[IDW] A Fine Frenzy 02/02
Jan. 31st, 2019 06:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: A Fine Frenzy
Universe: MTMTE/LL
Characters: Ultra Magnus/Megatron, Ratchet
Rated: M
Enticements: Heat trope, Sticky Sexual Interfacing,
Description: A revelation in two parts, as an unexpected bit of experimental coding sends Megatron into a heat only a partner will satisfy, and there are so few he believes he can trust, here on the Lost Light.
Commission for Borath.
II. Thereafter
Ultra Magnus surfaced from recharge slowly, something he'd come to expect as of late, in the absence of war and immediate threats. He was warm, if not a bit sticky, and it was unusual to sleep in the Magnus armor aboard the Lost Light now that he'd been revealed to be Minimus Ambus inside.
"He's fine," a red and white blur on the edge of Magnus' vision said. "For that matter, so are you. Nothing a bit of recharge won't fix."
Fine? Fix?
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics and rebooted his sensory suites. The blur clarified into Ratchet standing near him, peering at Ultra Magnus over the edge of a datapad.
Memory returned in a slow trickle.
Megatron. Pleasure. Trust.
"The heat... is over?" Ultra Magnus asked, surprised to hear the raspiness in his own vocals. He sounded wrung out and emptied. He certainly felt that way. His system pinged back to him status update after status update, all minor troubles, but troubles all the same.
"Yes. Rather quicker than I would have thought." Ratchet lifted his orbital ridges and gave Ultra Magnus a smirk.
Ultra Magnus turned his head the other direction, discovering why his left side was much warmer than his right. Megatron was actually cuddling him, sprawled over Ultra Magnus' left arm and side, his head pillowed on Ultra Magnus' shoulder. His face was slack with recharge, lines of stress smoothed out.
He was unfairly handsome, and Ultra Magnus' spark gave an odd lurch. Though it was odd he wasn't awake. A mech like Megatron ought to have more responsive threat protocols.
"It's a healing recharge," Ratchet said, answering Ultra Magnus' unasked question. "He won't wake until his frame finishes clearing out the remnants of the heat."
"Did he--"
"--spark? No. I doubt his frame is capable of that." Ratchet scribbled something on his datapad. "Then again, he shouldn't have had a heat in the first place. So who knows?" He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Anyway, the risk of transmission has passed, so you can leave at any point."
Ultra Magnus pressed his lips together. He glanced at Megatron, still weighing his arm down, lax in recharge.
"I'll wait," he said.
"Suit yourself." Ratchet made another mark and tucked the datapad into a subspace pocket, because it vanished. "There's a washrack through that door should you need it. The door isn't locked for leaving, but no one can bother you. Ping me if you need anything."
"Understood. Thank you, Ratchet."
The medic snorted and took his leave.
Ultra Magnus waited for several moments, listening and counting the sounds of Megatron's steady ventilations. Steady, if not a bit rattled, though his field was quiescent and calm compared to the wild flux it had been last night.
When he could find no reason to linger that didn’t betray something he was trying to deny, he attempted to ease out of the berth. He reclaimed his arm first, and slid the rest of the way, off to the side, out from beneath Megatron’s warm weight. A crease of dissatisfaction flickered over Megatron’s features before it was gone again, and he settled on his front, arms tucked under a pillow.
Was it possible for a genocidal warlord to be adorable?
No. Absolutely not.
Ultra Magnus spun on a heelstrut and made his way into the washracks. He cleaned himself quickly and efficiently, refusing to linger or allow his thoughts to wander, perhaps into reminiscing. He took little note (far, far too much note) of the scrapes on the outside of his hips and thighs, of the dried spatters of lubricant on his groin, of the dents in his armor where fingers had gripped too tight, perhaps out of desperation.
He washed away all lingering traces and scent of Megatron’s heat, until he could in-vent without tasting Megatron on his glossa.
He toweled off with the same efficiency, and made to leave the washracks, until those silly little guidelines reared their head, forcing him to take notice. Personal guidelines, as it were. He went back, grabbed two fresh mesh towels and dampened them.
Megatron was not his lover, but in this moment, this evening, he was. And Ultra Magnus would grant him the same courtesy he’d grant any mech who shared his berth.
He returned, dampened cloths in hand. Megatron had shifted to his back, one arm thrown over his face as though hiding behind it, the other draped across his abdomen. Dried lubricant flecked at his groin, his thighs, and it stained the berth beneath him.
