FIC: Limitations of Reasonable Discourse (Human Series)
Title: Limitations of Reasonable Discourse
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ratchet/Optimus
Summary: Part 39 of the ‘human’ series, which are available, in order, here in my Main Fiction post.
~~*~~
Exhaustion was getting to be so common for Ratchet that he thought soon his possessors would set that as his default state, the lingering static of under-recharge a constant presence.
It might make it better if it was; at least then he could stop shuffling aside the friendly warning reminders that popped up in his visual display, informing him of how long it had been since his last recharge and recommending he take a break. Once, as a prank, Sideswipe had designed a program that altered the language of Ratchet's visual display and the first time Ratchet had seen his user interface command him to 'take a fucking break, you moron,' he had nearly blown a fuse trying to decide whether to be furious or to fall over laughing.
Sideswipe had earned two days of double-shifts and an hour-long version of the Speech from Optimus for that stunt, and Ratchet still regretted he'd had to delete the code. It had been a refreshing change.
Exhausted or not, and rest reminders aside, he still had work to do tonight before he could listen to his own system complaints. A stack of finished fuel capacitors was in a neat pile at the corner of his work bench, only waiting for him to have the time to begin installing them, but right now he was abandoning his never-ending work on them to contemplate the visor that he was constructing for Sam, or sunglasses as Bee called them. Semantics, he supposed, but the human had been very firm in his desire to remain human and Ratchet couldn't fault him for that at all. It was one thing to play at being a different species, but actually being modified into one? Just the thought made Ratchet shudder.
He'd modeled them after a fashionable, and expensive, pair he'd discovered on the internet. Despite what his brethren might think, Ratchet did understand the concept of style and while he'd chosen his alternate form with efficiency in mind, he understood perfectly that others preferred something a little….prettier. There was a reason that stepping into Autobot City was like venturing into one of the finest car shows in the world and that perception was something that 'bots and humans had very much in common. Medical necessity or not, Sam was also more likely to wear them if he looked good.
Aside from being aesthetically pleasing, this pair also had enough mass for Ratchet to attach the necessary circuitry to it that would, he hoped, allow Sam to communicate with his receptors. It was incredibly delicate, painstaking work done with his tiniest tools and Ratchet took a moment to steady the faint tremor in his hands before he began to very carefully attach the nearly microscopic optic sensors that would send a visual display over the lenses. A few more adjustment, a few diagnostic tests and they would be ready. Ratchet refused to even contemplate that this might not work. It had to work, had to, because this was literally his last option for assisting the boy.
He'd never liked admitting when he was out of his depth but frankly, he'd been attempting to swim in an ocean of the unknown since Sam had collapsed in his infirmary. And Ratchet would be happy to point out to anyone that his alternate form was an ambulance, not a boat. A reputation for performing medical miracles was one thing, but Ratchet wasn't Primus and there was only so much he could do with ingenuity.
His chronometer was in perfect working condition, of course, but Ratchet had long since defaulted it into the background of his visual display. He had quite enough to do without a constant reminder of his lack of time to do it in. It was only when he heard the soft swish of the infirmary door swinging open, felt the chillier nighttime air that he realized just how late was and he knew without looking just who had come to see him.
Ratchet didn't look up from his work, although he did slow, his focus entirely shattered by the presence behind him, the mech he had resolutely decided not to think about and the one he hasn't been able to get off his processors.
Optimus was standing behind him, utterly silent, and for once in his long life, Ratchet had no idea what to say. His default state when he was uncomfortable…or honestly, his default state, period…was to fall back on sarcasm and snark but in this case, his problems were twofold. One, this was his Prime and while he certainly spoke to Optimus with more freedom than anyone aside from Ironhide, he was still their leader.
The other problem was more personal. Ratchet might agree that he was often blunt but he rarely ever believed he was wrong. He said what he meant and what he believed, damn the consequences.
I'm not wrong, he told himself, firmly. He wasn't. He was insensitive, perhaps, too blunt and bordering on cruel this time, but he had made the right choice. He had. Ending their relationship was the best thing for them both. But even if he was right, he had made a choice and he had no right to complain when the consequences of it stood behind him, haunting him with possibilities that he refused to contemplate. He'd been asking for this since the beginning, when he'd first allowed himself to be tempted into interfacing with Optimus in the first place.
The soft sound of depressurizing hydraulics from behind him, Optimus shifting his weight, and Ratchet closed his optics. He didn't need to see it, had enough memory files to picture how Optimus looked just at this moment. Arms crossed over his chest, deep blue optics half-shuttered in suppressed emotion. Likely, he was masked, Optimus was one of the few 'bots who preferred to keep his face covered even outside of combat.
It was Optimus who finally spoke, breaking the silence just as Ratchet had expected him to, "We need to talk."
Protesting that no, they really did not would have been a waste of time and energy and instead, Ratchet set aside his tools, focusing his optics on the wall behind his work bench. "If you're here to try to convince me to change my mind, I'd rather you didn't." Point of fact, Ratchet wasn't sure if he could stand to hear it.
"Ratchet." Nothing more than his name, nothing accusatory or pained in it, no chiding but Ratchet closed his optics anyway and fell silent. He could feel the vibration as Optimus stepped closer, felt him in his periphery sensors but Optimus didn't touch. "You know me better than that."
Again, no chiding, only a simple statement of fact. "Yes, I do." Quietly. Suddenly, it was easier to pick up his tools again, magnifying his vision so he could see the exquisitely tiny details of the visor in front of him. Sunglasses, Ratchet mentally corrected. They were sunglasses and he had work to do. There was no time for this emotional nonsense, none at all.
"You can tell Ironhide that I have another stack of fuel capacitors ready to install in the solar towers." Ratchet knew Optimus entirely too well, he decided, to know exactly what expression would be on his face for that.
"You could tell him yourself," Optimus pointed out.
Well, yes. He could, if he felt like talking to Ironhide any time soon, but after that rather humiliating and semi-public dressing down, Ratchet wasn't inclined to go looking for Ironhide for anything other than a beating, preferable with a blunt weapon.
