Never Did Run Smooth, Ch. 24
Rattrap faps, wrestles with his espionage tendencies, and finally makes it to second base. In that order.
- - - - -
Rattrap was not, by habit, a heavy sleeper. It was true he could crash when he really needed to, but the state of hyper-alertness that had kept him functional for a hundred and forty-plus solarcycles of existence was almost impossible to switch off. Even dead to the world, he was almost never unconscious of his surroundings. Loud, familiar noises wouldn't even make him stir, but small changes that might signal trouble, he picked up on right away.
In this case, it was the absence of the raptor that sent tendrils of unease creeping through his recharging mind. Tired though he was, Rattrap's subconscious demanded that he wake up and make sure nothing was wrong.
Dimly, red optics flickered on. Rattrap raised his head and groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck. Slag, but Chopperface's bunk was uncomfortable. Or maybe Rattrap was just a little too used to his own, which was cushioned with all kinds of cozy--
It dawned on him then, as he sat up and looked around: the full realization that he was in Dinobot's room, in his bed no less, and had been sleeping there in complete safety. He stared at the wall for a minute while that thought processed itself. Then a smile spread across his faceplates.
Of course, that still left the question as to where the scaly bastard had disappeared to. He wasn't in the room, and he clearly hadn't thought it worth the trouble to kick Rattrap out, or even wake him up. Though the spy had been pretty well out cold… actually, Dinobot probably figured he'd be sleeping the rest of the day. That would explain his leaving him here. Rattrap wouldn't likely cause any trouble if he was unconscious.
Still, it showed trust. An unusual amount of trust, for Dinobot.
I'm bettin' he won't be gone too long, though. He ain't up to scoutin' or fightin' yet, so I doubt he's left the base. He tried to hide it earlier, but he's still all weird from what Megatron did to 'im -- Slag, to him, that was just a few hours ago. I'd be out of it too.
He briefly debated going to find him, but since Dinobot was bound to come back anyway, it made more sense to wait. He could've gone any number of places, and Rattrap really didn't feel like running all around the Axalon.
Stretching, he turned over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. Uncomfortable or not, he might as well try to catch a few more winks on this thing while he was waiting…
The berth smelled like Dinobot.
Rattrap lifted his head slightly, inhaling. His olfactory sensors were much more fine-tuned than those of the average Cybertronian, and he could tell more from an aroma than most mechs could from sight. The raptor's scent was unmistakeable: part metal and part flesh, tinged always with a hint of blood and raw meat that Rattrap had once referred to as "carnivore cologne." It was sharp, exciting, sending a thrill of fear through the rodent part of his mind, a thrill that always made Rattrap feel a little crazy. That smell made him want to do dangerous things.
He lay back down, breathing it in, drowning himself in it. He could almost feel Dinobot lying beside him, the raptor's breath on the back of his neck. A shiver ran the length of his body.
Rattrap didn't think. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because he'd been alone for so long. At the vivid memory, the almost-real sensation of warmth and strength beside him, he made a little hungry sound and pressed back. His fingers, of their own accord, began to trail lazily over his plating. He pictured wicked curved claws in their place: running down his arms, across his abdomen, over the curves of his hips. He imagined their sharp points scraping his sensors, digging into his seams as the long hands wrapped themselves possessively around his body…
A small surge of energy swept through him without warning, making him shudder uncontrollably. The spy gasped. Instead of stopping, he sped up, striving to overstimulate the surface sensors through contact alone. His mind was full of images of sharp teeth, glowering optics, long deadly hands that moved with what should have been impossible precision. A growl echoed in his audios, an insult layered with affection and possessiveness and frustrated hunger: "Vermin."
He squealed, a thin breathless sound, and writhed on the berth. He was almost tearing at himself now, ignoring the flashes of pain as his fingers raked raw nerves, seeking a point of absolute bliss where the rest of the world would fall away and all he would know, all he would feel, was…
Oh, Primus…
The scent, the thought of his voice, and Rattrap's own touch proved too much for his processor to handle. It let go. For a moment he seemed to float, his body disconnected from all sensation, and then a second wave crashed over him, much stronger than the first. His entire sensornet lit up for a fraction of a second that seemed to stretch forever. The spy whimpered incoherently and blacked out.
Less than ten seconds later, he rebooted. His head was spinning and he tingled all over. His respiration was slowing but still twice as fast as normal, and his circuits crackled with electrical discharges. The room smelled of hot metal and ozone.
…Wow. Must've really needed that.
He flopped on his back again and lay for a minute trying to cool off, waiting for the ceiling to stop whirling above his head. Even by his standards, that experience had been pretty intense. Self-stimulation took a variety of forms among Cybertronians, but achieving a full overload with nothing but your hands and your imagination was one of the more difficult ones. Rattrap couldn't even manage it normally, but he'd gone without for a while, and…
It was almost scary what Dinobot could do to him, even without being there.