But as Ultra Magnus approached, the arm slid away from Megatron’s face. “You’re still here,” he said.
“Should I have gone?” Ultra Magnus asked. He perched on the edge of the bed, gesturing with the cloths. “Would it bother you if I…?”
Megatron sat up. “I can do it myself.” He swung his legs over the bed on the other side and took the cloths from Ultra Magnus, keeping his back between them. “While I appreciate the assistance, you don’t have to pretend it was anything more than Autobot duty.”
Ultra Magnus picked at the berth covers, stained and rumpled, watching Megatron’s armor shift and flex as he moved to clean himself. “Duty started it, yes,” he said. “And I am sorry you had little choice in the matter.”
Megatron visibly stilled. “I had a choice,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.
“Choosing to die is not a choice.”
“Depends on who you ask.” Megatron chuckled, but it was grating and lacked any humor. “And what choices I did have were honored, so there is that. I’m hardly bothered, Ultra Magnus. Don’t waste your pity on me.” He started to shift again, the sounds of damp cloth over armor barely audible in the room.
“It’s not pity.”
Ultra Magnus turned around, braced his elbows on his knees, stared at the far door. Megatron’s field was completely closed to him, so he could get no sense of the former warlord from it. He realized, belatedly, he missed how open Megatron had been. How the heat had left him completely readable.
“Sympathy then,” Megatron corrected with a chuff of distaste, a hint of sneer in his voice. “I don’t want it either.”
Ultra Magnus clasped his hands together. “I think…” He paused, reevaluated his words, and started again. “I will respect whatever decision you make from here, but understand that I don’t think less of you for what has transpired.”
The berth creaked as Megatron rose from it. His footsteps came in dull thuds around the end of it, and Ultra Magnus straightened as Megatron loomed over him. His expression was one Ultra Magnus could not interpret, not that he’d ever been particularly good at reading others in the first place. They were not books, and this was something one couldn’t learn from books.
“Then what do you think of me?” Megatron asked, and his tone was perfectly even, without an ounce of inflection.
The meshcloth plopped as it hit the wall and slid down, tossed somewhere in the direction of the washracks.
Ultra Magnus squeezed his fingers together and took a steadying ventilation. “There are things that can and can’t be helped,” he started, and furrowed his orbital ridge, shaking his head. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“If it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Megatron crouched and now he looked up at Ultra Magnus, his face set in a contemplative frown, his elbows braced on his knees in a pose not unlike Ultra Magnus’.
“Do you know why I asked for you?” Megatron asked, and there was something silky dark in his tone, something hypnotizing.
“I can honestly say I haven’t the slightest idea,” Ultra Magnus replied, fluster making his words stammer, and heat rise into the cheeks of the Magnus armor. The best approximation of a mech in every way.
“You represented me at my trial,” Megatron said. “And you did so fairly.”
Ultra Magnus opened his mouth, but Megatron shook his head.
“You could have done a poor job of it,” Megatron continued. “You could have offered me little in the way of a viable defense, and no one would have faulted you for it. Instead, you behaved as a mech with honor would. You performed your duty. So I knew, by that alone, I could trust you. Even with this.” He tapped his midsection pointedly.
“I think you give me more credit than I’m due,” Ultra Magnus replied, but he was flushing down to his most minimal self.
Guilt sunk its claws into his spark.
He worked his intake, tangled his fingers together. “I must confess that my intentions weren’t wholly honorable. And by that I mean, I might have harbored some… some...”
Megatron straightened, joints creaking with that of age and need of rest. “I’m giving you all the credit you deserve.” His lips curved then, toward a smirk or a grin, Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure which. “And if you did happen to have ulterior interests, well, perhaps that’s something to be discussed at a later date. When both of us have our wits about us.”
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. He tilted his head, lines of reasonable deduction drawn between one statement and the other. "We're not of sound mind now?"
"Not at the moment." A grimace stole into Megatron's features. He rose to his feet, swaying a little where he stood. "I need more recharge. I need a bath." He looked down at himself, where Ultra Magnus' paint stood out in lurid streaks against the gray. "I need perspective."
That was something Ultra Magnus could use a bit of as well. Clearly, he had a lot to consider, and while he wasn't trained in the art of reading another mech, he could sense the conflict in the edges of Megatron's field. There was imbalance, and Ultra Magnus couldn't fault him for it.