The silence that fell over them again was stifling and that faint tremor that had been plaguing Ratchet was worse, far too much for him to attempt to continue such delicate work. He slapped his tools down and vented a deep gust of air, let it out. Optimus was one of his closest and oldest friends, and Ratchet would be damned before he'd let that be ruined. He wanted his friend, he wanted…no. They just needed to clear the air. It would be fine. It had to be.
"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, finally, wincing at the grating note to his voice modulator. "That was exceptionally cruel of me, to tell you like that."
Optimus let out a sharp breath of his own. "Ratchet, I offered and you refused. I can accept that."
That…was not exactly what Ratchet had expected to hear. Oh, he hadn't thought Optimus would approach him on bended knee, but a protest or two would have been to be expected, a little reasonable discord. Optimus would offer his rational as to why they should partner, Ratchet would refute them and they could get past this. Perhaps they would even be better friends, with a little time.
Time. Yes. Ratchet finally turned to look at Optimus and couldn't stop his blink of surprise to see that his posture was nothing like Ratchet had imagined. He was leaning casually against one of the exam tables and his mask was withdrawn, his expression relaxed.
Ah, he was hiding his emotions, of course. Perhaps hoping to make Ratchet feel less guilty. That would be just like Optimus, to hide his own pain and accept any of the hurt that was sent his way as if it was his due. "I could have chosen a better time."
Optimus shrugged….shrugged! "Perhaps, but the end result was the same."
A strange, stinging pain settled into Ratchet's chest, near his spark chamber and automatically he logged it, ran a quick diagnostic that spat a clean bill of health back at him. Tired, yes, exhausted, but other than that he was in optimal condition. Perhaps he was just feeling his age, pestered by phantom pains and palsies.
Optimus was still meeting his gaze steadily and there was none of the devastation Ratchet had seen that night. He had seen it…hadn't he? Prime had wanted to partner with him and Ratchet had coldly turned him down, it was to be expected that Optimus would be hurt. Yet there was only calm confidence in his clear, blue optics and…and Ratchet should have felt relieved. Everything was going to be all right between them and he could let it go, get back to work.
That was what he should have done. Instead, Ratchet found himself saying, "You seemed very upset. That night." Certainly it was unnecessary to clarify which night.
The sound Optimus made was very close to laughter. "If you were expecting my reaction to be pleased, then I will firmly accept your frequent reminders that you are not a counselor," Optimus said, dryly.
"Of course," Ratchet murmured, turned back to his work bench. He stared at the sunglasses, at the neat pile of fuel capacitors and had to fight the urge to sweep all of them to the floor to let them shatter and explode in a satisfying cacophony. Even more inexplicable was the rising anger in him and with the last of his calm, Ratchet pushed his work aside, not past the realization that if he did give into the urge to destroy them, he'd certainly regret it later.
Ratchet had never felt the urge to rein in his temper before, hardly ever bothered. He was who he was and if anyone didn't like it, Ratchet was perfectly capable of telling them exactly which port they could stuff it up. It had never bothered Wheeljack, or Optimus, come to think of it, beyond the occasional scolding and-
It was hard to stifle that train of thought, harder still to force back the anger that he didn't have a right to, he had made the choice, he had, and-and-and-
And Optimus had asked him to partner with him and barely seemed upset at his refusal. Was that what this had meant to him? This lukewarm, indifferent proposal was supposed to replace what he had with Wheeljack?
He didn't hear Optimus move, couldn't feel anything past the trembling rage that was filling his processors and he barely kept himself from lashing out at the soft touch on his shoulder, jerked himself away from Optimus's fingers so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Don’t touch me!" Ratchet snarled, pushing Optimus away with one hand as the anger in him heated, boiled to the breaking point as Optimus stepped back at his shove because the only way he could outright push Optimus was if Optimus let him.
The warnings scrolling across his vision, cool calculations and percentages were like gibberish, tinting his vision in crimson. Nothing caught except pure, clean rage and Ratchet was on his feet, shoving Optimus against the wall before he could stop himself, and Optimus let him, let him, and the growl that escaped him barely counted as language.
Damn him, damn him for all of this, all of it, for bringing up partnering when it was suddenly so very clear that Optimus honestly didn't care what Ratchet chose.
Later, when time and distance had cooled him enough to allow for logical processing, Ratchet would go over his data logs and find nothing amiss, would only be able to conclude he'd been suffering from some temporary glitch. Nothing else could explain how his anger so easily overwrote his common sense. Common sense would have demanded that he sit back down and go back to work instead of attacking a superior officer for the second time that week. At the very least common sense would certainly have stopped him from violence against a mech who might match him in mass but was considerably larger and stronger than him. Probability stated that the chances of Optimus hurting him were miniscule but if he did, Ratchet could very quickly be dead.
But his common sense seemed to be buried somewhere in the back of his processors, along with his sense of self-preservation and the sharp sarcasm that he usually kept layered over his deeper emotions. Right now, all his feelings were boiling to the surface and every one of them felt like anger…and betrayal.
It wasn't a surprise to have his arm caught, his directional gyroscope reeling as he was suddenly whirled around and pressed hard against the wall, his arm pulled up hard behind his back. It was the second time he'd been manhandled today and this time Ratchet fought it, gears and struts squalling protests as he tried to free himself from an unyielding grip.
It was only after Ratchet subsided, venting hard as he sagged against the wall, that Optimus finally spoke again and there was no casualness in his voice now, only a heat that matched Ratchet's own. "I know what you want," Optimus whispered harshly into his auditory receptor. "You want me to make this decision for you. It would be so easy, wouldn't it? No guilt, no responsibility, all the blame could be laid at my feet."
"Stop it," Ratchet snarled, hating the way his voice broke, hating all of this; Optimus, himself, his weakness in wanting this. Desire was a dark curl of want, threading through the cleanness of his anger like an infection. He didn't like touching, he didn't, but Optimus was pressed hard against him and he was running hot, steamy vents of air pouring over Ratchet's equally overheated frame. Memory flared, of a human frame pressed against his own, blue eyes only slightly less brilliant than optics.
"I could do that." The pressure against him changed, gentled, and Ratchet keened softly, pressing back unthinkingly into the hard line of Optimus's much-larger body. "But you would never forgive me."
