CHAPTER 2
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Transformers. If I did, you would have seen lambos in the live-action movies.
Warnings: Little bit of plug-n-play. Don't like, don't read.
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A/N – This is based in an alternate 2007 movieverse, using what I think are elements of the characters G1 personalities.
Thanks, Cleargold for your beta help. You Rock!
Yautja – proper term for the alien we call Predator.
If there are any mistakes, blame me. I don't always do everything my beta tells me! (Does anyone?)
astrosecond = 0.498
nano-klick = 1 second
klick = 1.5 minutes
breem = 8.3 minutes
joor = 6 hours, 37 minutes
orn = 13 days
vorn = 83 years
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Wheeljack and Ratchet had - what they liked to call – an 'arrangement'. They were old friends.
Close friends.
Really close friends….
Knowledgeable hands caressed over a slim waist, stroking, pressing and patting, moving downward to the spiny hip. They roved over armor plating, searching out crevices where clever fingers could poke and grab at sensitive wires beneath.
Wheeljack groaned and arched up off the berth in an attempt to escape the exquisite torture. "Ah, Ratch, you always know just what I need."
Ratchet hummed, replying, "I should hope so. We've been doing this together for longer than I like to remember."
Straddling Wheeljack's lower body, Ratchet moved his hands down to the upper thighs, sending tiny electric charges from his fingertips into the metal, slowly working his way back up to the shoulders. Inserting his fingers between the plating that separated Wheeljack's upper set of arms from his lower, he alternately pulled and stroked the wires and cables.
Wheeljack quivered and moaned and his vents shifted into high gear as they tried to pull in enough air to cool his overheating systems. Ratchet pinched a wire, and then moved up to the audios. Here he paused to send a gentle vibration to tickle the responsive areas.
"Don't!" Wheeljack exclaimed, twisting to dislodge the fingers from his helm. "You know I'm ticklish, I can't stand it!"
Ratchet chuckled. "What - I'm supposed to stop? I don't think so."
Pausing an astrosecond to consider his next move, Ratchet again placed his hands on Wheeljack's waist and played shocks over his partner's midsection.
"Ratch don't…for Primus' sake, don't…stop…don't stop!"
The shocks spread through Wheeljack's upper body, warming the metal, making their way right to his spark and causing it to quiver in pleasure. "Oooh, yes," Wheeljack moaned, arms akimbo.
Ratchet chuckled at the response, and leaned over his friend. After circling a few times over Wheeljack's lower torso, Ratchet's right hand paused, while his left slid unobtrusively over the panel covering Wheeljack's spark casing - and zapped. Wheeljack shrieked, tossing himself from side to side in agitation as his structure shuddered and overloaded.
Waiting for Wheeljack's systems to reset, Ratchet continued to caress the mech splayed out before him. Wheeljack finally shuddered, activated his optics and stated, "Primus, Ratchet. You are good."
"I know."
By this time, Ratchet's fans were also running at a high level. He gently made contact with, and opened, Wheeljack's primary port. Dexterous fingertips circled and teased, stimulating the access.
Wheeljack quivered violently and his head fell back, moans increasing in volume and frequency. "Oh, Ratchet…," he whimpered, as one of Ratchet's fingertips transformed to mimic a cable connector. Inserting the imitation, Ratchet sent a gentle charge into the port.
Wheeljack's agitation became uncontrollable, and he cried out and struggled so hard Ratchet could hardly keep his place. It sounded like Wheeljack was muttering mechanical formulas – one of his bad habits during interface. It meant that he was close.
Ratchet grabbed Wheeljack's interface cable, withdrew his replica, and extended his own cable. Settling himself between the moving legs, he slipped his left arm around Wheeljack's waist, and prepared to connect, cables to ports. Drawing Wheeljack close, he pushed them home. Both mechs were inundated with information. Memories, emotions, passion – all traveled across the connection. They were venting steam and running hot - it was time for the grand finale.
"Are you ready, Wheeljack? Open for me."
Wheeljack's chest opened under the stimulation, and Ratchet's own panels mirrored the motion. Enthusiastically, Ratchet began to feel and press the spark chamber, a finger on each side. Wheeljack yelped, jerking his head convulsively backwards to slam on the berth, and twisting in Ratchet's hold. Ratchet roved his eager fingers over the chamber, edging over the spark itself, touching, tickling, pressing, all the while watching Wheeljack intently.
"Ah, Ratchet! Connect, connect!" and the two mechs screamed in sympathetic rapture, as Ratchet finally pressed their sparks together.
