FIC: A Long Time Coming (Human Series)
Title: A Long Time Coming
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Bayverse
Series: Human Series: Chapter: 54
Pairings: Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus, Mikaela/Prowl
Summary: Ratchet and Optimus have the long awaited conversation. Sort of.
Ratchet was not exactly what one would call of the religious bent. Generally, he only invoked the name of Primus as an expletive. But even his atheistic aft could be grateful for whatever combination of luck and fate resulted in so little battle damage to the infirmary.
As good a field medic as Ratchet was, even he could admit he wouldn’t have been able to save all the Humans with only the tools he kept on hand. His skills, finely honed as they were by years of war, decades of battles, were no match to the additional equipment he’d spent so long setting up here, the long hours and lack of recharge proving well worth it.
His secret relief these past days as he watched his tiny patients recover was kept private, of course; far be it from him to admit that not all medical miracles came straight from his own two hands. Lucky, too, that he’d been here at all. From his understanding of Earth medicine most of them would have died untouched right on the battlefield without his immediate triage.
Even with all his skills and tools put to their best use, it was Ratchet’s silent opinion that it was still a Primus-made miracle that all the Humans survived once they’d come under his tender mercies. A couple of them had been in pit-slagging critical condition, no mistake on that, a foot and a half already into their respective afterlives before Ratchet dragged them back to the world of the living.
He did not think about the three who perished before he arrived. Only a fool dwelled on such things, and as much of a fool as Ratchet was, he didn’t have enough high grade stored up for a proper bender.
No, right now, all he felt was relief and grudging gratitude to any higher power that might be as he settled his second to last surgery patient beneath the monitors again. Aside from Epps, Vasquez was the last of the Humans whose injuries required more care than medical nanites could provide. Soft tissues and organs were easily repaired and replicated if one had the know-how to program for it, but nerves and bones and muscles often needed a guiding hand.
The little Human did not stir as Ratchet carefully situated him, his stats coming online as the scanner identified a new target. Heartbeat and blood pressure were all well within the Human designated standards, his pain tolerances were sitting at a comfortably low level, not the zero that Ratchet would prefer but not worth straining his systems to achieve it. He would heal, he would live, as all the other Humans in his care would.
If indeed it was some benevolent gods watching from above, then it was Ratchet himself who was damn well not letting any of these humans get away with meeting those gods too soon, not on his watch.
On the other side of the room, Jolt was moving with an impressively light tread as he checked on the other Humans. None of them had shown any sign of trauma over being treated by mechs despite the circumstances causing their injuries, and both of them had forgone using a holoform unless it was strictly necessary. That was all the better for Jolt who did not have Ratchet’s level of skill with them. He could, though, with some training. Jolt had shown a satisfying aptitude for medical work and Ratchet would certainly be appreciative of the assistance.
When he had a chance, he’d inquire discreetly with Prowl about having Jolt transferred to his command rather than Ironhide’s. Normally he would take the mech’s preferences into account, would ask Jolt his opinion, but there was too slagging much to do in medical and only his hands to do it. He didn’t think Jolt would protest, anyway. Whatever his reasons for not pursuing his training past field medic before, he was certainly making up for lost time.
::How is Hicks?:: Ratchet sent on a private line. He already knew the answer, of course. His question was more a test of Jolt’s growing skills than concern for his patient.
Jolt glanced at the scanner. ::Stats steady, he’s still unconscious, though.::
::To be expected, the repairs were very close to his heart. And Epps?::
::Nanites have done all they can. He’s ready when you are.::
::Good.:: Ratchet hesitated, then added offhandedly, testing unknown skies, ::Surgery would go faster with another set of hands, are you capable?::
Jolt straightened and Ratchet did not miss the way his optics brightened with eagerness. If he was interested in remaining in the infirmary, assisting with surgery on an alien species would be quite the shine on his finish, the bragging rights alone would likely last decades. Ratchet grudgingly approved that the tone of his reply was appropriately measured, revealing none of his excitement. ::I believe I am, sir.::
“Can it with the ‘sir’ slag,” Ratchet grumbled aloud. Most of the Humans would need woken soon to check for cognitive function, anyway. “I only have rank so I can pull it on Optimus when necessary.”
“Is it necessary very often?”
If there had been even a scrap of slyness to that, his next surgery would have been removing Jolt’s head from his own aft. Ratchet gave him a suspicious glare and was met with nothing more than innocent curiosity. Ah, to be young again.
Young, and either clever enough to keep his suspicions very tightly to himself or possibly the deafest Autobot planetside. Ratchet was leaning towards clever and that was another mark on the side of bringing him permanently into the infirmary.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Ratchet finally muttered. “If Optimus took care of himself as well as he does the troops, I’d almost be out of a job.” A ping came up in his HUD and a short message. “By the way, he’s on his way over now, so I’ll thank you to keep that to yourself.”
Optimus was coming, finally. The message said that much and nothing else. Part of Ratchet was grateful for the warning. Another part, several, really, tiny and insistent, were revving up for some real pain if he didn’t get going with what they knew was on the menu.
He was nearly finished with rounds when Optimus came in, ducking his head under the door frame to enter the Human side of the infirmary. The building was designed large enough for any mech on earth to fit on either side, but ‘large enough’ was a fairly broad category.
He nodded a greeting to Jolt before turning his optics to Ratchet. “Prowl said you wished to speak to me.”
“It’s astonishing really how he manages to both overstate and understate in one sentence,” Ratchet mused. He refused to even consider that ‘nervously babbled’ might be a better descriptor. “I don’t ‘wish’ to do anything of the sort. Unfortunately, ‘need to talk’ is more apt.”
Jolt looked from Ratchet to Optimus as if suspecting this might be a rank-pulling situation and wisely kept silent.
Well, he’d put this off for long enough, longer than he ever should, Ratchet could admit that much. “Jolt, please keep an eye on the status displays. Keep a particularly close optic on Epps and come get me immediately if anything changes.”
“Sure, Ratchet.” Such a bland agreement, as if he certainly hadn’t heard the way they’d been rolling around on the floor in the next room the last time their leader was here. Ratchet ignored that his optics were all but engulfed in curiosity; no doubt Jolt was in a gossipy private chat with who-the-hell-knew, updating them on events. Secrets were difficult to keep with so small a team and scandal this delicious was a rare treat.
