're brother is one dead mech," chuckled the white mech as his head disappeared, his humor evident despite the fact that Sideswipe could have seriously injured someone.

And so the slime-mold began to drop again but before it could hit the ground Ratchet spoke, his voice as slow as molasses, a grin on his face, "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Sunstreaker. I think a part of me has always known … since that day I saved you and your brother on the battlefield."

Sunstreaker's optic nearly went black and he turned his head to the healer as if in shock, his look pained, "Y-you remember that? I was sure you'd forgotten."

"I'd never forget … two bright-colored idiots who think Seekers are blind," Ratchet was smiling despite how serious the circumstances have been. "Is that why you went into our unit? For me? Some might call that stalking, Sunstreaker."

The words weren't confused this time; they were amused. The words didn't fight or conflict but were snickering and happy, content. His thoughts were all pulled together, tight like melted stone. "Yes."

Ratchet smiled again up at the light, "Well… you've been chasing me a long time than, haven't you?"

Another silence which was interrupted by what sounded like a thousand squeaks followed by what he could only guess was Jazz's voice crying out, "Sorry Prime, didn't mean to drop yah. You're heavier than you look."

The older mech swallowed, turning his head to look at the sunshine mech. He looked the younger mech over for what felt like a millennia as if he were taking in every detail: the way the metal glinted in what little light there was, the shiver of his fans, each seams twisting line like a road through the hillside. Then, smiling, he stated in a husky dim tone, "I liked your kiss and I liked the taste of you. I'm willing to give it a try if you want to?"

The way Sunstreaker's optics brightened as if the sun was finally rising in a dark land told the medic all he needed to know. The gold titan smiled and with the speed and agility that betrayed his size as a frontliner, his fingers danced around the medic's intertwining as tight as a knot. And, in that moment of grasping hands, all Ratchet could think was that there seemed to be much more light down in this pit with them that beforehand. In the frontliner's happiness he lived up to his nick name.

Sunny.

Not even when Jazz's head poked over the edge, the mech laughing and stating he wouldn't drop either one of them like he had Prime, Ratchet couldn't think of anything but how bright and warm it was down in this pit.

Yet, before they were rescued, Ratchet had one last thing to say, "Why didn't we get any rubber duckies? That fall slaggen hurt!"

XXX

Paw07: Finally … finished. Sorry it took so long. I had a hard time because I don't mind the paring but I'm not really a fan. Nonetheless, this is technically the end: some Teen rated fluff and a slow beginning as I think romances really should be, but there may be an extra chapter with some 'sharing' going on. No promises though. I got a lot of stuff that needs finishing. I'm just glad I finally finished this sucker; so it's done for now.