Wheeljack's vocalizer squealed as he overloaded, and Ratchet grunted as the intense feelings looped through their processors. He overloaded and shut down, collapsing on top of his partner.
Klicks passed as systems reset. "Oof, Ratch. How many spare parts are you carrying? You've really gotten heavy. I think you scratched my paneling. Heehee."
"Har-de-har. You are so funny, I forgot to laugh."
Sated for the moment, the two mechs lay quietly, vents running normally and regularly. Holding each other in a loose embrace, Ratchet felt his processor wander. Wheeljack picked up on it immediately. It was hard not to, as they were still connected.
"Hey, should I feel insulted that you're thinking of other mechs when we're interfacing?"
"Technically, we're not interfacing any more. And I'm sorry Jack. I just can't seem to delete these inappropriate thoughts."
Wheeljack smirked and hugged Ratchet tighter. "Aw, don't worry about it. If I had such fine mechs after my chassis, I'd be doing more than just thinking about them. Heehee. Stop being so hard on yourself. You deserve any pleasure you can get. Primus knows, this war has sucked practically all the joy out of life. You know that I'll support you and be there for you, no matter what happens."
Thank you Wheeljack." Ratchet sent warm feelings over their connection. "You're a true friend. I will reflect upon what you said. But, we better get some recharge while we can."
"Sure thing Ratch," said Wheeljack, as he disconnected. "Just one thing I wanted to ask you."
"Yes, Jack?"
"Can I watch you three sometime?"
"I'm not going to even dignify that with an answer. Shut down now, or I'll shut you down."
"Yes, Ratchet."
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Ratchet lay on his berth and brooded. Generally, he wasn't a mech given to moping and pining about. He was an overachiever, always working hard, with places to go and mechs to see. He absently played his fingers around the framed edging of the painting he was currently holding. The subject itself wasn't that remarkable. A tad…boring, if you wanted to be truthful.
But the artist had taken an ordinary subject – Ratchet himself – and turned him into a thing of beauty. A fantastic work of art - easily worth 8000 quatros on the open market. That is, if a normal market even still existed in these times of war. On the current black market, it was probably worth triple that, given Sunstreaker's reputation.
Ratchet shook his head at his foolishness. Why was he even thinking of value, this was more than just a piece of artwork. This was a personal declaration of…something. A one-of-a-kind. A significant announcement of interest in his humble self.
As long as his spark pulsed, it would be in his possession. Even if nothing came of this, he would keep it forever.
All this musing was just Ratchet's way of procrastinating, and he knew it. Wheeljack had gone right to the spark of the matter. Who knew how long this war would last, and what would happen to them all. But Ratchet was still unsure.
Maybe he could make a list. That's what Prowl would do in this type of situation. He'd label one column 'Positive Points to Having a Liaison With the Twins' and another column 'Negative Points to Having a Liaison With the Twins'. That logic-glitched mech wouldn't know what to do with a relationship if it bit him in the aft. He'd probably freeze his circuits at the thought of a little electrical play. All work and no play made Prowl a dull, dreary 'bot.
Unlike Ratchet himself. Ratchet felt that if you didn't like yourself, then why would you expect anyone else to like you? He figured he had a lot to offer – he was highly skilled, after all. He knew all the 'good spots' and how to use them properly. And he…um…he…. What else could he offer to the twins? Were they looking for something special from him? Did it matter?
Ratchet flipped over and placed the portrait on the floor as he pondered the issue, sighing in frustration. He put his head in his hands and muttered to himself. Did he really want to change the nature of the current rapport between himself and the twins, possibly get entangled in an affair that could have unknown, far-reaching consequences?
At the very least, it would affect his casual flings. And how he treated Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when they were injured. Well, he already worried about them every time they went into battle. So actually, he was already involved.
He could always apply for a transfer to another division. Ratchet really didn't care for that choice; there was a lot of prestige to being assigned to the newfound Prime. And he had been with Optimus from the beginning, before he was even recognized as a Prime. In fact, Ratchet had been the first mech to actually call him Prime in public.
He hadn't worked this long and hard to lose all the perks. And he had good friends here. Did he really want to give all that up to avoid a little plug and play? Slag.
On the other hand, maybe a short vacation was the prescription. He could think things through. Never mind the fact that he couldn't actually go anywhere off the base without the risk of getting himself slagged. There were plenty of rooms where he could hide away for a few orns - and woe to any 'Bot that dared disturb him.
Who'd have thought that he, of all mechs, would have such problems? But, what exactly was the problem? A couple mechs wanted to get involved with him. Would that be so bad? It's not like they were sparklings and didn't know what they were doing. All involved were legal, mature, consenting, mechs - or at least he was mature. The other two were questionable. And technically, he hadn't actually consented.