There was nothing for it. “Come on,” Ratchet said and led the way into the other side of the infirmary.
The first sight when one came through the door was Sideswipe’s frame, splayed open in the middle of repairs that Ratchet could manage between treating his Human patients. Blaster was on the next table and a glance showed his infusion of medical-grade energon would need changing soon, the soft glow of it illuminating the otherwise darkened room. It was a good thing mechs in stasis couldn’t form memories, he’d been giving them quite a show recently.
To his surprise, Optimus promptly sat on the floor, his armor rattling lightly. He let out a relieved huff as he settled. He was surely as tired as Ratchet, likely more so without the ability to turn off any recharge warnings that might display. Ratchet chose to sit as well, preferring not to be looming over Optimus for this little chat. What a tableau they must make, Ratchet thought darkly, two mechs cramped on the floor together with Ratchet carefully keeping his legs from touching Optimus lest his receptors turn on him and forgo the ‘conversation’ part of this meeting. A far cry from their last encounter and Ratchet vented in a deep breath, readying himself.
"Optimus-" he began, trying to carefully choose his words. Only to be almost immediately interrupted.
"You've been infected by Sam's receptors and now they are giving you the same urges for tactile stimulation with me as they do for Sam with Bumblebee,” Optimus said flatly.
Ratchet stared, speechless, but he found his voice quickly enough. "How did you-did Ironhide tell you?" he demanded. “Or was it Prowl, I should have welded his blasted lip plates shut, I -"
"No but thank you for confirming that you spoke to nearly every Autobot possible before me." The words were uncharacteristically bitter, all his legendary calm absent and Ratchet’s spark lurched guiltily.
“To be fair, I didn’t speak to Prowl.” His voice sounded so small, nearly timid, not at all his own. Optimus’s expression remained brutally unimpressed and that was fair enough, he had no excuses for Ironhide. A little stronger, Ratchet added, "I didn't intend to tell Ironhide before you. He was here just after I finished the scans. I’m telling you now, Optimus, I wasn’t keeping it a secret from you, I swear it."
The last of it came out in a hurried burst, almost pleading, and from Optimus’s face he should’ve spared himself the shame of it. Should have, except Optimus’s stern look finally wavered, softened, and there, there was the Optimus he’d always known. Relief flooded through him, strong enough that he was forced to tamp down hard on the plaintive ping from his receptors. These blasted things might think they were running the show, but Ratchet wasn’t about to bow to their demands so easily. They’d win eventually, breaking through his control, he knew that, and he still wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
Optimus didn’t seem to notice his dilemma. He huffed out a sound of exasperation. "I do have logic circuits of my own. It was not that difficult a puzzle to solve. But I do need another answer that only you possess.” His optics, so very blue and matched by every mech who followed him, searched Ratchet’s face. “Where do we go from here?"
Ratchet sighed, shuttering his optics and rested his head against the wall. Standing up against his foreign receptors was one thing, he couldn’t do the same with Optimus. He heard as much as felt Optimus moving in closer. "Ratchet?"
"I really don’t know. I'm tired," he admitted. Had he made it so difficult to admit even that much to Optimus? He was tired, he was exhausted. He really should have saved his minuscule amount of high grade for this little chat. Now that Optimus was near, the faint electric stirring in those receptors he’d been so studiously ignoring was becoming an insistent throb. "I know I said we could talk but I honestly have no idea what to say."
There was so much to talk about he couldn’t even begin. They’d never even managed to really discuss Optimus’s proposition or his declining it, simply fell wordlessly back to the way they’d been before and perhaps both of them could have maintained a polite fiction that it never happened at all if not for this issue with his receptors. When it came down to it, Ratchet hadn’t changed his mind; he still thought Optimus deserved someone else, someone better for him than his cranky old medic, someone worthy of him, blast it all, he was a Prime and more than that, it was Optimus. Someone would find their way to Earth who could fill that role in a way Ratchet never could. But now, even if Primus himself came down with a bouquet in one hand and an invitation for a filthy interface in the other, it wouldn’t matter. Until Ratchet could find a way to persuade his additional receptors that orgasm was not a prerequisite for recharging, they were both trapped.
Well. At the end of the day, Ratchet was the practical sort. May as well make the most of it.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and a gentle finger settled over his lip plates, stopping him.
"Then don't," Optimus said simply. “Perhaps we can communicate in another fashion.” Very, very lightly, with delicacy Ratchet thought few would believe their Prime capable of, Optimus traced his lip plates and lower, stroking a single finger down the line of armor on Ratchet's arm. The plates were spotted with dried water droplets, constant scrubbings after surgery dulling his finish, and it felt so good that Ratchet shivered. Wrong as it was for a touch to feel so appealing as a mech, wronger still was that Optimus couldn’t appreciate it the same way.
"You won't get anything out of doing this," Ratchet protested, hating how breathy his voice mod already was and when had he closed his optics?
"It's not about me."
That made Ratchet open his optics and he glared at Optimus, snapping, "Well, it sure as hell isn't going to be just about me!"
He batted Optimus’s hand away, shifted his perception into a holo so quickly it was disorienting, forcing him to stumble forward a step. He straightened, settling into the form that Optimus had designed, just for him.
Optimus did not do the same, only looked down at the small figure at his feet. “You kept it.”
“I did,” Ratchet admitted. By the time Ratchet remembered, he’d already been using it and did not want to confuse his patients by changing it. He smoothed a hand down his chest, the fabricated cloth soft against his fingertips. “I may not for much longer; the last time I scanned him, Lieutenant Hudson asked me if I knew what ‘don't ask, don't tell’ means and whether I felt like not telling."
Far, far above him, Optimus shuttered his optics, once, twice, as he accessed the internet. He knew the moment Optimus found the term, his optics spiraling wide as he made a sound of disbelief.
"Don't worry," Ratchet called up to him. "I lowered his pain medication after that. I doubt he'll mention it again."
“That would be for the best.” A little trill tingled across Ratchet’s sensors at the obvious jealousy. Hm. He may need to charge these receptors quicker than he thought. Now someone else just needed to get with the program.