This situation was unprecedented from all directions.
Ultra Magnus stood as well. "There's a washrack here, and I'm sure Ratchet's going to want to run a few more tests to ensure your health." He slipped around Megatron, edged toward the door, keeping his movement slow, as unthreatening as he could manage with his greater bulk. "I'll leave you in peace."
Megatron caught his arm before he could go too far, though the grip was less firm as it was a careful request. Ultra Magnus shifted to look at him, ignoring the shiver that traveled up his arm and seemed to send a bolt of charge straight to his spark.
"I... appreciate your discretion," Megatron said.
Ultra Magnus nodded. "There is nothing that happened in this room which needs to be shared with anyone else." He paused. "Though Ratchet's knowledge of the situation can't be helped."
Megatron snorted. "No. I suppose it can't." He released Ultra Magnus' arm and tipped his head in the shallowest of nods. "Thank you."
"I don't think..." Ultra Magnus paused, words failing him, and once again, there were no guidelines, no codes of conduct to inform him how to address the situation. He shook his head. "No, this isn't something you should thank me for. I'm glad to be of aid."
He felt he should say something more, but words escaped him, and there was a thickness in the air between them. Expectation. Unspoken things, perhaps. Ultra Magnus didn't know.
So he excused himself instead, slipping into the hall of the medbay, and venting quietly as the door shut and locked behind him. It was oddly bright out here, but the air was thinner, easier to vent. It didn't smell of ozone for one, and the tang of overloads and lingering heat didn't waft around his olfactory sensors.
He paused outside the door to cycle a ventilation, to shutter his optics and find his bearings. He gave himself the space of a minute before he shook himself and started moving again. He had work to do, and with both himself and Megatron out of commission, who knows what poor decisions Rodimus had made.
He didn't get very far.
"Ultra Magnus."
He paused.
Ratchet hovered in a nearby doorway, looking up at him with folded arms. "You all right?"
"Of course. I appreciate your concern."
Ratchet tilted his head. "You look like you've been stomped by a combiner. And I don't mean in the physical sense."
"Granted." Ultra Magnus cycled a ventilation, held himself still. "Today was very unexpected in many ways. I am still... absorbing."
Ratchet snorted. "Yeah. I'll bet." He kicked a foot, his gaze darting past Ultra Magnus and down the hallway, toward the room holding Megatron. "I don't think I have to tell you to be careful."
"You were the one who retrieved me."
"Yes. On his request." Ratchet's optics narrowed. "The heat was genuine, I'll give him that much. I'll even give him a lack of options on this ship. But he's a master manipulator, and you shouldn't forget that."
Ultra Magnus worked his jaw. "I haven't."
"You sure?" Ratchet straightened. "You remember I was supervising, yes?"
The heat threatened to crest into his faceplate. "There is nothing you could have seen to indicate otherwise."
"Not from my perspective." Ratchet sighed and lowered his hand, only to rub his fingers over his forehead. "Look, I'm not here to tell you what to do or think or believe or... feel. I just want you to be careful."
Ultra Magnus frowned, however slight. "I appreciate the concern, and I'll take your advice in hand."
"That's all I'm asking." Ratchet pushed off the frame and rubbed his face. "All right. I need some recharge. This crew is driving me crazy."
"But we greatly appreciate the breadth of your care."
Ratchet snorted. "You can save the flattery. I don’t need it.” He stepped back into the doorway and belatedly, Ultra Magnus realized it wasn’t Ratchet’s office as he’d first surmised, but a back entrance into private quarters, likely Ratchet’s. “If anything should crop up, you know where to find me.”
Ultra Magnus made a noncommittal noise as the door closed on Ratchet, leaving Ultra Magnus alone in the hallway. Well, alone except for his thoughts.
He was going to be thinking about this for a long, long time.
~
Megatron cycled a ventilation. Two. Three.
In and out. In and out. He counted the rhythm, tracked the beats of his spark, until they matched a calm pattern he knew so well.
The heat was gone. He could discern that much. The aching, virulent need had left his frame. There was, distantly, a trace of something winding through his circuits. The sharp ache of a night spent in pleasure.
He remembered too much of it. He remembered all of it.
The consideration Ultra Magnus had given him went above and beyond what Megatron anticipated. Cool regard. Polite indifference. Professional care. All of those had been expected.
