[TF] Apple a Day 24
Nov. 11th, 2019 06:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Toward Happy Endings
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: Prowl/Wheeljack, Perceptor, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Rated: K+
Description: Wheeljack has a promise to keep, but Prowl is a very important reason to give him a delay.
Wheeljack is, by nature, a late sleeper, and not a morning person. But if he winds up late for his first appointment of the day, it won't be his fault.
It'll be because of the octopus Prowl has suddenly become. Wheeljack’s effort to crawl out of the berth has been entirely thwarted by Prowl grappling on to his person and refusing to relinquish the hold.
"You must be off shift," Wheeljack teases from beneath the weight of the police vehicle. He’s pinned down by the tangle of Prowl's legs around his, and the rise of Prowl's chassis pressed to his chestplate. "Otherwise you'd be up already."
"I made the schedule," Prowl says, voice muffled against Wheeljack's shoulder armor. "I know your shift isn't until much later."
Wheeljack chuckles and strokes a hand down Prowl's back, fondling the sensitive juncture of his panels. "This is a favor."
"Perceptor can ask Skyfire if he needs another scientist, or Ratchet if he needs a pair of steady hands," Prowl retorts. If anything, the force of his weight becomes heavier, his field like a secondary, warm blanket.
"It's for the twins," Wheeljack corrects. "Perceptor's actually the one helping me, because I need a pair of steady hands which aren't Ratchet's."
Prowl is silent for a moment before he leverages himself up, straddling Wheeljack's hips to have a seat upon them. "For what purpose?” he asks, before his brow furrows. “Or am I allowed to know?”
"It's a secret." Wheeljack's palms skim Prowl's thighs, because they are within reach and an absolute delight. "But I can say it's for their gift to Ratchet."
Prowl's sensory panels arch upright, to match his orbital ridges. "They're finalizing the courtship?"
"That's what they tell me." Wheeljack grins behind his mask and cups Prowl's hips, fingers sweeping into the seam to caress sensitive hip cables.
Prowl shivers, and his optics glow with a building desire. "If you have a schedule to keep, why are you starting things you can't finish?" he asks as his panels gradually drift back down into a more relaxed position.
"You're so tempting I can't help myself." Wheeljack's thumbs stroke a slow pattern. "It's still so new, so much left to explore and learn..."
He's teasing himself as much as Prowl at this point.
Prowl shivers and leans forward, hands braced to either side of Wheeljack's head. "Tell me," he murmurs as he mouthes the curve of Wheeljack's jaw, around his mask. "Why did I have you move in with me if you are not here to indulge in a late morning?"
Wheeljack cups the back of Prowl's neck and tilts his own head up, sliding his mask aside at the last minute to steal Prowl's lips for a kiss. He has to make it brief, but he can indulge for at least a minute more.
The twins will understand.
"We'll have more," Wheeljack murmurs against Prowl's mouth. "Promise. Now that I got ya, I'm keeping ya."
Prowl hums and presses his forehead to Wheeljack's. "I think we are unclear about who claimed whom."
Wheeljack laughs and rolls Prowl over, careful of the sensory panels, flattening him against the berth. "We can keep tussling for it if you want. But later. I have to help Ratch get his happy ending."
He buries Prowl's face in kisses, because it makes Prowl scrunch up his nose and put on a long-suffering look which means he's secretly delighted by it, and then Wheeljack scampers off the berth while Prowl is too distracted to reel him back in.
"Happy ending," Prowl echoes, and he tilts his head, his optics sharp and assessing as he looks Wheeljack over. "Does that mean you've found yours?"
Wheeljack's spark skips a beat. His chronometer chimes a reminder at him. He's due in the medbay as of right now, but this.
This is more important.
Perceptor and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They'll all understand.