“Are you coming down or do I have to do this myself?” Ratchet asked, exasperated. Before he’d done more than settle his hands on his belt, Optimus’s holo shimmered to life beside him. The blue of his eyes wasn’t quite as appealing as his optics, but it was a near thing. At least having to crane his neck to look up at him was familiar.
“Come on.” Ratchet took him by the hand, frowning as Optimus resisted the pull.
"Ratchet,” Optimus said. His pale eyes searched Ratchet’s face, looking for Primus knew what. “I know this isn't your preferred way to interface.”
“Preferred?” Ratchet snorted, “No. But I don't think either of us can deny that I've enjoyed it.” Agitation was starting to assert itself and he gave Optimus’s hand an insistent tug. “Now come on.”
“Wait. Ratchet," Optimus said, concern coloring his voice and he hung back again.
“What is it now?” Impatiently and blast it all, Optimus was normally eager to interface in any fashion Ratchet allowed. The irony of him resisting when Ratchet truly needed it was growing unbearable.
“You know that I can’t-" he hesitated, gesturing at his real body whose optics were dimmer with his perceptions shifted.
Ah. Yes, that was a concern. Optimus might have a premium frame and weapons, but his holographic generator was the basest possible. Probably figured when they were making him that a holoform would be uncouth for a Prime, Ratchet thought uncharitably. Perhaps he could enhance it, design a booster that would allow…later, though. "Don't worry, we aren't going far."
That seemed to finally mollify him. He followed as Ratchet led him to the storage room where not that long ago he’d been trying to work with Bumblebee on his own holoform issues. He’d need to clear the security recordings again, this room was fast becoming a treatment area for deviant sexual matters. There were blankets piled in one corner and Ratchet spread them on the floor before manhandling Optimus to lie face down on the thin pallet.
He went willingly enough, resting his head on his folded arms and slanting Ratchet an amused glance. "Like this, is it?"
"Why should you get to always be on top?" Ratchet countered.
“If your concern is for fairness, by all means, feel free to balance our ledger.”
His shirt disappeared but not his pants, Ratchet noted with amused irritation. “We are on a time crunch here, Optimus, save the teasing for later.”
“As you say.”
Another shimmer and he was left bare. Ratchet slid down to his knees, straddling Optimus’s hips and splayed his hands across that warm expanse of fabricated skin.
Now that they were here with orgasms imminent, his receptors settled into a slightly impatient simmer. Touching Optimus helped more, skin on skin contact as he firmly drew his hands across that muscled back. Beneath him, Optimus groaned, and whatever Ratchet’s opinions on simi relationships and organic mating practices, he could admit there was something fascinatingly attractive about watching the muscles shift beneath his hands. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to appreciate the detail in Bumblebee’s work and now that the chance was here, he planned to indulge, just for a moment. The skin beneath his hands registered as ‘silken’, smooth and pale, reddening briefly as he lightly scraped his nails across it.
Hm, yes, Bumblebee did very good work. He'd gotten a close look at the insides of Humans recently and were it possible to open a hard light generation, he had no doubt that he would find all the proper muscle groups, the traceries of veins.
Not the most arousing of thoughts. He re-centered himself, dug his thumbs into the lower trapezius muscles and Optimus groaned appreciatively. Lower, following the erector spinae alongside the intricacies of his spine to the swell of the gluteus maximus. There he paused, considering. Exploration would need to take a back seat to the insistence of his receptors, the blasted things were all but jittering within him, clamoring for a charge.
He looked around the storage room despite knowing its contents down to the last aspirin. Not a single bottle of a decent lubricant. They didn’t technically need it, between the two of them, their receptors should be able to produce enough. But it was the principle of the thing, damn it, if he was going to do this, he was doing it properly.
Ratchet shifted his focus enough to form another holo to bring him a bottle from the human side of the infirmary, determinedly ignoring Jolt’s equally surprised and irritatingly curious glance. Optimus startled at the sound of the door opening and Ratchet snorted a laugh at his expression when another one of him walked in.
"Don't worry, I'm not trying anything creative. I'm too damned tired." He took the bottle and sent the other holo to integrate back with his systems.
Optimus leaned up on his elbows and watched him peel the plastic wrapping from the bottle. “Is intercourse as a holoform truly going to help you?"
“So long as I reintegrate these receptors instead of dissolving them, I don't see why not.” He opened the bottle but before he could use it, Optimus stopped him.
“Wait.” He rolled over, settling his long legs on either side of Ratchet. Ratchet hadn’t dissolved his own clothing yet and there was something about seeing bare, pale skin rubbing against the denim of his pants that sent a shiver through him, damn these receptors, anyway.
He caught Optimus’s intentions when he drew his knees up and let them fall wider apart. Well, yes, his internet research did indicate this position would work. Still- “It would be easier with you on your hands and knees.”
“I want to see you,” Optimus countered.
Of course he did. Ratchet shrugged with a carelessness that he didn’t really feel. “It’s your joints.”
The lubricant was a clear gel originally provided to him for the ultrasound equipment the government sent, politely accepted and then never used. Ratchet’s own scanners were far superior and the tube had been sitting untouched for some time. Now he put it to good use, squeezing out a large dollop into his palm.
He trailed his fingers down the cleft of Optimus’s aft to the fork of his legs, testing for the entrance he knew was there. He knew Human systems very well now having studied them, if not for this purpose. He knew exactly what amount of pressure to use to press his slippery fingers inside, and exactly where there was a place he could press that would make Optimus let out a surprised cry and arch, spreading his legs wider. The sight was unexpectedly enticing, and Ratchet repeated the movement, watching with dark satisfaction Optimus clutching at the blankets beneath him as he writhed and gasped, riding the press of Ratchet’s fingers as he slid them in and out, readying him.
All too soon, Optimus gasped out, “Ratchet, enough.”
“Is it?” He twisted his fingers and drew out another cry, Primus, the sound of him was nearly as appealing as the sight. “I don’t believe I’m convinced. I am a doctor, you know, I think I would know when it is enough.”
“Ratchet!” Had his name ever been said in such a desperate growl? That low, pleading voice drove into his processors with the force of a blow, “Please. I want to come with you inside me.”