"I can't do this!"
"I know," And there was the pain Ratchet had expected to hear, all of it poured, overflowing, into two soft words. "But I can't do it for you."
Suddenly, Ratchet couldn't stand another moment of this. Optimus's touch had gentled but his grip was still firm and there would be no way to break free.
But Ratchet wasn't anything as simple as just a medic. He was their CMO and by very definition he had to be able to access their processors in case of damage or corruption, and he could hack his way in, if the need were pressing enough, even into Sunstreaker. Even Optimus. Any medic had to be at least a decent hacker and Ratchet would never call himself anything as feeble as 'decent' in anything.
It was easy, too easy, to use his medical overrides to slam through Optimus's firewalls, heard his shocked gasp and Ratchet only had seconds before Optimus forced him back out, it was a hasty, shallow hack at best, but it was enough to take over his motor functions and make him to let Ratchet go. Enough time for Ratchet to push him to the floor, straddle his prone form before giving Optimus back control of his own body.
He couldn't have held down Optimus if he wanted to and didn't try. Optimus met his fierce glare warily, hands lifting to rest lightly on Ratchet's hips. Ratchet didn't protest, not even when he stroked, large fingers tracing the gaps in his armor, sliding against the delicate wires beneath.
"Form a holo," Ratchet demanded, watched as Optimus's optics flickered in something like surprise. He didn't care. He wanted this; that he could admit, had wanted it again since that night when everything had fallen apart.
At the very least, he could want this.
A flicker of light on the floor next to him and Optimus's holo form stood there, looking up at the impassively. His calm wavered when Ratchet reached down and scooped him up, a nearly-living doll cradled in his palm. He held the small figure close to his chest, locked his joints before forming his own holo, shifting his perceptions into a smaller form.
It was disconcerting to see himself from another set of eyes. Enormous, like looking at Primus himself, but Ratchet shook aside that little mental blasphemy and took in Optimus instead, sprawled at his feet.
Before, that one other time, he'd let Optimus take the lead. Now, with his receptors burning like fire and his human form already aroused, he grabbed the front of Optimus's shirt and yanked him forward, only just saw blue eyes widening in surprise before Ratchet kissed him.
The lips against his own were gentle, tentative, but Ratchet didn't want his tenderness. Kiss him back, hard, felt Optimus's muffled sound of surprise but he didn't resist when Ratchet shoved him down on his back, devouring him as much as he could with an unfamiliar mouth. Teeth pressed hard against his tender lips and Ratchet had no doubt that if they were truly human they would be sharing the taste of blood. As it was, he could taste sweetness, heat, arousal even as the concept of taste was foreign to him.
He bit at the soft lips beneath his own, felt Optimus wince and draw in a sharp breath, but there was no protest, only a punishing bite in return. Ratchet moaned, fingers digging hard into Optimus's shoulders. He wanted roughness now, wanted almost to hurt Optimus for letting Ratchet do this to him. Only the fact that he knew Optimus had suffered worse at his brother's own hands tempered him, that and he suspected Optimus would allow it, would take whatever Ratchet gave, in some misbegotten, misguided nobleness . Optimus would let him because he'd given more for less reason to his own twin and if Sideswipe thought he had a raw deal in the brother area, he should try sharing his spark with a psychotic tyrant for a change.
"Take these off," Ratchet pulled away long enough to demand, jerking hard on the soft, false clothing covering the body that he wanted to touch. Instantly, they vanished, left him with nothing but a wealth hot, silky skin begging for his touch, and Primus, but he wanted to touch. Hated himself for it, hated his need but all his disdain didn't lesson the desire and Ratchet slid down to mouth the hard line of Optimus's collarbone, slithering lower and leaving behind a path of bites and licks.
Human genitalia was a contrast of simplicities and complexities, their sexual needs equal parts easy to understand and confusing to implement. A human would be fumbling their way through this, Ratchet suspected, but a human didn't have instant access to gigabytes of information, had no way to precisely gauge pressure and temperature.
Even without that, though, some things could be intuited. Ratchet wrapped one unsteady hand around the hard erection in front of his face, pressed a soft kiss against the tip. The way Optimus's thighs trembled beneath his hands, his sharply indrawn breath; both excellent indicators that Ratchet had done something right. Large hands clenched beside him and Ratchet took one in his free hand, twined their fingers together as Ratchet took Optimus's cock deeply into his mouth.
Loud, choked sounds that might have been Cybertronian made Ratchet cast a wary glance upward and the sight made him pause, noticing wide blue optics focused on them. Optimus was watching him, them, and Ratchet deliberately pulled back, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against the hard eagerness of Optimus' erection.
Another moan, from beneath and above him and Ratchet slitted his eyes open in time to see Optimus's optics spiral wide, taking in everything. Beneath him, the holo form arched, whimpering, begging silently. Beautiful, Ratchet sighed to himself, even like this.
Lowering his head, Ratchet took him in his mouth again, the thick weight on his unfamiliar tongue as Optimus arched up again, pressing between his parted lips. He liked this, Ratchet could admit. Liked the control of it, liked the pressure against his tongue, the silky slide bumping against the back of his throat as he sucked. He supposed, in some distant, sane, part of his processors, that he should someday thank Bumblebee for having the foresight to not include a gag reflex in the parameters.
Certainly Optimus should thank him, considering the sounds he was making, his larger human frame writhing against the cup of Ratchet's palm and for just a second, Ratchet split his own perceptions, looked at them through his real eyes.
Oh, that was a sight to be saved, and he did automatically, taking in every miniscule detail, the shine of sweat on Optimus's throat as he tipped his head back, lips parted as he cried out. Dark hair pooled out around his head, a corona of blackness against pale skin, most of his lower body hidden by Ratchet's holo kneeling over him, and all of it stood out brilliantly against the mossy green of his own paint. His chosen form was as beautiful as his real one, Ratchet couldn't help but think, even as he shifted his perceptions back to his holo before his divided attention could make him falter.