As his sense of normalcy returned, he slowly sat up. Things tilted a bit, then stabilized. His limbs felt like they were attached to his body by rubber bands. He looked down and saw faint marks where he'd raked himself, thankfully none that had broken through the paint -- he'd have never been able to hide that. Strangely, he felt a little less tired than before. The overload seemed to have done him more good than the nap.
Well now, Chopperface. Since I've already gone an' defiled your room, I may as well do a little snoopin' while I'm here. In fer a cube, in fer a shipment. He slid off the berth and stood, still a little wobbly.
He wasn't actually planning on doing much snooping. He just wanted to look around, since he hadn't really had a chance to before, and see the sort of place Dinobot called home. Not that there was much to see. Mostly it was exactly as he would expect -- quite spartan, the walls bare except for the trophy hide and a few weapons racks, the floor entirely clear except for a desk and chair at one end of the room (even the berth was set into the wall). There was none of the comfortable clutter that decorated his own quarters. And it was ridiculously dark. Based on what he'd seen of the Darksyde, Rattrap concluded that most Predacons liked the dark. Apparently that trait didn't disappear upon changing sides.
The only personal items in the room appeared to be combat-related, which wasn't exactly surprising. The weapons racks held a couple of smaller swords, a spare shield, a fair-sized blaster. Rattrap thought the blaster looked familiar… then he realized it was from the Maximal armory. That threw him for a loop. Why would Dinobot hide a gun in his room when there were plenty in the base within easy reach? Unless he'd stolen it shortly after he joined, just to be ready in case his newfound allies decided to turn on him.
Rattrap shivered. That truly sounded like Dinobot logic, there. How long had he been with the Maximals before he stopped expecting betrayal at any moment?
Probably about as long as it took me to trust him, he chastised himself inwardly. Well, he wouldn't bring it up with Dinobot. If the warrior wanted to stock his room with an entire arsenal, that was his business. No doubt he had his reasons.
As Rattrap turned to check out the desk, he noticed a punching bag hanging up in the corner. He actually laughed out loud -- he'd never seen it before. Primus knows where he got that. Figures he'd need an outlet for frustration, though. I'm surprised it don't have my name written on it.
He did take a closer look, just to be sure. No writing, nor claw marks or sword slashes or anything other than a few scuffs. Rattrap whistled. This thing was either brand-new or a testament to Dinobot's self-control, he wasn't sure which. Then again, maybe it just didn't see a lot of use. Not like the warrior didn't have plenty of Predacons to practice on, after all.
The spy socked the bag lightly, playfully, and drew back with a curse. It felt like it was full of cement. Note to self: products intended for raptors may be harmful to rats.
Shaking the ache out of his hand, he finally turned his attention to Dinobot's personal computer, the sole and solitary item on his desk. It, like the accomodations themselves, had been a gift from the Maximals. Rattrap wondered how much he actually used it. There were a few scratches on the surface of the desk, possibly the mark of bored claws, but no datapads or anything lying around. Whatever information Dinobot kept, it was probably all on here…
Rattrap was actually flipping open the laptop before he caught himself. His actions weren't surprising; he was a spy, after all. He was a spy as Dinobot was a warrior: always had been and would be, regardless of his current occupation. Snooping and sneaking came so naturally he seldom even thought about it, and he had little to no compunction about prying into others' secrets, even his friends -- Pit, he had plenty of dirt on Rhinox. This time, though, was different. Dinobot was a very private person. He no doubt regarded his personal computer as he did his personal space, as something not to be violated. Even if he never found out, Rattrap would have to live with knowing that the first time the warrior showed him this level of trust, he had betrayed it.
Well, it serves him right for trusting you, Ransack, whispered a nasty, furtive voice scratching at the back walls of his mind. After all, anyone who's known you as long as he has oughtta know better.
He winced as if someone might've heard the thought. It wasn't like he wanted to look for blackmail material. Really, all he wanted were some answers. There were a lot of things Dinobot had never told him, had never told any of them despite being on their side for well over a year. They didn't know what he'd done before working for Megatron, where he came from, who his mentor was, or even if Dinobot was his original name. His record was the most scant out of all the six Predacons, containing only basic vital statistics and a short criminal history going back a few decades. Rattrap had been over it at least a dozen times. Most of his life was apparently just a big blank, and curiosity was eating the spy alive. If there was even a possibility Dinobot kept some of those secrets on here…
An' what if he's hidin' something? What if I find something I didn't wanna see? Slag, what if I try to hack his password an' the damn thing explodes the first time I hit the wrong key? Chopperface is paranoid enough, an' if there's one thing he knows, it's security.
