First Aid onlined slowly, cradled comfortably in a warm EM field with a heavy weight resting on his chest armour. His engine rumbled quietly in amusement as he peered down at the blue helm tucked beneath his chin, First Aid's arms slung around the back of Optimus's neck, cradling the Prime to his chest. Usually they woke the other way around, with Optimus covering as much of First Aid as possible with his own frame, but First Aid got the impression that Optimus had been having a difficult month. There had been human casualties in the battle whose aftermath had kick-started Optimus and First Aid's cuddling arrangement, and the Prime had been involved in several diplomatic meetings with human governments since then. They hadn't gone badly and the last of them had concluded yesterday, but they always left Optimus ready to fall into recharge where he stood.
Of course, where other bots could see, 'fall into recharge where he stood' usually meant 'standing as tall and dignified as normal but with a slight slump'. First Aid was only now beginning to see just how much the Prime held back among his soldiers, when Optimus was being more unguarded around him.
They recharged together three or four times a week, usually, and First Aid has to admit that, to his bemused confusion, he really, really liked waking up alongside Optimus, EM fields entwined carelessly. He liked waking up with Optimus's warm metal wrapped around him, cradling him close. There was an intimacy in being so near to someone you cared for, plating to plating, doing nothing more than listening to the idling of each others' systems, and it's something he'd experienced less than he'd like in his life.
It wasn't just the novelty of a warm, welcoming frame that he liked, though. He liked all of it. Liked the way Optimus would turn up at his door with his optics crinkling in what First Aid knew would be a sheepish smile, abandoning their battlemasks and First Aid's visor as soon as they were alone together. The way he'd have to duck to get in through the door and move with exaggerated care to avoid knocking into anything, and the way that Optimus would watch without a hint of mockery when something did get dented and First Aid found it necessary to talk soothingly at the poor inanimate object. The way Optimus would let him putter about taking care of things at the end of the day, fetching them both energon. The conversations they shared, over energon and in his berth, about videogames, about their human allies and about the more amusing shenanigans the Ark was subjected to by its various residents. Anything and everything light-hearted, and always, keeping their EM fields pressed against one another.
First Aid had come to the inevitable conclusion that he like-liked Optimus. Not that he planned on telling the Prime that.
For one thing, he wasn't sure what it meant that he liked Optimus, or what he wanted from him. For another, he was fairly sure that Optimus wouldn't feel the same way and even if he did, Optimus didn't need stress in another portion of his life. First Aid strongly suspected that Optimus had no-one else to fill this gap in his life; partly because Optimus had actually taken him up on his offer of more cuddles, regularly at that, but more because his EM field still clung to First Aid's when the Protectobot was particularly passionate about a subject, lapping up the emotions in his EMF with an edge of fascination that hadn't faded.
Moreover, while First Aid had gotten to know and like Optimus, Optimus was also Prime, which brought a whole other level of difficulty to a potential relationship. To say nothing of First Aid's own problems in that department.
Speaking of which, he had to tell Optimus about his upcoming night with his gestalt, a night that made his spark twist with reluctance.
Tracing the curves of Optimus's helm with light servos, First Aid smiled as he twitched in recharge. That was another downside to liking Optimus, First Aid had discovered. He hadn't particularly wanted to interface with his gestalt before; now he definitely didn't want to.
The unmistakable hum of Optimus's systems booting up reaches his audials and First Aid tries to let the worst of his disquiet and reluctance go; it wouldn't help to make Optimus wake up to his restless emotions and there was no point wishing for something that couldn't be changed.
Optimus lifted his head to look up at First Aid, optics flickering as they onlined. "Good morning, I hope I didn't crush you." He said teasingly, referring to his position sprawled across First Aid's smaller chassis.
First Aid couldn't help the smile that spread across his face in return, even though he was sure it was hopelessly fond. "I'm fine."
Optics narrowed, Optimus's gaze darts across his face as a frown grows on his faceplates. Dislodging First Aid's arms, he shifts to brace his servos against the berth and hauls himself up until his weight is no longer resting on the smaller medic but hovering over him worriedly, one servo coming up to cradle his face gently. "What's wrong? First Aid? Did I hurt you?"