Optimus's hands stroked helplessly over Ratchet's head and shoulders, threading through his hair and something about his tentativeness was obscene, made Ratchet grab his hand and force him to tighten his grip. Do it, he demanded silently, make me do something.
Some of his unspoken demand must have registered, Optimus's hand tightened in his hair, holding him still for the first uncertain upward thrust. Yes, oh, yes, Ratchet relaxed his throat, slid his hands beneath Optimus to cup his hips in encouragement.Yes, fuck my mouth, force me, please, just a little. Please, please…
Yes, came back to him and Ratchet startled to realize he'd actually sent that communication, more startled when Optimus complied, pushing hard into his mouth, large hands holding his head still for each forceful thrust. A sound burst into the air above them, a loud moan that Ratchet dimly recognized as his own.
His secondary processors recognized the offered mental link, accepted it before Ratchet could even properly consider it and the electric flood of pleasure that poured through it made him shriek aloud, even as Optimus did the same, the grating sound of metal barely registered as they writhed against each other, Optimus forcing his own very human-feeling ecstasy through the link. Doubled, trebled, as the feedback writhed between them, the dual sensation of his true body overloading mingling with Optimus's holo jerking beneath his own, loud cries echoing around them and there were too many voices involved for Ratchet to sort them out, even if he had wanted to.
His perceptions jarred when human hands caught him and Ratchet blinked to find he was still inside the holo, being dragged up into Optimus's arms. For a moment, Ratchet allowed the embrace, clung to the shaking, sweating body beneath him and he pressed into the sudden kiss that Optimus took with the same fevered eagerness it was given. For a moment.
Then he pulled away, met blue eyes with his own, and didn't offer a word or touch before he withdrew his perceptions back into his true form. Optimus did the same without comment.
It felt…good, to be himself. Less vulnerable and comfortingly familiar as the faint aftershocks of overload still sparked through his systems. Until reality chose to reassert itself with a vengeance, and Ratchet could only look down at Optimus in dismay, still straddling the other's lap. Dear, sweet Primus, had he really just attacked his Prime and…er…ravaged him, after he'd told him that he wanted to break things off between them?
Distance seemed to be called for, immediately, but for some reason, Ratchet found himself reluctant. Optimus hands were still on him, but not holding, only resting lightly on his hips and his optics were open, regarding Ratchet with calm.
"This doesn't change anything," Ratchet said instantly, words tumbling free in that wretched way they had been lately. It couldn't change anything and for the first time in his recollection, Ratchet forcefully suppressed it when the ache of Wheeljack's loss seeped into his current emotions. He couldn't deal with that right this second, not with overload caused by someone else still throbbing through him.
If he was hoping for a repeat of the last time, of the sharp pain Optimus had shown him, he would have been sorely disappointed. Optimus only nodded, murmuring, "I don't expect it to."
Ratchet vented a harsh sigh, his own fingers curling against Optimus chest, briefly shrill against the glass. "You’re not even going to try to change my mind."
He couldn't even understand why he was asking; this was what he wanted, why in blazes was he questioning Optimus's acceptance?
"I told you that it was your decision," Optimus reminded him, softly. His own fingers moved softly, stroking lightly, a very human gesture in a form that very much wasn't. "That does not mean I don’t hope…" Optimus trailed off with an almost amused sound. "This is not, actually, what I came to talk to you about."
"We didn't do much talking," Ratchet grumbled, finally pulling away. "Even I know that humans don't usually chat with their pelvic regions."
Every part of him seemed to ache, from his optics down to the most delicate gears in his feet. With a barely concealed stagger, Ratchet settled himself back down at his work bench and once again picked up his tools. Hmm, at least his automatic calibration function seemed to have finally repaired the faint tremor that had been plaguing him.
There was a soft sigh from behind him, the quick whirr of gears as Optimus pushed himself to his feet. "You do realize that I'm your friend," Optimus said, faintly chiding. "You don't have to interface with me for that. You don't have to do anything for that."
"I know that," Ratchet said, a trifle impatiently.
"Do you?" Optimus countered. "Then listen to me for once. Get some rest."
"I don't have time," Ratchet said brusquely, already focusing on his work. Something had to be done about Sam's receptors and Ratchet would rather it was sooner than later, before the boy found himself in a situation that ended far worse than his little excursion the week before. But Optimus's next words froze him, the tiny sunglasses on the table in front of him untouched.
"Bumblebee has discovered a thermic trace nearby."
"Decepticons?" Ratchet said softly, over his shoulder.
"We think so. We do know that Barricade, at least, is in the area." Unspoken was that Ratchet needed to be there and he needed to be in top form, not ragged and exhausted.
"I don't have time," he repeated but it was a feeble protest. They both knew he'd have to make time.
"Then rest here." A light touch on the back of his hand, Optimus carefully drawing away his tools and laying them aside and mutely, Ratchet allowed Optimus to pull him away, towards the gleaming exam table on the opposite side of the room.
Optimus lifted him up easily and settled him on the steel table. Nothing in his touch implied any more intimacy than friendship and if he were any less exhausted, Ratchet might have protested sharply being treated like an overtired sparkling. Not today, not when he was equal parts emotionally and physically weary. He was already cycling into recharge when he heard Optimus settle on the floor, and it was less concern and more curiosity that had Ratchet withdraw his recharge commands and open his optics.
Optimus met his curious look with one of firm command, "I'm staying," he said unnecessarily.
"You don't need-"
"You do need. I'm staying."
Of course he would. Without another word, Ratchet sat up and hopped back to his feet, Optimus's rising protest fading as Ratchet settled on the floor next to him, curling so that he could rest his head in Optimus's lap. It would hardly be the first time he'd slept in a less than ideal location and with a last bit of belated wariness, Ratchet finally remembered to code the doors locked. If Ironhide caught him like this, he'd be hearing about it for the next millennia.
A hesitant touch against his shoulder, one large hand stroking tentatively and Ratchet murmured a wordless sigh of contentment, as he cycled into recharge. He needed this, he hated himself for it, but he did, and if his processors chose to torment him with mingling his memories of Optimus and Wheeljack together in an approximation of a dream, there was little Ratchet could do to stop it.