For a long moment he stared at the screen, indecisive, hating himself for his temptation, as a recovering addict might contemplate a stim cartridge. And then, slowly, he closed the computer. He didn't know if he was doing it out of respect for Dinobot's privacy or fear of what would happen if he was caught, but it didn't matter. He'd been handed temptation on a golden platter, and he'd resisted.
Honestly, he deserved a medal.
The door opened, and Rattrap's reaction was instinctive. He dove down behind the desk before whoever was entering had a chance to see him. Almost immediately he felt foolish, because there was only one person it could be, and him Rattrap had no need to hide from. Of course, jumping up and revealing himself now would be bound to start an awkward line of questioning. Especially given what he'd just been thinking of doing…
Heavy footsteps clunked over to the desk, and the chair creaked suddenly under the weight that was dropped on it. Dinobot could move quietly when he needed to, but if he wasn't actively trying, it was impossible not to hear him. The computer booted up, and Rattrap breathed a sigh of relief that he'd been able to talk himself out of messing with it.
Still, he doubted the warrior would appreciate someone skulking hidden in his room, no matter how in-character it was. Slowly, Rattrap stood up. "Hey, uh, welcome--"
The point of Dinobot's sword hovered under his chin before the sentence was anywhere near finished. Rattrap did a very good job of not wincing, in his own opinion. Okay, I shoulda figured somethin' like that'd happen. Serves me right. "--back," he finished, easing back a little as the sword was whipped away and sheathed.
"This should not become a habit, vermin." Dinobot studied him with narrowed eyes, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. "What are you doing back there?"
Rattrap tried not to feel affronted. He had no right to, after all. But he couldn't quite keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice when he answered. "Eh, woke up an' you were gone, didn't leave a note or nothin', so I figured you was comin' back. Got bored starin' at the ceilin' an' thought I'd check the place out. Admired the decorations, went a couple rounds with that bag o' concrete you keep over there -- it won, by the way -- an' nearly got eaten by that thing you tacked up on your wall. I swear, it oughtta be in a cage or somethin'."
Dinobot's expression relaxed slightly, and Rattrap swore the corner of his mouth twitched, but didn't rise. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes," he said. He dropped his optics to the screen and began typing. A moment later he said in a flat tone, without looking up, "We have a new Maximal, by the way."
At first the spy wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Then his Spark skipped a pulse and his fuel tank seemed to drop out of him. "Really? Y'mean… they found the protoform?"
Dinobot nodded, still not looking up. Rattrap could've danced from the euphoria that swept through him at the news, but he sensed something wrong. Containing himself, he tried to catch Dinobot's optics, to read his expression. "Why don't you sound happy about it?"
The warrior's typing trailed off, and his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "She cannot speak, and has no combat capability. Strategically, we have gained nothing except another consumer of resources. I see no reason to celebrate."
Aah. Figures. Nothin' ever goes that easy for us. "Well, that… kinda bites," Rattrap admitted. "Still, I'm sure Rhinox can fix her."
"Even then, I doubt she will be of much use." The raptor scowled at the screen. "I was hoping for a military asset. That was the point of this operation, was it not?"
"It woulda been nice, but… least we saved one of our own from the Preds. I mean, that's what really matters, right?"
Dinobot snorted cynically. "So Optimus tried to tell me. I'm glad he feels so optimistic about our situation. Myself, I would kill for a mech with some military or even security experience."
Rattrap offered him a half-smile. "Thought that was what we kept you around for." When Dinobot didn't respond to the backhanded compliment, the spy made his way around the corner of the desk to the sitting warrior, who was almost as tall as Rattrap standing. "Seriously, what's the matter? You ain't this upset 'cause of our tactical situation. Somethin's eatin' ya." He rested his hand on a scaly shoulder. "C'mon, tell me."
Dinobot was trying hard to look annoyed by the questions. "Even if there is, why should I want to tell you?"
"That's what your mouth says, but your optics tell another story. They beg for understandin', cry out for a sympathetic ear…"
The warrior shoved him backwards, not hard -- actually a playful gesture by their standards. Rattrap chuckled and leaned on the side of the desk, getting back into Dinobot's personal space, propping his chin on his arms. "Kiddin' aside, I'm listenin'. Really. Don't be stubborn."
"Never mind. It is of no consequence."
"Then it can't hurt to tell me."
"Who's being stubborn?"
Rattrap let out an exaggerated sigh. "Chopperfaaaaace…" he whined, taking the last resort. Dinobot rolled his optics.
"I am merely tired of being the only actual warrior in a band of explorers, technicians, and… whatever the Pit you are. There are times I long for like-minded company. Since leaving my own kind, that is the only thing I've really missed." Dinobot's optics were trained on the desk, not looking up to meet Rattrap's. "At first, I admit I rather relished the position. Being needed, respected for my battle prowess once again… it had been a long time since I felt such purpose. But the glory was short-lived. This group needs more fighting strength -- I alone am not enough. And that is becoming more and more obvious."