It takes real effort to keep from rolling his optics at Optimus; the larger Autobot is almost excessively cautious about hurting him. Any thoughts on optic-rolling are put to the side, however, when First Aid's EMF involuntarily ripples in distress against Optimus's. "You didn't hurt me." He managed to say past his suddenly uncooperative vocaliser, burying his face in Optimus's chassis. The Prime pulled him closer, rolling them sideways until both his arms were free to wrap around First Aid, EM field projecting comfort.
"What is troubling you?" Optimus asked, and wow, that protective rumble lit a flare of pleasure in him that nearly wiped out his worries.
"I have to spend the night at my gestalt's shared quarters tomorrow, just so you know." First Aid said quietly.
"And ... this is a bad thing?" Optimus ventured, confused.
"We need to keep the bond strong." First Aid elaborated, hoping desperately that Optimus wouldn't make him spell it out. It wasn't exactly a secret on the Ark.
"Yes, if you don't connect regularly it causes you pain, does it not? I had forgotten, actually ... the easiest way to do it is interfacing, if I recall." Optimus's optics are focused on his face, trying to discern the source of his unrest, and his doesn't miss the grimace at the mention of interfacing, or the way First Aid's field shuddered in momentary reluctance. "... You don't want to interface with them?"
"Not especially." First Aid made a valiant effort to stay light-hearted, but it was a losing battle. At Optimus's deepening look of concern, he added, "It's not bad, really. I care about them a lot."
"That doesn't mean you should have to interface with them if you do not wish to." Optimus says quietly, nearly stern. "Surely there's something Ratchet can do."
"He's looked into it." First Aid refuted. "Excessively, actually. I had to make him stop, he was spending so much time on something impossible to achieve. I bet he still works on it in private, though."
"Most likely." Optimus agreed, arms marginally loosening around First Aid even though the troubled note in his EMF didn't fade. "He's not the type to give up. Is there really no other way?"
"No." The apprentice medic burrows further into Optimus's chassis, the Autobot leader's EM field engulfing him in closeness/reassurance/comfort. "Technically we can go longer than a month without interfacing, but then if anything happens and we're separated for longer than expected we start to feel the effects really soon – dizziness, processor aches followed by aches everywhere and eventually hallucinations if it goes on long enough. There's no way to put it off and altering the gestalt coding itself would be too risky even if it weren't impossible."
Optimus shifts next to him, still unhappy. "You should not be forced into someone's berth against your will."
"It's not against my will, exactly." First Aid objects. "They hardly drag me there kicking and screaming; I'd just rather not. They'd rather not too, if only for my sake. And the physical sensations are ... nice. It's just not what I would choose."
"What would you choose then?" Optimus asked. "If they could do something that would make it easier for you to choose it."
"I'm not sure." First Aid said thoughtfully. "I never was as fussed about interfacing as my gestalt seemed to be. I mean, I like it well enough, but they seem to do it more or less whenever they have downtime, when I was happier just cuddling."
"Well, I'm glad I could do that much for you." Optimus said, EM field communicating exactly how pleased he was to be able to help even a little.
"I'm glad I could do something for you, too." First Aid stubbornly returned, deliberately rippling his EMF where it lay against Optimus, a pointed reminder of how little the Prime would take care of himself if given the opportunity.
Optimus's field pressed back against his in acknowledgment, something close to ... surprised gratitude, maybe, flickering through it. "And I am ever more thankful that you see fit to do this for me."
"I'm sure anyone would." First Aid replied, but Optimus is already shaking his helm, ruefulness welling up in his field.
"They would for their Prime, for their leader." Optimus explained. "I am thankful for their support; it means more than I can express. Still, I am a mech also. Their expectations of me, however well meant, means I can never be anything less than that authority to them. You do not see me that way." He blinked down at First Aid. "You do not seem to, at any rate."
First Aid immediately shook his helm. He'd never thought to hear insecurity in Optimus, and he was determined to be rid of it as soon as possible. "You are Optimus, and you are Prime." He says quietly, tracing his own servo lightly over the planes of Optimus's faceplates in a reverse of the comfort Optimus had offered him earlier. "The two aren't separable, but ... here, I think of you as Optimus, and when you're out there, giving orders, you are Prime. You shouldn't have to be isolated because of who you are." First Aid pauses as he considers his next words and Optimus waits as patiently as ever, expectant but not pushing. "I offered you a place to stay because my medical protocols were going crazy at me and I was low on recharge besides. I saw someone suffering and I wanted to fix it. There's probably a couple hundred smarter things I could've done, but I'm glad I gave you this, instead. I enjoy talking to you as a person, not a Prime."