-finis-
Next Chapter
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: Transformers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ratchet/Optimus
Summary: Part 39 of the ‘human’ series, which are available, in order, here in my Main Fiction post.
~~*~~
Exhaustion was getting to be so common for Ratchet that he thought soon his possessors would set that as his default state, the lingering static of under-recharge a constant presence.
It might make it better if it was; at least then he could stop shuffling aside the friendly warning reminders that popped up in his visual display, informing him of how long it had been since his last recharge and recommending he take a break. Once, as a prank, Sideswipe had designed a program that altered the language of Ratchet's visual display and the first time Ratchet had seen his user interface command him to 'take a fucking break, you moron,' he had nearly blown a fuse trying to decide whether to be furious or to fall over laughing.
Sideswipe had earned two days of double-shifts and an hour-long version of the Speech from Optimus for that stunt, and Ratchet still regretted he'd had to delete the code. It had been a refreshing change.
Exhausted or not, and rest reminders aside, he still had work to do tonight before he could listen to his own system complaints. A stack of finished fuel capacitors was in a neat pile at the corner of his work bench, only waiting for him to have the time to begin installing them, but right now he was abandoning his never-ending work on them to contemplate the visor that he was constructing for Sam, or sunglasses as Bee called them. Semantics, he supposed, but the human had been very firm in his desire to remain human and Ratchet couldn't fault him for that at all. It was one thing to play at being a different species, but actually being modified into one? Just the thought made Ratchet shudder.
He'd modeled them after a fashionable, and expensive, pair he'd discovered on the internet. Despite what his brethren might think, Ratchet did understand the concept of style and while he'd chosen his alternate form with efficiency in mind, he understood perfectly that others preferred something a little….prettier. There was a reason that stepping into Autobot City was like venturing into one of the finest car shows in the world and that perception was something that 'bots and humans had very much in common. Medical necessity or not, Sam was also more likely to wear them if he looked good.
Aside from being aesthetically pleasing, this pair also had enough mass for Ratchet to attach the necessary circuitry to it that would, he hoped, allow Sam to communicate with his receptors. It was incredibly delicate, painstaking work done with his tiniest tools and Ratchet took a moment to steady the faint tremor in his hands before he began to very carefully attach the nearly microscopic optic sensors that would send a visual display over the lenses. A few more adjustment, a few diagnostic tests and they would be ready. Ratchet refused to even contemplate that this might not work. It had to work, had to, because this was literally his last option for assisting the boy.
He'd never liked admitting when he was out of his depth but frankly, he'd been attempting to swim in an ocean of the unknown since Sam had collapsed in his infirmary. And Ratchet would be happy to point out to anyone that his alternate form was an ambulance, not a boat. A reputation for performing medical miracles was one thing, but Ratchet wasn't Primus and there was only so much he could do with ingenuity.
His chronometer was in perfect working condition, of course, but Ratchet had long since defaulted it into the background of his visual display. He had quite enough to do without a constant reminder of his lack of time to do it in. It was only when he heard the soft swish of the infirmary door swinging open, felt the chillier nighttime air that he realized just how late was and he knew without looking just who had come to see him.
Ratchet didn't look up from his work, although he did slow, his focus entirely shattered by the presence behind him, the mech he had resolutely decided not to think about and the one he hasn't been able to get off his processors.
Optimus was standing behind him, utterly silent, and for once in his long life, Ratchet had no idea what to say. His default state when he was uncomfortable…or honestly, his default state, period…was to fall back on sarcasm and snark but in this case, his problems were twofold. One, this was his Prime and while he certainly spoke to Optimus with more freedom than anyone aside from Ironhide, he was still their leader.
The other problem was more personal. Ratchet might agree that he was often blunt but he rarely ever believed he was wrong. He said what he meant and what he believed, damn the consequences.
I'm not wrong, he told himself, firmly. He wasn't. He was insensitive, perhaps, too blunt and bordering on cruel this time, but he had made the right choice. He had. Ending their relationship was the best thing for them both. But even if he was right, he had made a choice and he had no right to complain when the consequences of it stood behind him, haunting him with possibilities that he refused to contemplate. He'd been asking for this since the beginning, when he'd first allowed himself to be tempted into interfacing with Optimus in the first place.
The soft sound of depressurizing hydraulics from behind him, Optimus shifting his weight, and Ratchet closed his optics. He didn't need to see it, had enough memory files to picture how Optimus looked just at this moment. Arms crossed over his chest, deep blue optics half-shuttered in suppressed emotion. Likely, he was masked, Optimus was one of the few 'bots who preferred to keep his face covered even outside of combat.
It was Optimus who finally spoke, breaking the silence just as Ratchet had expected him to, "We need to talk."
Protesting that no, they really did not would have been a waste of time and energy and instead, Ratchet set aside his tools, focusing his optics on the wall behind his work bench. "If you're here to try to convince me to change my mind, I'd rather you didn't." Point of fact, Ratchet wasn't sure if he could stand to hear it.
"Ratchet." Nothing more than his name, nothing accusatory or pained in it, no chiding but Ratchet closed his optics anyway and fell silent. He could feel the vibration as Optimus stepped closer, felt him in his periphery sensors but Optimus didn't touch. "You know me better than that."
Again, no chiding, only a simple statement of fact. "Yes, I do." Quietly. Suddenly, it was easier to pick up his tools again, magnifying his vision so he could see the exquisitely tiny details of the visor in front of him. Sunglasses, Ratchet mentally corrected. They were sunglasses and he had work to do. There was no time for this emotional nonsense, none at all.
"You can tell Ironhide that I have another stack of fuel capacitors ready to install in the solar towers." Ratchet knew Optimus entirely too well, he decided, to know exactly what expression would be on his face for that.
"You could tell him yourself," Optimus pointed out.
Well, yes. He could, if he felt like talking to Ironhide any time soon, but after that rather humiliating and semi-public dressing down, Ratchet wasn't inclined to go looking for Ironhide for anything other than a beating, preferable with a blunt weapon.
