Kick in the Head - Tug Of War

Nov 10, 2007 05:56

Title: Kick in the Head - Tug Of War
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Ironhide/Ratchet/Wheeljack
Rating: PG-15-ish
Summary: Polygamy was a common thing among their kind. Less common was one's lovers getting into a rivalry for one's affections.
Warnings: mech smut, Ratchet's potty mouth.
Notes: Old writing, in it's mostly original format (very minor corrections may have been made) I consider the entire Kick in the Head series to be in the same 'verse as Glances into a Spark.

Table of Contents

o o o

Ratchet loved Wheeljack's hands. Namely, he loved how fast they learned, able to send his processors on the fritz already, even though they had only just touched him, even though the two of them had just recently 'upgraded' their friendship. He loved the way those skilled digits clicked and whirred and brought tools to bear deep under the medic's armor and oh Primus that felt good, a tug deep inside as fingers separated into a myriad of tiny hooks and latched onto a coolant tube.

The door to his office was locked, the code only known to a few, and when one of those few walked in, Ratchet noticed only on the very lowest levels. He noticed a lot more when a low, dark rumble of a laugh reached his audials. "So, this is the mech who's been takin' up all of your interest."

Ratchet's head snapped around. Ironhide, arms crossed and fierce expression at definite odds with the near-playful tone in is voice. Wheeljack had frozen, a low thrum of the fingers still buried in Ratchet's wiring giving indication to his unease. Ratchet kept his grip on the other mech, refusing to give up their embrace. "Well, you've been so busy with Optimus, lately," He snapped, putting deliberate emphasis on the word. Wheeljack twitched in what Ratchet figured was surprise, and the medic gave his friend a reassuring squeeze. Ironhide had no claim over his spark, and he wasn't about to let the Prime's bodyguard intimidate Wheeljack away.

Especially not when the inventor's fingers were still sending delicious vibrations along every single coolant line Ratchet possessed.

"So you go and replace me," Ironhide mock-lamented, shaking his head. "I'm hurt."

"Well," Wheeljack drawled, unexpectedly. "If you can't keep up with a needy mech like Ratchet, someone has to." Ratchet opened his mouth to protest against the description, but Wheeljack twitched something and something else pulsed and all Ratchet could manage was a harsh, aching moan. He shuddered, leaning forward into he other's touch, and he dimly noted that Wheeljack was looking at Ironhide with something like a challenge in his optics.

Ironhide crossed over to them, circling around the entangled pair, and Ratchet groaned again when he was touched, fingers not as inventive but far more familiar with his form brushing against the heavy cables that supported his torso. Ironhide's weight was familiar as he settled against the medic's back, power thrumming behind every movement the bodyguard made. "Well," The larger mech murmured, right up against Ratchet's audial. "I guess I'll just have to stay and see what this inventor does for you that I cannot, hm?"

"Pay attention and you might actually learn something useful," Wheeljack replied, and Ratchet's fingers scrabbled uselessly against white armor when he felt heat deep inside, just less than enough to cause any harm, pulsing radioactive pleasure against his energon lines.

Ratchet's head dropped back against Ironhide's shoulder, his entire frame quaking. "Don't," He rasped out, demanding. "Don't I get a say in any of this?"

"No." The other two echoed each other.

o o o

Optimus Prime never regretted Ratchet's change of Spark from Senator to Medic. Not only because Ratchet's medicinal skills seemed to increase exponentially every vorn, but because of the changes in the mech himself. As a diplomat, Ratchet had kept a strong leash on his emotions, lest he lash out at an inopportune moment. A medic had few such worries, and Ratchet had revealed a formidable temper once he'd overcome his emotion-suppressing programming, and watching the lanky mech work himself into a true furor was one of the more fascinating things Optimus had ever seen.

