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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I suppose spreading awareness of the cause can't hurt. I'll see what I can gather. It seems to cloud higher thinking and judgement when around others. [ It makes you unbearably horny. Those are the words he is looking for. ]

You doing okay? [ Haha, gosh, he has to take that knowledge in stride. ]

I just didn't want us to be flooded with panicked idiots who think they're dropping dead because they can't find somebody to swap paint with.

[He cycles his vents shakily.]

Yeah, I'm... all right. About as well as 'mortified,' 'furiously angry,' and 'all right' go together, anyway. I'm not in any danger. It's just distracting.

Instead they'll just come here to get a medical hand. [ So wry. ] I hope you're not going to turn the medibay into a bordello, Ratchet.

[ Ratchet should know First Aid's humor by now to know he's teasing. ]

Distracting is one way to put it. Consent issues and loss of productivity aside, it's not too bad, is it? People have been looking for years for an affective aphrodisiac and Cybertron just drops one on us. I can't hazard a guess why though.

[Ratchet scoffs.] I'm not planning on it!

[Doesn't mean it won't happen.]

No, at least nobody's in any real danger. If it really is an allergy, though, there's always the possibility, so I'm keeping an optic out as much as I can.

...how are you holding up?

I'm infected. It's... frustrating. I've been debating marking the infected as per standard epidemiology procedure until I'm certain that it can't be passed person to person, but... you might know how it goes when you get close enough to touch.

[ To be honest, he never thought he'd talk about his interfacing life with Ratchet. It was much easier to speak about it clinically. ]

The charge doesn't stay gone long and it can make it difficult to stay fueled and sleep. Friend to friend, I'm... here, if you need it. Doctors have to stick together.

[Ratchet presses a palm over his face, making a soft, choking sound in his throat that's only identifiable as laughter when his hand slides away. There's a rare, real warmth in it even if it is a little strained, his face actually easing for a second as he rubs shakily at the cabling tucked under the base of his helm.]

Sorry. Just. This whole situation. I'm-- [A slow, hard shiver rakes through him and cuts off his voice, his optics flickering before he wrests control of himself.] I'm... managing, mostly. But you might want to come over and look at the data I've been collecting--you're the epidemiologist, not me.

[ Sometimes First Aid literally can't tell if Ratchet was laughing at him or at what he said. Either way it makes heat flush through his frame, becoming a bit flustered. ]

Before you put me on record as the expert, I just want the chance to say that I didn't exactly have formal schooling in it, it was just something I studied at Delphi.

[ Which was a medical base equip for expanding medical study and First Aid was pretty up on his medical conferences before Kimia went to hell, but that aside. ]

Is now fine?

More of an expert than I am, that's for damn sure. [Ratchet's voice is still warm.] I don't expect you to cure it overnight, but you'll be able to do more with this than I will.

Now's good, if you're not busy.

[ First Aid pretty much never stops being surprised when he's praised by Ratchet. ]

Ah... Well, I'll come take a look.

[ wee-woo, here comes the puff ambulance. He could have probably come walked over a bit ago, but in this scenario you can never be too careful. ]

Hey.

[Ratchet nods to First Aid as he comes in and holds up a datapad, putting it on the table between them. His hand is only a little unsteady as he draws it back and settles into his crutches again, his cooling fans working softly.]

[ Poor Ratchet. This was probably driving him insane. It was sort of inconvenient for First Aid but he wasn't too terribly bothered by it. ]

Thanks.

[ First Aid slides the data pad towards him and takes a look down at it. His own fans are on, though aren't working quite too hard from the charge dampener he was wearing. It still takes him a moment to focus on the work. ]

There doesn't seem to be any difference in the fluid besides increased charge. There... has to be something.

I was guessing it was something in the pollen itself, the way it gets into our systems, and that it'll subside once the stuff is clear. It would explain the lack of other data, but I don't know. And that doesn't explain why it's affecting organics in a similar fashion, but I sure don't have the tools or equipment or a big enough sample size to get enough data to figure out what's going on there. This is high-priority, but nobody's dying, so I don't know.