"You're lonely," Rattrap translated. He should've figured it out sooner. "Slag, Chopperface…"
He reached for Dinobot again and rubbed at the pebbly skin of one arm, a gesture of reassurance he half-expected to be rejected. He wasn't expecting his own arm to be grabbed, and to be hauled with dizzying speed into Dinobot's lap, almost weightless in the grasp of a mech who could easily twist him in half. He didn't expect to wind up face-to-face with the saurian, one scaly hand cupped under his aft for support, the other still gripping his wrist, looping Rattrap's arm around his neck to secure his position. It all happened so fast that the spy dropped his thoughts and had to grope around for them on the floor of his processor.
"What… makes you think that?" Dinobot asked, smirking.
His harsh growl of a voice was softened, stumbling over itself slightly as if it wasn't used to being strained in this fashion. Rattrap's fingers felt the vibration where they rested on his broad chest, felt the cycling of the warrior's vents and the pulse of his fuel system speeding up, and his entire small body started trembling in sympathetic excitement. The hunger in the Predacon's optics left no doubt as to what he was doing. "Call it… a hunch," he whispered.
He wasn't sure what the raptor wanted him to do, but his free hand moved of its own accord, coming up to stroke the smooth cobalt plating of Dinobot's face. Red optics brightened briefly in surprise, then dimmed as light fingertips traced the chiseled cheek ridges, brow, nose, and chin. They followed the line of the warrior's thin lips, which parted, allowing Rattrap to slide first one digit, then two, then three past the dental death-trap into Dinobot's mouth. The raptor himself was not idle, for while one hand continued to support Rattrap from beneath, the other was skimming up his side to explore the chromed sphere of his shoulder joint and the half-exposed cables of his neck.
Rattrap was struck by a sudden, acute sense of vulnerability -- his hand halfway inside a predator's jaws, sharp claws probing between his jaw and the protective ring of his collar. He knew the danger he was in, and he loved every minute of it. Moreover, he was well aware of how much Dinobot needed to be in control of the situation right now, and was all too happy to let him.
He couldn't hold back a gasp when Dinobot's teeth closed on his fingers, not hard, but slowly increasing the pressure until it was right on the point of pain. Then they relaxed, and when he did not withdraw his hand, slowly closed on it again. Rattrap fought to hold himself still, wanting to writhe as the maddeningly sensitive digits were methodically gnawed on by a now amused-looking raptor. The claws toying with his neck pricked slightly -- whether on accident or on purpose, he didn't know -- and he squeaked, making the scaly bastard chuckle.
Oh, yeah? Well, two can play at that game, Dinobreath.
He leaned closer, diminishing the tiny gap between them until his mouthplates found metal. He scraped the tips of his incisors against Dinobot's cheek, nipping his face in reciprocation as the chewing of his fingers became more insistent. Dinobot growled low in his throat, the vibration barely transmuting to sound, most of it caught inside his chestplate and traveling through the components of Rattrap's body. The spy nibbled lower, small teasing bites moving down his jawline a bit before decending to his neck and shoulder. When he nuzzled into the joint between the two, he felt the warrior tense.
Then he bit. Not hard, but at a spot where even a little nip should make anyone jump.
Dinobot jerked, and his jaws closed with considerably greater force than before. Rattrap let out a muffled squeal against his neck as the points of the razor-sharp triangles pierced his armor. He didn't pull back; instead, he turned the nip into a caress, dental ridges just barely brushing where he'd bitten, sending tremors through the warrior's body as Dinobot fought for control. His combat reflexes must have been going insane. Rattrap reveled in the thought of what he was doing to him, the idea that he was driving the warrior mad with the lightest touch…
Without warning he found himself jerked away, Dinobot's hand wrapped around his chin. The Predacon was scowling at him, letting Rattrap's fingers slip from his mouth. "Clearly, this isn't going to work."
The spy's Spark sank, and he knew he'd blown it again. Slaggit, every time they even got close…
He let out a surprised yelp as Dinobot stood, slinging the rat over his shoulder. For a second he thought he was about to get tossed out of the room, literally, but then Dinobot stopped at his berth and set Rattrap down. Very confused, the smaller mech found himself being pushed onto his back as the Predacon loomed over him, holding him firmly by both shoulders. "I can't do anything if you're not going to hold still," the raptor growled. "I suppose I'll just have to pin you to the berth, then."
Dazed, Rattrap felt his face light up as his Spark leapt back up into its rightful place. "Yeah," he concurred. "Guess you'll have to do that."
Dinobot smiled, showing white daggers, and leaned down. His teeth met Rattrap's neck in that same place as a squeal shattered the stillness of the warrior's retreat.