What Ultra Magnus had done for him was on an entirely different spectrum. He’d been precise and cautious, yes, but in a way that suggested he genuinely cared for Megatron’s comfort. He’d offered pleasure more than he’d taken it. Every action had been preceded by a request for permission, as much as Megatron could give anyway.
He hadn’t left.
He could have walked out as soon as the satisfied heat pulled Megatron into a healing stasis. He could have left the berth and no one would have faulted him for it.
Instead he’d stayed. He’d offered to clean Megatron. He’d apologized as though it were his fault Megatron had such unfortunate circumstances.
It was above and beyond the chilly disdain Megatron expected. He thought he’d want to vanish into the washracks afterward, scrub himself with scorching solvent, while fighting night purges even more than usual.
Instead, he felt… comforted. Reassured.
And he didn’t know what to do about it.
Megatron rose from the berth. He entered the washrack anyway, because he was still somewhat sticky despite the mesh cloth Ultra Magnus had brought him. There were fluids in his seams, his gears, and he stank of interfacing. Scrapes of blue paint dotted his inner thighs. There were handprints on his hips.
He touched them, fingers tracing the dents. Ultra Magnus had apologized for these as well, though Megatron had enjoyed receiving them. Not that he’d admitted such aloud.
Ultra Magnus had seemed to imply deeper feelings. Megatron had dismissed it, thinking he was hearing things, but there had definitely been a reserve in the mech afterward. His field had flickered with shame – at himself and not for having helped Megatron.
An interesting dichotomy, Ultra Magnus was. A confusing one.
Megatron flicked off the washrack and stepped out, dripping, wiping at himself with half-distracted interest. It took far too long for him to realize he wasn’t alone, and only self-control kept him from overreacting.
“Do you have bad news for me?” he asked.
Ratchet snorted from where he sat at the berthside chair, feet crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chassis. “You’re not sparked. The heat is passed. You’re safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You want me to tell you that I’ve figured out what Shockwave did to you. I can’t. At least, not yet.” Ratchet tilted his head, optics keen and bright as they flicked over Megatron from top to bottom. “How do you feel?”
Megatron balled up his towel and tossed it into the corner with the rest of the laundry. “The heat’s gone. But you know that already.”
“Just like you know that’s not what I meant.” Ratchet raised both his orbital ridges, and a lifetime of experience flashed through his optics.
No. Megatron was not having a spark to spark with Ratchet. He might have trusted Ratchet more than most mechs on this ship – for a certain definition of trust – but he wasn’t going to open himself up to the medic anymore than he already had.
"I am no worse off now than I was before the heat. You don't have to worry about me."
"Who's worrying?" Ratchet's shoulders bobbed, and he dropped his arms, pulling his creaky mass to his feet. "But if you want to talk to someone or--"
"I won't," Megatron interrupted.
Ratchet paused, pressed his lips together, cycled a ventilation. "If you want to talk to someone," he continued, stubborn to his spark. Megatron had always respected him for that. "I will always hold your confidence, and you know Rung is available."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Ratchet sighed audibly, a gusty sound with a rattle at the end. He scrubbed his forehead with two fingers. "All right. I'm going to get some recharge. I suggest you do the same." He moved to the door, still talking. "If you start feeling any resurgence, let me know. And I'll find out what I can about your frame."
Megatron inclined his head. "I appreciate your discretion."
"You know, you could just say 'thank you'. That works, too." Ratchet opened the door and slipped outside, letting it close behind him. Getting the final word? Megatron should not be so surprised.
Honestly, how did Optimus put up with so much insubordination? Did he appoint anyone to his command staff without an attitude and a stubborn spark?
Megatron palmed his face and cycled a ventilation. He had no idea, when he accepted this outcome for his trial, how bizarre his future would become, here aboard the Lost Light. He shouldn't have been so surprised the madness of this ship would have triggered his heat. He still wasn't convinced this ship wasn't meant to be a punishment for him.
He'd survived his heat relatively unscathed. He supposed he should be grateful for that much. He should count it as a win, and deal with the Ultra Magnus issue later.
Much, much later.
*
a/n: And that's all folks. At least for this one! I do have a sequel percolating in my head. Not sure when it's going to be written or where it's going to go from here, but I definitely feel like there's some story left to tell and I want to tell it.