Thanks for looking it over anyway--better that everybody have as much data as possible. [He eyes First Aid for a moment, his optics narrowing slowly.] You don't seem as badly affected as most. Anything in particular you're doing to fight it?

I'm probably missing something. It could be a parasite, which would account for the lack of chemical response, or viral, and the the spores are just the most visible-- I need more time to look the data over.

[ First Aid briefly flicks his his attention to Ratchet's face, then back at the data pad and mutters something. That was considerably unhelpful, and he realizes that, but he's a bit embarrassed. ]

I uh, made a dampener to use.

We need more data, really, and nobody's focused enough to be really forthcoming.

[Ratchet's optics widen slightly, but he doesn't look annoyed or embarrassed or judgmental in the slightest.]

Well, that's one way to take care of the problem. [He frowns slightly.] ...though unless you've made considerable bounds in the mechanics, it's hard on your systems to wear for periods of time. Are you holding up all right?

[Not that Ratchet has room to talk--the charge is getting visibly worse even in the time they've been speaking as his fans whir louder and more static crackles in his voice. He seems intent on simply ignoring it as best he can, however, particularly if there's another problem placed in front of him.]

Are you kidding? I'm not Brainstorm. It's just something I managed to rig together from scrap. It's uncomfortable and doesn't keep my equipment from reacting-- [ In other words, his spike is rubbing against his cover as he speaks. ] It's better than nothing.

[ He puts the datapad down and folds his arms. ]

I know the risks, Ratchet. [ He squints his visor back at him, and reaches to brush his fingers against the elder medic's wrist. ] Do you want one?

I know you do, sorry. I just--

[Ratchet shudders at that light touch, his plating rattling together lightly before he turns his hand over to capture First Aid's, giving it a brief squeeze before his grip slackens, not quite letting go, but giving him more than enough room to pull away.]

...no. [A little wryly.] Thanks. But I'll just keep it on the whole damn time and make more work for everybody rooting around down there to replace the blown fuses. It's not a repair I could do myself and I'd feel bad for whoever drew the short straw for the dubious honor. [He swallows, watching First Aid's face and struggling for professionalism even as heat gathers into a tight knot low in his belly.]

How long has it been since you removed it last?

At least you're honest, even if it's stupid.

[ First Aid doesn't draw his hand away, but he shakes his head at Ratchet. He rumbles in displeasure, thinking about how Ratchet generally handles any sort of scenario with his own health. ]

I put it in this morning, then I usually take it off whenever I shower.

[ Which that can be several hours, depending whether or not he ends up fragging someone in the time between. It's been several already, at least, today. ]

I know, Ratchet, it's not good, but... [ He makes a vague motion. ]

Nothing about this whole mess is exactly ideal.

[Ratchet looks down at the smaller hand curled loosely in his, resisting the urge to tighten his grip again, to bring it to his lips to suck on First Aid's fingers, to press him back over one of the tables here and push his panels aside, to turn that soft to ragged static. He shakes himself a little, swallowing.]

Still, that's long, especially for as many days as you'll seem likely to need it. I-- [He shifts a little, but he's determined not to be awkward.] ...would you like a hand? I'm not in any immediate danger myself, so don't feel obligated to throw yourself on that particular grenade. [His voice is warm and wry, his fingers curling to smooth gently against First Aid's.] But friend to friend, I'm here for you too.

It... is.

[ There's that heated look in Ratchet's optics that makes his voice waver slightly. He wouldn't have extended the offer if he found it awkward; it wasn't the first time he's found relief with another medic, but usually just for fun and stress relief than legitimate health related reasons. ]

Sure, I'm down. You look like you could use a hand too, no matter what you say.

[ He's teasing, though he circles his fingers around Ratchet's, stroking over the sensitive digits. They used to be Pharma's hands, and he's used to the shape of them, his fingers finding the joints and creases easily. ]

[Ratchet opens his mouth to say something--then has to close it again immediately to trap a moan behind his teeth, heat raking through him at the deliberate touch of First Aid's fingers against his. His spike thumps into the thin cowling covering it, trying to pressurize, and he has the good grace to look at least slightly sheepish.]

