[network post--marked urgent]

[asafepairofhands]

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.

Comments

[arnhaid]

Yeah. Yeah.

[Same for him. He shifts his weight where he sits, to better brace himself against Ratchet's hips, moving for the both of them. Keeping the motion steady while his body wants to push over the edge. He wants this to go on as long as possible. Keep the medic as happy as he can, for as long as possible.]

[He bends down as the motion increases -- pressing his mouth to Ratchet's as he feels his body clamp down around him, shuddering down into system overload all over again.]

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet cries out as Ironhide tightens around him, his whole body arching as he follows Ironhide over the edge, shuddering desperately before his body goes limp, his hands slipping away to lay on the berth and his mouth still moving softly against Ironhide's, lazy and--finally--sated.]

Oh. [He exhales on a soft moan when Ironhide pulls back, looking a little stunned, his fingertips still trembling.] That--that helped. Goodness. [He reaches up, brushing light fingertips against the side of Ironhide's helm.]

[arnhaid]

[He slowly curls down toward him. Working his hands around Ratchet's shoulders, tugging him as close as he can, in their current position. Doing nothing to pull away from him, or back from him.]

[He tilts his head enough though, to rest his face against Ratchet's neck. Ending up curled on top of him, still connected.]

Good. You uh. You... [A little awkwardly:] were great. Are great.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet hums, cupping Ironhide's face and tilting his head up to kiss his mouth again, soft and meltingly slow.]

I think you're pretty great yourself. [He breathes a soft laugh against Ironhide's mouth and kisses him again, stroking gently down his cheek.]

[arnhaid]

[There's a low sound of a chuckle against his mouth, returning that kiss as slow as it's given. All but sinking into it.]

[Only pulling away far enough to speak. He doesn't want to move. Doesn't want to leave him.]

... glad to help. [And then, quieter.] Care about you, y'know.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet's face shifts, softening helplessly, the lines around his mouth easing enough that he looks open and honest and weirdly young.]

I care about you too

[arnhaid]

[Wow. That... look. He can't look away from it. From Ratchet. He leans his head forward until he can press the side of his face to the other bot's chest. One hand splayed over his plating.]

A lot.

I uh. It's kinda embarrassing. How much.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet reaches up, touching the side of Ironhide's helm and tracing careful fingertips down until they brush the side of his mouth, then gently over his lips.]

Ironhide...

[arnhaid]

[If robots could blush, he would. Instead, he glances down, with a nervous little laugh. Gently rubbing his thumb along the bit of glass and chestplate.]

Did uh. Did I say too much here...?

[asafepairofhands]

No! No, just--

[He falters, swallowing hard and shivering a little as Ironhide strokes at even that small patch of plating.]

...I didn't know.

[arnhaid]

... Yeah.

Didn't really seem right to say anythin'. Y'know?

[He keeps moving his hand a little. Before briefly glancing up to meet his face.]

Not fair in the middle of a war.

[And then he'd apparently died at some point in time during it. Which. Really isn't fair. As much as he'd wanted to.]

[asafepairofhands]

I figured--well.

[He huffs warm air from his vents, looking embarrassed.]

I figured if you felt that way about anyone, it was Optimus. You know? Not--

[Not me, he doesn't finish, looking away.]

[arnhaid]

[He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at him -- serious and concerned.]

Well... Optimus. He's Optimus. How can you not love him?

[Sort of like how can you not love Robot Jesus?]

Hey. [And then he reaches over to try and gently nudge Ratchet's face toward him.] It's different though. Different kinda feeling. Than you. Yeah, I love him.

... don't mean I don't love you too.

[asafepairofhands]

I know, I know, I--

[Then he pauses as it slowly penetrates that Ironhide just told Ratchet he loved him and he stops, stunned speechless for a moment, his lips parted and his optics wide as he stares up at Ironhide.]

Oh. [His voice is very small.] ...oh.

[arnhaid]

[They're both so good at this. Wow.]

[His serious look, the solemn expression, it suddenly turns sheepish, and he pulls back a bit, grinning awkwardly.]

Uh. Yeah. I mean -- you don't gotta --! It's okay if you're not --

Scrap, I'm sorry.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet isn't smiling--he looks almost grave as he reaches up and touches Ironhide's face again, then slowly draws him down to cover Ironhide's mouth with his, a hard, helpless shudder wracking him before his grip tightens fiercely and he presses into this kiss, his optics cutting out and his vocalizer fritzing static.]