"I have enjoyed getting to know you in turn." Optimus said quietly, field projecting his happiness and sincerity in nearly painful intensity. "I would be honoured if you would count me your friend."
"Only if you count me as a friend of yours." First Aid's field is just as happy as Optimus's now and neither of them can withhold their mirth, breaking into chuckles. When the laughter passes they are loose-limbed and relaxed, comfortable wrapped in each other's arms.
"You can stay here tonight instead of tomorrow, if you like." First Aid offers, the thought of his gestalt no longer tying his wires in knots.
"I would love to, but I do believe my third in command intends for me to attend one of his parties this evening, willingly or not."
First Aid groans. "Oh, that thing. Sideswipe's been trying to convince me to go all week."
Optimus stifles a laugh. "Not one for parties?"
"Not at all. My preferred method of dealing with them is to hide in the corner, assuming that I go at all. You?"
"I believe I may join you in the corner." Optimus said. "It's quite unintentional on my part, but mechs tend to find enjoying themselves in front of their boss difficult, so I remove myself as much as my officers allow. Besides, I have an early video conference tomorrow morning."
"Well, it can't be too bad if we're both in the corner." First Aid said pragmatically.
Optimus ran a hand down First Aid's helm, once more marvelling at the strange, compassionate mech in his arms who allowed Optimus into his quarters, his berth, so easily for just a chance to help. "Indeed not."
True to his word, Optimus is sequestered in a darkened corner when First Aid arrives to a rec room filled with dancing bots, loud music blaring over the speakers with Blaster presiding over the sound system, Jazz aiding good naturedly.
He'd arrived later than he intended to, several bots colliding in the hallway during the pre-party haste delaying his own escape moments after Ratchet had made his, the older mech canny enough to know that someone was bound to get dented in the excitement and perfectly willing to let his apprentice handle it if it meant he didn't miss anything.
Ratchet must have managed to make it on time, as he was already deep inside the dancing throng of mechs, apparently thoroughly enjoying himself. First Aid avoided his mentor's frame on the dance floor just to spare himself the inevitable embarrassment; Ratchet was a different mech entirely at a party, and First Aid thought he might spontaneously combust if Ratchet tried drunkenly flirting with him again. It's true that Ratchet might be part of an extremely limited pool of mechs – currently consisting of two people – who First Aid might, at one point, have wondered what it would be like to interface with, but that doesn't stop First Aid being terrible at flirting and drunk Ratchet enjoys flustering him more than anything – something that's not hard to achieve.
At least First Aid's fears of Ratchet quizzing him on the contents of the datapad have so far proven unfounded, although the apprentice medic isn't letting his guard down. Ratchet is far from above waiting until the opportune moment to strike. Granted, First Aid can't calculate a scenario where any of this would be beneficial to Ratchet, but he also can't calculate Ratchet giving him a datapad on interfacing with handwritten notes and that clearly happened, so.
Grabbing two cubes of high grade, he sidles past the dancing frames resisting all attempts to include him until he reaches Optimus's corner, the alcove sheltered enough that the music isn't quite so deafening here.
"I brought you a drink." First Aid greeted, sliding one of the cubes over to Optimus as he seats himself next to the Prime. This is the first time they've really interacted outside of work in public, and First Aid finds himself at a bit of a loss.
"Thank you, First Aid." Optimus said, taking a long pull from the cube. His EM field flutters around the edges of First Aid's, somehow tentative. First Aid responds with his usual greeting, pressing back against Optimus's EMF, although hints of confusion colour it. Optimus only projects relief/apology back, leaving whatever troubled him unsaid.
Whatever awkwardness had been there disappears as Optimus pings him, opting to talk over their internal comms rather than shout in each other's audials. The conversation picks up where earlier ones had left off, storytelling mixed with debates and light-hearted banter, just as easy and comfortable in a darkened corner of a party as it is with the two of them alone.