Yet.
Ratchet's processor spun in circles. Yes, no, good, bad, now, later, plus, minus, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, why, why not.
What was he going to do about Sunstreaker and Sideswipe? Ratchet snickered to himself. Maybe the question should be, 'What was he going to do to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?' Yes, he rather liked the sound of that.
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While Ratchet brooded, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were plotting. They hadn't seen armor nor wires of the medbot since the medical emergency on the battlefield - not for any lack of trying on their parts. Apparently, Ratchet was remarkably adept at avoiding them. And he seemed to have plenty of help from his 'science nerd' buddies. Sunstreaker was ready to start ripping limbs off to get information about where Ratchet had hidden himself.
With no one to depend upon beside themselves, the twins attempted to gain control of the situation. Speaking over their personal comms, they stalked their prey.
"Hey, 'Mellow Yellow' – any news on 'Sugar Daddy'?"
"Slag it, Sideswipe! Stop with the stupid epithets. I have a proper designation – it is Sunstreaker!"
"Ooh, big words from a small mind. Need I remind you we're undercover here? We need to have code names."
"Yeah, you want a code name, I'll give you a code name. It's tattooed on the end of my fist. Now stop playing around, this is serious business."
"Aw, you're being a spoilsport again. What's the scoop on the Doc 'Bot?"
"Negative for sightings. I just spoke to Wheeljack in the lab and he was acting weirder than normal. He kept leering and giving me these odd looks, like I had grease on my chassis or something. And I think he winked at me. It was really starting to tick me off, I wanted to pop him one."
"Focus Sunny," Sideswipe scolded. "Did he say anything about where Ratchet went?"
"Not exactly. He mentioned something about him taking a vacation."
"Vacation!" Sideswipe yelled out in surprise, missing the strange look a passing currier gave him as he darted down a corridor. "Can he do that?"
"Rumor has it. Or, maybe he transferred to another squad. Sides, what if he left for good? I think we shouldn't have given him those gifts, maybe they were too much. I think we scared him off. I think…."
Sideswipe cut his brother off mid-rant. "Sunny, you think too much. If he transferred, Wheeljack would have said transfer, not vacation."
"Oh." Sunstreaker mulled this over. "I guess so."
Sideswipe huffed a sigh and swung around the corner to avoid running into Prowl. "We'll just have to step up the pace. You go check the labs on level 3, and I'll swing by the residences again. 'Red Rebel' out."
Sunstreaker muttered as he turned left at the next corridor, " 'Red Retard' would be more appropriate if you ask me, you dumb aft. If you weren't my brother…."
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Meanwhile, back at the lab, Wheeljack waved his four arms in the air as he expounded to Perceptor, describing Sunstreaker's desperate search and his vexation upon learning that Wheeljack had no (or was denying) information on Ratchet's whereabouts.
"Heehee, you should have seen his face when I winked at him. Priceless. Just priceless."
"Wheeljack, a scientist of your caliber should know better than to taunt Sunstreaker," Perceptor scolded. "He is a volatile mech, and you are indeed fortunate that he did not do you any serious harm. At the very least, you should have chosen a more appropriate time to play your immature games, as some of the equipment here is very delicate. I shudder to think of the damage he…."
"Give it a rest Perceptor. You know I love to tease. I don't think he would jeopardize any potential relationship with Ratchet by harming me – he knows we are good friends. Heehee. I can't wait until the three of them finally get together. I'm going to have soooo much fun."
"You are going to place yourself in jeopardy if you persist. Remember the old proverb about poking sleeping Yautjas with a stick?"
"Yes, Creator," Wheeljack said with a snicker. "I just couldn't contain myself - he's so easy to aggravate."
"That may be so Wheeljack, but Sunstreaker could have taken his frustration out on the equipment, which would have made me very wrathful."
"Ooh, you're sooo scary." Wheeljack shuddered in mock terror.
Perceptor glared at his fellow scientist, huffed his vents and turned back to his worktable, ignoring his laughing comrade.
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"What's this I hear about you and The Hatchet, huh, Sideswipe?"
It took Sideswipe a nano-klick to notice Jazz was speaking to him.
"Huh?" Sideswipe had been linked with his twin on internal comms, and had been ignoring the conversation around the table.
"Your processor must be in another galaxy, Sides. I said, 'What's the inside scoop about you and Ratchet?' Scuttlebutt has it that you three are an item." The surrounding tables hushed, all the better to hear Sideswipe's reply.