Wheeljack sits on the berth's edge, his hip to Prowl's, and he takes Prowl's hand. He kisses Prowl's knuckles -- these fine, long, well-articulated fingers which dance across the keyboard and weave brilliant tactical patterns. Prowl's an artist, a brilliant mech, and his spark shines so bright, despite the weight of the war on his shoulders.
"I love you," Wheeljack says, with all the honesty he has in his frame. "I don't think I've told you that yet. But it's true. Maybe it's too soon, but not for me. I've known you for years. That's enough."
Prowl works his intake, fingers trembling where Wheeljack feathers his knuckles with kisses. "I apologize, I can't--"
"It's all right." Wheeljack squeezes his hand. "I don't expect you to say it back now. I want you to say it when you mean it, when you're sure of it. As long as you're happy right now, so am I."
Prowl's field flows over his, warm with affection and gratitude. "I do care for you. Love is just..."
"A whole different calculation, I know." Wheeljack grins and steals another kiss, this one softer and reassuring. Ah, but he wishes he hadn't agreed to help the twins, because now he wants to stay in the berth and cuddle Prowl all morning.
Damn his romantic nature for wanting to be a part of the romantic dance between Ratchet and the Twins.
Speaking of...
His comms chime, and the ID reads 'Perceptor', sir who expects everyone to be on time for everything, which is hilarious considering he's dating Jazz, who is the king of arriving consistently late so as to make an entrance.
Wheeljack sighs and draws back from Prowl, giving his hand a squeeze. "And now Perceptor is pinging me, which means he's standing in the medbay, arms crossed, tapping his heels."
"An amusing mental image," Prowl says, though his voice is thick with disappointment. "I suppose I have no choice but to let you go."
Primus, but Prowl is cute when he's pouting, even though he's pretending he's not. To see Prowl like this, unreserved, open, not the withheld tactician he has to present, but the gentle spark he is beneath, it thrills Wheeljack to no end.
It's a precious gift, one Wheeljack now has thanks to Ratchet's bold action. The least he can do is make sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker can offer Ratchet their gift.
"I'll be back," Wheeljack promises, and lays a kiss over Prowl's chevron, right in the center of it. "Keep the berth warm for me."
He has to dance back quickly to avoid the attempt at pulling him back into the berth, but luckily, Prowl’s efforts are half-sparked at best.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Prowl murmurs and awkwardly turns back onto his front, curling around a pillow for the perfect support, his optical shutters drifting down. “It’s my day off, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
Wheeljack admires the curve of Prowl’s aft, and tells himself leaving is for a good cause. It’s for the sake of romance! It’s worth it.
Still doesn’t make walking out of the room any easier, not with Prowl lying there so sweet and delectable and available. They’ve so few days off shared, and Prowl had done a miraculous bit of schedule Tetris to afford them this one, especially since the recent Decepticon incursion had nearly thwarted it.
Oh, the sacrifices he makes for love.
Wheeljack hums a little to himself as he breaks into a light jog, waves at the cameras and Red Alert no doubt frowning with disapproval at his not-quite-run, and heads straight for the medbay. Ratchet’s off-shift, Hoist’s on duty, and word is, Sunstreaker bribed Hoist with a Sunstreaker-approved wash and wax and repaint if he’d not spill the beans about what the twins and the scientists are getting up to today.
Hoist, ever the romantic much like Wheeljack, hadn’t needed the bribe. But he’s clever enough to take the offer anyway.
No one turns down a Sunstreaker-approved repaint. Not even Cliffjumper.
Hoist waves Wheeljack in the direction of one of the private surgical rooms. Not that he would have needed the directions since Perceptor stands outside the door, arms crossed, one foot indeed tapping. He gives Wheeljack a narrow look.
“You are late,” he says in a crisp tone that smacks of chastisement.
Technically, Perceptor outranks Wheeljack. On a technicality. He never uses it, forgets he has the title half the time, and hasn’t written an evaluation on Wheeljack in centuries. But when he gets his hackles in a twist, that teeny-tiny bit of rank crops up and writes itself into Perceptor’s frame language and tone.