Such filthy simi words from a Prime and Ratchet exhaled shakily, hastily dissolving his own clothing. He grasped himself with his slick palm, coating the shaft with lubricant and guiding it with a shaky hand.
The slippery inward press was indescribable, but his processors certainly tried. Unbearably tight heat, gripping him with glorious pressure and he couldn’t hold back a groan. "Primus, that feels good."
Optimus didn't seem capable of verbalizing an agreement and instead allowed his body to speak for him, the lithe roll of his hips seating Ratchet even deeper inside.
Breathing raggedly, Ratchet held as still as possible, trying to claw back some semblance of control. This was going to end far too quickly, he’d waited too long. His receptors were howling within him for orgasm and Primus, the feel of being inside Optimus battled with the knowledge of it, leaving his mind swimming, cloudy and overheated.
Large hands cupped his face with such tenderness that Ratchet couldn’t hold back a wordless moan. He opened his eyes to see Optimus watching him, his gaze incongruously soft. "You're beautiful."
"You designed this body, you conceited fragger!" Ratchet managed to grit out.
"And you're inside it.” Optimus leaned up on his elbows, the muscles in his belly clenching taut, to whisper hotly against Ratchet’s mouth. “You are giving it life."
“I’m more interested in being inside you right at this moment,” Ratchet managed, barely more than a whisper as he gave in and kissed him, the dance of their tongues together mimicking the rocking of their hips. He tried to go slow at first, recalling the burn at the beginning during his own experience. Tried, except Optimus was not in agreement to this intention. He pushed his hips up into Ratchet’s slow thrusts with an impatient grind, forcing his own rhythm, his heels digging into the small of Ratchet’s back as he demanded silently that Ratchet follow it. Ratchet didn’t have a hope of pinning Optimus down if he didn’t allow it, not as a mech or a holo, all he could do was hold on for the ride.
And such a ride it was, akin to recklessly speeding along the side of a cliff through treacherous terrain. Optimus moaning and bucking beneath him as Ratchet drove into the tight clasp of his formed body, moving in near mindless force as all his tightly held control began to slip. He only realized he’d forgotten to breathe when his body forced him to raggedly suck in air, tasting the salt of replicated sweat on his lips. He was dimly aware of Optimus’s hand moving between them, working in a frantic, jerking rhythm and Ratchet forced his eyes to open, needing to see that, to see Optimus touching himself, following that rhythm.
Instead, his gaze skittered over Optimus’s face. His eyes closed, reddened lips parted to show teeth clenched tight, all of him straining into Ratchet’s thrusts and he was beautiful, so beautiful like this. Ratchet would have told him, words spilling out unheeded between them if he could have remembered how to vocalize. A sudden, strangled cry escaped from between Optimus’s gritted teeth, his head craning back as his long body tensed into a shaking spasm.
Ratchet watched him fight through his orgasm and the spiraling clench of his internal muscles dragged him over the edge himself, his vision going hot and golden as overload roared through him, the pleasure almost unbearable as he drove in one last mindlessly hungry time.
When the last aftershock finally left him, Ratchet gathered what remained of his energy and rolled off Optimus. His limbs all felt too heavy and shaky, too-loose in his joints and his breathing rough, but those blasted receptors were finally silent, coiled up inside him. They weren’t capable of higher emotions, but Ratchet would swear before Primus himself they were radiating smug satisfaction. The rest of him wasn’t quite as lucky. Beneath him was cold tile, he’d missed the blankets entirely, and his clammy skin was sticking against it, dimming the pleasurable afterglow. Uncomfortable, but Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to move.
Only a simulated mating, that was all. It meant nothing, and there was no reason for Ratchet to feel so shaken by it. No reason at all and ignoring it seemed the best course of action.
Just as well he didn’t have very long to reflect. Next to him, Optimus finally stirred and reached over to pull him back into his arms, tangling them together too tightly to easily escape. Not that Ratchet bothered to try past a grumbling hiss of static as he was moved. It would expend entirely too much energy to try to escape Optimus’s clinging hold and besides, the old pervert was comfortably warm.
They lay together long enough for simulated sweat to dry and alerts to begin showing on the side of Ratchet’s vision. A time crunch, always. “I can’t stay much longer.”
“Neither can I.” Unproven by the way Optimus didn’t move in the slightest. Ratchet ignored that he didn’t, either. “When will you resume work on the twins?”
“Soon.” Ratchet let his fingertips idle down Optimus’s back. He traced the line of his spine, testing by touch the difference skin and muscle made over the bone he knew lay underneath. “Optimus, if they’ve integrated too much, we may never be able to separate them.”
The faint catch in his voice was an embarrassment and Ratchet cleared his throat, preferring to blame it on imperfections in his hard light generation. There was a soft pressure on the top of his head, a kiss, Ratchet realized. He wasn’t fooling Optimus in the slightest, wondered tiredly if he ever had.
His ear was pressed to Optimus’s chest, the low rumble of his voice heard both inward and out. “I know that you’ll do everything you possibly can.”
“Hnnn.” That was not even in question. It was only a shame that everything Ratchet had to give seemed to be less and less useful these days.
They both startled at the sudden sound of the door opening out in the main room.
“Ratchet?” Called softly through the outer door that Jolt firmly did not go through and honestly, he was getting to like Jolt more and more. “Prowl is looking for Optimus, neither of you are responding to your coms.”
“Fuck,” Ratchet said succinctly. He didn’t bother with clothes, dashed out to his body and let the holo reintegrate, onlining his optics as he returned his perceptions to his real body. “What’s wrong?”
The door was still open a crack, Jolt’s voice floating through it. “We’ve received another missive from Bumblebee.”
Optimus was already climbing to his feet next to him. “What did it say?”
“I think you have to see it for yourself.”
Ratchet was still getting his bearings as Optimus left the room, though not before ghosting a touch over Ratchet’s helm, withdrawing too quickly for Ratchet to bat him away.
“All right, we’re coming,” Ratchet grumbled, too late, struggling to his feet and wasn’t recharging receptors supposed to give him more energy? An incoming message popped up on his HUD and Ratchet accepted it without thinking, frowning to see it was from Optimus.
::I believe we already did.::
Oh, for the sake of Primus.
