[IDW] In the Family Way 05/06
Mar. 25th, 2019 06:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: In the Family Way
Characters: Ratchet/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Bob, First Aid, Perceptor
Universe: Transformers MTMTE, Season One
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Mechpreg, Egg Laying Pregnancy, Oviposition, Semi-Bestiality, Dubious Consent
Description: Ratchet thought he was too old for this. And then the accidental heat charging through the Lost Light swept him up, too. If only he’d locked his door, then he wouldn’t be in this mess, but Sunstreaker stepping in to help him clean it up, that’s the best outcome he could have hoped for.
This is a commission for a wonderfully anonymous person. ^_^
Chapter Five
Bob was completely and utterly relieved.
No more trotting back and forth between his and Sunstreaker’s room and their mate’s. No more stalking Ratchet around to make sure he was safe. From now on, he and Sunstreaker would be close to their mate. They shared a space.
Bob could build a nest here. Ratchet’s habsuite was twice as large as his and Sunstreaker’s, and had one really good nook beneath the table shoved in the corner. It was covered in bits of machinery and old datapads and dust, so Bob was fairly confident no one would bother it.
He was stealthy. He was careful. He started to gather materials to build the nest. But only when Sunstreaker was with Ratchet. Someone needed to be with their mate at all times, to protect him and bring him energon and make sure he rested and rub his back and his feet and to pet the growing bitlets.
Right now, Sunstreaker could take care of himself. Bob allowed Sunstreaker out of his sight without a whine or a look of sadness. Sunstreaker was their gather-mate, their earnings-mate.
Bob was protector-mate. So Bob stayed with Ratchet, their carry-mate, at all times. Except when Sunstreaker was around, then Bob took on the role of gather-mate. Though they shoved him out of the berthroom when Ratchet was smelling hot and needy.
How disappointing.
Bob would have liked to keep contributing to the new batch, but they didn’t seem to want his help. They wanted him as gather-mate and protector-mate, but not as seed-mate. At least, not anymore.
Ah, well. He would do his part regardless. His Hive needed him and that was what mattered most.
Besides, Ratchet had a bigger berth than Sunstreaker, and it could fit all three of them. Bob was happiest when they all squeezed on top of it, and Bob could look after both of his mates as they slept. He liked to sniff at Ratchet’s belly and croon – quietly, quietly – to his bitlets.
If Ratchet and Sunstreaker went anywhere together, though, Bob was with them. He had to be! Ratchet wasn’t the only one who needed protecting. Other mechs kept giving Sunstreaker mean looks, and Bob did not like that one bit.
It was worse in Swerve’s, because there were a lot of mechs around. Some kept to glares and nasty looks, and Bob glared right back and bared his denta a couple of times. It was enough to keep most of the bigmechs away. They didn’t like his denta. Too sharp, First Aid had teased him once.
Sometimes, though, the other bigmechs got brave.
Like tonight.
Tonight, Bob eyed one particular bigmech who’s watching Ratchet and Sunstreaker with narrowed optics and anger swirling about his body. He sat alone, clutching a big drink, and he stared and stared and stared in their direction. He didn’t come over and say anything, but he stared.
He didn’t move either.
Except when Sunstreaker got up to get Ratchet a refill because he was thirsty and Sunstreaker was a good gather-mate. That was when the bigmech suddenly got up from his table and pushed through the crowd, making a beeline straight for Sunstreaker.
Bob didn’t know what the bigmech had in mind, but it wasn’t good whatever it was. He knew threat and anger when he saw it.
He slipped out from under the table and glanced up at Ratchet. Carry-mate was glaring into his drink and not paying any attention. He’d be safe here in this isolated corner. Right now, Sunstreaker was the one who needed Bob.
Bob scurried into the crowd before Ratchet could notice him. He kept low to the ground, scuttling around under foot, most bigmechs moving aside to make way for him. A few hands tried to pet him, tried to offer treats, but Bob didn’t fall for it. He was a defender-mate with a mate to protect, and nothing would distract him.
Not even that really yummy chewy treat Rung was holding out for him.
He might go back for it later though. As soon as he stopped the angry bigmech from bothering his Sunstreaker.
He caught up to them right as Sunstreaker turned away from the bar, holding a drink in each hand. He glared at the angry bigmech, and his armor twitched. He’d been cornered, and he looked like he wanted to fight his way free, but Sunstreaker knew better. He was trying to be so good.
The angry bigmech took a step toward Sunstreaker, and Bob leapt forward, shoving between them. He snarled at the other mech, hackles raised, his pointed denta bared.
“Your stupid pet doesn’t scare me,” the bright red angry mech snapped. He pointed at Sunstreaker’s chest, but couldn’t get close because Bob growled at him again. “I don’t know what you did to Ratchet, but I’m going to find out, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows.”
“It’s none of your business,” Sunstreaker retorted, and the drinks rattled in his hands. His field was wild, chaotic, but worried beneath it all. For Ratchet? For the situation? Bob didn’t know.
He didn’t like it when Sunstreaker was worried or scared. It was too much like when they first met, when Sunstreaker was a chaotic ball of twisted emotion. Bob had worked too hard to help him heal.
He growled louder and lurched toward the angry bigmech, who danced backward, proving himself a liar. Hah. He was definitely afraid.
“If that thing bites me, I’m calling Ultra Magnus!” Angry bigmech hissed, and his optics were wide and startled and maybe a bit panicked.
A circle of other bigmechs started to form around them. They’d drawn a crowd. Nobody intervened though. They were too interested in the gossip.
“What the frag is going on over here?” Ratchet’s voice cut through the madness, and Bob whined out of concern. Ratchet didn’t need to be anywhere near this mess.
The crowd parted, letting him through, and Ratchet read the situation in an instant. His optics darkened, his field spiking with anger.
"I want an explanation, and I want one now," Ratchet growled as he shoved his way to Sunstreaker's side, something which probably would have intimidated mechs if it weren't for the fact he was visibly sparked.
In Bob's old Hive, that would have accorded him respect and care and yes, fear. Carriers could be downright lethal if they thought their unborn were in danger, and Ratchet was dangerous even without being sparked.
The bigmech should be wary.
"Sunstreaker? Crosswise? Answer me," Ratchet demanded.
"Just a little disagreement between friends," the angry bigmech outright lied because his glare never moved from Sunstreaker. He looked like he wanted to do violence, and there were other bigmechs crowded around behind him that looked like they were on his side.
Sunstreaker wasn't alone at least. He had Bob, and he had Ratchet. But also, he had gathered Smokescreen and Boss and Inferno and that other mech whose name Bob could never remember but loved playing fetch with Bob from time to time.
Sunstreaker snorted. "We're not friends." He didn't take his gaze away from Crosswise either. "Crosswise here seems to think you have poor judgment, Ratchet. And an even poorer opinion of me."
"This again?" Ratchet's engine growled loudly. "All right. I've had enough of this."
He raised a hand, held it to his lips, and a piercing whistle cut through the noise of Swerve's, so loud several mechs cringed, and the music ground to a stop. Silence fell, save for the occasional mutter.
"Listen to me all of you drunk idiots," Ratchet bellowed, and Bob whined a little because Ratchet was damn loud. "I'm only going to say this once, and after that, I'm going to start talking with my wrench."
He grabbed Sunstreaker's wrist and held it aloft, drink and all. Sunstreaker startled, his optics wide, but before he could speak, Ratchet continued,
"I'm with Sunstreaker. We're having a sparkling together. It was my decision, my choice, and it's none of the business of any of you fraggers why. I don't have to explain myself to you. He doesn't have to explain himself to you. I don't owe you a fragging thing. Understand?"
Silence swept through Swerve's. Somewhere in the back of the crowd, a cube shattered as it hit the ground.
"Y-yes, sir," Crosswise muttered.