[arnhaid]

[He's very worried, for a minute, that he's said too much. Or said the wrong thing entirely. He makes to move back -- give Ratchet some space. But...]

[But then the kiss comes, and his intakes work sharply, a startled "inhale". Then he's pressing back into the kiss, his engine humming low and calm, arms wrapped around Ratchet and holding him back just as tightly.]

[triggerhappycopter]

[Spinister stares at Ratchet. The stare turns into a vaguely suspicious squint as he retracts his arm once the other medic was done patching it up. He breaks eye contact for a few seconds to check over the patch before looking back up at Ratchet with a marginally less suspicious expression and a blase shrug.]

Yeah?

[phase6kindofbot]

[He keeps rutting despite the knot, pulling back until they sat just on the knife's edge of pain before grinding back in, hard enough to scrape the red paint off of Ratchet's aft. Black fingers slide down Ratchet's spike stroking briefly at the base of the length before moving lower to join the medic's own, rubbing firm circles over his partner's anterior node.

Charge was beginning to surge over his plating now, snapping pops of light that shimmered over his armor and between their plating at every point of contact. He could taste the static as he runs his tongue over Ratchet's neck, over the marks his teeth had left and the air ripples and mirages as his temp climbs. Sixshot's vents start cycling faster, his breath molten hot against the back of Ratchet's helm and he was so close now, so close so-

The accumulated charge arcs over his armor with a thunderous crack.

For a brief second, his optics blaze overbright and then he bites down, hard enough to taste energon, power plant growling deep enough to send loose debris rattling off the ground around them. Fingers clamping down in an armor denting grip on Ratchet's chest and hip, he brings the medic down for one final, grinding thrust and holds them there as his spike spills searing hot fluid against the walls of Ratchet's valve.]

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet chokes as Sixshot moves his hips, his optics going wide and round, and he can feel his body clench down helplessly on the ache, letting it rip another shudder from him. He writhes as Sixshot's fingers slip between his legs, his hand sliding up to stroke rough and fast at his own spike, pleasure wracking him even as it hurts, feeing Sixshot go tense against his back.

He cries out thinly as Sixshot's teeth sink into lines and cabling, feeling his plating dent and his windscreen compressed nearly to cracking under Sixshot's forearm. He sobs as Sixshot leans in and jerks into him hard, pain flaring--then a short, staticked scream rips from his vocalizer as he overloads, the sound half-shocked and his body rippling weakly around the thick press of Sixshot holding him open.]

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet makes a raw little sound into the kiss before he slumps back, venting unsteadily and watching Ironhide's face with softening optics--before they dim and another hard shiver rolls through him, rattling his plating.]

This is lovely. [His voice is dry.] But I think if you don't get up soon this sludge is going to kick in again and I am going to end up extremely... distracted. [He slides a light hand down one of Ironhide's thighs, just petting gently, touching for the sake of touch.] ...thank you. I mean for--well, for everything, but primarily for telling me. You know. [Extremely smooth, Ratchet, nice going. He fumbles a little, trying to say what he means.] For being honest with me.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet just looks at him, a little longingly, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the pollen clogging his vents.]

Are you sure you wouldn't consider coming to work with us here? It doesn't even have to be all the time, just--y'know. Door's open.

[arnhaid]

... That such a bad thing?

[He picks up on the careful, absent touching, and provides some of his own. Focusing more on Ratchet's forearms, wrists. Hands.]

Heh. You're all flustered.

[His head tilts in, helmet clinking gently against the other bot's. Expression lazy, warm, and amused. This isn't a side to Ratchet often seen, and damn if he isn't enjoying himself.]

I... yeah. Didn't really seem right. Y'know? Stuff in the air or not -- doin' all this without talkin' a little.

[asafepairofhands]

Well. [He huffs.] Figured I'd give you fair warning, at least.

[He tries not to squirm as Ironhide strokes down to his hands, his cooling fans kicking into gear again as he tilts his head and brushes his mouth against the corner of Ironhide's.]

Yeah. Yes. [He kisses Ironhide again, sweet and slow, lingering a little.] I'm glad.

[phase6kindofbot]

[Slowly, Sixshot eases his grip on the doctor, electricity dancing over his armor in glittering arcs. Now and again, his frame contracts, cord and knot twitching against over stretched mesh.

Eventually, the Sixer manages to unlock his jaws, his armor plates flaring apart and steam hissing free, settling in a thick fog around them.]

... Sorry.

[The dazed words are accompanied by a light, apologetic lick over the marks his teeth had left on Ratchet's nape, trailing after the small rivulet of warm energon.]