robothell | [network post--marked urgent]

Entry tags:

ratchet | asafepairofhands

[network post--marked urgent]

Hello? Yeah, all right, it looks like this thing is on.

[The vid flickers on and Ratchet's face fills it, somehow more exasperated and peeved than usual.]

Look, public service health announcement, stay away from the damn stupid flowers that are popping up everywhere. They're releasing a pollen that's hyperconductive that causes an allergic reaction in both organics and inorganics. Nobody's going to drop dead, unless you're set on being a medical miracle and being the first to die of overcharge, but if you're affected, for goodness' sake, be careful until it wears itself out. If you don't release the pent-up charge or whatever periodically it's possible you'll overheat.

If you absolutely need medical assistance, I'm going to be at the first medibay trying to figure out more precisely what the fresh smelting hell is going on.

Ratchet out.

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[Ratchet swallows quickly as First Aid tips over the edge and just shakes against him, feeling spasm after spasm of charge wrench through his smaller frame. He moans as lubricant spills into his palm but doesn't move otherwise, working First Aid gently through his overload before he pulls back and gathers him in to sit on Ratchet's remaining leg, curled in against Ratchet's windscreen. Ratchet's own frame is scorchingly hot, his cooling fans laboring uselessly, but he barely even feels the charge just now, focusing on gathering First Aid in against him, stroking carefully over smooth plating.]

Now you will get a lecture. [His voice is a low rumble, but he doesn't actually sound all that upset, and he doesn't stop petting First Aid's back.] That was much too long to leave the damper on--if you're going to wear it, at least let yourself discharge more often. Please.

[ First Aid's still shivering as Ratchet gathers him against his chest, still too wrung out to even comment about the lecture. He leans his head against the windscreen, grunting in affirmation, and squeezes his legs together. When his plating stops rattling enough to lift his hand, pressing it into the seams of his mask to disengage the clasps. ]

...I'll make a schedule.

[ He places the mask aside and tips his head up, smiling at Ratchet, then touches his fingers to the medic's cheek tugging to tip his head down so he can get his lower lip between his teeth and taste himself on his mouth. ]

[He meant to do this so that Ratchet could do the work -- like he'd seemed to want to. But even so, his legs end up braced on either side of the other bot's hips, tensed and ready to move if need be. Just in case.]

[Then Ratchet's hand works and he shudders, twitching his hips, tilting his head back as the slightest contact makes him groan. Electric feeling flooding his systems.]

Yeah. Yeah it's. Really good.

Thank you.

[Ratchet looks down at First Aid, slightly stunned--not so much by his mouth as by the sweet little smile curving it up as he draws Ratchet's face down to his. Ratchet gathers him a little closer, shivering at the bite and swallowing a soft moan before he sinks into the kiss, slow and slick and thorough. His mouth covers First Aid's over and over again, lingering, and his ventilations are a little ragged when he finally draws back, his optics overbright and his lips parted.]

How-- [He has to clear the static from his voice--having First Aid's spike down his throat barely flusters him but this, those soft kisses, have him a little dazed.] Mmm. How are you feeling now?

[ First Aid could kiss for hours. It was just something he liked to do, not necessarily just in the confines of sex. The mask only really came off in these scenarios though; his mask felt more like this face than his actual lips usually. He groans softly at the warm press of Ratchet's mouth, his tongue flicking over the other mech's teasingly whenever he started to pull away, and when the kissing stops his field radiates a higher level of content. ]

A little better.

[ His frame was still sensitive from the overload and the built up charge, his field still buzzing with arousal, and he pulls Ratchet back to place more kisses against his lips while his free hand slides down the medic's side, fitting into gaps in his armor. ]

Glad to hear it.