"Mind you, I could deal with their insistence on treating this like a slagging game," Ratchet snarled, stalking back and forth in the space before the Prime's desk, gesticulating dramatically. "But one of those utter glitches decided to tally up their slagging scores on a datapad. And they didn't erase it, and guess what, Prime! Now there's a Primus-damned BETTING POOL."

Optimus had a lot of practice keeping a straight face when presented with the ridiculous, but some days, it was difficult. "A betting pool?" he asked mildly.

"On the base Network," Ratchet replied sulkily. "Common post, anonymous poster, open to everyone except you and those involved. First Aid brought my attention to it."

Optimus nodded, optics flickering as he tapped into the Network, scanning the posts in the betting corner - there. Well. Someone had done their research. Betting pool didn't quite cover it - it was more like a betting lake. A myriad of different options were available - how many times would Ratchet get ambushed by either of his lovers in the next vorn, whether Ironhide or Wheeljack would 'face the medic the most, would the warrior and the inventor ever 'face each other, or just blow each other sky-high, and a dozen others. Too bad for the poster that the Prime couldn't be locked from any post on the Network. Optimus perused the list, then focused back on the seething medic. "There's even an option," he said, fighting a smile. "To bet on how long it takes you to get sick of their little competition and weld them together."

"You're not helping," Ratchet pointed out.

"My apologies," Optimus said sincerely, straightening his expression. "Would you like me to have Security remove it?"

Ratchet made a disgusted noise, waving his hand. "Don't bother," he said. "There are already credits involved - it'll just go up again within a groon. I'd be happy with the name of the slagger that posted it in the first place."

"Fair enough."

o o o

Jazz huffed, his optics coming back into focus. "No good," he grumped. "Fragger didn't leave a trace behind."

"He's good at covering his tracks," Prowl added, optics still flickering. "He's new, to not know that Optimus couldn't be locked out. But good."

Ratchet's face fell. The spy and the tactician were both damnedably good at picking up virtual clues when within the Network, but both were obviously stumped by the identity of the poster. A Search could have been done, of course, using the Security programming, but all of them knew that to use the resources of their base for such a frivolous matter was stretching it. "Not a hint?" the medic asked gloomily.

"Not one," Prowl said apologetically. "However, we'll keep an audial out for any news."

"Thank you both for your assistance," Optimus said, dispersing the meeting with a brief nod. "Ratchet, I am sorry we couldn't find anything."

Ratchet waved a dismissive hand again. "I'll find him eventually," he promised. "Someone'll let it slip."

"That's the spirit," Jazz said cheerfully, not noticing the look Optimus gave him. "Never give up, never give in."

"Or something like that," Ratchet muttered, turning to walk out the door.

Prowl and Jazz both moved to follow the medic, but Optimus held up his hand. "Jazz, a quick word," he said. Jazz gave the Prime an odd look but paused, waiting as the door shut behind Prowl. Optimus folded his hands together on the desktop. "A nice trick," he said mildly, "Adding my name to the blocked list. Threw Prowl for a loop."

Jazz's face screwed up in confusion. "'Fraid I have no idea what you're on about, Prime," he said.

"A hunch, is all," Optimus replied easily. "Just a feeling. But I also have the feeling that Ratchet will find out, and when he does, I refuse to have anything to do with it."

"Wait a tick," Jazz exclaimed, looking injured. "You don't think I-"

"Yes, I do," Optimus cut him off. "There are very few mechs on base who could not only completely hide their presence from Prowl, but also nick one of Wheeljack's datapads without it exploding on them in self defense. I don't have any evidence, so I won't go to Ratchet about it. And like I said, I refuse to get in the middle of it. Dismissed." Jazz looked ready to argue, paused, then threw up his hands in exasperation as he walked out the door. Optimus cycled his vents, sat back, and on a whim, used his own Security codes to modify the betting pool.

'Ratchet, Ironhide and Wheeljack find who made this list and vaporize his aft' joined the list.

pr0n, xfmr, series: kick in the head, ratchet, ironhide, robot romance

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