- - - - -
Rattrap was not, by habit, a heavy sleeper. It was true he could crash when he really needed to, but the state of hyper-alertness that had kept him functional for a hundred and forty-plus solarcycles of existence was almost impossible to switch off. Even dead to the world, he was almost never unconscious of his surroundings. Loud, familiar noises wouldn't even make him stir, but small changes that might signal trouble, he picked up on right away.
In this case, it was the absence of the raptor that sent tendrils of unease creeping through his recharging mind. Tired though he was, Rattrap's subconscious demanded that he wake up and make sure nothing was wrong.
Dimly, red optics flickered on. Rattrap raised his head and groaned, rubbing at the back of his neck. Slag, but Chopperface's bunk was uncomfortable. Or maybe Rattrap was just a little too used to his own, which was cushioned with all kinds of cozy--
It dawned on him then, as he sat up and looked around: the full realization that he was in Dinobot's room, in his bed no less, and had been sleeping there in complete safety. He stared at the wall for a minute while that thought processed itself. Then a smile spread across his faceplates.
Of course, that still left the question as to where the scaly bastard had disappeared to. He wasn't in the room, and he clearly hadn't thought it worth the trouble to kick Rattrap out, or even wake him up. Though the spy had been pretty well out cold… actually, Dinobot probably figured he'd be sleeping the rest of the day. That would explain his leaving him here. Rattrap wouldn't likely cause any trouble if he was unconscious.
Still, it showed trust. An unusual amount of trust, for Dinobot.
I'm bettin' he won't be gone too long, though. He ain't up to scoutin' or fightin' yet, so I doubt he's left the base. He tried to hide it earlier, but he's still all weird from what Megatron did to 'im -- Slag, to him, that was just a few hours ago. I'd be out of it too.
He briefly debated going to find him, but since Dinobot was bound to come back anyway, it made more sense to wait. He could've gone any number of places, and Rattrap really didn't feel like running all around the Axalon.
Stretching, he turned over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. Uncomfortable or not, he might as well try to catch a few more winks on this thing while he was waiting…
The berth smelled like Dinobot.
Rattrap lifted his head slightly, inhaling. His olfactory sensors were much more fine-tuned than those of the average Cybertronian, and he could tell more from an aroma than most mechs could from sight. The raptor's scent was unmistakeable: part metal and part flesh, tinged always with a hint of blood and raw meat that Rattrap had once referred to as "carnivore cologne." It was sharp, exciting, sending a thrill of fear through the rodent part of his mind, a thrill that always made Rattrap feel a little crazy. That smell made him want to do dangerous things.
He lay back down, breathing it in, drowning himself in it. He could almost feel Dinobot lying beside him, the raptor's breath on the back of his neck. A shiver ran the length of his body.
Rattrap didn't think. Maybe because he was tired. Maybe because he'd been alone for so long. At the vivid memory, the almost-real sensation of warmth and strength beside him, he made a little hungry sound and pressed back. His fingers, of their own accord, began to trail lazily over his plating. He pictured wicked curved claws in their place: running down his arms, across his abdomen, over the curves of his hips. He imagined their sharp points scraping his sensors, digging into his seams as the long hands wrapped themselves possessively around his body…
A small surge of energy swept through him without warning, making him shudder uncontrollably. The spy gasped. Instead of stopping, he sped up, striving to overstimulate the surface sensors through contact alone. His mind was full of images of sharp teeth, glowering optics, long deadly hands that moved with what should have been impossible precision. A growl echoed in his audios, an insult layered with affection and possessiveness and frustrated hunger: "Vermin."
He squealed, a thin breathless sound, and writhed on the berth. He was almost tearing at himself now, ignoring the flashes of pain as his fingers raked raw nerves, seeking a point of absolute bliss where the rest of the world would fall away and all he would know, all he would feel, was…
Oh, Primus…
The scent, the thought of his voice, and Rattrap's own touch proved too much for his processor to handle. It let go. For a moment he seemed to float, his body disconnected from all sensation, and then a second wave crashed over him, much stronger than the first. His entire sensornet lit up for a fraction of a second that seemed to stretch forever. The spy whimpered incoherently and blacked out.
Less than ten seconds later, he rebooted. His head was spinning and he tingled all over. His respiration was slowing but still twice as fast as normal, and his circuits crackled with electrical discharges. The room smelled of hot metal and ozone.
…Wow. Must've really needed that.
He flopped on his back again and lay for a minute trying to cool off, waiting for the ceiling to stop whirling above his head. Even by his standards, that experience had been pretty intense. Self-stimulation took a variety of forms among Cybertronians, but achieving a full overload with nothing but your hands and your imagination was one of the more difficult ones. Rattrap couldn't even manage it normally, but he'd gone without for a while, and…
It was almost scary what Dinobot could do to him, even without being there.