A chorus of voices rose up around him, murmurs and mumbles and whispers of agreement. Someone started laughing and Bob recognized Whirl's cackle, though he wasn't sure what Whirl found so amusing. Neither did Cyclonus, apparently, as he hissed at Whirl, and Tailgate pushed in closer to Whirl’s side, keeping him in a protective huddle.
"Good." Ratchet lowered their joined hands and stormed forward, tugging Sunstreaker along with him. "Now I don't want to hear another word about this."
Sunstreaker's optics widened, and he stumbled after Ratchet, still carrying their drinks.
Bob trembled with pride. They had the best, bravest, and strongest carry-mate on the ship! He hissed and growled at Crosswise and the mechs backing him up before he trotted along after his mates, having to hurry to catch up because they were making a quick exit. Well, as quick as they could considering Ratchet had taken on something like a waddle.
Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker all the way out of Swerve's and down the hallway, heading in a very familiar direction. Toward home.
"Why did you do that?" Sunstreaker asked as they finally slowed to a more reasonable pace and walked side by side, leaving Bob to trot along after them.
"It needed to be done," Ratchet grunted. He released Sunstreaker's hand and palmed the rise of his abdomen instead. "I'm getting tired of a bunch of busybodies sticking their noses where they don't belong."
Sunstreaker's field flexed with discomfort. "You lied."
"Did I?" Ratchet arched an orbital ridge, looking a bit amused. "We're having a sparkling. You are with me. We're taking care of things together. The definition doesn't matter to anyone but you and me. Frag everyone else."
"I don't deserve that," Sunstreaker said.
Bob growled and bounded up next to his gather-mate, bumping into Sunstreaker’s side and making him stagger. He yipped up at Sunstreaker and glared.
"Bob, what the frag?" Sunstreaker spluttered as he tried to catch his balance.
Ratchet chuckled. "I think that's his way of telling you that you do deserve it. A fact I happen to agree with."
Sunstreaker caught himself just as Ratchet snagged his hand again and threaded their fingers together. He startled, looking down at their joined hands. "No one's watching," he pointed out.
"They don't have to be," Ratchet said.
Bob chirred with delight as Sunstreaker’s field flushed, and he ducked his head. Shy, if anyone asked Bob, but no one did.
They went into Ratchet’s habsuite – now Sunstreaker and Bob’s too – and Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker all the way into the berthroom, drinks and all. Bob tried to follow, but they closed the door in his face.
That was not fair.
“Sorry, bug,” Sunstreaker said from the other side. “We’ll let you in later.”
Bob knew what that meant. He chuffed at the door, though they couldn’t hear him, and plopped down right in front of it. He crossed his paws and curled into a spiky ball, settling in to wait.
~
Sunstreaker continued to carry the engex because he didn’t know what else to do with them. The glasses technically belonged to Swerve, and he’d have to take them back at some point, but thinking of that required more logic than he had on hand right now.
Ratchet’s words kept reverberating in his head. Echoing, over and over, sounding like a promise Sunstreaker desperately wanted to be true.
Ratchet bustled around the berthroom they now shared, turning off the main lights, leaving the bedside lamp aglow, fluffing up the pillows and the blankets before he turned back toward Sunstreaker. His lips curved into a gentle smile as he chuckled.
“You’re not supposed to take those out of the bar, I’m pretty sure,” Ratchet said as he closed the distance and plucked one of the glasses from Sunstreaker’s hands. “Not that I’m ungrateful.” He tipped the cup back and drained it in a few quick gulps, which was not at all surprising.
Ratchet was consuming for four right now.
On impulse, Sunstreaker handed Ratchet the drink he’d obtained for himself. “Honestly, I forgot I had them until now.”
Ratchet chuckled again, and Primus, it was a beautiful sound. “We did make something of a spectacle, didn’t we?”
“Sorry.”
Ratchet cut him a sidelong look, slipping the cube out of Sunstreaker’s hand with a lingering sweep of his fingers. “Someday, I’m going to get you to stop apologizing for things you don’t need to apologize for.” He pulled away and climbed into the berth, lacking any semblance of grace with the rounded nature of his belly getting in the way. “Especially to me.”
“I have a lifetime of mistakes to apologize for,” Sunstreaker said.
Ratchet snorted. “Everyone does. The trick is to realize when you’re done apologizing.” He squinted at Sunstreaker. “You don’t owe those idiots anything. You’ve paid your dues. It’s enough.”
“You’re the one who put Optimus back together. It’s never going to be enough,” Sunstreaker pointed out. He hovered by the berth, knowing he was invited, but reluctant to accept the offer.
Ratchet’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked at Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker would have given anything to know what Ratchet was honestly thinking.
Instead, Ratchet patted the berth beside him. “Join me,” he said, and finished off the second cube of energon while he waited.
Sunstreaker obeyed.
The moment he was within reach, Ratchet grabbed him, pulling him onto the berth. Sunstreaker yelped and caught himself at the last minute, before he landed on top of Ratchet. Instead, he found himself drawn into what was clearly a cuddle, Ratchet tucking himself into Sunstreaker's frame, and Sunstreaker's palm cupping the warm roundness of Ratchet's abdomen.
"The war's over," Ratchet said after a moment, his ex-vents puffing over Sunstreaker's seams and making his sensory net tingle. "The only way any of us are going to recover and move forward, is if we leave the past where it belongs."
"Maybe some things are unforgiva-- ow!" Sunstreaker stared down at Ratchet, bewildered. "You pinched me."
"Because you're not listening." Ratchet huffed, optics narrowed, his field rising up and falling down over Sunstreaker's like a hot, thick blanket. "Forgive yourself, Sunstreaker. That's the first step. No one else matters until you've done that."
Sunstreaker gnawed on his bottom lip. He looked away. His spark ached, a pain intangible for its origin.
"Besides, it's up to me who's good enough for me, and I’ve already decided you are," Ratchet added and there was affection in his tone and in his field both, heavy and clinging like the embrace of an oil bath.
"You're stuck with me. That doesn't count," Sunstreaker said.
Ratchet gripped his chin, forced Sunstreaker to look at him, and his optics blazed. "Do you really think I'm the sort who would've done this with someone I don't like because I didn't think I could do it alone?"
"No."
"Then why do you think that's what I'm doing now?"
Sunstreaker stared at him, hope rising like a hot air balloon in his spark, though he kept reaching for the ascending rope and missing. Ratchet had a point, only Sunstreaker didn't dare believe it, because it sounded too much like all the things he wanted to hear.
Ratchet's grip eased to more of a caress, his gaze softening. "Circumstances aside, if this were real, I'd be honored to call you my partner. All right?"
Sunstreaker kissed him. Because he didn't have words, or at least the right ones or careful ones, and actions spoke much louder. So he dipped his head, claimed Ratchet's mouth, and indulged in a kiss that wasn't born of heat-desperation or carry-need. He slid his arms around Ratchet's frame, deepened the kiss, and tasted the sweet engex on Ratchet's glossa, his field rising and crashing over Ratchet's like a sizzling tidal wave.
Ratchet made a muffled moan beneath him, but he pulled his frame against Sunstreaker's, rocking their armor together, gripping onto Sunstreaker's seams, his field rising in kind, filled with heat and lust alike.
Words were useless. Sunstreaker poured his emotion into the kiss, into the wandering of his hands over Ratchet's frame, and how he gently guided Ratchet onto his back, so Sunstreaker could kneel between his thighs. His lips followed the curve of Ratchet's jaw, into the warmth of his intake.
Ratchet's hands swept up his back. He arched up toward Sunstreaker with a quick indrawn vent, and then he said, "You don't have to do this."
Sunstreaker paused and drew back, so he could see Ratchet's face. "What?"
"I'm out of that stage," Ratchet explained, his actions belying his words as his thighs scrubbed along the outside of Sunstreaker's, his frame shifting restlessly beneath Sunstreaker's own.