The silence that fell over them again was stifling and that faint tremor that had been plaguing Ratchet was worse, far too much for him to attempt to continue such delicate work. He slapped his tools down and vented a deep gust of air, let it out. Optimus was one of his closest and oldest friends, and Ratchet would be damned before he'd let that be ruined. He wanted his friend, he wanted…no. They just needed to clear the air. It would be fine. It had to be.
"I'm sorry," Ratchet said, finally, wincing at the grating note to his voice modulator. "That was exceptionally cruel of me, to tell you like that."
Optimus let out a sharp breath of his own. "Ratchet, I offered and you refused. I can accept that."
That…was not exactly what Ratchet had expected to hear. Oh, he hadn't thought Optimus would approach him on bended knee, but a protest or two would have been to be expected, a little reasonable discord. Optimus would offer his rational as to why they should partner, Ratchet would refute them and they could get past this. Perhaps they would even be better friends, with a little time.
Time. Yes. Ratchet finally turned to look at Optimus and couldn't stop his blink of surprise to see that his posture was nothing like Ratchet had imagined. He was leaning casually against one of the exam tables and his mask was withdrawn, his expression relaxed.
Ah, he was hiding his emotions, of course. Perhaps hoping to make Ratchet feel less guilty. That would be just like Optimus, to hide his own pain and accept any of the hurt that was sent his way as if it was his due. "I could have chosen a better time."
Optimus shrugged….shrugged! "Perhaps, but the end result was the same."
A strange, stinging pain settled into Ratchet's chest, near his spark chamber and automatically he logged it, ran a quick diagnostic that spat a clean bill of health back at him. Tired, yes, exhausted, but other than that he was in optimal condition. Perhaps he was just feeling his age, pestered by phantom pains and palsies.
Optimus was still meeting his gaze steadily and there was none of the devastation Ratchet had seen that night. He had seen it…hadn't he? Prime had wanted to partner with him and Ratchet had coldly turned him down, it was to be expected that Optimus would be hurt. Yet there was only calm confidence in his clear, blue optics and…and Ratchet should have felt relieved. Everything was going to be all right between them and he could let it go, get back to work.
That was what he should have done. Instead, Ratchet found himself saying, "You seemed very upset. That night." Certainly it was unnecessary to clarify which night.
The sound Optimus made was very close to laughter. "If you were expecting my reaction to be pleased, then I will firmly accept your frequent reminders that you are not a counselor," Optimus said, dryly.
"Of course," Ratchet murmured, turned back to his work bench. He stared at the sunglasses, at the neat pile of fuel capacitors and had to fight the urge to sweep all of them to the floor to let them shatter and explode in a satisfying cacophony. Even more inexplicable was the rising anger in him and with the last of his calm, Ratchet pushed his work aside, not past the realization that if he did give into the urge to destroy them, he'd certainly regret it later.
Ratchet had never felt the urge to rein in his temper before, hardly ever bothered. He was who he was and if anyone didn't like it, Ratchet was perfectly capable of telling them exactly which port they could stuff it up. It had never bothered Wheeljack, or Optimus, come to think of it, beyond the occasional scolding and-
It was hard to stifle that train of thought, harder still to force back the anger that he didn't have a right to, he had made the choice, he had, and-and-and-
And Optimus had asked him to partner with him and barely seemed upset at his refusal. Was that what this had meant to him? This lukewarm, indifferent proposal was supposed to replace what he had with Wheeljack?
He didn't hear Optimus move, couldn't feel anything past the trembling rage that was filling his processors and he barely kept himself from lashing out at the soft touch on his shoulder, jerked himself away from Optimus's fingers so hard that he nearly fell out of his chair.
"Don’t touch me!" Ratchet snarled, pushing Optimus away with one hand as the anger in him heated, boiled to the breaking point as Optimus stepped back at his shove because the only way he could outright push Optimus was if Optimus let him.
The warnings scrolling across his vision, cool calculations and percentages were like gibberish, tinting his vision in crimson. Nothing caught except pure, clean rage and Ratchet was on his feet, shoving Optimus against the wall before he could stop himself, and Optimus let him, let him, and the growl that escaped him barely counted as language.
Damn him, damn him for all of this, all of it, for bringing up partnering when it was suddenly so very clear that Optimus honestly didn't care what Ratchet chose.
Later, when time and distance had cooled him enough to allow for logical processing, Ratchet would go over his data logs and find nothing amiss, would only be able to conclude he'd been suffering from some temporary glitch. Nothing else could explain how his anger so easily overwrote his common sense. Common sense would have demanded that he sit back down and go back to work instead of attacking a superior officer for the second time that week. At the very least common sense would certainly have stopped him from violence against a mech who might match him in mass but was considerably larger and stronger than him. Probability stated that the chances of Optimus hurting him were miniscule but if he did, Ratchet could very quickly be dead.
But his common sense seemed to be buried somewhere in the back of his processors, along with his sense of self-preservation and the sharp sarcasm that he usually kept layered over his deeper emotions. Right now, all his feelings were boiling to the surface and every one of them felt like anger…and betrayal.
It wasn't a surprise to have his arm caught, his directional gyroscope reeling as he was suddenly whirled around and pressed hard against the wall, his arm pulled up hard behind his back. It was the second time he'd been manhandled today and this time Ratchet fought it, gears and struts squalling protests as he tried to free himself from an unyielding grip.
It was only after Ratchet subsided, venting hard as he sagged against the wall, that Optimus finally spoke again and there was no casualness in his voice now, only a heat that matched Ratchet's own. "I know what you want," Optimus whispered harshly into his auditory receptor. "You want me to make this decision for you. It would be so easy, wouldn't it? No guilt, no responsibility, all the blame could be laid at my feet."
"Stop it," Ratchet snarled, hating the way his voice broke, hating all of this; Optimus, himself, his weakness in wanting this. Desire was a dark curl of want, threading through the cleanness of his anger like an infection. He didn't like touching, he didn't, but Optimus was pressed hard against him and he was running hot, steamy vents of air pouring over Ratchet's equally overheated frame. Memory flared, of a human frame pressed against his own, blue eyes only slightly less brilliant than optics.
"I could do that." The pressure against him changed, gentled, and Ratchet keened softly, pressing back unthinkingly into the hard line of Optimus's much-larger body. "But you would never forgive me."