Most notably when Wheeljack has made something explode, whether it was on purpose or not.
“There was an emergency,” Wheeljack says with a fluttering yellow flash of his indicators. Yellow is Perceptor’s favorite color.
Perceptor arches one orbital ridge. “What kind of emergency?”
Wheeljack tries to inch around him, toward the door, but Perceptor becomes an immovable object. He lifts his chin with challenge.
“The kind of emergency where I left Prowl in the berth even though we both have today off, so the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get back to him,” Wheeljack finally says and leans hopefully toward the door. “You want details? Because I can give you details. Like how I finally figured out what makes his sirens sing.”
Perceptor’s face flushes. He sighs a gusty, rattling sigh and turns around, keying open the door. “You’re impossible,” he says.
Wheeljack trails in after him, pleased with himself and chuckling. “Hey, a story for a story. I know Jazz gets up to kinky stuff. Want to share?”
“Please don’t,” Sunstreaker says in a voice that sounds strained, slightly off pitch, and tense.
“At least, not right now anyway. I might be curious enough to ask later though,” Sideswipe says, and though his voice is peppered with cheer, anxiety clings to his field in minute trembles.
They’re sitting on opposite berths, legs dangling over the edge, facing each other. Sideswipe’s legs are swinging, he’s smiling, and his face is open and unconcerned, though beneath the surface in his field swirls worry. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, looks like he’s been led to his funeral, with his clamped armor, his stormy expression, and the scowl on his pretty lips.
“You’re late,” Sunstreaker growls.
Wheeljack holds up his hands. “Why is everyone suddenly concerned with the time?”
"Because this is important," Sideswipe says and his optics narrow a bit, tone turning serious. "We were starting to think you weren't going to show."
Wheeljack tilts his head. "I'm not that unreliable."
"No, but we figure you're the only one here who can get in the way of this," Sunstreaker says, and it takes Wheeljack a long moment to figure out what he means.
"Oh." His optics round. Wheeljack moves between them, resting a hand on Sideswipe's knee and Sunstreaker's shoulder, glad they're close enough to do that. "No, no. I'm not protesting or objecting at all. I'm behind you two all the way."
Damned old courtship customs. He'd forgotten about this part. Where Ratchet had asked Optimus and Ironhide to stand in on behalf of the twins, he'd neglected to nominate someone on behalf of himself. The twins, wise to Ratchet's closest friends, had taken it upon themselves to recognize Wheeljack as Ratchet's kin.
A wise choice.
"You sure?" Sideswipe asks, and he offers a self-deprecating smile that makes Wheeljack's spark ache with sympathy. "We're kind of a mess."
"Speak for yourself," Sunstreaker says, indignant. He shakes himself out from Wheeljack's hand, closed off in frame and field as he crosses his arms. "But this means a lot to Ratchet, so if you protest on his behalf, we'll step back."
Wheeljack shakes his head. "You'll make him happy. I'm sure of it." He pauses and tries for serious. "You'll probably make him angry, too, at some point. You might make him sad. But I believe you'll care for him. I know you'll care for him. That's enough for me."
"You're such a romantic," Perceptor says with a soft sigh, and Wheeljack sneaks a glance at him, glad to find Perceptor's stern disapproval of lateness has melted away.
"Good," Sunstreaker says.
"Thank you." Sideswipe grins and swivels, swinging his legs up onto the berth as he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. "Let's get this done then. I'm ready."
Sunstreaker rolls his optics, but he copies his brother's actions, only to reach across the space between them for Sideswipe's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Me, too."
Wheeljack claps his hands together and rubs them. "I promise. This is easy as oilcake, and with Perceptor looking over my shoulder, you two are in good hands."
"We trust you," Sideswipe says.
Sunstreaker nods.
Perceptor steps up beside Wheeljack, pulling a wheeled cart alongside him, the various tools they'd need lying sterile and gleaming on the top. "Shall we begin?"