Thank you for reading!
Universe: MTMTE/LL
Characters: Ultra Magnus/Megatron, Ratchet
Rated: M
Enticements: Heat trope, Sticky Sexual Interfacing,
Description: A revelation in two parts, as an unexpected bit of experimental coding sends Megatron into a heat only a partner will satisfy, and there are so few he believes he can trust, here on the Lost Light.
Commission for Borath.
Ultra Magnus surfaced from recharge slowly, something he'd come to expect as of late, in the absence of war and immediate threats. He was warm, if not a bit sticky, and it was unusual to sleep in the Magnus armor aboard the Lost Light now that he'd been revealed to be Minimus Ambus inside.
"He's fine," a red and white blur on the edge of Magnus' vision said. "For that matter, so are you. Nothing a bit of recharge won't fix."
Fine? Fix?
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics and rebooted his sensory suites. The blur clarified into Ratchet standing near him, peering at Ultra Magnus over the edge of a datapad.
Memory returned in a slow trickle.
Megatron. Pleasure. Trust.
"The heat... is over?" Ultra Magnus asked, surprised to hear the raspiness in his own vocals. He sounded wrung out and emptied. He certainly felt that way. His system pinged back to him status update after status update, all minor troubles, but troubles all the same.
"Yes. Rather quicker than I would have thought." Ratchet lifted his orbital ridges and gave Ultra Magnus a smirk.
Ultra Magnus turned his head the other direction, discovering why his left side was much warmer than his right. Megatron was actually cuddling him, sprawled over Ultra Magnus' left arm and side, his head pillowed on Ultra Magnus' shoulder. His face was slack with recharge, lines of stress smoothed out.
He was unfairly handsome, and Ultra Magnus' spark gave an odd lurch. Though it was odd he wasn't awake. A mech like Megatron ought to have more responsive threat protocols.
"It's a healing recharge," Ratchet said, answering Ultra Magnus' unasked question. "He won't wake until his frame finishes clearing out the remnants of the heat."
"Did he--"
"--spark? No. I doubt his frame is capable of that." Ratchet scribbled something on his datapad. "Then again, he shouldn't have had a heat in the first place. So who knows?" He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Anyway, the risk of transmission has passed, so you can leave at any point."
Ultra Magnus pressed his lips together. He glanced at Megatron, still weighing his arm down, lax in recharge.
"I'll wait," he said.
"Suit yourself." Ratchet made another mark and tucked the datapad into a subspace pocket, because it vanished. "There's a washrack through that door should you need it. The door isn't locked for leaving, but no one can bother you. Ping me if you need anything."
"Understood. Thank you, Ratchet."
The medic snorted and took his leave.
Ultra Magnus waited for several moments, listening and counting the sounds of Megatron's steady ventilations. Steady, if not a bit rattled, though his field was quiescent and calm compared to the wild flux it had been last night.
When he could find no reason to linger that didn’t betray something he was trying to deny, he attempted to ease out of the berth. He reclaimed his arm first, and slid the rest of the way, off to the side, out from beneath Megatron’s warm weight. A crease of dissatisfaction flickered over Megatron’s features before it was gone again, and he settled on his front, arms tucked under a pillow.
Was it possible for a genocidal warlord to be adorable?
No. Absolutely not.
Ultra Magnus spun on a heelstrut and made his way into the washracks. He cleaned himself quickly and efficiently, refusing to linger or allow his thoughts to wander, perhaps into reminiscing. He took little note (far, far too much note) of the scrapes on the outside of his hips and thighs, of the dried spatters of lubricant on his groin, of the dents in his armor where fingers had gripped too tight, perhaps out of desperation.
He washed away all lingering traces and scent of Megatron’s heat, until he could in-vent without tasting Megatron on his glossa.
He toweled off with the same efficiency, and made to leave the washracks, until those silly little guidelines reared their head, forcing him to take notice. Personal guidelines, as it were. He went back, grabbed two fresh mesh towels and dampened them.
Megatron was not his lover, but in this moment, this evening, he was. And Ultra Magnus would grant him the same courtesy he’d grant any mech who shared his berth.
He returned, dampened cloths in hand. Megatron had shifted to his back, one arm thrown over his face as though hiding behind it, the other draped across his abdomen. Dried lubricant flecked at his groin, his thighs, and it stained the berth beneath him.