“Pervert,” Ratchet sighed, then hastened to follow them.
tbc
Author: Keelywolfe
Fandom: TF: Bayverse
Series: Human Series: Chapter: 54
Pairings: Sam/Bumblebee, Ratchet/Optimus, Mikaela/Prowl
Summary: Ratchet and Optimus have the long awaited conversation. Sort of.
Ratchet was not exactly what one would call of the religious bent. Generally, he only invoked the name of Primus as an expletive. But even his atheistic aft could be grateful for whatever combination of luck and fate resulted in so little battle damage to the infirmary.
As good a field medic as Ratchet was, even he could admit he wouldn’t have been able to save all the Humans with only the tools he kept on hand. His skills, finely honed as they were by years of war, decades of battles, were no match to the additional equipment he’d spent so long setting up here, the long hours and lack of recharge proving well worth it.
His secret relief these past days as he watched his tiny patients recover was kept private, of course; far be it from him to admit that not all medical miracles came straight from his own two hands. Lucky, too, that he’d been here at all. From his understanding of Earth medicine most of them would have died untouched right on the battlefield without his immediate triage.
Even with all his skills and tools put to their best use, it was Ratchet’s silent opinion that it was still a Primus-made miracle that all the Humans survived once they’d come under his tender mercies. A couple of them had been in pit-slagging critical condition, no mistake on that, a foot and a half already into their respective afterlives before Ratchet dragged them back to the world of the living.
He did not think about the three who perished before he arrived. Only a fool dwelled on such things, and as much of a fool as Ratchet was, he didn’t have enough high grade stored up for a proper bender.
No, right now, all he felt was relief and grudging gratitude to any higher power that might be as he settled his second to last surgery patient beneath the monitors again. Aside from Epps, Vasquez was the last of the Humans whose injuries required more care than medical nanites could provide. Soft tissues and organs were easily repaired and replicated if one had the know-how to program for it, but nerves and bones and muscles often needed a guiding hand.
The little Human did not stir as Ratchet carefully situated him, his stats coming online as the scanner identified a new target. Heartbeat and blood pressure were all well within the Human designated standards, his pain tolerances were sitting at a comfortably low level, not the zero that Ratchet would prefer but not worth straining his systems to achieve it. He would heal, he would live, as all the other Humans in his care would.
If indeed it was some benevolent gods watching from above, then it was Ratchet himself who was damn well not letting any of these humans get away with meeting those gods too soon, not on his watch.
On the other side of the room, Jolt was moving with an impressively light tread as he checked on the other Humans. None of them had shown any sign of trauma over being treated by mechs despite the circumstances causing their injuries, and both of them had forgone using a holoform unless it was strictly necessary. That was all the better for Jolt who did not have Ratchet’s level of skill with them. He could, though, with some training. Jolt had shown a satisfying aptitude for medical work and Ratchet would certainly be appreciative of the assistance.
When he had a chance, he’d inquire discreetly with Prowl about having Jolt transferred to his command rather than Ironhide’s. Normally he would take the mech’s preferences into account, would ask Jolt his opinion, but there was too slagging much to do in medical and only his hands to do it. He didn’t think Jolt would protest, anyway. Whatever his reasons for not pursuing his training past field medic before, he was certainly making up for lost time.
::How is Hicks?:: Ratchet sent on a private line. He already knew the answer, of course. His question was more a test of Jolt’s growing skills than concern for his patient.
Jolt glanced at the scanner. ::Stats steady, he’s still unconscious, though.::
::To be expected, the repairs were very close to his heart. And Epps?::
::Nanites have done all they can. He’s ready when you are.::
::Good.:: Ratchet hesitated, then added offhandedly, testing unknown skies, ::Surgery would go faster with another set of hands, are you capable?::
Jolt straightened and Ratchet did not miss the way his optics brightened with eagerness. If he was interested in remaining in the infirmary, assisting with surgery on an alien species would be quite the shine on his finish, the bragging rights alone would likely last decades. Ratchet grudgingly approved that the tone of his reply was appropriately measured, revealing none of his excitement. ::I believe I am, sir.::
“Can it with the ‘sir’ slag,” Ratchet grumbled aloud. Most of the Humans would need woken soon to check for cognitive function, anyway. “I only have rank so I can pull it on Optimus when necessary.”
“Is it necessary very often?”
If there had been even a scrap of slyness to that, his next surgery would have been removing Jolt’s head from his own aft. Ratchet gave him a suspicious glare and was met with nothing more than innocent curiosity. Ah, to be young again.
Young, and either clever enough to keep his suspicions very tightly to himself or possibly the deafest Autobot planetside. Ratchet was leaning towards clever and that was another mark on the side of bringing him permanently into the infirmary.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Ratchet finally muttered. “If Optimus took care of himself as well as he does the troops, I’d almost be out of a job.” A ping came up in his HUD and a short message. “By the way, he’s on his way over now, so I’ll thank you to keep that to yourself.”
Optimus was coming, finally. The message said that much and nothing else. Part of Ratchet was grateful for the warning. Another part, several, really, tiny and insistent, were revving up for some real pain if he didn’t get going with what they knew was on the menu.
He was nearly finished with rounds when Optimus came in, ducking his head under the door frame to enter the Human side of the infirmary. The building was designed large enough for any mech on earth to fit on either side, but ‘large enough’ was a fairly broad category.
He nodded a greeting to Jolt before turning his optics to Ratchet. “Prowl said you wished to speak to me.”
“It’s astonishing really how he manages to both overstate and understate in one sentence,” Ratchet mused. He refused to even consider that ‘nervously babbled’ might be a better descriptor. “I don’t ‘wish’ to do anything of the sort. Unfortunately, ‘need to talk’ is more apt.”
Jolt looked from Ratchet to Optimus as if suspecting this might be a rank-pulling situation and wisely kept silent.
Well, he’d put this off for long enough, longer than he ever should, Ratchet could admit that much. “Jolt, please keep an eye on the status displays. Keep a particularly close optic on Epps and come get me immediately if anything changes.”
“Sure, Ratchet.” Such a bland agreement, as if he certainly hadn’t heard the way they’d been rolling around on the floor in the next room the last time their leader was here. Ratchet ignored that his optics were all but engulfed in curiosity; no doubt Jolt was in a gossipy private chat with who-the-hell-knew, updating them on events. Secrets were difficult to keep with so small a team and scandal this delicious was a rare treat.