"Ha, I wish." Sideswipe rumbled in agitation. "Ratchet is hiding from us, I believe. And who did you hear about it from, anyway?"
"Well…you know we're all cooped up here with nothing else to do right now but gossip. I heard it from Mirage…who heard it from Bee, who heard it from Hound, who heard it from Prime, who heard it from Prowl, who heard it from Bluestreak, who heard it from First Aid, who heard it from Wheeljack. In fact, give it a joor and I'm sure the news will have reached ol' Magnus' base, clear across the planet. Heh."
"Gaah! Doesn't anybody respect anyone else's privacy anymore! You mechs are worse gossips than a gang of mini-bots."
Standing nearby, Cliffjumper took offense at Sideswipe's generalization of mini-bots. "Hey! Who you calling a gossip, you piece of tin! Come here and say that to my face! I'm not afraid of you!"
The situation degenerated from there.
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Unfortunately for Ratchet, his vacation didn't last much longer than four joors. The base received a general alarm for evacuation, and the occupants had approximately seven breems to get their valuables together and leave before the Decepticons arrived.
Wheeljack pounded on the door of the storage room that Ratchet had taken over in order to get some peace and quiet.
"Ratchet! It's Jack! Hurry, open up! The 'Cons are coming and we have to pack up and leave."
Ratchet opened the door as Wheeljack was in the middle of another strike on the door, and received a fist to the forehead.
"Aaahh, my head!" Ratchet flailed his hands at Wheeljack to move him away. "You drone! With friends like you, I don't need the Decepticons to beat me to death. You'll end up doing it for them."
"Sorry, Ratch. But we don't have much time." Wheeljack grabbed Ratchet's arm as he prepared to drag him back to the med bay.
"Wait, wait," Ratchet protested. He shook off Wheeljack's hold and grabbed his painting and a spare med kit from the shelf. Both mechs ran down the corridor back toward the med bay.
"The quicker we pack up, the better," Wheeljack asserted. "As it is, we're going to have to leave some equipment behind."
"Anything we leave, we destroy," Ratchet stated. "I won't let the 'Cons acquire one piece of usable scrap out of this. Slag, this is the third time this vorn they've found us. What gives?"
"All I know is we've got to get the sludge out of our tailpipes because we're short on staff and there are no mechs to spare to give us a hand. Perceptor has already moved most of the oscillating generators and…."
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Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were off duty relaxing in their room when the alarm went off. Springer, their unit commander, sent them their orders over the comms. Sideswipe was needed on the perimeter immediately, if not sooner. Sunstreaker would be allowed to pack up their personal effects before he needed to report to the front lines in five breems.
Sideswipe had his head under his berth, shoveling spare parts, empty cases and other miscellaneous bits and pieces out from underneath.
"Where's my spare rifle! Frag it, I know I left it here somewhere!"
"It's over on the table, Sides. You were doing maintenance on it a few joors ago."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. Thanks Sunshine."
Sunstreaker huffed, but let the minor annoyance at the nickname slide. He had other things on his mind. "Um, Sideswipe…since we're pretty much all set here, and I've got a few breems, do you think maybe I should go to the med bay and help them pack up? At least we can see if Ratchet is still here."
"Capital idea, bro. Just don't forget the time. I need you to back me up out there."
"Pff, of course I won't forget. Slaughtering 'Cons is the second best thing I do," Sunstreaker declared, running his hands down his torso and revving his engine with pride.
"Stop right there, I don't want to hear any more. You're a legend in your own processor."
"Up yours."
"Back at ya. Be careful, and see you on the front. Give Ratchet a caress for me if you see him."
"I don't think so. You can do your own fondling. If I touch him, I'm gonna make sure he knows it's from me, not you."
Sideswipe made a rude gesture at his twin, grabbed his back-up rifle, and ran out the door.
Sunstreaker hurriedly finished gathering their meager possessions before turning a flamethrower on the room, rendering anything left within useless. He sped down to the med bay, thoughts switching between the upcoming fight and the fact that he was finally going to see Ratchet for the first time since the day they had fixed Sideswipe together.
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Standing just inside the med bay door, Sunstreaker hesitated. He wasn't afraid to enter, just cautious. He had never seen such chaos, even after battles when the unit had been full of wounded mechs. Shelves were in disarray, berths half disassembled, and the two med bay assistants were being supervised by First Aid as they filled various large transfer containers scattered across the floor
Perceptor scurried to and fro between his private office and the lab area like an organic arthropod. He would heap little piles of apparatus in one stack, only to return klicks later to rearrange or move some unidentified paraphernalia elsewhere.