Sunstreaker squinted. "Do you want me to stop?" He sat back a little, putting a respectful distance between them, his weight resting on the berth to either side of Ratchet instead.
"Not at all." Ratchet's mouth twisted in a wry grin that wavered self-deprecatingly. "I'm just letting you know that you don't have to do this for the sake of my carry."
Sunstreaker tilted his head. "What if I want to kiss you because I want to?" he asked, and he slid a knee forward, gently. "What if I do this because I want to touch you? Is that all right?"
Ratchet's vents hitched, a shudder racing visibly across his frame. His backstrut arched. "Yes, but--"
"But what?" Sunstreaker asked, genuinely confused. If Ratchet wanted it, and Sunstreaker wanted it, what was Ratchet's objection?
"Look at me," Ratchet spluttered, and probably would have thrown up his hands if their frames weren't entangled. "I'm old. I'm cranky. I'm sparked up with an Insecticon's spawn. What about this would you willingly frag?"
Sunstreaker blinked. "All of it?" he answered, tentatively.
Ratchet's mouth opened, jaw moving. "That's, that's ridiculous!" he spluttered. "Sunstreaker, I'm many things, but attractive is not one of them. You could have your pick of good-looking mechs. I'm not so vain as to count myself among them."
Anger surged through Sunstreaker before he could halt it. Not anger at Ratchet, but for him. Because he was wrong.
"If I'm good enough for you, by your standards, then you can't say that the opposite is true," Sunstreaker said, perhaps a touch too fiercely, a touch too much of truth behind it. "I'm kissing you because I want you, and that's the truth of it, Ratchet. So if you don't want me to make love to you, then say so. Otherwise, let me kiss you and make you feel good."
"I don't want you to stop," Ratchet said, his vocals husky and wanting, his fingers curling deeper into Sunstreaker's seams.
"Good."
He kissed Ratchet again, pouring all of his adoration and emotion into the kiss. His hands swept over Ratchet's frame, stroking and touching, tracing seams and finding erogenous zones he'd discovered over the course of the past few months.
Ratchet moaned beneath him, gripping tight, pulling Sunstreaker closer. His field rose up, clashing against Sunstreaker's, rippling with hunger and need. He melted into Sunstreaker's touch, as if finally giving in to Sunstreaker's effort, and it was wonderful.
Sunstreaker hated that Ratchet thought so little of himself. Everyone loved him, respected him, appreciated him. Why would he think himself unworthy?
"You're beautiful," Sunstreaker murmured against Ratchet's lips, because it was true. He believed it with all his spark. His mouth wandered to Ratchet's jaw and lower, licking and sucking over his intake cables, feeling the buzz of life beneath his lips. "You're amazing. You should know that."
Ratchet shivered, his thighs pressing in on Sunstreaker's hips, and the sweet scent of lubricant followed the sound of a panel snicking open. "I'm sparked," he grumbled.
"You're doing something I could never do." Sunstreaker shifted his weight and slipped a hand down, cupping the bump of Ratchet's abdomen, stroking the distended plating. He was gentle as he traced the expanded, tessellating plates, caressing the overlapping dermal layers. "You're braver than I'll ever be."
"It's not bravery, it's accident," Ratchet said, without any strength behind the claim. He shivered, rolling up against Sunstreaker, the heat of his arousal wafting over Sunstreaker's groin.
"It became brave when you decided to keep them." Sunstreaker shifted again and dragged his mouth down, kissing across Ratchet's chestplate and chassis before finding his way to the rise of Ratchet's abdomen.
The visible swell was overly warm, running hotter than the rest of Ratchet's frame.
"Braver when you chose to do this alone," Sunstreaker added as he pressed a careful kiss to Ratchet's belly, hearing Ratchet's ventilations shift. "I will help you. I will be by your side. But you don't need me, and I know that."
Ratchet's hands curve over his shoulders, one of them moving to cup his intake, thumb sweeping a stroke on the underside of his jaw. "Who knew you were such a poet?"
"It's not poetry. It's what I really think." Sunstreaker scooted further down, flattening on the berth to get his mouth in a more useful place, the scent of Ratchet's lubricant floating hot and sweet to his nasal sensors.
His mouth watered. Ratchet was already swollen, lubricant gathered in the depths of his valve, his anterior node plump and pulsing brightly. His spike hadn't emerged yet, but Sunstreaker coaxed it free with a few passes of his fingers. Ratchet shivered and rolled up to meet his touch, his hands fisting the mesh blankets, a low cry escaping his mouth.
The sound of his pleasure made Sunstreaker shiver. Heat surged through his lines, made his spike pulse in its sheath. He waited, however, dipping his head to lay a long lick up the length of Ratchet's valve, ending with a suck to his anterior node.
Ratchet moaned, thighs trembling around Sunstreaker's shoulders. He wanted to hear more, so he did it again, and again, licking long and deep into Ratchet. Tasting him, savoring him, slurping up his lubricant and suckling and lapping at his main node.
Ratchet's valve pulsed against his glossa, his swollen folds plump and hot. His hips rolled, rocking against Sunstreaker's mouth, wordlessly asking for more. He groaned, and did so even louder, when Sunstreaker curled a hand around Ratchet's spike, giving him a few quick pumps.
"Sunny," Ratchet moaned, and Sunstreaker's spinal strut tingled with desire, spike pulsing again. He wouldn't allow anyone else to call him that. Only Ratchet. And hearing it from Ratchet sent another surge of arousal through his frame.
"Tell me what you want," Sunstreaker got out before he dove back in, licking and sucking at Ratchet's valve, determined to pull free an overload before he allowed himself one. "Anything you want."
Ratchet pawed at his shoulders, struggling to reach over the rise of his belly. "You," he panted, hips rocking toward Sunstreaker's mouth. "Just you."
Primus.
Sunstreaker shifted again, rising up so he could swallow Ratchet's spike, as he slipped two fingers into Ratchet's valve, curling them to stroke over the cluster of sensory nodes right behind his rim. Ratchet sucked in a sharp ventilation, hips bucking, a sharp cry leaving his mouth. He grabbed hold of Sunstreaker's shoulder and bucked, the spill of transfluid painting his glossa as Ratchet overloaded. Sunstreaker swallowed, savoring the burst of satisfaction in Ratchet's field.
Ratchet's valve rippled around his fingers, as if trying to suck him deeper. Charge spilled over his armor in a blue wave.
Sunstreaker suckled him gently, easing him through the overload tremors, until Ratchet slipped from his mouth, and Sunstreaker rose to his knees. He kept his fingers in Ratchet's valve, gently stroking and rubbing, Ratchet's calipers trembling and squeezing.
Ratchet looked up at him, optics hazy, hand grasping for Sunstreaker's free arm and gaining hold of his elbow. "Come here," he said, tugging. "Kiss me, damn it."
He climbed up Ratchet’s frame, fitting himself between Ratchet’s thighs, their mouths clashing together in a wet smack of lips. Sunstreaker’s spike nudged against Ratchet’s valve, and Ratchet grabbed his hip, yanking him forward. He slid home in the next second, his vents sputtering at the sudden ripple of heat around his spike.
Ratchet’s thighs clamped around his hips, his frame rising up to meet Sunstreaker’s thrusts. Their mouths clashed, kisses wet and uncoordinated. Sunstreaker’s optics shuttered, his vents coming in sharp bursts, Ratchet’s field winding over and through his. He soaked in the moment, gave himself to the pleasure, all the while wishing he could keep it forever.
Sunstreaker didn’t last long. He’d held himself back as it was, and Ratchet moving beneath him, their frames engaged in a familiar dance, was too much temptation to resist. He shuddered as he overloaded, spilling deep inside Ratchet, and felt Ratchet ripple around him. Charge danced over Ratchet’s frame, lighting up the space around them, Ratchet stealing his mouth for another kiss.