As his sense of normalcy returned, he slowly sat up. Things tilted a bit, then stabilized. His limbs felt like they were attached to his body by rubber bands. He looked down and saw faint marks where he'd raked himself, thankfully none that had broken through the paint -- he'd have never been able to hide that. Strangely, he felt a little less tired than before. The overload seemed to have done him more good than the nap.
Well now, Chopperface. Since I've already gone an' defiled your room, I may as well do a little snoopin' while I'm here. In fer a cube, in fer a shipment. He slid off the berth and stood, still a little wobbly.
He wasn't actually planning on doing much snooping. He just wanted to look around, since he hadn't really had a chance to before, and see the sort of place Dinobot called home. Not that there was much to see. Mostly it was exactly as he would expect -- quite spartan, the walls bare except for the trophy hide and a few weapons racks, the floor entirely clear except for a desk and chair at one end of the room (even the berth was set into the wall). There was none of the comfortable clutter that decorated his own quarters. And it was ridiculously dark. Based on what he'd seen of the Darksyde, Rattrap concluded that most Predacons liked the dark. Apparently that trait didn't disappear upon changing sides.
The only personal items in the room appeared to be combat-related, which wasn't exactly surprising. The weapons racks held a couple of smaller swords, a spare shield, a fair-sized blaster. Rattrap thought the blaster looked familiar… then he realized it was from the Maximal armory. That threw him for a loop. Why would Dinobot hide a gun in his room when there were plenty in the base within easy reach? Unless he'd stolen it shortly after he joined, just to be ready in case his newfound allies decided to turn on him.
Rattrap shivered. That truly sounded like Dinobot logic, there. How long had he been with the Maximals before he stopped expecting betrayal at any moment?
Probably about as long as it took me to trust him, he chastised himself inwardly. Well, he wouldn't bring it up with Dinobot. If the warrior wanted to stock his room with an entire arsenal, that was his business. No doubt he had his reasons.
As Rattrap turned to check out the desk, he noticed a punching bag hanging up in the corner. He actually laughed out loud -- he'd never seen it before. Primus knows where he got that. Figures he'd need an outlet for frustration, though. I'm surprised it don't have my name written on it.
He did take a closer look, just to be sure. No writing, nor claw marks or sword slashes or anything other than a few scuffs. Rattrap whistled. This thing was either brand-new or a testament to Dinobot's self-control, he wasn't sure which. Then again, maybe it just didn't see a lot of use. Not like the warrior didn't have plenty of Predacons to practice on, after all.
The spy socked the bag lightly, playfully, and drew back with a curse. It felt like it was full of cement. Note to self: products intended for raptors may be harmful to rats.
Shaking the ache out of his hand, he finally turned his attention to Dinobot's personal computer, the sole and solitary item on his desk. It, like the accomodations themselves, had been a gift from the Maximals. Rattrap wondered how much he actually used it. There were a few scratches on the surface of the desk, possibly the mark of bored claws, but no datapads or anything lying around. Whatever information Dinobot kept, it was probably all on here…
Rattrap was actually flipping open the laptop before he caught himself. His actions weren't surprising; he was a spy, after all. He was a spy as Dinobot was a warrior: always had been and would be, regardless of his current occupation. Snooping and sneaking came so naturally he seldom even thought about it, and he had little to no compunction about prying into others' secrets, even his friends -- Pit, he had plenty of dirt on Rhinox. This time, though, was different. Dinobot was a very private person. He no doubt regarded his personal computer as he did his personal space, as something not to be violated. Even if he never found out, Rattrap would have to live with knowing that the first time the warrior showed him this level of trust, he had betrayed it.
Well, it serves him right for trusting you, Ransack, whispered a nasty, furtive voice scratching at the back walls of his mind. After all, anyone who's known you as long as he has oughtta know better.
He winced as if someone might've heard the thought. It wasn't like he wanted to look for blackmail material. Really, all he wanted were some answers. There were a lot of things Dinobot had never told him, had never told any of them despite being on their side for well over a year. They didn't know what he'd done before working for Megatron, where he came from, who his mentor was, or even if Dinobot was his original name. His record was the most scant out of all the six Predacons, containing only basic vital statistics and a short criminal history going back a few decades. Rattrap had been over it at least a dozen times. Most of his life was apparently just a big blank, and curiosity was eating the spy alive. If there was even a possibility Dinobot kept some of those secrets on here…
An' what if he's hidin' something? What if I find something I didn't wanna see? Slag, what if I try to hack his password an' the damn thing explodes the first time I hit the wrong key? Chopperface is paranoid enough, an' if there's one thing he knows, it's security.