There was nothing for it. “Come on,” Ratchet said and led the way into the other side of the infirmary.
The first sight when one came through the door was Sideswipe’s frame, splayed open in the middle of repairs that Ratchet could manage between treating his Human patients. Blaster was on the next table and a glance showed his infusion of medical-grade energon would need changing soon, the soft glow of it illuminating the otherwise darkened room. It was a good thing mechs in stasis couldn’t form memories, he’d been giving them quite a show recently.
To his surprise, Optimus promptly sat on the floor, his armor rattling lightly. He let out a relieved huff as he settled. He was surely as tired as Ratchet, likely more so without the ability to turn off any recharge warnings that might display. Ratchet chose to sit as well, preferring not to be looming over Optimus for this little chat. What a tableau they must make, Ratchet thought darkly, two mechs cramped on the floor together with Ratchet carefully keeping his legs from touching Optimus lest his receptors turn on him and forgo the ‘conversation’ part of this meeting. A far cry from their last encounter and Ratchet vented in a deep breath, readying himself.
"Optimus-" he began, trying to carefully choose his words. Only to be almost immediately interrupted.
"You've been infected by Sam's receptors and now they are giving you the same urges for tactile stimulation with me as they do for Sam with Bumblebee,” Optimus said flatly.
Ratchet stared, speechless, but he found his voice quickly enough. "How did you-did Ironhide tell you?" he demanded. “Or was it Prowl, I should have welded his blasted lip plates shut, I -"
"No but thank you for confirming that you spoke to nearly every Autobot possible before me." The words were uncharacteristically bitter, all his legendary calm absent and Ratchet’s spark lurched guiltily.
“To be fair, I didn’t speak to Prowl.” His voice sounded so small, nearly timid, not at all his own. Optimus’s expression remained brutally unimpressed and that was fair enough, he had no excuses for Ironhide. A little stronger, Ratchet added, "I didn't intend to tell Ironhide before you. He was here just after I finished the scans. I’m telling you now, Optimus, I wasn’t keeping it a secret from you, I swear it."
The last of it came out in a hurried burst, almost pleading, and from Optimus’s face he should’ve spared himself the shame of it. Should have, except Optimus’s stern look finally wavered, softened, and there, there was the Optimus he’d always known. Relief flooded through him, strong enough that he was forced to tamp down hard on the plaintive ping from his receptors. These blasted things might think they were running the show, but Ratchet wasn’t about to bow to their demands so easily. They’d win eventually, breaking through his control, he knew that, and he still wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
Optimus didn’t seem to notice his dilemma. He huffed out a sound of exasperation. "I do have logic circuits of my own. It was not that difficult a puzzle to solve. But I do need another answer that only you possess.” His optics, so very blue and matched by every mech who followed him, searched Ratchet’s face. “Where do we go from here?"
Ratchet sighed, shuttering his optics and rested his head against the wall. Standing up against his foreign receptors was one thing, he couldn’t do the same with Optimus. He heard as much as felt Optimus moving in closer. "Ratchet?"
"I really don’t know. I'm tired," he admitted. Had he made it so difficult to admit even that much to Optimus? He was tired, he was exhausted. He really should have saved his minuscule amount of high grade for this little chat. Now that Optimus was near, the faint electric stirring in those receptors he’d been so studiously ignoring was becoming an insistent throb. "I know I said we could talk but I honestly have no idea what to say."
There was so much to talk about he couldn’t even begin. They’d never even managed to really discuss Optimus’s proposition or his declining it, simply fell wordlessly back to the way they’d been before and perhaps both of them could have maintained a polite fiction that it never happened at all if not for this issue with his receptors. When it came down to it, Ratchet hadn’t changed his mind; he still thought Optimus deserved someone else, someone better for him than his cranky old medic, someone worthy of him, blast it all, he was a Prime and more than that, it was Optimus. Someone would find their way to Earth who could fill that role in a way Ratchet never could. But now, even if Primus himself came down with a bouquet in one hand and an invitation for a filthy interface in the other, it wouldn’t matter. Until Ratchet could find a way to persuade his additional receptors that orgasm was not a prerequisite for recharging, they were both trapped.
Well. At the end of the day, Ratchet was the practical sort. May as well make the most of it.
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, and a gentle finger settled over his lip plates, stopping him.
"Then don't," Optimus said simply. “Perhaps we can communicate in another fashion.” Very, very lightly, with delicacy Ratchet thought few would believe their Prime capable of, Optimus traced his lip plates and lower, stroking a single finger down the line of armor on Ratchet's arm. The plates were spotted with dried water droplets, constant scrubbings after surgery dulling his finish, and it felt so good that Ratchet shivered. Wrong as it was for a touch to feel so appealing as a mech, wronger still was that Optimus couldn’t appreciate it the same way.
"You won't get anything out of doing this," Ratchet protested, hating how breathy his voice mod already was and when had he closed his optics?
"It's not about me."
That made Ratchet open his optics and he glared at Optimus, snapping, "Well, it sure as hell isn't going to be just about me!"
He batted Optimus’s hand away, shifted his perception into a holo so quickly it was disorienting, forcing him to stumble forward a step. He straightened, settling into the form that Optimus had designed, just for him.
Optimus did not do the same, only looked down at the small figure at his feet. “You kept it.”
“I did,” Ratchet admitted. By the time Ratchet remembered, he’d already been using it and did not want to confuse his patients by changing it. He smoothed a hand down his chest, the fabricated cloth soft against his fingertips. “I may not for much longer; the last time I scanned him, Lieutenant Hudson asked me if I knew what ‘don't ask, don't tell’ means and whether I felt like not telling."
Far, far above him, Optimus shuttered his optics, once, twice, as he accessed the internet. He knew the moment Optimus found the term, his optics spiraling wide as he made a sound of disbelief.
"Don't worry," Ratchet called up to him. "I lowered his pain medication after that. I doubt he'll mention it again."
“That would be for the best.” A little trill tingled across Ratchet’s sensors at the obvious jealousy. Hm. He may need to charge these receptors quicker than he thought. Now someone else just needed to get with the program.