It was slower this time, more savoring, as their fans spun, vibrating their frames, and they cycled down from arousal. Ratchet’s hold gentled. Sunstreaker’s free hand stroked every armor plate within reach, until Ratchet tipped them on their sides, and wrapped himself in Sunstreaker’s embrace. His engine purred with satisfaction.
Sunstreaker’s hand pressed to Ratchet’s back, swearing he could feel the pulse of Ratchet’s spark against his palm. Ratchet’s rounded abdomen nudged against Sunstreaker’s own belly.
Something scratched at the door. There was a mournful chirp from beyond.
Ratchet chuckled against Sunstreaker’s chassis. “I think someone’s a bit upset you left him out in the cold.”
“He keeps trying to join in,” Sunstreaker grumbled.
“To be fair, he’s technically participated before.”
Sunstreaker snorted. He would have just ignored Bob, but the bug could cause quite the racket when he felt he was being left out.
“You can let him in,” Ratchet said. “I’ve gotten used to him recharging on my ankles.”
Sunstreaker absolutely did not want to get up from the berth and Ratchet's embrace. But he knew Bob would only get louder and more insistent, and besides, he needed to wipe Ratchet down and bring him some coolant. He always overheated post overload.
"I'll get him," Sunstreaker said, and slipped out of Ratchet's arms and off the berth.
He opened the door and let Bob inside. The silly bug gave him an indignant chuff before he strutted to the berth and hopped onto it, immediately going in to lick Ratchet's face, causing Ratchet to chuckle. Sunstreaker rolled his optics and retrieved some damp meshcloths, as well as giving himself a quick wipedown while he had the opportunity.
It felt so domestic that a pang of want rippled through Sunstreaker's spark before he could stop it. It was domestic, and he wanted to keep it, but it wasn't his to keep, and that thought hurt like a physical blow. He sucked in a vent, shuttering his optics, as the sadness swept around him.
He hadn't realized how much he wanted this -- a partner, a family, stability, happiness -- until it dangled in front of him like an unobtainable dream.
Sunstreaker bowed his head, cycled several ventilations, his hands forming fists that squeezed solvent from the mesh cloth. Ratchet waited for him. Ratchet needed to be cared for. Right now, Ratchet depended on him. It would have to be enough.
It wasn't.
But it would have to be.
~
After Ratchet's declaration in Swerve's, the harassment eased off until it became nonexistent. They still stared at Sunstreaker and whispered behind his back, but they stopped confronting him, and they stopped trying to chase him away. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Life went back to a relative normal.
Unless one counted the fact Ratchet had been put on berth rest. It was a situation that satisfied no one, not even the medic who had put him there.
Ratchet, surprising no one, made for a terrible patient.
Sunstreaker was taken off any sort of duty and assigned to be Ratchet's assistant in all things. Which mostly resulted in him running around fetching anything Ratchet wanted, while remaining steadfast in the face of cranky grumbling mutterings.
Ratchet could work just fine, thank you. It didn't matter that he waddled and his back hurt and his legs ached and he could have those sparklings any day now. He was in peak physical health. He'd suffered worse through the war! This was nothing! He could still do his job!
Sunstreaker swallowed down his own retorts. It showed on his face, but at least not on his glossa. He didn't know how First Aid managed to stay serene through it all.
Bob wasn't the least bit bothered by Ratchet's temper. He kept bringing energon and blankets and every once in a while, he'd disappear, and Sunstreaker would find him tucking bits and pieces of random things into a mesh nest he'd built under Ratchet's console. Attempts to clean it up were met with bared denta and growling and snapping, and Bob didn't usually do that toward Sunstreaker.
He backed off. What was a little mess? He figured it had something to do with being an Insecticon, and maybe Bob knew he'd sparked Ratchet up and was doing only what he knew how to do for the coming sparklings.
Sunstreaker left him be.
“My guess is that he’s nesting,” Perceptor said when he came to visit Ratchet, visibly sparked himself, his abdomen swollen from the growth of his pod. “We don’t know much about Insecticons, but given they’re hive-like nature, I’d gather Bob is accustomed to preparing a place for their sparklings. I’m sure he knows Ratchet is sparked.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty smart for a bug,” Sunstreaker agreed as he hovered around the two sparked mechs, ready to offer coolant or energon or a blanket or a sweet treat, whatever the two needed.
Well, he tried to hover as unobtrusively as possible. Brainstorm had already been evicted for hovering too much, though Sunstreaker suspected it was because he kept aiming scanners of various design at Ratchet and Perceptor both.
No one was surprised that Perceptor had turned his own sparking into an opportunity for scientific observation.
“Why is that you get to walk around the ship as you please, and I’m stuck in this berth?” Ratchet grumbled, though he was being unfair as Sunstreaker had helped him out of the berth and into a comfortable chair he and Drift had carted into Ratchet’s quarters last week.
“Good luck,” Drift had said with a not-at-all jealous look. “Just remember, you love him for his grumpiness even when it’s reached pinnacle levels of grouch.”
Sunstreaker had been so startled by the assumption he loved Ratchet, he’d nearly dropped his end of the chair.
Drift had smirked at him, winked at him, then strutted out of the berthroom, but not until he’d needled Ratchet into a fine snit, one Sunstreaker had to soothe with copious backrubs and a blowjob. Not that putting his mouth on Ratchet was any sort of hardship.
Perceptor gave Ratchet a level look. “Because I am not carrying twins,” he said, in that prim tone Sunstreaker used to hate, until he realized it was simply Perceptor’s way, and he wasn’t actually as judgmental as he sounded. “Besides, it is not for much longer.”
“Too long if you ask me,” Ratchet huffed. He softened, however, when Bob trotted up and chirped at him before offering a handful of Ratchet’s favorite treats. “Thank you, Bob.”
The unfairly cute bug skittered over to Perceptor next, sharing in the bounty. Sunstreaker would get none, but Bob would bring him some midgrade with healthy minerals in it, and Sunstreaker supposed that was fair.
“Thank you,” Perceptor said, and nibbled on the treats, free hand unconsciously cupping his belly.
All of the sparked mechs had come to visit Ratchet, though Perceptor was most frequent. Ultra Magnus came when time allowed, often to ask for advice, and while he’d told Ratchet the sire of his sparkling, he was still mum to everyone else. Whirl came less often, mostly because his personality was too large for Ratchet’s quarters to contain, especially when one took into account Cyclonus and Tailgate at his heelstruts.
“I’m ready for this to be over,” Ratchet said.
Perceptor hummed. Being sparked softened him, Sunstreaker had noticed. He was less severe, though no less dangerous. The layers of danger he’d crafted around himself to survive the war seemed to be sloughing off, miniscule sheet by sheet. Maybe he’d eventually be the Perceptor they remembered.
Maybe.
Brainstorm seemed to like him either way.
“It will be interesting to see how the crew responds to little ones running around underfoot,” Perceptor said. He absently nibbled on the treats, gaze distant. “I’ve gotten numerous offers for caretaking. From Drift especially. I think he is a little envious.”
Ratchet shifted on the chair, and winced, his hands both going to his belly, which was so visibly distended it looked painful. “The dam’s broke. There’ll be another heat, mark my words. It can be his chance then.”
Perceptor chuckled. “True enough.” He tilted his head, orbital ridges lifting. “Are you certain we can’t run a scan or two? Twin carries are so rare.”
Ratchet glanced at Sunstreaker before shaking his head. “I’m sure. I’ve no interest in being a scientific research project, especially with that menace you call a partner.”
Sunstreaker snorted a laugh, and smothered it in the next moment.
“Fair enough.” Amusement radiated from Perceptor rather than offense.
Bob circled them again, offering a meshblanket this time, and Sunstreaker sat back, waiting for an opportunity to be useful. Ratchet was right in that it wouldn’t be long now.