"I can't do this!"
"I know," And there was the pain Ratchet had expected to hear, all of it poured, overflowing, into two soft words. "But I can't do it for you."
Suddenly, Ratchet couldn't stand another moment of this. Optimus's touch had gentled but his grip was still firm and there would be no way to break free.
But Ratchet wasn't anything as simple as just a medic. He was their CMO and by very definition he had to be able to access their processors in case of damage or corruption, and he could hack his way in, if the need were pressing enough, even into Sunstreaker. Even Optimus. Any medic had to be at least a decent hacker and Ratchet would never call himself anything as feeble as 'decent' in anything.
It was easy, too easy, to use his medical overrides to slam through Optimus's firewalls, heard his shocked gasp and Ratchet only had seconds before Optimus forced him back out, it was a hasty, shallow hack at best, but it was enough to take over his motor functions and make him to let Ratchet go. Enough time for Ratchet to push him to the floor, straddle his prone form before giving Optimus back control of his own body.
He couldn't have held down Optimus if he wanted to and didn't try. Optimus met his fierce glare warily, hands lifting to rest lightly on Ratchet's hips. Ratchet didn't protest, not even when he stroked, large fingers tracing the gaps in his armor, sliding against the delicate wires beneath.
"Form a holo," Ratchet demanded, watched as Optimus's optics flickered in something like surprise. He didn't care. He wanted this; that he could admit, had wanted it again since that night when everything had fallen apart.
At the very least, he could want this.
A flicker of light on the floor next to him and Optimus's holo form stood there, looking up at the impassively. His calm wavered when Ratchet reached down and scooped him up, a nearly-living doll cradled in his palm. He held the small figure close to his chest, locked his joints before forming his own holo, shifting his perceptions into a smaller form.
It was disconcerting to see himself from another set of eyes. Enormous, like looking at Primus himself, but Ratchet shook aside that little mental blasphemy and took in Optimus instead, sprawled at his feet.
Before, that one other time, he'd let Optimus take the lead. Now, with his receptors burning like fire and his human form already aroused, he grabbed the front of Optimus's shirt and yanked him forward, only just saw blue eyes widening in surprise before Ratchet kissed him.
The lips against his own were gentle, tentative, but Ratchet didn't want his tenderness. Kiss him back, hard, felt Optimus's muffled sound of surprise but he didn't resist when Ratchet shoved him down on his back, devouring him as much as he could with an unfamiliar mouth. Teeth pressed hard against his tender lips and Ratchet had no doubt that if they were truly human they would be sharing the taste of blood. As it was, he could taste sweetness, heat, arousal even as the concept of taste was foreign to him.
He bit at the soft lips beneath his own, felt Optimus wince and draw in a sharp breath, but there was no protest, only a punishing bite in return. Ratchet moaned, fingers digging hard into Optimus's shoulders. He wanted roughness now, wanted almost to hurt Optimus for letting Ratchet do this to him. Only the fact that he knew Optimus had suffered worse at his brother's own hands tempered him, that and he suspected Optimus would allow it, would take whatever Ratchet gave, in some misbegotten, misguided nobleness . Optimus would let him because he'd given more for less reason to his own twin and if Sideswipe thought he had a raw deal in the brother area, he should try sharing his spark with a psychotic tyrant for a change.
"Take these off," Ratchet pulled away long enough to demand, jerking hard on the soft, false clothing covering the body that he wanted to touch. Instantly, they vanished, left him with nothing but a wealth hot, silky skin begging for his touch, and Primus, but he wanted to touch. Hated himself for it, hated his need but all his disdain didn't lesson the desire and Ratchet slid down to mouth the hard line of Optimus's collarbone, slithering lower and leaving behind a path of bites and licks.
Human genitalia was a contrast of simplicities and complexities, their sexual needs equal parts easy to understand and confusing to implement. A human would be fumbling their way through this, Ratchet suspected, but a human didn't have instant access to gigabytes of information, had no way to precisely gauge pressure and temperature.
Even without that, though, some things could be intuited. Ratchet wrapped one unsteady hand around the hard erection in front of his face, pressed a soft kiss against the tip. The way Optimus's thighs trembled beneath his hands, his sharply indrawn breath; both excellent indicators that Ratchet had done something right. Large hands clenched beside him and Ratchet took one in his free hand, twined their fingers together as Ratchet took Optimus's cock deeply into his mouth.
Loud, choked sounds that might have been Cybertronian made Ratchet cast a wary glance upward and the sight made him pause, noticing wide blue optics focused on them. Optimus was watching him, them, and Ratchet deliberately pulled back, closing his eyes as he rubbed his cheek against the hard eagerness of Optimus' erection.
Another moan, from beneath and above him and Ratchet slitted his eyes open in time to see Optimus's optics spiral wide, taking in everything. Beneath him, the holo form arched, whimpering, begging silently. Beautiful, Ratchet sighed to himself, even like this.
Lowering his head, Ratchet took him in his mouth again, the thick weight on his unfamiliar tongue as Optimus arched up again, pressing between his parted lips. He liked this, Ratchet could admit. Liked the control of it, liked the pressure against his tongue, the silky slide bumping against the back of his throat as he sucked. He supposed, in some distant, sane, part of his processors, that he should someday thank Bumblebee for having the foresight to not include a gag reflex in the parameters.
Certainly Optimus should thank him, considering the sounds he was making, his larger human frame writhing against the cup of Ratchet's palm and for just a second, Ratchet split his own perceptions, looked at them through his real eyes.
Oh, that was a sight to be saved, and he did automatically, taking in every miniscule detail, the shine of sweat on Optimus's throat as he tipped his head back, lips parted as he cried out. Dark hair pooled out around his head, a corona of blackness against pale skin, most of his lower body hidden by Ratchet's holo kneeling over him, and all of it stood out brilliantly against the mossy green of his own paint. His chosen form was as beautiful as his real one, Ratchet couldn't help but think, even as he shifted his perceptions back to his holo before his divided attention could make him falter.