“Are you coming down or do I have to do this myself?” Ratchet asked, exasperated. Before he’d done more than settle his hands on his belt, Optimus’s holo shimmered to life beside him. The blue of his eyes wasn’t quite as appealing as his optics, but it was a near thing. At least having to crane his neck to look up at him was familiar.
“Come on.” Ratchet took him by the hand, frowning as Optimus resisted the pull.
"Ratchet,” Optimus said. His pale eyes searched Ratchet’s face, looking for Primus knew what. “I know this isn't your preferred way to interface.”
“Preferred?” Ratchet snorted, “No. But I don't think either of us can deny that I've enjoyed it.” Agitation was starting to assert itself and he gave Optimus’s hand an insistent tug. “Now come on.”
“Wait. Ratchet," Optimus said, concern coloring his voice and he hung back again.
“What is it now?” Impatiently and blast it all, Optimus was normally eager to interface in any fashion Ratchet allowed. The irony of him resisting when Ratchet truly needed it was growing unbearable.
“You know that I can’t-" he hesitated, gesturing at his real body whose optics were dimmer with his perceptions shifted.
Ah. Yes, that was a concern. Optimus might have a premium frame and weapons, but his holographic generator was the basest possible. Probably figured when they were making him that a holoform would be uncouth for a Prime, Ratchet thought uncharitably. Perhaps he could enhance it, design a booster that would allow…later, though. "Don't worry, we aren't going far."
That seemed to finally mollify him. He followed as Ratchet led him to the storage room where not that long ago he’d been trying to work with Bumblebee on his own holoform issues. He’d need to clear the security recordings again, this room was fast becoming a treatment area for deviant sexual matters. There were blankets piled in one corner and Ratchet spread them on the floor before manhandling Optimus to lie face down on the thin pallet.
He went willingly enough, resting his head on his folded arms and slanting Ratchet an amused glance. "Like this, is it?"
"Why should you get to always be on top?" Ratchet countered.
“If your concern is for fairness, by all means, feel free to balance our ledger.”
His shirt disappeared but not his pants, Ratchet noted with amused irritation. “We are on a time crunch here, Optimus, save the teasing for later.”
“As you say.”
Another shimmer and he was left bare. Ratchet slid down to his knees, straddling Optimus’s hips and splayed his hands across that warm expanse of fabricated skin.
Now that they were here with orgasms imminent, his receptors settled into a slightly impatient simmer. Touching Optimus helped more, skin on skin contact as he firmly drew his hands across that muscled back. Beneath him, Optimus groaned, and whatever Ratchet’s opinions on simi relationships and organic mating practices, he could admit there was something fascinatingly attractive about watching the muscles shift beneath his hands. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to appreciate the detail in Bumblebee’s work and now that the chance was here, he planned to indulge, just for a moment. The skin beneath his hands registered as ‘silken’, smooth and pale, reddening briefly as he lightly scraped his nails across it.
Hm, yes, Bumblebee did very good work. He'd gotten a close look at the insides of Humans recently and were it possible to open a hard light generation, he had no doubt that he would find all the proper muscle groups, the traceries of veins.
Not the most arousing of thoughts. He re-centered himself, dug his thumbs into the lower trapezius muscles and Optimus groaned appreciatively. Lower, following the erector spinae alongside the intricacies of his spine to the swell of the gluteus maximus. There he paused, considering. Exploration would need to take a back seat to the insistence of his receptors, the blasted things were all but jittering within him, clamoring for a charge.
He looked around the storage room despite knowing its contents down to the last aspirin. Not a single bottle of a decent lubricant. They didn’t technically need it, between the two of them, their receptors should be able to produce enough. But it was the principle of the thing, damn it, if he was going to do this, he was doing it properly.
Ratchet shifted his focus enough to form another holo to bring him a bottle from the human side of the infirmary, determinedly ignoring Jolt’s equally surprised and irritatingly curious glance. Optimus startled at the sound of the door opening and Ratchet snorted a laugh at his expression when another one of him walked in.
"Don't worry, I'm not trying anything creative. I'm too damned tired." He took the bottle and sent the other holo to integrate back with his systems.
Optimus leaned up on his elbows and watched him peel the plastic wrapping from the bottle. “Is intercourse as a holoform truly going to help you?"
“So long as I reintegrate these receptors instead of dissolving them, I don't see why not.” He opened the bottle but before he could use it, Optimus stopped him.
“Wait.” He rolled over, settling his long legs on either side of Ratchet. Ratchet hadn’t dissolved his own clothing yet and there was something about seeing bare, pale skin rubbing against the denim of his pants that sent a shiver through him, damn these receptors, anyway.
He caught Optimus’s intentions when he drew his knees up and let them fall wider apart. Well, yes, his internet research did indicate this position would work. Still- “It would be easier with you on your hands and knees.”
“I want to see you,” Optimus countered.
Of course he did. Ratchet shrugged with a carelessness that he didn’t really feel. “It’s your joints.”
The lubricant was a clear gel originally provided to him for the ultrasound equipment the government sent, politely accepted and then never used. Ratchet’s own scanners were far superior and the tube had been sitting untouched for some time. Now he put it to good use, squeezing out a large dollop into his palm.
He trailed his fingers down the cleft of Optimus’s aft to the fork of his legs, testing for the entrance he knew was there. He knew Human systems very well now having studied them, if not for this purpose. He knew exactly what amount of pressure to use to press his slippery fingers inside, and exactly where there was a place he could press that would make Optimus let out a surprised cry and arch, spreading his legs wider. The sight was unexpectedly enticing, and Ratchet repeated the movement, watching with dark satisfaction Optimus clutching at the blankets beneath him as he writhed and gasped, riding the press of Ratchet’s fingers as he slid them in and out, readying him.
All too soon, Optimus gasped out, “Ratchet, enough.”
“Is it?” He twisted his fingers and drew out another cry, Primus, the sound of him was nearly as appealing as the sight. “I don’t believe I’m convinced. I am a doctor, you know, I think I would know when it is enough.”
“Ratchet!” Had his name ever been said in such a desperate growl? That low, pleading voice drove into his processors with the force of a blow, “Please. I want to come with you inside me.”