All any of them had to do was wait.
****
Characters: Ratchet/Sunstreaker, Ratchet/Bob, First Aid, Perceptor
Universe: Transformers MTMTE, Season One
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Mechpreg, Egg Laying Pregnancy, Oviposition, Semi-Bestiality, Dubious Consent
Description: Ratchet thought he was too old for this. And then the accidental heat charging through the Lost Light swept him up, too. If only he’d locked his door, then he wouldn’t be in this mess, but Sunstreaker stepping in to help him clean it up, that’s the best outcome he could have hoped for.
This is a commission for a wonderfully anonymous person. ^_^
Bob was completely and utterly relieved.
No more trotting back and forth between his and Sunstreaker’s room and their mate’s. No more stalking Ratchet around to make sure he was safe. From now on, he and Sunstreaker would be close to their mate. They shared a space.
Bob could build a nest here. Ratchet’s habsuite was twice as large as his and Sunstreaker’s, and had one really good nook beneath the table shoved in the corner. It was covered in bits of machinery and old datapads and dust, so Bob was fairly confident no one would bother it.
He was stealthy. He was careful. He started to gather materials to build the nest. But only when Sunstreaker was with Ratchet. Someone needed to be with their mate at all times, to protect him and bring him energon and make sure he rested and rub his back and his feet and to pet the growing bitlets.
Right now, Sunstreaker could take care of himself. Bob allowed Sunstreaker out of his sight without a whine or a look of sadness. Sunstreaker was their gather-mate, their earnings-mate.
Bob was protector-mate. So Bob stayed with Ratchet, their carry-mate, at all times. Except when Sunstreaker was around, then Bob took on the role of gather-mate. Though they shoved him out of the berthroom when Ratchet was smelling hot and needy.
How disappointing.
Bob would have liked to keep contributing to the new batch, but they didn’t seem to want his help. They wanted him as gather-mate and protector-mate, but not as seed-mate. At least, not anymore.
Ah, well. He would do his part regardless. His Hive needed him and that was what mattered most.
Besides, Ratchet had a bigger berth than Sunstreaker, and it could fit all three of them. Bob was happiest when they all squeezed on top of it, and Bob could look after both of his mates as they slept. He liked to sniff at Ratchet’s belly and croon – quietly, quietly – to his bitlets.
If Ratchet and Sunstreaker went anywhere together, though, Bob was with them. He had to be! Ratchet wasn’t the only one who needed protecting. Other mechs kept giving Sunstreaker mean looks, and Bob did not like that one bit.
It was worse in Swerve’s, because there were a lot of mechs around. Some kept to glares and nasty looks, and Bob glared right back and bared his denta a couple of times. It was enough to keep most of the bigmechs away. They didn’t like his denta. Too sharp, First Aid had teased him once.
Sometimes, though, the other bigmechs got brave.
Like tonight.
Tonight, Bob eyed one particular bigmech who’s watching Ratchet and Sunstreaker with narrowed optics and anger swirling about his body. He sat alone, clutching a big drink, and he stared and stared and stared in their direction. He didn’t come over and say anything, but he stared.
He didn’t move either.
Except when Sunstreaker got up to get Ratchet a refill because he was thirsty and Sunstreaker was a good gather-mate. That was when the bigmech suddenly got up from his table and pushed through the crowd, making a beeline straight for Sunstreaker.
Bob didn’t know what the bigmech had in mind, but it wasn’t good whatever it was. He knew threat and anger when he saw it.
He slipped out from under the table and glanced up at Ratchet. Carry-mate was glaring into his drink and not paying any attention. He’d be safe here in this isolated corner. Right now, Sunstreaker was the one who needed Bob.
Bob scurried into the crowd before Ratchet could notice him. He kept low to the ground, scuttling around under foot, most bigmechs moving aside to make way for him. A few hands tried to pet him, tried to offer treats, but Bob didn’t fall for it. He was a defender-mate with a mate to protect, and nothing would distract him.
Not even that really yummy chewy treat Rung was holding out for him.
He might go back for it later though. As soon as he stopped the angry bigmech from bothering his Sunstreaker.
He caught up to them right as Sunstreaker turned away from the bar, holding a drink in each hand. He glared at the angry bigmech, and his armor twitched. He’d been cornered, and he looked like he wanted to fight his way free, but Sunstreaker knew better. He was trying to be so good.
The angry bigmech took a step toward Sunstreaker, and Bob leapt forward, shoving between them. He snarled at the other mech, hackles raised, his pointed denta bared.
“Your stupid pet doesn’t scare me,” the bright red angry mech snapped. He pointed at Sunstreaker’s chest, but couldn’t get close because Bob growled at him again. “I don’t know what you did to Ratchet, but I’m going to find out, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows.”
“It’s none of your business,” Sunstreaker retorted, and the drinks rattled in his hands. His field was wild, chaotic, but worried beneath it all. For Ratchet? For the situation? Bob didn’t know.
He didn’t like it when Sunstreaker was worried or scared. It was too much like when they first met, when Sunstreaker was a chaotic ball of twisted emotion. Bob had worked too hard to help him heal.
He growled louder and lurched toward the angry bigmech, who danced backward, proving himself a liar. Hah. He was definitely afraid.
“If that thing bites me, I’m calling Ultra Magnus!” Angry bigmech hissed, and his optics were wide and startled and maybe a bit panicked.
A circle of other bigmechs started to form around them. They’d drawn a crowd. Nobody intervened though. They were too interested in the gossip.
“What the frag is going on over here?” Ratchet’s voice cut through the madness, and Bob whined out of concern. Ratchet didn’t need to be anywhere near this mess.
The crowd parted, letting him through, and Ratchet read the situation in an instant. His optics darkened, his field spiking with anger.
"I want an explanation, and I want one now," Ratchet growled as he shoved his way to Sunstreaker's side, something which probably would have intimidated mechs if it weren't for the fact he was visibly sparked.
In Bob's old Hive, that would have accorded him respect and care and yes, fear. Carriers could be downright lethal if they thought their unborn were in danger, and Ratchet was dangerous even without being sparked.
The bigmech should be wary.
"Sunstreaker? Crosswise? Answer me," Ratchet demanded.
"Just a little disagreement between friends," the angry bigmech outright lied because his glare never moved from Sunstreaker. He looked like he wanted to do violence, and there were other bigmechs crowded around behind him that looked like they were on his side.
Sunstreaker wasn't alone at least. He had Bob, and he had Ratchet. But also, he had gathered Smokescreen and Boss and Inferno and that other mech whose name Bob could never remember but loved playing fetch with Bob from time to time.
Sunstreaker snorted. "We're not friends." He didn't take his gaze away from Crosswise either. "Crosswise here seems to think you have poor judgment, Ratchet. And an even poorer opinion of me."
"This again?" Ratchet's engine growled loudly. "All right. I've had enough of this."
He raised a hand, held it to his lips, and a piercing whistle cut through the noise of Swerve's, so loud several mechs cringed, and the music ground to a stop. Silence fell, save for the occasional mutter.
"Listen to me all of you drunk idiots," Ratchet bellowed, and Bob whined a little because Ratchet was damn loud. "I'm only going to say this once, and after that, I'm going to start talking with my wrench."
He grabbed Sunstreaker's wrist and held it aloft, drink and all. Sunstreaker startled, his optics wide, but before he could speak, Ratchet continued,
"I'm with Sunstreaker. We're having a sparkling together. It was my decision, my choice, and it's none of the business of any of you fraggers why. I don't have to explain myself to you. He doesn't have to explain himself to you. I don't owe you a fragging thing. Understand?"
Silence swept through Swerve's. Somewhere in the back of the crowd, a cube shattered as it hit the ground.
"Y-yes, sir," Crosswise muttered.