Maybe too easy, some distant unaffected portion of his processor remarks wryly, because while he and Optimus have been talking about human computer games and the less imaginative but higher quality Cybertronian equivalent First Aid has completely unwittingly managed to finish off a second and then third cube of high grade – Jazz, having taken to playing waiter when Blaster finally got tired of his hovering, delivered several more cubes for each of them, curiously winking at Optimus as he did so – and then at some point slid far enough along the bench to cuddle up to Optimus.
Now he was flush with Optimus's side, legs curled up on the bench beside him and the larger bot's arm over his shoulder, a heavy and reassuring weight against the dizziness the high grade was causing. His EMF was a little less grounding, given that – First Aid glanced fuzzily at the pile of cubes Optimus had consumed, taking a second to make sure he was correct when the image swam in front of him – Optimus was probably as overcharged as he was, although the Autobot leader's size was an advantage in that department.
He was broken out of his musings regarding how overcharged they both were by Jazz plopping himself down on the end of the bench, lifting First Aid's pedes to make room for himself and depositing them in his lap once the saboteur had settled down for lack of any other place to put them.
First Aid only blinked bemusedly at the new development in the form of a madly grinning saboteur, but above him Optimus tensed, the arm around his shoulders tightening as a low growl rumbled between them.
Jazz raised his hands in surrender, but his expression wasn't threatened at all. "Hey, no harm, mech! There's not 'nough space for all three 'f us, tha's all."
First Aid paused to consider that, but most of his processor was fixed on the feel of Optimus's thigh beneath his servo. He had to twist the joint uncomfortably to reach Optimus given the way that his arm was trapped between their bodies, but the smooth textures were well worth the minor discomfort and he practically purred as he stroked the metal.
Unfortunately Optimus had been devoting more processing power to Jazz's presence there than First Aid had, judging by the way he interrupted First Aid's study of his plating to pull the smaller bot onto his lap, incidentally pulling First Aid's pedes out of Jazz'slap.
Groaning a little at the motion, partly because it made him spectacularly dizzy and partly because now he couldn't easily trace the lines on Optimus's thigh, First Aid rested his head against Optimus's windshield and squeezed his optics shut. This way the alerts about recalibrating his desperately struggling gyros decreased and the lack of visual input let him devote more processing power to analysing the feel of Optimus's frame against his.
"Why did you come and sit over here, Jazz?" Optimus asked, his usual Primely serenity not hiding the faint slur or the – irritation? – in his voice, EMF curling around First Aid possessively.
"Huh?" Jazz still sounded supremely unconcerned, which was worrying, but now he sounded amused as well, which First Aid mentally labelled 'the Not Good Amusement of Doom'. Only Jazz enjoyed whatever was going to happen when he spoke like that. "Oh, th' mechs ov'r there were jus' wonderin' who Aid would name th' bes' person he's ever fragged, is all."
First Aid can't stop the squeak that leaves him, darting a guilty glance at Optimus as his processor flings up images of the mech he'd like to frag before fixing Jazz with a wide-opticked stare, utterly unprepared for the casual enquiry into his interfacing life – not least because it was common knowledge on the Ark that he had no interfacing life. Embarrassment crashed through him as Jazz chuckled, impervious to the pointed and not entirely friendly look Optimus was sending him.
"No worries, mech, no worries. Ah'll jus' be off then, 'f yah don' wanna answer." Jazz stood and slid off into the crowd with his usual aplomb, cheerful whistling unheard over the music.
First Aid buried his face in Optimus's neck, field still churning with embarrassment. Worse, now he was struggling to keep the thin thread of arousal Jazz's question had ignited out of his field, his fuel processes leaping at any chance to expel excess charge once his interface subroutines onlined and the high grade influencing him enough that suddenly asking Optimus for a frag seemed like a really good idea.
Optimus ran a servo down his back soothingly, and First Aid shuddered. Each brush of Optimus's servos against him, each shift of his thighs under First Aid's weight, each grind of their chestplates as they vented together suddenly made First Aid want to tear his wires out for the charge crawling across them, for maddening pleasure eked out of his neural net by high grade and longing. It was too much, too soon but not nearly enough to satisfy, Optimus's unintentionally arousing touches only making him want more.