Such filthy simi words from a Prime and Ratchet exhaled shakily, hastily dissolving his own clothing. He grasped himself with his slick palm, coating the shaft with lubricant and guiding it with a shaky hand.
The slippery inward press was indescribable, but his processors certainly tried. Unbearably tight heat, gripping him with glorious pressure and he couldn’t hold back a groan. "Primus, that feels good."
Optimus didn't seem capable of verbalizing an agreement and instead allowed his body to speak for him, the lithe roll of his hips seating Ratchet even deeper inside.
Breathing raggedly, Ratchet held as still as possible, trying to claw back some semblance of control. This was going to end far too quickly, he’d waited too long. His receptors were howling within him for orgasm and Primus, the feel of being inside Optimus battled with the knowledge of it, leaving his mind swimming, cloudy and overheated.
Large hands cupped his face with such tenderness that Ratchet couldn’t hold back a wordless moan. He opened his eyes to see Optimus watching him, his gaze incongruously soft. "You're beautiful."
"You designed this body, you conceited fragger!" Ratchet managed to grit out.
"And you're inside it.” Optimus leaned up on his elbows, the muscles in his belly clenching taut, to whisper hotly against Ratchet’s mouth. “You are giving it life."
“I’m more interested in being inside you right at this moment,” Ratchet managed, barely more than a whisper as he gave in and kissed him, the dance of their tongues together mimicking the rocking of their hips. He tried to go slow at first, recalling the burn at the beginning during his own experience. Tried, except Optimus was not in agreement to this intention. He pushed his hips up into Ratchet’s slow thrusts with an impatient grind, forcing his own rhythm, his heels digging into the small of Ratchet’s back as he demanded silently that Ratchet follow it. Ratchet didn’t have a hope of pinning Optimus down if he didn’t allow it, not as a mech or a holo, all he could do was hold on for the ride.
And such a ride it was, akin to recklessly speeding along the side of a cliff through treacherous terrain. Optimus moaning and bucking beneath him as Ratchet drove into the tight clasp of his formed body, moving in near mindless force as all his tightly held control began to slip. He only realized he’d forgotten to breathe when his body forced him to raggedly suck in air, tasting the salt of replicated sweat on his lips. He was dimly aware of Optimus’s hand moving between them, working in a frantic, jerking rhythm and Ratchet forced his eyes to open, needing to see that, to see Optimus touching himself, following that rhythm.
Instead, his gaze skittered over Optimus’s face. His eyes closed, reddened lips parted to show teeth clenched tight, all of him straining into Ratchet’s thrusts and he was beautiful, so beautiful like this. Ratchet would have told him, words spilling out unheeded between them if he could have remembered how to vocalize. A sudden, strangled cry escaped from between Optimus’s gritted teeth, his head craning back as his long body tensed into a shaking spasm.
Ratchet watched him fight through his orgasm and the spiraling clench of his internal muscles dragged him over the edge himself, his vision going hot and golden as overload roared through him, the pleasure almost unbearable as he drove in one last mindlessly hungry time.
When the last aftershock finally left him, Ratchet gathered what remained of his energy and rolled off Optimus. His limbs all felt too heavy and shaky, too-loose in his joints and his breathing rough, but those blasted receptors were finally silent, coiled up inside him. They weren’t capable of higher emotions, but Ratchet would swear before Primus himself they were radiating smug satisfaction. The rest of him wasn’t quite as lucky. Beneath him was cold tile, he’d missed the blankets entirely, and his clammy skin was sticking against it, dimming the pleasurable afterglow. Uncomfortable, but Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to move.
Only a simulated mating, that was all. It meant nothing, and there was no reason for Ratchet to feel so shaken by it. No reason at all and ignoring it seemed the best course of action.
Just as well he didn’t have very long to reflect. Next to him, Optimus finally stirred and reached over to pull him back into his arms, tangling them together too tightly to easily escape. Not that Ratchet bothered to try past a grumbling hiss of static as he was moved. It would expend entirely too much energy to try to escape Optimus’s clinging hold and besides, the old pervert was comfortably warm.
They lay together long enough for simulated sweat to dry and alerts to begin showing on the side of Ratchet’s vision. A time crunch, always. “I can’t stay much longer.”
“Neither can I.” Unproven by the way Optimus didn’t move in the slightest. Ratchet ignored that he didn’t, either. “When will you resume work on the twins?”
“Soon.” Ratchet let his fingertips idle down Optimus’s back. He traced the line of his spine, testing by touch the difference skin and muscle made over the bone he knew lay underneath. “Optimus, if they’ve integrated too much, we may never be able to separate them.”
The faint catch in his voice was an embarrassment and Ratchet cleared his throat, preferring to blame it on imperfections in his hard light generation. There was a soft pressure on the top of his head, a kiss, Ratchet realized. He wasn’t fooling Optimus in the slightest, wondered tiredly if he ever had.
His ear was pressed to Optimus’s chest, the low rumble of his voice heard both inward and out. “I know that you’ll do everything you possibly can.”
“Hnnn.” That was not even in question. It was only a shame that everything Ratchet had to give seemed to be less and less useful these days.
They both startled at the sudden sound of the door opening out in the main room.
“Ratchet?” Called softly through the outer door that Jolt firmly did not go through and honestly, he was getting to like Jolt more and more. “Prowl is looking for Optimus, neither of you are responding to your coms.”
“Fuck,” Ratchet said succinctly. He didn’t bother with clothes, dashed out to his body and let the holo reintegrate, onlining his optics as he returned his perceptions to his real body. “What’s wrong?”
The door was still open a crack, Jolt’s voice floating through it. “We’ve received another missive from Bumblebee.”
Optimus was already climbing to his feet next to him. “What did it say?”
“I think you have to see it for yourself.”
Ratchet was still getting his bearings as Optimus left the room, though not before ghosting a touch over Ratchet’s helm, withdrawing too quickly for Ratchet to bat him away.
“All right, we’re coming,” Ratchet grumbled, too late, struggling to his feet and wasn’t recharging receptors supposed to give him more energy? An incoming message popped up on his HUD and Ratchet accepted it without thinking, frowning to see it was from Optimus.
::I believe we already did.::
Oh, for the sake of Primus.
“Pervert,” Ratchet sighed, then hastened to follow them.
tbc