But as Ultra Magnus approached, the arm slid away from Megatron’s face. “You’re still here,” he said.
“Should I have gone?” Ultra Magnus asked. He perched on the edge of the bed, gesturing with the cloths. “Would it bother you if I…?”
Megatron sat up. “I can do it myself.” He swung his legs over the bed on the other side and took the cloths from Ultra Magnus, keeping his back between them. “While I appreciate the assistance, you don’t have to pretend it was anything more than Autobot duty.”
Ultra Magnus picked at the berth covers, stained and rumpled, watching Megatron’s armor shift and flex as he moved to clean himself. “Duty started it, yes,” he said. “And I am sorry you had little choice in the matter.”
Megatron visibly stilled. “I had a choice,” he said, almost too quiet to hear.
“Choosing to die is not a choice.”
“Depends on who you ask.” Megatron chuckled, but it was grating and lacked any humor. “And what choices I did have were honored, so there is that. I’m hardly bothered, Ultra Magnus. Don’t waste your pity on me.” He started to shift again, the sounds of damp cloth over armor barely audible in the room.
“It’s not pity.”
Ultra Magnus turned around, braced his elbows on his knees, stared at the far door. Megatron’s field was completely closed to him, so he could get no sense of the former warlord from it. He realized, belatedly, he missed how open Megatron had been. How the heat had left him completely readable.
“Sympathy then,” Megatron corrected with a chuff of distaste, a hint of sneer in his voice. “I don’t want it either.”
Ultra Magnus clasped his hands together. “I think…” He paused, reevaluated his words, and started again. “I will respect whatever decision you make from here, but understand that I don’t think less of you for what has transpired.”
The berth creaked as Megatron rose from it. His footsteps came in dull thuds around the end of it, and Ultra Magnus straightened as Megatron loomed over him. His expression was one Ultra Magnus could not interpret, not that he’d ever been particularly good at reading others in the first place. They were not books, and this was something one couldn’t learn from books.
“Then what do you think of me?” Megatron asked, and his tone was perfectly even, without an ounce of inflection.
The meshcloth plopped as it hit the wall and slid down, tossed somewhere in the direction of the washracks.
Ultra Magnus squeezed his fingers together and took a steadying ventilation. “There are things that can and can’t be helped,” he started, and furrowed his orbital ridge, shaking his head. “No, never mind. It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“If it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Megatron crouched and now he looked up at Ultra Magnus, his face set in a contemplative frown, his elbows braced on his knees in a pose not unlike Ultra Magnus’.
“Do you know why I asked for you?” Megatron asked, and there was something silky dark in his tone, something hypnotizing.
“I can honestly say I haven’t the slightest idea,” Ultra Magnus replied, fluster making his words stammer, and heat rise into the cheeks of the Magnus armor. The best approximation of a mech in every way.
“You represented me at my trial,” Megatron said. “And you did so fairly.”
Ultra Magnus opened his mouth, but Megatron shook his head.
“You could have done a poor job of it,” Megatron continued. “You could have offered me little in the way of a viable defense, and no one would have faulted you for it. Instead, you behaved as a mech with honor would. You performed your duty. So I knew, by that alone, I could trust you. Even with this.” He tapped his midsection pointedly.
“I think you give me more credit than I’m due,” Ultra Magnus replied, but he was flushing down to his most minimal self.
Guilt sunk its claws into his spark.
He worked his intake, tangled his fingers together. “I must confess that my intentions weren’t wholly honorable. And by that I mean, I might have harbored some… some...”
Megatron straightened, joints creaking with that of age and need of rest. “I’m giving you all the credit you deserve.” His lips curved then, toward a smirk or a grin, Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure which. “And if you did happen to have ulterior interests, well, perhaps that’s something to be discussed at a later date. When both of us have our wits about us.”
Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. He tilted his head, lines of reasonable deduction drawn between one statement and the other. "We're not of sound mind now?"
"Not at the moment." A grimace stole into Megatron's features. He rose to his feet, swaying a little where he stood. "I need more recharge. I need a bath." He looked down at himself, where Ultra Magnus' paint stood out in lurid streaks against the gray. "I need perspective."
That was something Ultra Magnus could use a bit of as well. Clearly, he had a lot to consider, and while he wasn't trained in the art of reading another mech, he could sense the conflict in the edges of Megatron's field. There was imbalance, and Ultra Magnus couldn't fault him for it.