[That's all Ratchet manages before First Aid pulls him in again and he groans, shaky and low, his own hands starting to wander again. They shift almost instinctively to find sensitive seams and exposed sensors, his body shuddering as First Aid does the same with a medic's uncanny ability to find exactly those sorts of vulnerabilities. He shifts carefully, keeping First Aid close as he sprawls out on the berth, First Aid's lighter frame pressed half on top of him and his arm tightening around First Aid's waist to drag him in again, their mouths brushing and Ratchet's spike aching behind his still-closed panel.]

[ There were a few benefits of rolling into the berth with another medic, and this was one of them. First Aid makes soft noises against Ratchet's lips and he doesn't let him move far as they shift back onto the berth. He's careful as he moves into a more comfortable position, shifting his weight so his one leg was draped between Ratchet's thighs, and he breaks the slow, shallow kiss to speak. ]

You're scorching.

[ Ratchet's been patient. Too patient. He can feel the heat and charge rolling off the older mech's frame, rippling against his field and making his own fans spin harder in response. First Aid moves his thigh, pressing it against the closed panel as his fingers curl into the gap of armor and stroke over sensors at his hip. ]

What are you waiting for, Ratchet?

[Ratchet moans, arching into First Aid's touch as his optics flats with heat and surprise.]

An invitation, I supposed. [He gets his covers opens then hesitates, watching First Aid's face. He steals another quick kiss..] ,,,here. All right. [His spike pressurizes immediately, his valve clenching as he rocks against First Aid's.

...what would you like? You were the one with that damper on all day.] You were the one with a damper on all day--your call just now.

I'm here, isn't that enough?

[ Leaving him to make a difficult decision here when he's a hot mess, Ratchet. First Aid was a fan of having his valve filled, though he didn't want to assume Ratchet liked spiking best.

Now if they were in his room, he might have something that would benefit both of them-- ]

I have an idea.

[ With some reluctance he pushes himself up onto his hands and draws away from Ratchet's lips, though he fits in a parting kiss before he slides back. Gently, he takes Ratchet's bad leg and lifts it over his hip, then leans back so the slick mesh of his valve slides up, up Ratchet's thigh and then meets the older medic's wet opening. It's a little awkward, and he has to shift a few more times to find a position that's comfortable for his spike, but once they fit into place his venting hitches. ]

Yeah, I think this will-- [ First Aid hums as if untangling some wires, then rocks his hips in a circular motion, his valve sliding against Ratchet's exterior nodes. ] This good?

[Ratchet draws in a sharp vent of air as First Aid's hips press in against his, the slow, liquid slide making him arch helplessly with what little leverage he has.]

Yeah. Very. [That's about as eloquent as he's getting just now, when he's finally stopped ignoring the charge racing through him, but he does reach down to curl slow fingers around First Aid's spike, stroking in time with the movements of his hips as best he can as he squirms against the berth.]

RrrRRRRRRRrrrnnn...

[That. That was probably supposed to be Ratchet's name.]

...Sixshot? Are, uh. Are you all right?

Turn the camera on, dammit, don't make me sit here wondering what the hell's going on if you can't just tell me.

Good. Oh.

[Ratchet shivers hard against the berth and fights to keep still--not that he can get much leverage with just one leg anyway. But his grip tightens and he strokes Ironhide harder, his optics bright and his teeth clenched tight on a helpless groan.]

[There's a long moment filled with generally ticked-off sounding snarling. Then a series of rustling and the sound of a button probably being cracked from the force of Sixshot trying to gently switch to video.

The screen lights up and the Phase Sixer is staring at Ratchet with over-bright optics, steam streaming off his plating, occasionally accompanied by the zip of static dancing over the hot plating. If the medic looks closer, he might notice a few streaks of red and blue and a lot of dust.]

[Sloooowly, Spinister sinks out of view until all Ratchet could see was his sullen glare and chevrons.]

Do I have to?

[Just going to make this private, mostly in the interest of patient confidentiality.]

Hell. [Fervently.] Any idea why it's hitting you like this? Never mind. Look, where are you? I'll bring a kit over, see what I can do.