Optimus's hands stroked helplessly over Ratchet's head and shoulders, threading through his hair and something about his tentativeness was obscene, made Ratchet grab his hand and force him to tighten his grip. Do it, he demanded silently, make me do something.
Some of his unspoken demand must have registered, Optimus's hand tightened in his hair, holding him still for the first uncertain upward thrust. Yes, oh, yes, Ratchet relaxed his throat, slid his hands beneath Optimus to cup his hips in encouragement.Yes, fuck my mouth, force me, please, just a little. Please, please…
Yes, came back to him and Ratchet startled to realize he'd actually sent that communication, more startled when Optimus complied, pushing hard into his mouth, large hands holding his head still for each forceful thrust. A sound burst into the air above them, a loud moan that Ratchet dimly recognized as his own.
His secondary processors recognized the offered mental link, accepted it before Ratchet could even properly consider it and the electric flood of pleasure that poured through it made him shriek aloud, even as Optimus did the same, the grating sound of metal barely registered as they writhed against each other, Optimus forcing his own very human-feeling ecstasy through the link. Doubled, trebled, as the feedback writhed between them, the dual sensation of his true body overloading mingling with Optimus's holo jerking beneath his own, loud cries echoing around them and there were too many voices involved for Ratchet to sort them out, even if he had wanted to.
His perceptions jarred when human hands caught him and Ratchet blinked to find he was still inside the holo, being dragged up into Optimus's arms. For a moment, Ratchet allowed the embrace, clung to the shaking, sweating body beneath him and he pressed into the sudden kiss that Optimus took with the same fevered eagerness it was given. For a moment.
Then he pulled away, met blue eyes with his own, and didn't offer a word or touch before he withdrew his perceptions back into his true form. Optimus did the same without comment.
It felt…good, to be himself. Less vulnerable and comfortingly familiar as the faint aftershocks of overload still sparked through his systems. Until reality chose to reassert itself with a vengeance, and Ratchet could only look down at Optimus in dismay, still straddling the other's lap. Dear, sweet Primus, had he really just attacked his Prime and…er…ravaged him, after he'd told him that he wanted to break things off between them?
Distance seemed to be called for, immediately, but for some reason, Ratchet found himself reluctant. Optimus hands were still on him, but not holding, only resting lightly on his hips and his optics were open, regarding Ratchet with calm.
"This doesn't change anything," Ratchet said instantly, words tumbling free in that wretched way they had been lately. It couldn't change anything and for the first time in his recollection, Ratchet forcefully suppressed it when the ache of Wheeljack's loss seeped into his current emotions. He couldn't deal with that right this second, not with overload caused by someone else still throbbing through him.
If he was hoping for a repeat of the last time, of the sharp pain Optimus had shown him, he would have been sorely disappointed. Optimus only nodded, murmuring, "I don't expect it to."
Ratchet vented a harsh sigh, his own fingers curling against Optimus chest, briefly shrill against the glass. "You’re not even going to try to change my mind."
He couldn't even understand why he was asking; this was what he wanted, why in blazes was he questioning Optimus's acceptance?
"I told you that it was your decision," Optimus reminded him, softly. His own fingers moved softly, stroking lightly, a very human gesture in a form that very much wasn't. "That does not mean I don’t hope…" Optimus trailed off with an almost amused sound. "This is not, actually, what I came to talk to you about."
"We didn't do much talking," Ratchet grumbled, finally pulling away. "Even I know that humans don't usually chat with their pelvic regions."
Every part of him seemed to ache, from his optics down to the most delicate gears in his feet. With a barely concealed stagger, Ratchet settled himself back down at his work bench and once again picked up his tools. Hmm, at least his automatic calibration function seemed to have finally repaired the faint tremor that had been plaguing him.
There was a soft sigh from behind him, the quick whirr of gears as Optimus pushed himself to his feet. "You do realize that I'm your friend," Optimus said, faintly chiding. "You don't have to interface with me for that. You don't have to do anything for that."
"I know that," Ratchet said, a trifle impatiently.
"Do you?" Optimus countered. "Then listen to me for once. Get some rest."
"I don't have time," Ratchet said brusquely, already focusing on his work. Something had to be done about Sam's receptors and Ratchet would rather it was sooner than later, before the boy found himself in a situation that ended far worse than his little excursion the week before. But Optimus's next words froze him, the tiny sunglasses on the table in front of him untouched.
"Bumblebee has discovered a thermic trace nearby."
"Decepticons?" Ratchet said softly, over his shoulder.
"We think so. We do know that Barricade, at least, is in the area." Unspoken was that Ratchet needed to be there and he needed to be in top form, not ragged and exhausted.
"I don't have time," he repeated but it was a feeble protest. They both knew he'd have to make time.
"Then rest here." A light touch on the back of his hand, Optimus carefully drawing away his tools and laying them aside and mutely, Ratchet allowed Optimus to pull him away, towards the gleaming exam table on the opposite side of the room.
Optimus lifted him up easily and settled him on the steel table. Nothing in his touch implied any more intimacy than friendship and if he were any less exhausted, Ratchet might have protested sharply being treated like an overtired sparkling. Not today, not when he was equal parts emotionally and physically weary. He was already cycling into recharge when he heard Optimus settle on the floor, and it was less concern and more curiosity that had Ratchet withdraw his recharge commands and open his optics.
Optimus met his curious look with one of firm command, "I'm staying," he said unnecessarily.
"You don't need-"
"You do need. I'm staying."
Of course he would. Without another word, Ratchet sat up and hopped back to his feet, Optimus's rising protest fading as Ratchet settled on the floor next to him, curling so that he could rest his head in Optimus's lap. It would hardly be the first time he'd slept in a less than ideal location and with a last bit of belated wariness, Ratchet finally remembered to code the doors locked. If Ironhide caught him like this, he'd be hearing about it for the next millennia.
A hesitant touch against his shoulder, one large hand stroking tentatively and Ratchet murmured a wordless sigh of contentment, as he cycled into recharge. He needed this, he hated himself for it, but he did, and if his processors chose to torment him with mingling his memories of Optimus and Wheeljack together in an approximation of a dream, there was little Ratchet could do to stop it.
-finis-
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