This situation was unprecedented from all directions.
Ultra Magnus stood as well. "There's a washrack here, and I'm sure Ratchet's going to want to run a few more tests to ensure your health." He slipped around Megatron, edged toward the door, keeping his movement slow, as unthreatening as he could manage with his greater bulk. "I'll leave you in peace."
Megatron caught his arm before he could go too far, though the grip was less firm as it was a careful request. Ultra Magnus shifted to look at him, ignoring the shiver that traveled up his arm and seemed to send a bolt of charge straight to his spark.
"I... appreciate your discretion," Megatron said.
Ultra Magnus nodded. "There is nothing that happened in this room which needs to be shared with anyone else." He paused. "Though Ratchet's knowledge of the situation can't be helped."
Megatron snorted. "No. I suppose it can't." He released Ultra Magnus' arm and tipped his head in the shallowest of nods. "Thank you."
"I don't think..." Ultra Magnus paused, words failing him, and once again, there were no guidelines, no codes of conduct to inform him how to address the situation. He shook his head. "No, this isn't something you should thank me for. I'm glad to be of aid."
He felt he should say something more, but words escaped him, and there was a thickness in the air between them. Expectation. Unspoken things, perhaps. Ultra Magnus didn't know.
So he excused himself instead, slipping into the hall of the medbay, and venting quietly as the door shut and locked behind him. It was oddly bright out here, but the air was thinner, easier to vent. It didn't smell of ozone for one, and the tang of overloads and lingering heat didn't waft around his olfactory sensors.
He paused outside the door to cycle a ventilation, to shutter his optics and find his bearings. He gave himself the space of a minute before he shook himself and started moving again. He had work to do, and with both himself and Megatron out of commission, who knows what poor decisions Rodimus had made.
He didn't get very far.
"Ultra Magnus."
He paused.
Ratchet hovered in a nearby doorway, looking up at him with folded arms. "You all right?"
"Of course. I appreciate your concern."
Ratchet tilted his head. "You look like you've been stomped by a combiner. And I don't mean in the physical sense."
"Granted." Ultra Magnus cycled a ventilation, held himself still. "Today was very unexpected in many ways. I am still... absorbing."
Ratchet snorted. "Yeah. I'll bet." He kicked a foot, his gaze darting past Ultra Magnus and down the hallway, toward the room holding Megatron. "I don't think I have to tell you to be careful."
"You were the one who retrieved me."
"Yes. On his request." Ratchet's optics narrowed. "The heat was genuine, I'll give him that much. I'll even give him a lack of options on this ship. But he's a master manipulator, and you shouldn't forget that."
Ultra Magnus worked his jaw. "I haven't."
"You sure?" Ratchet straightened. "You remember I was supervising, yes?"
The heat threatened to crest into his faceplate. "There is nothing you could have seen to indicate otherwise."
"Not from my perspective." Ratchet sighed and lowered his hand, only to rub his fingers over his forehead. "Look, I'm not here to tell you what to do or think or believe or... feel. I just want you to be careful."
Ultra Magnus frowned, however slight. "I appreciate the concern, and I'll take your advice in hand."
"That's all I'm asking." Ratchet pushed off the frame and rubbed his face. "All right. I need some recharge. This crew is driving me crazy."
"But we greatly appreciate the breadth of your care."
Ratchet snorted. "You can save the flattery. I don’t need it.” He stepped back into the doorway and belatedly, Ultra Magnus realized it wasn’t Ratchet’s office as he’d first surmised, but a back entrance into private quarters, likely Ratchet’s. “If anything should crop up, you know where to find me.”
Ultra Magnus made a noncommittal noise as the door closed on Ratchet, leaving Ultra Magnus alone in the hallway. Well, alone except for his thoughts.
He was going to be thinking about this for a long, long time.
Megatron cycled a ventilation. Two. Three.
In and out. In and out. He counted the rhythm, tracked the beats of his spark, until they matched a calm pattern he knew so well.
The heat was gone. He could discern that much. The aching, virulent need had left his frame. There was, distantly, a trace of something winding through his circuits. The sharp ache of a night spent in pleasure.
He remembered too much of it. He remembered all of it.
The consideration Ultra Magnus had given him went above and beyond what Megatron anticipated. Cool regard. Polite indifference. Professional care. All of those had been expected.