Can't argue with you there. [His grip on First Aid's fingers tightens briefly before he pulls away to put both hands back on his crutches, nodding towards the door to the room in which he usually recharges, a cluttered half-closet with a slab and extra supplies.] ...somewhere more private, then?

[ The dampener was probably more frustrating than dealing with uncontrolled arousal. He feels aroused, but the charge doesn't build, redirected out of his array and throughout his sparklines. First Aid makes a small, needy sound at the sound of Ratchet's spike thumping against the cover. He always really liked that sound. ]

Really, Ratchet? We really need to get you out of the closet. I'd take you to my suite but I think you'd beat me over the head with that crutch before I could get you off your feet.

[ Small size didn't mean lack of strength and all. Ambulances were built to carry. First Aid will take what's available though, and the complaint is in jest. He's perfectly fine taking Ratchet's helm between his hands and leaning in to press their heads together briefly before backing off, towards the sad little room Ratchet's set up. ]

It's convenient. [Ratchet has the aggrieved tone of someone who has heard this particular complaint several times in the past few days. This doesn't keep him from leaning into First Aid's touch to his helm, however.] A fact for which I think we are both grateful just now. Come on.

[He shoulders the door open and let's First Aid in before shutting and locking it then sitting down on the bed and setting his crutches aside. Both hands freed, he reaches up to cup First Aid's hips and draw him closer, not quite hesitant but oddly careful as he watches First Aid's face, his mouth finding the sensitive plating of First Aid's belly and pressing a slow kiss there as his fingertips slide down and in.]

Now let's get you out of this thing, shall we?

[ First Aid had to admit, this was weird. Not a bad weird, just a... unexpected weird. Some mechs were really into the mentor figure fantasy, but he was plenty happy to forget that the moment Ratchet's lips press against his belly. He groans, charge going straight to his array and then was immediately redirected with the dampener in place, leaving First Aid shivering. ]

I, I might pressurize quick.

[ The last thing he wanted was to put out Ratchet's eye with his cock.

He lets his covers push aside and the problem was immediately apparent. Generally, charge dampeners were designed to allow lubricant to flow and the spike to pressurize, but First Aid's hastily cobbled model kept everything in. His cord was still pressing against the barrier, visible as a lump against the device, but it was pressed into the seams of his array well enough that it couldn't push free.

First Aid holds up a finger to stifle the incoming lecture before it starts, then pinches his fingers over one of Ratchet's chevron and strokes up to the point. ]

Edited 2015-08-17 18:25 (UTC)

[Ratchet rumbles a low half-laugh, but the sound dies when he sees the device clamped over First Aid's array. He sighs, but does not launch into a lecture, leaning into First Aid's fingers a little instead as his hands find the catches and ease the damper free.]

[Heat flares in his optics as First Aid pressurizes, steadying First Aid with firm hands on his hips after he sets the device aside, his touch light as he leans in, the only warning First Aid gets before he closes his mouth around First Aid's spike. He sucks gently as his fingers press to the wet heat between First Aid's legs, his free hand bracing the small of First Aid's back as he leans in to swallow him whole. He can practically taste the charge built up and he has to muffle a moan around First Aid's length, his lips touching First Aid's baseplate and a moan vibrating in his throat as two fingers slide in, opening slick, clutching heat around sensitive plating.]

[ First Aid is pretty sure he'll get the lecture later.

Right now, he was concentrating hard on keeping his legs from giving out from under him. Taking off the dampener was always somewhat painful-- the rush of charge hitting him at once, the over sensitive nodes, the strain. It was like the sensation of post-overload times seven.

His moan was loud and broken, even before Ratchet swallows him down to the base, and that's when he really doesn't trust his legs and has to slam his hands down on the older medic's shoulders to keep from crumpling. ]

Ratchet!

[ First Aid can't even form other words, his vocalizer spitting static as his frame thrums with charge. His spike was pulsing with it, twitching from pent up neediness, already leaking prefluid down the back of Ratchet's intake just from overfull tanks. His valve cycles down around the fingers, clutching them tight as they slide in deep, and First Aid rocks his hips involuntarily, as desperate as a virgin chasing his first overload. ]

Please!

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LOCKING THIS

such private

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