For a long moment he stared at the screen, indecisive, hating himself for his temptation, as a recovering addict might contemplate a stim cartridge. And then, slowly, he closed the computer. He didn't know if he was doing it out of respect for Dinobot's privacy or fear of what would happen if he was caught, but it didn't matter. He'd been handed temptation on a golden platter, and he'd resisted.
Honestly, he deserved a medal.
The door opened, and Rattrap's reaction was instinctive. He dove down behind the desk before whoever was entering had a chance to see him. Almost immediately he felt foolish, because there was only one person it could be, and him Rattrap had no need to hide from. Of course, jumping up and revealing himself now would be bound to start an awkward line of questioning. Especially given what he'd just been thinking of doing…
Heavy footsteps clunked over to the desk, and the chair creaked suddenly under the weight that was dropped on it. Dinobot could move quietly when he needed to, but if he wasn't actively trying, it was impossible not to hear him. The computer booted up, and Rattrap breathed a sigh of relief that he'd been able to talk himself out of messing with it.
Still, he doubted the warrior would appreciate someone skulking hidden in his room, no matter how in-character it was. Slowly, Rattrap stood up. "Hey, uh, welcome--"
The point of Dinobot's sword hovered under his chin before the sentence was anywhere near finished. Rattrap did a very good job of not wincing, in his own opinion. Okay, I shoulda figured somethin' like that'd happen. Serves me right. "--back," he finished, easing back a little as the sword was whipped away and sheathed.
"This should not become a habit, vermin." Dinobot studied him with narrowed eyes, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. "What are you doing back there?"
Rattrap tried not to feel affronted. He had no right to, after all. But he couldn't quite keep the bitter sarcasm out of his voice when he answered. "Eh, woke up an' you were gone, didn't leave a note or nothin', so I figured you was comin' back. Got bored starin' at the ceilin' an' thought I'd check the place out. Admired the decorations, went a couple rounds with that bag o' concrete you keep over there -- it won, by the way -- an' nearly got eaten by that thing you tacked up on your wall. I swear, it oughtta be in a cage or somethin'."
Dinobot's expression relaxed slightly, and Rattrap swore the corner of his mouth twitched, but didn't rise. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes," he said. He dropped his optics to the screen and began typing. A moment later he said in a flat tone, without looking up, "We have a new Maximal, by the way."
At first the spy wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Then his Spark skipped a pulse and his fuel tank seemed to drop out of him. "Really? Y'mean… they found the protoform?"
Dinobot nodded, still not looking up. Rattrap could've danced from the euphoria that swept through him at the news, but he sensed something wrong. Containing himself, he tried to catch Dinobot's optics, to read his expression. "Why don't you sound happy about it?"
The warrior's typing trailed off, and his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. "She cannot speak, and has no combat capability. Strategically, we have gained nothing except another consumer of resources. I see no reason to celebrate."
Aah. Figures. Nothin' ever goes that easy for us. "Well, that… kinda bites," Rattrap admitted. "Still, I'm sure Rhinox can fix her."
"Even then, I doubt she will be of much use." The raptor scowled at the screen. "I was hoping for a military asset. That was the point of this operation, was it not?"
"It woulda been nice, but… least we saved one of our own from the Preds. I mean, that's what really matters, right?"
Dinobot snorted cynically. "So Optimus tried to tell me. I'm glad he feels so optimistic about our situation. Myself, I would kill for a mech with some military or even security experience."
Rattrap offered him a half-smile. "Thought that was what we kept you around for." When Dinobot didn't respond to the backhanded compliment, the spy made his way around the corner of the desk to the sitting warrior, who was almost as tall as Rattrap standing. "Seriously, what's the matter? You ain't this upset 'cause of our tactical situation. Somethin's eatin' ya." He rested his hand on a scaly shoulder. "C'mon, tell me."
Dinobot was trying hard to look annoyed by the questions. "Even if there is, why should I want to tell you?"
"That's what your mouth says, but your optics tell another story. They beg for understandin', cry out for a sympathetic ear…"
The warrior shoved him backwards, not hard -- actually a playful gesture by their standards. Rattrap chuckled and leaned on the side of the desk, getting back into Dinobot's personal space, propping his chin on his arms. "Kiddin' aside, I'm listenin'. Really. Don't be stubborn."
"Never mind. It is of no consequence."
"Then it can't hurt to tell me."
"Who's being stubborn?"
Rattrap let out an exaggerated sigh. "Chopperfaaaaace…" he whined, taking the last resort. Dinobot rolled his optics.
"I am merely tired of being the only actual warrior in a band of explorers, technicians, and… whatever the Pit you are. There are times I long for like-minded company. Since leaving my own kind, that is the only thing I've really missed." Dinobot's optics were trained on the desk, not looking up to meet Rattrap's. "At first, I admit I rather relished the position. Being needed, respected for my battle prowess once again… it had been a long time since I felt such purpose. But the glory was short-lived. This group needs more fighting strength -- I alone am not enough. And that is becoming more and more obvious."