What Ultra Magnus had done for him was on an entirely different spectrum. He’d been precise and cautious, yes, but in a way that suggested he genuinely cared for Megatron’s comfort. He’d offered pleasure more than he’d taken it. Every action had been preceded by a request for permission, as much as Megatron could give anyway.
He hadn’t left.
He could have walked out as soon as the satisfied heat pulled Megatron into a healing stasis. He could have left the berth and no one would have faulted him for it.
Instead he’d stayed. He’d offered to clean Megatron. He’d apologized as though it were his fault Megatron had such unfortunate circumstances.
It was above and beyond the chilly disdain Megatron expected. He thought he’d want to vanish into the washracks afterward, scrub himself with scorching solvent, while fighting night purges even more than usual.
Instead, he felt… comforted. Reassured.
And he didn’t know what to do about it.
Megatron rose from the berth. He entered the washrack anyway, because he was still somewhat sticky despite the mesh cloth Ultra Magnus had brought him. There were fluids in his seams, his gears, and he stank of interfacing. Scrapes of blue paint dotted his inner thighs. There were handprints on his hips.
He touched them, fingers tracing the dents. Ultra Magnus had apologized for these as well, though Megatron had enjoyed receiving them. Not that he’d admitted such aloud.
Ultra Magnus had seemed to imply deeper feelings. Megatron had dismissed it, thinking he was hearing things, but there had definitely been a reserve in the mech afterward. His field had flickered with shame – at himself and not for having helped Megatron.
An interesting dichotomy, Ultra Magnus was. A confusing one.
Megatron flicked off the washrack and stepped out, dripping, wiping at himself with half-distracted interest. It took far too long for him to realize he wasn’t alone, and only self-control kept him from overreacting.
“Do you have bad news for me?” he asked.
Ratchet snorted from where he sat at the berthside chair, feet crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over his chassis. “You’re not sparked. The heat is passed. You’re safe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“You want me to tell you that I’ve figured out what Shockwave did to you. I can’t. At least, not yet.” Ratchet tilted his head, optics keen and bright as they flicked over Megatron from top to bottom. “How do you feel?”
Megatron balled up his towel and tossed it into the corner with the rest of the laundry. “The heat’s gone. But you know that already.”
“Just like you know that’s not what I meant.” Ratchet raised both his orbital ridges, and a lifetime of experience flashed through his optics.
No. Megatron was not having a spark to spark with Ratchet. He might have trusted Ratchet more than most mechs on this ship – for a certain definition of trust – but he wasn’t going to open himself up to the medic anymore than he already had.
"I am no worse off now than I was before the heat. You don't have to worry about me."
"Who's worrying?" Ratchet's shoulders bobbed, and he dropped his arms, pulling his creaky mass to his feet. "But if you want to talk to someone or--"
"I won't," Megatron interrupted.
Ratchet paused, pressed his lips together, cycled a ventilation. "If you want to talk to someone," he continued, stubborn to his spark. Megatron had always respected him for that. "I will always hold your confidence, and you know Rung is available."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Ratchet sighed audibly, a gusty sound with a rattle at the end. He scrubbed his forehead with two fingers. "All right. I'm going to get some recharge. I suggest you do the same." He moved to the door, still talking. "If you start feeling any resurgence, let me know. And I'll find out what I can about your frame."
Megatron inclined his head. "I appreciate your discretion."
"You know, you could just say 'thank you'. That works, too." Ratchet opened the door and slipped outside, letting it close behind him. Getting the final word? Megatron should not be so surprised.
Honestly, how did Optimus put up with so much insubordination? Did he appoint anyone to his command staff without an attitude and a stubborn spark?
Megatron palmed his face and cycled a ventilation. He had no idea, when he accepted this outcome for his trial, how bizarre his future would become, here aboard the Lost Light. He shouldn't have been so surprised the madness of this ship would have triggered his heat. He still wasn't convinced this ship wasn't meant to be a punishment for him.
He'd survived his heat relatively unscathed. He supposed he should be grateful for that much. He should count it as a win, and deal with the Ultra Magnus issue later.
Much, much later.
a/n: And that's all folks. At least for this one! I do have a sequel percolating in my head. Not sure when it's going to be written or where it's going to go from here, but I definitely feel like there's some story left to tell and I want to tell it.
Thank you for reading!