"Let's do it."
***
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: Prowl/Wheeljack, Perceptor, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Rated: K+
Description: Wheeljack has a promise to keep, but Prowl is a very important reason to give him a delay.
Wheeljack is, by nature, a late sleeper, and not a morning person. But if he winds up late for his first appointment of the day, it won't be his fault.
It'll be because of the octopus Prowl has suddenly become. Wheeljack’s effort to crawl out of the berth has been entirely thwarted by Prowl grappling on to his person and refusing to relinquish the hold.
"You must be off shift," Wheeljack teases from beneath the weight of the police vehicle. He’s pinned down by the tangle of Prowl's legs around his, and the rise of Prowl's chassis pressed to his chestplate. "Otherwise you'd be up already."
"I made the schedule," Prowl says, voice muffled against Wheeljack's shoulder armor. "I know your shift isn't until much later."
Wheeljack chuckles and strokes a hand down Prowl's back, fondling the sensitive juncture of his panels. "This is a favor."
"Perceptor can ask Skyfire if he needs another scientist, or Ratchet if he needs a pair of steady hands," Prowl retorts. If anything, the force of his weight becomes heavier, his field like a secondary, warm blanket.
"It's for the twins," Wheeljack corrects. "Perceptor's actually the one helping me, because I need a pair of steady hands which aren't Ratchet's."
Prowl is silent for a moment before he leverages himself up, straddling Wheeljack's hips to have a seat upon them. "For what purpose?” he asks, before his brow furrows. “Or am I allowed to know?”
"It's a secret." Wheeljack's palms skim Prowl's thighs, because they are within reach and an absolute delight. "But I can say it's for their gift to Ratchet."
Prowl's sensory panels arch upright, to match his orbital ridges. "They're finalizing the courtship?"
"That's what they tell me." Wheeljack grins behind his mask and cups Prowl's hips, fingers sweeping into the seam to caress sensitive hip cables.
Prowl shivers, and his optics glow with a building desire. "If you have a schedule to keep, why are you starting things you can't finish?" he asks as his panels gradually drift back down into a more relaxed position.
"You're so tempting I can't help myself." Wheeljack's thumbs stroke a slow pattern. "It's still so new, so much left to explore and learn..."
He's teasing himself as much as Prowl at this point.
Prowl shivers and leans forward, hands braced to either side of Wheeljack's head. "Tell me," he murmurs as he mouthes the curve of Wheeljack's jaw, around his mask. "Why did I have you move in with me if you are not here to indulge in a late morning?"
Wheeljack cups the back of Prowl's neck and tilts his own head up, sliding his mask aside at the last minute to steal Prowl's lips for a kiss. He has to make it brief, but he can indulge for at least a minute more.
The twins will understand.
"We'll have more," Wheeljack murmurs against Prowl's mouth. "Promise. Now that I got ya, I'm keeping ya."
Prowl hums and presses his forehead to Wheeljack's. "I think we are unclear about who claimed whom."
Wheeljack laughs and rolls Prowl over, careful of the sensory panels, flattening him against the berth. "We can keep tussling for it if you want. But later. I have to help Ratch get his happy ending."
He buries Prowl's face in kisses, because it makes Prowl scrunch up his nose and put on a long-suffering look which means he's secretly delighted by it, and then Wheeljack scampers off the berth while Prowl is too distracted to reel him back in.
"Happy ending," Prowl echoes, and he tilts his head, his optics sharp and assessing as he looks Wheeljack over. "Does that mean you've found yours?"
Wheeljack's spark skips a beat. His chronometer chimes a reminder at him. He's due in the medbay as of right now, but this.
This is more important.
Perceptor and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They'll all understand.
Wheeljack sits on the berth's edge, his hip to Prowl's, and he takes Prowl's hand. He kisses Prowl's knuckles -- these fine, long, well-articulated fingers which dance across the keyboard and weave brilliant tactical patterns. Prowl's an artist, a brilliant mech, and his spark shines so bright, despite the weight of the war on his shoulders.