"You're lonely," Rattrap translated. He should've figured it out sooner. "Slag, Chopperface…"
He reached for Dinobot again and rubbed at the pebbly skin of one arm, a gesture of reassurance he half-expected to be rejected. He wasn't expecting his own arm to be grabbed, and to be hauled with dizzying speed into Dinobot's lap, almost weightless in the grasp of a mech who could easily twist him in half. He didn't expect to wind up face-to-face with the saurian, one scaly hand cupped under his aft for support, the other still gripping his wrist, looping Rattrap's arm around his neck to secure his position. It all happened so fast that the spy dropped his thoughts and had to grope around for them on the floor of his processor.
"What… makes you think that?" Dinobot asked, smirking.
His harsh growl of a voice was softened, stumbling over itself slightly as if it wasn't used to being strained in this fashion. Rattrap's fingers felt the vibration where they rested on his broad chest, felt the cycling of the warrior's vents and the pulse of his fuel system speeding up, and his entire small body started trembling in sympathetic excitement. The hunger in the Predacon's optics left no doubt as to what he was doing. "Call it… a hunch," he whispered.
He wasn't sure what the raptor wanted him to do, but his free hand moved of its own accord, coming up to stroke the smooth cobalt plating of Dinobot's face. Red optics brightened briefly in surprise, then dimmed as light fingertips traced the chiseled cheek ridges, brow, nose, and chin. They followed the line of the warrior's thin lips, which parted, allowing Rattrap to slide first one digit, then two, then three past the dental death-trap into Dinobot's mouth. The raptor himself was not idle, for while one hand continued to support Rattrap from beneath, the other was skimming up his side to explore the chromed sphere of his shoulder joint and the half-exposed cables of his neck.
Rattrap was struck by a sudden, acute sense of vulnerability -- his hand halfway inside a predator's jaws, sharp claws probing between his jaw and the protective ring of his collar. He knew the danger he was in, and he loved every minute of it. Moreover, he was well aware of how much Dinobot needed to be in control of the situation right now, and was all too happy to let him.
He couldn't hold back a gasp when Dinobot's teeth closed on his fingers, not hard, but slowly increasing the pressure until it was right on the point of pain. Then they relaxed, and when he did not withdraw his hand, slowly closed on it again. Rattrap fought to hold himself still, wanting to writhe as the maddeningly sensitive digits were methodically gnawed on by a now amused-looking raptor. The claws toying with his neck pricked slightly -- whether on accident or on purpose, he didn't know -- and he squeaked, making the scaly bastard chuckle.
Oh, yeah? Well, two can play at that game, Dinobreath.
He leaned closer, diminishing the tiny gap between them until his mouthplates found metal. He scraped the tips of his incisors against Dinobot's cheek, nipping his face in reciprocation as the chewing of his fingers became more insistent. Dinobot growled low in his throat, the vibration barely transmuting to sound, most of it caught inside his chestplate and traveling through the components of Rattrap's body. The spy nibbled lower, small teasing bites moving down his jawline a bit before decending to his neck and shoulder. When he nuzzled into the joint between the two, he felt the warrior tense.
Then he bit. Not hard, but at a spot where even a little nip should make anyone jump.
Dinobot jerked, and his jaws closed with considerably greater force than before. Rattrap let out a muffled squeal against his neck as the points of the razor-sharp triangles pierced his armor. He didn't pull back; instead, he turned the nip into a caress, dental ridges just barely brushing where he'd bitten, sending tremors through the warrior's body as Dinobot fought for control. His combat reflexes must have been going insane. Rattrap reveled in the thought of what he was doing to him, the idea that he was driving the warrior mad with the lightest touch…
Without warning he found himself jerked away, Dinobot's hand wrapped around his chin. The Predacon was scowling at him, letting Rattrap's fingers slip from his mouth. "Clearly, this isn't going to work."
The spy's Spark sank, and he knew he'd blown it again. Slaggit, every time they even got close…
He let out a surprised yelp as Dinobot stood, slinging the rat over his shoulder. For a second he thought he was about to get tossed out of the room, literally, but then Dinobot stopped at his berth and set Rattrap down. Very confused, the smaller mech found himself being pushed onto his back as the Predacon loomed over him, holding him firmly by both shoulders. "I can't do anything if you're not going to hold still," the raptor growled. "I suppose I'll just have to pin you to the berth, then."
Dazed, Rattrap felt his face light up as his Spark leapt back up into its rightful place. "Yeah," he concurred. "Guess you'll have to do that."
Dinobot smiled, showing white daggers, and leaned down. His teeth met Rattrap's neck in that same place as a squeal shattered the stillness of the warrior's retreat.