A chorus of voices rose up around him, murmurs and mumbles and whispers of agreement. Someone started laughing and Bob recognized Whirl's cackle, though he wasn't sure what Whirl found so amusing. Neither did Cyclonus, apparently, as he hissed at Whirl, and Tailgate pushed in closer to Whirl’s side, keeping him in a protective huddle.
"Good." Ratchet lowered their joined hands and stormed forward, tugging Sunstreaker along with him. "Now I don't want to hear another word about this."
Sunstreaker's optics widened, and he stumbled after Ratchet, still carrying their drinks.
Bob trembled with pride. They had the best, bravest, and strongest carry-mate on the ship! He hissed and growled at Crosswise and the mechs backing him up before he trotted along after his mates, having to hurry to catch up because they were making a quick exit. Well, as quick as they could considering Ratchet had taken on something like a waddle.
Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker all the way out of Swerve's and down the hallway, heading in a very familiar direction. Toward home.
"Why did you do that?" Sunstreaker asked as they finally slowed to a more reasonable pace and walked side by side, leaving Bob to trot along after them.
"It needed to be done," Ratchet grunted. He released Sunstreaker's hand and palmed the rise of his abdomen instead. "I'm getting tired of a bunch of busybodies sticking their noses where they don't belong."
Sunstreaker's field flexed with discomfort. "You lied."
"Did I?" Ratchet arched an orbital ridge, looking a bit amused. "We're having a sparkling. You are with me. We're taking care of things together. The definition doesn't matter to anyone but you and me. Frag everyone else."
"I don't deserve that," Sunstreaker said.
Bob growled and bounded up next to his gather-mate, bumping into Sunstreaker’s side and making him stagger. He yipped up at Sunstreaker and glared.
"Bob, what the frag?" Sunstreaker spluttered as he tried to catch his balance.
Ratchet chuckled. "I think that's his way of telling you that you do deserve it. A fact I happen to agree with."
Sunstreaker caught himself just as Ratchet snagged his hand again and threaded their fingers together. He startled, looking down at their joined hands. "No one's watching," he pointed out.
"They don't have to be," Ratchet said.
Bob chirred with delight as Sunstreaker’s field flushed, and he ducked his head. Shy, if anyone asked Bob, but no one did.
They went into Ratchet’s habsuite – now Sunstreaker and Bob’s too – and Ratchet pulled Sunstreaker all the way into the berthroom, drinks and all. Bob tried to follow, but they closed the door in his face.
That was not fair.
“Sorry, bug,” Sunstreaker said from the other side. “We’ll let you in later.”
Bob knew what that meant. He chuffed at the door, though they couldn’t hear him, and plopped down right in front of it. He crossed his paws and curled into a spiky ball, settling in to wait.
Sunstreaker continued to carry the engex because he didn’t know what else to do with them. The glasses technically belonged to Swerve, and he’d have to take them back at some point, but thinking of that required more logic than he had on hand right now.
Ratchet’s words kept reverberating in his head. Echoing, over and over, sounding like a promise Sunstreaker desperately wanted to be true.
Ratchet bustled around the berthroom they now shared, turning off the main lights, leaving the bedside lamp aglow, fluffing up the pillows and the blankets before he turned back toward Sunstreaker. His lips curved into a gentle smile as he chuckled.
“You’re not supposed to take those out of the bar, I’m pretty sure,” Ratchet said as he closed the distance and plucked one of the glasses from Sunstreaker’s hands. “Not that I’m ungrateful.” He tipped the cup back and drained it in a few quick gulps, which was not at all surprising.
Ratchet was consuming for four right now.
On impulse, Sunstreaker handed Ratchet the drink he’d obtained for himself. “Honestly, I forgot I had them until now.”
Ratchet chuckled again, and Primus, it was a beautiful sound. “We did make something of a spectacle, didn’t we?”
“Sorry.”
Ratchet cut him a sidelong look, slipping the cube out of Sunstreaker’s hand with a lingering sweep of his fingers. “Someday, I’m going to get you to stop apologizing for things you don’t need to apologize for.” He pulled away and climbed into the berth, lacking any semblance of grace with the rounded nature of his belly getting in the way. “Especially to me.”
“I have a lifetime of mistakes to apologize for,” Sunstreaker said.
Ratchet snorted. “Everyone does. The trick is to realize when you’re done apologizing.” He squinted at Sunstreaker. “You don’t owe those idiots anything. You’ve paid your dues. It’s enough.”
“You’re the one who put Optimus back together. It’s never going to be enough,” Sunstreaker pointed out. He hovered by the berth, knowing he was invited, but reluctant to accept the offer.
Ratchet’s lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked at Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker would have given anything to know what Ratchet was honestly thinking.
Instead, Ratchet patted the berth beside him. “Join me,” he said, and finished off the second cube of energon while he waited.
Sunstreaker obeyed.
The moment he was within reach, Ratchet grabbed him, pulling him onto the berth. Sunstreaker yelped and caught himself at the last minute, before he landed on top of Ratchet. Instead, he found himself drawn into what was clearly a cuddle, Ratchet tucking himself into Sunstreaker's frame, and Sunstreaker's palm cupping the warm roundness of Ratchet's abdomen.
"The war's over," Ratchet said after a moment, his ex-vents puffing over Sunstreaker's seams and making his sensory net tingle. "The only way any of us are going to recover and move forward, is if we leave the past where it belongs."
"Maybe some things are unforgiva-- ow!" Sunstreaker stared down at Ratchet, bewildered. "You pinched me."
"Because you're not listening." Ratchet huffed, optics narrowed, his field rising up and falling down over Sunstreaker's like a hot, thick blanket. "Forgive yourself, Sunstreaker. That's the first step. No one else matters until you've done that."
Sunstreaker gnawed on his bottom lip. He looked away. His spark ached, a pain intangible for its origin.
"Besides, it's up to me who's good enough for me, and I’ve already decided you are," Ratchet added and there was affection in his tone and in his field both, heavy and clinging like the embrace of an oil bath.
"You're stuck with me. That doesn't count," Sunstreaker said.
Ratchet gripped his chin, forced Sunstreaker to look at him, and his optics blazed. "Do you really think I'm the sort who would've done this with someone I don't like because I didn't think I could do it alone?"
"No."
"Then why do you think that's what I'm doing now?"
Sunstreaker stared at him, hope rising like a hot air balloon in his spark, though he kept reaching for the ascending rope and missing. Ratchet had a point, only Sunstreaker didn't dare believe it, because it sounded too much like all the things he wanted to hear.
Ratchet's grip eased to more of a caress, his gaze softening. "Circumstances aside, if this were real, I'd be honored to call you my partner. All right?"
Sunstreaker kissed him. Because he didn't have words, or at least the right ones or careful ones, and actions spoke much louder. So he dipped his head, claimed Ratchet's mouth, and indulged in a kiss that wasn't born of heat-desperation or carry-need. He slid his arms around Ratchet's frame, deepened the kiss, and tasted the sweet engex on Ratchet's glossa, his field rising and crashing over Ratchet's like a sizzling tidal wave.
Ratchet made a muffled moan beneath him, but he pulled his frame against Sunstreaker's, rocking their armor together, gripping onto Sunstreaker's seams, his field rising in kind, filled with heat and lust alike.
Words were useless. Sunstreaker poured his emotion into the kiss, into the wandering of his hands over Ratchet's frame, and how he gently guided Ratchet onto his back, so Sunstreaker could kneel between his thighs. His lips followed the curve of Ratchet's jaw, into the warmth of his intake.
Ratchet's hands swept up his back. He arched up toward Sunstreaker with a quick indrawn vent, and then he said, "You don't have to do this."
Sunstreaker paused and drew back, so he could see Ratchet's face. "What?"
"I'm out of that stage," Ratchet explained, his actions belying his words as his thighs scrubbed along the outside of Sunstreaker's, his frame shifting restlessly beneath Sunstreaker's own.