How the hell would I enforce it if I said yes? [He sounds almost entertained.] No, of course you don't have to. Especially since it doesn't seem particularly life-threatening, unless people start dropping dead of embarrassment.

I don't know, you might have weird mind powers.

[Squinting. A lot of squinting. Spin is from a faction where the SiC is a literal mindreader, okay.]

But ffffiiiiiinnnnne, I'll come over.

[Cue the most teenager sounding 'ugh' of all time and Spin cutting the line. He shows up ten minutes later at the clinic looking like he hasn't stopped pouting the whole way over.]

If I had weird mind powers, people would actually show up for their immunizations on time. [Ratchet's muttering, so he barely registers that Spin agreed to drop by before he cuts the comm.]

[He's still a little surprised when Spinister actually shows, but he gathers the scanners and instruments he's going to need. He's on his feet--foot--and functional, but it's obvious that he's affected by the pollen, his cooling fans laboring and his optics far too bright. He leans heavily on his crutches as he finishes spreading what he needs out on a table and jerks his chin at Spinister.]

Come over here, please. This won't take long, and I'd recommend minimizing your contact with the infected in case you've just been somehow miraculously lucky so far. [His voice is rough with static and his fingertips tremble, just barely visibly, as he goes to pick up the first sample tube and tries not to sway in place.]

[Sixshot doesn't know the answer to that- nor can he even begin to fathom the answer, really, his processors swamped by strange, deep code needs. He manages to concentrate enough to send a set of coordinates off before the heat gets the better of him and he staggers off with a restless, hungry growl.]

[Ratchet packs a few things into something he can sling over a shoulder and grabs his crutches, limping as fast as his one leg will take him towards the coordinates Sixshot sent. The whole area looks like a small battle took place as Ratchet gets closer, and he slows warily, his own charge making his knee wobble and his vocalizer rough with static.]

Sixshot? Are you here? ...you all right, still?

[There are powerful, dark hands around Ratchet's waist instead of an answer. The press of Sixshot's overheated body against the medic's back accompanies it in short order, and then-

Yep, that's a set of teeth against his shoulder.]

[Ratchet curses and fumbles in his bag, his whole body shuddering in Sixshot's grip as he bites down on his tongue to smother a moan. The teeth feel good, Sixshot's hands feel good, and he wants nothing more than to sag back against that huge frame and let Sixshot do whatever he's intending to do now that he has his hands on Ratchet's plating. But as good as Sixshot's breastplate feels against his back, he's too warm, and even Ratchet's charge-fogged brain can feel it. He gets hold of what he needs in his bag and snakes his hand up over his shoulder to try to press a hypospray of coolant to Sixshot's neck, struggling to brace himself.]

Sixshot. [One hand curls around a few of Sixshot's fingers at his waist, trembling slightly.] I need you to stop for a second, I have to make sure you're--you're all right, we can't just--

Edited 2015-08-20 01:40 (UTC)

[The pinprick of pain hardly registers. Sixshot was too busy drowning in the scent and taste and feel of Ratchet under his hands to care, only stopping to groan at the flash of cold spreading from his neck.

He vaguely grasps that he's being spoken to but the words don't make any sense. Ratchet's frame was almost cool against his and he can taste the charge running his tongue over the medic's collar armor. Shifting, Sixshot pulls Ratchet's hips down against his thigh, pelvic armor spreading with a click and there's suddenly a very thick and very hard spike sliding up against the Autobot's aft.]

[Whatever he brought wasn't enough, not for someone Sixshot's size with his symptoms as bad as they are. Ratchet's bag falls from numb, limp fingers as he feels Sixshot grind in against the back of his hips, his optics widening. Sixshot feels huge and his valve clenches, almost painfully empty behind his cover. He curses, thick and breathless, but his own panel slides open to press wet heat down against Sixshot's thigh, his head tipping back to bare more of his throat and shivering as Sixshot's teeth graze.]

Hell. All right. Yes.

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ohhh my god i have NO IDEA what happened to that last tag IM SORRY

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