"I love you," Wheeljack says, with all the honesty he has in his frame. "I don't think I've told you that yet. But it's true. Maybe it's too soon, but not for me. I've known you for years. That's enough."
Prowl works his intake, fingers trembling where Wheeljack feathers his knuckles with kisses. "I apologize, I can't--"
"It's all right." Wheeljack squeezes his hand. "I don't expect you to say it back now. I want you to say it when you mean it, when you're sure of it. As long as you're happy right now, so am I."
Prowl's field flows over his, warm with affection and gratitude. "I do care for you. Love is just..."
"A whole different calculation, I know." Wheeljack grins and steals another kiss, this one softer and reassuring. Ah, but he wishes he hadn't agreed to help the twins, because now he wants to stay in the berth and cuddle Prowl all morning.
Damn his romantic nature for wanting to be a part of the romantic dance between Ratchet and the Twins.
Speaking of...
His comms chime, and the ID reads 'Perceptor', sir who expects everyone to be on time for everything, which is hilarious considering he's dating Jazz, who is the king of arriving consistently late so as to make an entrance.
Wheeljack sighs and draws back from Prowl, giving his hand a squeeze. "And now Perceptor is pinging me, which means he's standing in the medbay, arms crossed, tapping his heels."
"An amusing mental image," Prowl says, though his voice is thick with disappointment. "I suppose I have no choice but to let you go."
Primus, but Prowl is cute when he's pouting, even though he's pretending he's not. To see Prowl like this, unreserved, open, not the withheld tactician he has to present, but the gentle spark he is beneath, it thrills Wheeljack to no end.
It's a precious gift, one Wheeljack now has thanks to Ratchet's bold action. The least he can do is make sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker can offer Ratchet their gift.
"I'll be back," Wheeljack promises, and lays a kiss over Prowl's chevron, right in the center of it. "Keep the berth warm for me."
He has to dance back quickly to avoid the attempt at pulling him back into the berth, but luckily, Prowl’s efforts are half-sparked at best.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Prowl murmurs and awkwardly turns back onto his front, curling around a pillow for the perfect support, his optical shutters drifting down. “It’s my day off, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
Wheeljack admires the curve of Prowl’s aft, and tells himself leaving is for a good cause. It’s for the sake of romance! It’s worth it.
Still doesn’t make walking out of the room any easier, not with Prowl lying there so sweet and delectable and available. They’ve so few days off shared, and Prowl had done a miraculous bit of schedule Tetris to afford them this one, especially since the recent Decepticon incursion had nearly thwarted it.
Oh, the sacrifices he makes for love.
Wheeljack hums a little to himself as he breaks into a light jog, waves at the cameras and Red Alert no doubt frowning with disapproval at his not-quite-run, and heads straight for the medbay. Ratchet’s off-shift, Hoist’s on duty, and word is, Sunstreaker bribed Hoist with a Sunstreaker-approved wash and wax and repaint if he’d not spill the beans about what the twins and the scientists are getting up to today.
Hoist, ever the romantic much like Wheeljack, hadn’t needed the bribe. But he’s clever enough to take the offer anyway.
No one turns down a Sunstreaker-approved repaint. Not even Cliffjumper.
Hoist waves Wheeljack in the direction of one of the private surgical rooms. Not that he would have needed the directions since Perceptor stands outside the door, arms crossed, one foot indeed tapping. He gives Wheeljack a narrow look.
“You are late,” he says in a crisp tone that smacks of chastisement.
Technically, Perceptor outranks Wheeljack. On a technicality. He never uses it, forgets he has the title half the time, and hasn’t written an evaluation on Wheeljack in centuries. But when he gets his hackles in a twist, that teeny-tiny bit of rank crops up and writes itself into Perceptor’s frame language and tone.