Optimus's servo came up to cup his helm, tilting it until their forehelms brushed and there was less than an inch between them. His field pressed close, solid and protective and warm, and First Aid's EMF reached out in kind, arousal spilling out across his field and through Optimus's until they were wrapped in a storm of warmth and lust, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to close that last bit of distance and press their lipplates together.
Optimus stilled beneath him for an instant, EMF fluctuating conflictedly too fast for First Aid to tell what he was thinking. Whatever it was though, Optimus's own desire won; First Aid shivered in pleasure as Optimus's arms tightened around him, lipplates moving as he kissed back.
First Aid took a moment to memorise the feeling of Optimus kissing him, Optimus's field tingling with desire washing over his frame, Optimus's arms solid against his plating. For all that his arms and field were both slightly possessive, the kiss was gentle and First Aid positively melted into it, opening to the glossa teasing the edge of his lipplates.
The gasp that escapes as Optimus sets about mapping the inside of his mouth is entirely involuntary, the slick warmth of Optimus's glossa stroking First Aid's, seeking out every movement, every sensation that makes First Aid groan and squirm to find more pressure, more pleasure. Dizzily, First Aid wondered what it would take to turn the tables on Optimus, and before he could talk himself out of it he licked up into Optimus's mouth, the larger bot yielding to him with a low, surprised noise in his throat.
That noise flipped First Aid's spark in its' chamber, EM field going jagged with a burst of hungry arousal as he kissed, and kissed, wringing as many noises of pleasure from Optimus as he could. First Aid's fingers traced seams across his shoulders, his collar, down his chest, dipping in to stroke wires and ignite sensors wherever he could, until they broke apart breathless with arousal.
"Not here." Optimus gasped, and First Aid was very pleased to know that his voice wasn't at all steady.
Pulsing agreement through their entangled fields, First Aid slid/staggered off Optimus's lap, tugging on Optimus's servo as the Autobot leader hauled himself up. As much as he wanted to press his lipplates back to Optimus's, they were in the middle of the rec room, and while plenty of mechs had no issue interfacing in front of most of the Ark First Aid had never been one of them.
Together they stumbled their way out of the party, ignoring the knowing looks they were given as they passed. The halls were deserted as the pair made their way to First Aid's quarters, which he could only be muzzily grateful for as he opened his door. Optimus's hand was warm on his plating, pressing against him solidly.
Optimus tugged him closer, and First Aid eagerly met him halfway for another kiss but made no move to push them to the berth, content to stand there and run their hands over one another. He enjoyed the closeness as much as the way charge leapt through his lines at Optimus's touch, really.
But Optimus's touch was so nice, hands exploring him firmly but not painfully, keeping him pressed close to Optimus's chest as they kissed. It was hard to think, swamped with pleasure/lust/want, but he had the vague feeling that he was going to regret this lack of control in the morning. "Optimus." He tried to say, but it came out as a staticky moan.
That seemed to be Optimus's que, because he lifted First Aid up entirely, carrying the smaller bot through to the berth, placing the medic on the heated mesh before crawling on himself.
First Aid let the vague thought of stopping this float away as Optimus leans over him, cradling him close like something infinitely precious. This feels far too nice to stop and that he would want to is barely conceivable to him when Optimus touches him like that, mouth feathering a delicate path down his throat that leaves fire in its wake.
Hands that he's seen do battle enough times to never expect them to be gentle are more than careful as Optimus teases him apart, arcs of electricity sparking off First Aid as he writhes under Optimus, desperately seeking more stimulation even as his own hands explore Optimus in turn. He gasps, moans, relishes the way that Optimus rumbles in pleasure above him as they both near overload, the feedback loop of pleasure between them almost overwhelming.
"Optimus." First Aid gasps, watching Optimus's charge-bright optics above him, and the plea undoes him, slumping over the smaller bot to steal one last kiss as charge flashes blinding bright between them, need and pleasure smoothing into satisfaction/exhaustion/affection.
First Aid allows his flashing HUD to usher him into recharge, Optimus's bulk shielding him from the world.
"Pay up."