Sunstreaker squinted. "Do you want me to stop?" He sat back a little, putting a respectful distance between them, his weight resting on the berth to either side of Ratchet instead.
"Not at all." Ratchet's mouth twisted in a wry grin that wavered self-deprecatingly. "I'm just letting you know that you don't have to do this for the sake of my carry."
Sunstreaker tilted his head. "What if I want to kiss you because I want to?" he asked, and he slid a knee forward, gently. "What if I do this because I want to touch you? Is that all right?"
Ratchet's vents hitched, a shudder racing visibly across his frame. His backstrut arched. "Yes, but--"
"But what?" Sunstreaker asked, genuinely confused. If Ratchet wanted it, and Sunstreaker wanted it, what was Ratchet's objection?
"Look at me," Ratchet spluttered, and probably would have thrown up his hands if their frames weren't entangled. "I'm old. I'm cranky. I'm sparked up with an Insecticon's spawn. What about this would you willingly frag?"
Sunstreaker blinked. "All of it?" he answered, tentatively.
Ratchet's mouth opened, jaw moving. "That's, that's ridiculous!" he spluttered. "Sunstreaker, I'm many things, but attractive is not one of them. You could have your pick of good-looking mechs. I'm not so vain as to count myself among them."
Anger surged through Sunstreaker before he could halt it. Not anger at Ratchet, but for him. Because he was wrong.
"If I'm good enough for you, by your standards, then you can't say that the opposite is true," Sunstreaker said, perhaps a touch too fiercely, a touch too much of truth behind it. "I'm kissing you because I want you, and that's the truth of it, Ratchet. So if you don't want me to make love to you, then say so. Otherwise, let me kiss you and make you feel good."
"I don't want you to stop," Ratchet said, his vocals husky and wanting, his fingers curling deeper into Sunstreaker's seams.
"Good."
He kissed Ratchet again, pouring all of his adoration and emotion into the kiss. His hands swept over Ratchet's frame, stroking and touching, tracing seams and finding erogenous zones he'd discovered over the course of the past few months.
Ratchet moaned beneath him, gripping tight, pulling Sunstreaker closer. His field rose up, clashing against Sunstreaker's, rippling with hunger and need. He melted into Sunstreaker's touch, as if finally giving in to Sunstreaker's effort, and it was wonderful.
Sunstreaker hated that Ratchet thought so little of himself. Everyone loved him, respected him, appreciated him. Why would he think himself unworthy?
"You're beautiful," Sunstreaker murmured against Ratchet's lips, because it was true. He believed it with all his spark. His mouth wandered to Ratchet's jaw and lower, licking and sucking over his intake cables, feeling the buzz of life beneath his lips. "You're amazing. You should know that."
Ratchet shivered, his thighs pressing in on Sunstreaker's hips, and the sweet scent of lubricant followed the sound of a panel snicking open. "I'm sparked," he grumbled.
"You're doing something I could never do." Sunstreaker shifted his weight and slipped a hand down, cupping the bump of Ratchet's abdomen, stroking the distended plating. He was gentle as he traced the expanded, tessellating plates, caressing the overlapping dermal layers. "You're braver than I'll ever be."
"It's not bravery, it's accident," Ratchet said, without any strength behind the claim. He shivered, rolling up against Sunstreaker, the heat of his arousal wafting over Sunstreaker's groin.
"It became brave when you decided to keep them." Sunstreaker shifted again and dragged his mouth down, kissing across Ratchet's chestplate and chassis before finding his way to the rise of Ratchet's abdomen.
The visible swell was overly warm, running hotter than the rest of Ratchet's frame.
"Braver when you chose to do this alone," Sunstreaker added as he pressed a careful kiss to Ratchet's belly, hearing Ratchet's ventilations shift. "I will help you. I will be by your side. But you don't need me, and I know that."
Ratchet's hands curve over his shoulders, one of them moving to cup his intake, thumb sweeping a stroke on the underside of his jaw. "Who knew you were such a poet?"
"It's not poetry. It's what I really think." Sunstreaker scooted further down, flattening on the berth to get his mouth in a more useful place, the scent of Ratchet's lubricant floating hot and sweet to his nasal sensors.
His mouth watered. Ratchet was already swollen, lubricant gathered in the depths of his valve, his anterior node plump and pulsing brightly. His spike hadn't emerged yet, but Sunstreaker coaxed it free with a few passes of his fingers. Ratchet shivered and rolled up to meet his touch, his hands fisting the mesh blankets, a low cry escaping his mouth.
The sound of his pleasure made Sunstreaker shiver. Heat surged through his lines, made his spike pulse in its sheath. He waited, however, dipping his head to lay a long lick up the length of Ratchet's valve, ending with a suck to his anterior node.
Ratchet moaned, thighs trembling around Sunstreaker's shoulders. He wanted to hear more, so he did it again, and again, licking long and deep into Ratchet. Tasting him, savoring him, slurping up his lubricant and suckling and lapping at his main node.
Ratchet's valve pulsed against his glossa, his swollen folds plump and hot. His hips rolled, rocking against Sunstreaker's mouth, wordlessly asking for more. He groaned, and did so even louder, when Sunstreaker curled a hand around Ratchet's spike, giving him a few quick pumps.
"Sunny," Ratchet moaned, and Sunstreaker's spinal strut tingled with desire, spike pulsing again. He wouldn't allow anyone else to call him that. Only Ratchet. And hearing it from Ratchet sent another surge of arousal through his frame.
"Tell me what you want," Sunstreaker got out before he dove back in, licking and sucking at Ratchet's valve, determined to pull free an overload before he allowed himself one. "Anything you want."
Ratchet pawed at his shoulders, struggling to reach over the rise of his belly. "You," he panted, hips rocking toward Sunstreaker's mouth. "Just you."
Primus.
Sunstreaker shifted again, rising up so he could swallow Ratchet's spike, as he slipped two fingers into Ratchet's valve, curling them to stroke over the cluster of sensory nodes right behind his rim. Ratchet sucked in a sharp ventilation, hips bucking, a sharp cry leaving his mouth. He grabbed hold of Sunstreaker's shoulder and bucked, the spill of transfluid painting his glossa as Ratchet overloaded. Sunstreaker swallowed, savoring the burst of satisfaction in Ratchet's field.
Ratchet's valve rippled around his fingers, as if trying to suck him deeper. Charge spilled over his armor in a blue wave.
Sunstreaker suckled him gently, easing him through the overload tremors, until Ratchet slipped from his mouth, and Sunstreaker rose to his knees. He kept his fingers in Ratchet's valve, gently stroking and rubbing, Ratchet's calipers trembling and squeezing.
Ratchet looked up at him, optics hazy, hand grasping for Sunstreaker's free arm and gaining hold of his elbow. "Come here," he said, tugging. "Kiss me, damn it."
He climbed up Ratchet’s frame, fitting himself between Ratchet’s thighs, their mouths clashing together in a wet smack of lips. Sunstreaker’s spike nudged against Ratchet’s valve, and Ratchet grabbed his hip, yanking him forward. He slid home in the next second, his vents sputtering at the sudden ripple of heat around his spike.
Ratchet’s thighs clamped around his hips, his frame rising up to meet Sunstreaker’s thrusts. Their mouths clashed, kisses wet and uncoordinated. Sunstreaker’s optics shuttered, his vents coming in sharp bursts, Ratchet’s field winding over and through his. He soaked in the moment, gave himself to the pleasure, all the while wishing he could keep it forever.
Sunstreaker didn’t last long. He’d held himself back as it was, and Ratchet moving beneath him, their frames engaged in a familiar dance, was too much temptation to resist. He shuddered as he overloaded, spilling deep inside Ratchet, and felt Ratchet ripple around him. Charge danced over Ratchet’s frame, lighting up the space around them, Ratchet stealing his mouth for another kiss.