Most notably when Wheeljack has made something explode, whether it was on purpose or not.
“There was an emergency,” Wheeljack says with a fluttering yellow flash of his indicators. Yellow is Perceptor’s favorite color.
Perceptor arches one orbital ridge. “What kind of emergency?”
Wheeljack tries to inch around him, toward the door, but Perceptor becomes an immovable object. He lifts his chin with challenge.
“The kind of emergency where I left Prowl in the berth even though we both have today off, so the sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get back to him,” Wheeljack finally says and leans hopefully toward the door. “You want details? Because I can give you details. Like how I finally figured out what makes his sirens sing.”
Perceptor’s face flushes. He sighs a gusty, rattling sigh and turns around, keying open the door. “You’re impossible,” he says.
Wheeljack trails in after him, pleased with himself and chuckling. “Hey, a story for a story. I know Jazz gets up to kinky stuff. Want to share?”
“Please don’t,” Sunstreaker says in a voice that sounds strained, slightly off pitch, and tense.
“At least, not right now anyway. I might be curious enough to ask later though,” Sideswipe says, and though his voice is peppered with cheer, anxiety clings to his field in minute trembles.
They’re sitting on opposite berths, legs dangling over the edge, facing each other. Sideswipe’s legs are swinging, he’s smiling, and his face is open and unconcerned, though beneath the surface in his field swirls worry. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, looks like he’s been led to his funeral, with his clamped armor, his stormy expression, and the scowl on his pretty lips.
“You’re late,” Sunstreaker growls.
Wheeljack holds up his hands. “Why is everyone suddenly concerned with the time?”
"Because this is important," Sideswipe says and his optics narrow a bit, tone turning serious. "We were starting to think you weren't going to show."
Wheeljack tilts his head. "I'm not that unreliable."
"No, but we figure you're the only one here who can get in the way of this," Sunstreaker says, and it takes Wheeljack a long moment to figure out what he means.
"Oh." His optics round. Wheeljack moves between them, resting a hand on Sideswipe's knee and Sunstreaker's shoulder, glad they're close enough to do that. "No, no. I'm not protesting or objecting at all. I'm behind you two all the way."
Damned old courtship customs. He'd forgotten about this part. Where Ratchet had asked Optimus and Ironhide to stand in on behalf of the twins, he'd neglected to nominate someone on behalf of himself. The twins, wise to Ratchet's closest friends, had taken it upon themselves to recognize Wheeljack as Ratchet's kin.
A wise choice.
"You sure?" Sideswipe asks, and he offers a self-deprecating smile that makes Wheeljack's spark ache with sympathy. "We're kind of a mess."
"Speak for yourself," Sunstreaker says, indignant. He shakes himself out from Wheeljack's hand, closed off in frame and field as he crosses his arms. "But this means a lot to Ratchet, so if you protest on his behalf, we'll step back."
Wheeljack shakes his head. "You'll make him happy. I'm sure of it." He pauses and tries for serious. "You'll probably make him angry, too, at some point. You might make him sad. But I believe you'll care for him. I know you'll care for him. That's enough for me."
"You're such a romantic," Perceptor says with a soft sigh, and Wheeljack sneaks a glance at him, glad to find Perceptor's stern disapproval of lateness has melted away.
"Good," Sunstreaker says.
"Thank you." Sideswipe grins and swivels, swinging his legs up onto the berth as he stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. "Let's get this done then. I'm ready."
Sunstreaker rolls his optics, but he copies his brother's actions, only to reach across the space between them for Sideswipe's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Me, too."
Wheeljack claps his hands together and rubs them. "I promise. This is easy as oilcake, and with Perceptor looking over my shoulder, you two are in good hands."
"We trust you," Sideswipe says.
Sunstreaker nods.
Perceptor steps up beside Wheeljack, pulling a wheeled cart alongside him, the various tools they'd need lying sterile and gleaming on the top. "Shall we begin?"
"Let's do it."