A chorus of groans and mutters followed the directions, but no-one argued with the Praxian gambler as they handed over various items; cubes of high grade, energon sweets and other ill-gotten gains traded through the Ark's prominent gambling circles.
"It could be just another one off." Sideswipe disagreed half-heartedly, slouched sulkily in his chair as Smokescreen started dividing and redistributing the goods.
"Two one-night stands is not a one off." Prowl points out. "It is, at the very least, a pattern." It was rare for Prowl to allow Jazz to drag him to these less than rule-abiding gatherings, but he made exceptions under certain circumstances.
"A true pattern requires three examples to be valid." Another set of shuffling and sighs begin as Perceptor interjects.
"We have plenty of proof that they're together!" Inferno hurries to cut the scientist off before he can start explaining the wonders of proper proof in science or something. "Tell 'em, Red."
"Optimus and First Aid usually meet several nights a week." Red Alert said blandly, hiding his discomfort at the fiercely attentive faces of several of the Ark's crew.
"Well?" Sideswipe demanded. "How often do they interface?"
"Sideswipe!" Prowl chastised, but the red frontliner was unrepentant as he leaned across his golden twin to better hear the answer. Ironhide, sat next to Sunstreaker, ignored Prowl's pointed glare, just as interested in the answer as the Twins albeit for different reasons.
"How am I supposed to know?" Red Alert demanded. "They're always very private, Optimus visits First Aid's room frequently but they keep their relationship behind closed doors."
Smokescreen leans in and wiggles his doorwings suggestively. "If you have cameras in the private rooms …"
"I do not!" Red Alert hissed indignantly. He saw enough of his crewmates interfacing in plain sight, he couldn't imagine how much worse they'd be in private.
"For all we know, they're just visits between friends." Perceptor defuses the building argument quickly. "We haven't seen much proof to the contrary."
"Tha' kiss though." Jazz said lasciviously, grinning brightly. "Neither 've 'em are th' type to sleep around."
"That's a' least friends with benefits." Ironhide agreed, sounding smug. Sunstreaker glared at him narrowly as Sideswipe puffed up.
"You're just pleased because your boss is getting laid regularly." The red twin said petulantly.
"'E's your boss too." The bodyguard grinned.
"But neither 'f 'em are th' type t' rush in, either." Jazz points out. "'Ow long've they been meetin' up? 'Ad t' 've been in secret, Ah'd 've noticed."
"Last month can't have been the first time First Aid's treated Optimus after a battle." Perceptor said speculatively.
"Yeah!" Sideswipe brightens. "They probably got talking after Optimus was injured sometime and kept it a secret to keep First Aid safe."
Sunstreaker rolled his optics and shoved Sideswipe off his chair, ignoring his brother's indignant squawk. "Don't be stupid, this isn't one of your trashy romances."
Sideswipe scowled up at his twin. "Yeah? So what do you think happened, genius?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Sunstreaker said irritably. "Optimus doesn't need to be injured to talk to First Aid though, he makes time to speak with everyone. Maybe First Aid started cooing over something broken and he felt obliged to help."
"Possible," Prowl allowed thoughtfully, "but it's statistically more likely for them to talk about their work – medical staff are some of the few outside Command in a position to understand the weighing of lives."
"Yeah, but seriously, when did this start?" Jazz asked plaintively. "Because 't is seriously bugging me tha' Ah missed this."
"I don' think they were fragging before." Ironhide mused. "I'd 'ave noticed the change in 'is mood."
"Even so, they must have been meeting for months, possibly years, prior to this unveiling of their relationship." Red Alert concurred with Jazz. "It is troubling that they have been able to hide this."
"Come on, they're like, the least devious people on the Ark." Sideswipe protested. "Of course we wouldn't notice. Anytime anyone was suspicious they could just look innocent and confused and we'd never bring it up again. The only people who look cuter are Bumblebee and Bluestreak."
"Spec Ops and sniper." Sunstreaker coughed into his hand.
"Maybe after the disagreement between the Protectobot gestalt." Prowl said, distracting Jazz from dwelling on the intel failure. "Ratchet would have had to inform Optimus of the particulars to convince him to authorise a change in quarters for First Aid."
"Care to place a bet on that?" Smokescreen challenged with a grin.