It was slower this time, more savoring, as their fans spun, vibrating their frames, and they cycled down from arousal. Ratchet’s hold gentled. Sunstreaker’s free hand stroked every armor plate within reach, until Ratchet tipped them on their sides, and wrapped himself in Sunstreaker’s embrace. His engine purred with satisfaction.
Sunstreaker’s hand pressed to Ratchet’s back, swearing he could feel the pulse of Ratchet’s spark against his palm. Ratchet’s rounded abdomen nudged against Sunstreaker’s own belly.
Something scratched at the door. There was a mournful chirp from beyond.
Ratchet chuckled against Sunstreaker’s chassis. “I think someone’s a bit upset you left him out in the cold.”
“He keeps trying to join in,” Sunstreaker grumbled.
“To be fair, he’s technically participated before.”
Sunstreaker snorted. He would have just ignored Bob, but the bug could cause quite the racket when he felt he was being left out.
“You can let him in,” Ratchet said. “I’ve gotten used to him recharging on my ankles.”
Sunstreaker absolutely did not want to get up from the berth and Ratchet's embrace. But he knew Bob would only get louder and more insistent, and besides, he needed to wipe Ratchet down and bring him some coolant. He always overheated post overload.
"I'll get him," Sunstreaker said, and slipped out of Ratchet's arms and off the berth.
He opened the door and let Bob inside. The silly bug gave him an indignant chuff before he strutted to the berth and hopped onto it, immediately going in to lick Ratchet's face, causing Ratchet to chuckle. Sunstreaker rolled his optics and retrieved some damp meshcloths, as well as giving himself a quick wipedown while he had the opportunity.
It felt so domestic that a pang of want rippled through Sunstreaker's spark before he could stop it. It was domestic, and he wanted to keep it, but it wasn't his to keep, and that thought hurt like a physical blow. He sucked in a vent, shuttering his optics, as the sadness swept around him.
He hadn't realized how much he wanted this -- a partner, a family, stability, happiness -- until it dangled in front of him like an unobtainable dream.
Sunstreaker bowed his head, cycled several ventilations, his hands forming fists that squeezed solvent from the mesh cloth. Ratchet waited for him. Ratchet needed to be cared for. Right now, Ratchet depended on him. It would have to be enough.
It wasn't.
But it would have to be.
After Ratchet's declaration in Swerve's, the harassment eased off until it became nonexistent. They still stared at Sunstreaker and whispered behind his back, but they stopped confronting him, and they stopped trying to chase him away. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Life went back to a relative normal.
Unless one counted the fact Ratchet had been put on berth rest. It was a situation that satisfied no one, not even the medic who had put him there.
Ratchet, surprising no one, made for a terrible patient.
Sunstreaker was taken off any sort of duty and assigned to be Ratchet's assistant in all things. Which mostly resulted in him running around fetching anything Ratchet wanted, while remaining steadfast in the face of cranky grumbling mutterings.
Ratchet could work just fine, thank you. It didn't matter that he waddled and his back hurt and his legs ached and he could have those sparklings any day now. He was in peak physical health. He'd suffered worse through the war! This was nothing! He could still do his job!
Sunstreaker swallowed down his own retorts. It showed on his face, but at least not on his glossa. He didn't know how First Aid managed to stay serene through it all.
Bob wasn't the least bit bothered by Ratchet's temper. He kept bringing energon and blankets and every once in a while, he'd disappear, and Sunstreaker would find him tucking bits and pieces of random things into a mesh nest he'd built under Ratchet's console. Attempts to clean it up were met with bared denta and growling and snapping, and Bob didn't usually do that toward Sunstreaker.
He backed off. What was a little mess? He figured it had something to do with being an Insecticon, and maybe Bob knew he'd sparked Ratchet up and was doing only what he knew how to do for the coming sparklings.
Sunstreaker left him be.
“My guess is that he’s nesting,” Perceptor said when he came to visit Ratchet, visibly sparked himself, his abdomen swollen from the growth of his pod. “We don’t know much about Insecticons, but given they’re hive-like nature, I’d gather Bob is accustomed to preparing a place for their sparklings. I’m sure he knows Ratchet is sparked.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty smart for a bug,” Sunstreaker agreed as he hovered around the two sparked mechs, ready to offer coolant or energon or a blanket or a sweet treat, whatever the two needed.
Well, he tried to hover as unobtrusively as possible. Brainstorm had already been evicted for hovering too much, though Sunstreaker suspected it was because he kept aiming scanners of various design at Ratchet and Perceptor both.
No one was surprised that Perceptor had turned his own sparking into an opportunity for scientific observation.
“Why is that you get to walk around the ship as you please, and I’m stuck in this berth?” Ratchet grumbled, though he was being unfair as Sunstreaker had helped him out of the berth and into a comfortable chair he and Drift had carted into Ratchet’s quarters last week.
“Good luck,” Drift had said with a not-at-all jealous look. “Just remember, you love him for his grumpiness even when it’s reached pinnacle levels of grouch.”
Sunstreaker had been so startled by the assumption he loved Ratchet, he’d nearly dropped his end of the chair.
Drift had smirked at him, winked at him, then strutted out of the berthroom, but not until he’d needled Ratchet into a fine snit, one Sunstreaker had to soothe with copious backrubs and a blowjob. Not that putting his mouth on Ratchet was any sort of hardship.
Perceptor gave Ratchet a level look. “Because I am not carrying twins,” he said, in that prim tone Sunstreaker used to hate, until he realized it was simply Perceptor’s way, and he wasn’t actually as judgmental as he sounded. “Besides, it is not for much longer.”
“Too long if you ask me,” Ratchet huffed. He softened, however, when Bob trotted up and chirped at him before offering a handful of Ratchet’s favorite treats. “Thank you, Bob.”
The unfairly cute bug skittered over to Perceptor next, sharing in the bounty. Sunstreaker would get none, but Bob would bring him some midgrade with healthy minerals in it, and Sunstreaker supposed that was fair.
“Thank you,” Perceptor said, and nibbled on the treats, free hand unconsciously cupping his belly.
All of the sparked mechs had come to visit Ratchet, though Perceptor was most frequent. Ultra Magnus came when time allowed, often to ask for advice, and while he’d told Ratchet the sire of his sparkling, he was still mum to everyone else. Whirl came less often, mostly because his personality was too large for Ratchet’s quarters to contain, especially when one took into account Cyclonus and Tailgate at his heelstruts.
“I’m ready for this to be over,” Ratchet said.
Perceptor hummed. Being sparked softened him, Sunstreaker had noticed. He was less severe, though no less dangerous. The layers of danger he’d crafted around himself to survive the war seemed to be sloughing off, miniscule sheet by sheet. Maybe he’d eventually be the Perceptor they remembered.
Maybe.
Brainstorm seemed to like him either way.
“It will be interesting to see how the crew responds to little ones running around underfoot,” Perceptor said. He absently nibbled on the treats, gaze distant. “I’ve gotten numerous offers for caretaking. From Drift especially. I think he is a little envious.”
Ratchet shifted on the chair, and winced, his hands both going to his belly, which was so visibly distended it looked painful. “The dam’s broke. There’ll be another heat, mark my words. It can be his chance then.”
Perceptor chuckled. “True enough.” He tilted his head, orbital ridges lifting. “Are you certain we can’t run a scan or two? Twin carries are so rare.”
Ratchet glanced at Sunstreaker before shaking his head. “I’m sure. I’ve no interest in being a scientific research project, especially with that menace you call a partner.”
Sunstreaker snorted a laugh, and smothered it in the next moment.
“Fair enough.” Amusement radiated from Perceptor rather than offense.
Bob circled them again, offering a meshblanket this time, and Sunstreaker sat back, waiting for an opportunity to be useful. Ratchet was right in that it wouldn’t be long now.
All any of them had to do was wait.