Sunstreaker focused his optics toward the back storage area, where he took a few moments to watch Ratchet as he packed a nearby locker with medical equipment and the few spare parts available.
Wheeljack was carrying stacks of data pads from one of the back offices, and he was the first to notice the fighter.
"Hey, Sunstreaker! What are you doing here?" he called with a smile. "Are you hurt?" Ratchet's head jerked up, and he frowned at the thought of injury to the youngster.
"No," Sunstreaker replied, "I have five – no, four - breems before I report for duty, and thought you might need help packing."
"Great, we sure could use some extra help. Hey Ratch, Sunstreaker's here!"
"I can see that Wheeljack," Ratchet grumped at his annoying, yet well-meaning friend. "I do have working optics." He turned back to continue his work, feeling slightly embarrassed. But for the life of him, he couldn't quite figure out why.
"Aw, don't mind him, Sunstreaker. He just got up on the wrong side of the berth today. Heehee. Why don't you go back there and help old Ratchet?"
"Sure thing, Wheeljack." Activity slowed to a halt as the working mechs stopped to watch Sunstreaker gracefully skirt the boxes and equipment and make his way to Ratchet's corner of the room. With his back to the door, Ratchet had his scanners on their lowest setting as he tracked Sunstreaker's progress in his direction. His fans kicked in, and he wondered who had turned up the heat.
Sunstreaker halted behind Ratchet, barely out of touching range. Trying to act casual, Ratchet spoke without turning, "Don't just stand there. Put that stuff," he waved at a pile to his right, "in those containers," following the command with a wave to his left.
"Yes, sir," Sunstreaker said with a smirk, thinking of the last time Ratchet had given him a direct order.
Ratchet noticed the lack of noise, and looked up to see all optics in the room focused on him. "What're you all looking at!" he bellowed. "This isn't a union job!" One of the junior med assistants jumped with a squeak, feeling guilty at getting caught staring, and he hurriedly started stuffing instruments into the nearest box. Perceptor took exception to the indelicate treatment and scuttled over to instruct the mech in proper packing techniques. Once again the med bay swarmed with activity. Ratchet huffed in satisfaction, and Wheeljack snickered quietly to himself.
Sunstreaker was hyper-aware of Ratchet's proximity, and he took every opportunity to furtively brush against the medbot. After the third contact in as many klicks, he received a glare from Ratchet for his trouble - but no harsh command to desist. Unwilling to push his luck, Sunstreaker decreased the delicate touches to one every five klicks. They worked companionably for three breems, not speaking beyond a sentence here and there for clarification.
They were packing the last of the supplies when Sunstreaker's internal alarm went off, warning him it was time to leave. "Ratchet, I've got to go report for duty." Sunstreaker set down what he was holding and hustled across the med bay.
"Wait!" Ratchet called after the mech.
He trotted up to Sunstreaker, and stopped him with a hand on his arm just as he was about to dash out the door. Sunstreaker stared down at Ratchet, no readable expression on his faceplate.
"Sunstreaker…."
"Yeah?"
"Um…thank you for helping us pack." Ratchet usually wasn't so tongue-tied. Spitting insults was easy, saying thank you was not. "We all appreciate it."
"No problem. I was glad to help out. Sides would be here if he could," Sunstreaker stated simply.
"Ah, yes." Ratchet wrung his hands, unsure of what he should say, versus what he wanted to say. "And…I never got to thank you two properly for your gifts. Well, I just want you to know…I appreciate it." He looked at the floor, and wondered why he was acting like such a sparkling. "Be careful out there. And…I'll talk to you later, hum?"
Sunstreaker smiled at Ratchet, a genuinely happy grin. Everyone liked to be appreciated. He reached out and ran his hand down Ratchet's arm, grasped his hand and squeezed the fingers. "I'll be looking forward to it, Doc Bot."
Sunstreaker turned and darted away to do his duty. Glancing back, he saw Ratchet staring at his hand, head tilted, a thoughtful look on his faceplates. Ratchet looked up just as Sunstreaker turned the corner.
"Ratchet! We are ready to abandon the area! Wheeljack's explosive device will be detonating in one point three seven two breems."
Ratchet jerked, as Perceptor's yell awoke him from his trance. "Coming," he replied, as visions of Sunstreaker's smile revolved around his processor in a fateful dance.
"Ah, yes," he sighed to himself. "What am I going to do to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe?" He smiled, dilemma resolved, and hurried to catch up to his associates. He knew Wheeljack's timing was sometimes less than precise.
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END CHAPTER 2
