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“Rodimus, I really don’t think this is the best way to go about it.”
Ratchet tried to ignore the cold air of Rodimus’s otherwise comfortable captain’s quarters lingering on his warm spark as he closed up his chest panels, latching the windshield back into place over them as soon as Rodimus pulled his fingers free.
Blue dust, glowing brightly, still clung to the captain’s loudly yellow fingers, hanging on via electrostatic charge. That would be an absolute mess as soon as Rodimus touched anything else, promptly forgetting about the sparkdust he would be smearing on everything.
The mood to interface was rapidly disappearing, despite the eager massage that he had just been in the middle of receiving.
At least the couch he was sitting on what comfortable. It was a miracle it hadn’t been trashed at some point in one of Rodimus’s fits of pique, not that he had as many of those these days. Or perhaps the current sofa was a replacement for another, less fortunate model. Who could say.
Early on in their intimate relationship, which began as an attempt to fill their respective yawning voids when Drift was exiled, Ratchet had decided it wasn’t in their best interests to live together. Rodimus as a roommate would drive him first completely up the wall and then right into the morgue.
Living apart as not quite amica—they were still feeling that out—was fine and suited them both. Rodimus could make a mess and have his own private space and Ratchet could retreat to solitude when he needed it. He also didn’t want to deal with Rodimus accidentally setting him on fire in the middle of the night if he had a bad dream during recharge.
That and Rodimus’s fireproof tarpaulins weren’t comfortable. The crinkling noise they made was torture and they felt like sleeping in plastic pallet wrap. Best to just keep their separate spaces.
“What?”
Rodimus pouted in disappointment as he stood in front of the couch, blue-coated hand held awkwardly in front of his chest.
They had only tried casual and conventional port-and-plug interfacing, restricted to shallow sensation only, up until this point, partially out of convenience. It had been long time since Ratchet’s academy days.
However, this time Ratchet had begrudgingly agreed to let Rodimus, ever afraid of anything getting too boring, attempt a few new dynamics.
They had already put up one important boundary before getting started: no spark-to-spark contact, even indirectly by transferred sparkdust. That was far too risky and intimate in a way they weren’t remotely ready for. The very thought of an accidental and irreversible bond was terrifying. They were still working to fully identify their needs. It was way too early for anything like that kind of commitment, but who knew, maybe one day they would decide otherwise.
“Do you think this is some sort of revenge for when you tried to get me to step down as captain?”
“No, it’s because your opening line was ‘This is your captain speaking.’”
Putting his hand on his chin and leaving a bright streak of blue in the process, Rodimus snickered.
“Yeah, yeah, that was a pretty good one—“
“Rodimus, focus.” Ratchet snapped his fingers in front of Rodimus’s face to reign in his wandering attention. “Listen to me: that one was terrible. It was one of the least arousing things you’ve ever said to me, and that includes the time you called my tires ‘bouncy castles.’”
“Oh, come on!” Rodimus threw his arms forward and wide, pleading as dust particles fell away in a puff. “The captain line was comedic gold! And, for the record, I was complimenting your tires.”
“No, no, it wasn’t ‘comedic gold,’” Ratchet said, holding up his own hands in a sarcastic gesture of quotation that he had accidentally picked up from Rodimus. “And I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”
“But—“
“Rodimus, please.” He sighed, dropping his palms to the couch to let them rest on the dingy upholstery. This place really needed to be vacuumed, but he knew sometimes it was difficult for Rodimus to find the wherewithal to tidy up as often as was necessary. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Don’t say—“
“I’m disappointed.”
Rodimus whined, dramatically dropping to his knees and slumping sideways onto the floor like he’d been shot in slow motion.
“Disappointed,” he echoed, face buried against the stained mesh rug on the floor.
An ugly streak of blue light was left in the wake of Rodimus’s fingers touching the ground.
This was more or less what Ratchet had expected would happen. Rodimus didn’t take either rejection or disappointment well, but this seemed a little over the top. He was probably putting on a performance to get Ratchet to walk the complaints back. If that was the case, Rodimus would probably rebound shortly with a “new, awesome idea.”
Maybe they could still get some overloads out of this encounter, but Ratchet’s interest was still flagging.
Almost as if on cue, Rodimus pulled himself upright on his knees and scooted between Ratchet’s legs. He placed his hands on the medic’s thighs, a desperate cling to his grip.
“Let me try again, docbot. Come on.” There was the second wind, as anticipated. Rodimus, his optics now wide and pleading, always did get back on his feet after falling down, both literally and figuratively. His sheer, irrepressible will to fail forward was one of his more admirable traits. “I can try again. It’ll be better. We’ll have a good time. I promise.”
Ratchet sighed once more but nodded, relenting. “Alright, but new boundary: no more bad puns or captain jokes in the berth.”
“Just to clarify—“
“Yes, the couch counts.”
Rodimus let the focal rings of his optics spiral down into narrow points as he thought before nodding.
“Cool, yeah, that’s cool.” He stuck out a hand for Ratchet to shake. The one tainted by Ratchet’s own sparkdust. “Deal.”
Oh well. It was his own. Fine.
He took the hand, shaking it before settling back against the couch again, waiting for… whatever Rodimus decided to do next.
“Just sit back; I got this.”
Rodimus finally stood, leaning over Ratchet with more of that “fake it until you make it” confidence.
He placed his palm, the blue dust having finally tracked all the way down his hand, on Ratchet’s windshield and rubbed the glass in a gentle, careful circle. The glass had minimal sensors embedded in it, just enough to know when something had come into contact with the surface, for safety reasons. Streaks of sparkdust smeared in wide swaths but at least it was his own.
Ratchet turned off his optics and relaxed under the gentle massage, letting his legs fall further open so Rodimus could stand closer.
Rodimus’s other arm, that hand still miraculously clean, came to rest against Ratchet’s shoulder, his hand lightly caressing the exposed neck cables. He bent forward and leaned his forehead against Ratchet’s.
This was fine, so far. He wasn’t running hot again, no, but the idea of interfacing no longer seemed like a massive chore that he’d simply rather not do.
“Open up for me?”
It was phrased like a question, but it wasn’t really one. Rodimus had wanted to try being “dominant” today, in addition to the manual spark stimulation, but he wasn’t… experienced in that realm. Ratchet just had no preference one way or the other, as long as it was an enjoyable time.
He was willing to let Rodimus try to order him around a little, within reason.
That was fine, especially since it meant Ratchet wouldn’t be doing as much of the work.
It wasn’t something he normally did in the course of his duties, given that as the chief medical officer, he could override almost any of the captain’s decisions if they had a bearing on the health and wellbeing of the crew.
He let the latches holding his windshield and chest panels closed click open. Rodimus gingerly pried him open, care given to each hinge’s limited range of motion.
Sparklight flooded the room again. Cold air on his spark made Ratchet shudder, but the chill was soon banished when Rodimus brought his hand to the hot surface of the crystal for a fresh coating of dust.
Fingers slid gently over the crystal, carefully exploring and touching as charge smoothly radiated away into Ratchet’s systems. Another pulse of charge washed over his circuits as he heard the soft click of a plug cover opening near his audio sensor, a sign that Rodimus was unspooling his wrist cable.
Trying again had definitely been a good idea.