[TFA] Hands Off
Mar. 25th, 2021 07:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Hands Off
Universe: TFA
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Original Character(s)
Rated: K+
Description: There is no thing and no one who can intimidate Ratchet.
For yamiquietshadowflo, who gave me the prompt.
It takes a certain kind of mech to boldly stride through the corridors of a Decepticon warship whilst surrounded by warriors who are, even at the very smallest of them, twice your size. One must be bold, fearless, and perhaps a little bit off in the head.
Fortunately, Ratchet is all three.
Those Decepticons who do not loathe him on sight merely for the Autobot badge he refuses to remove see him as something of a novelty. They’re not intimidated by him, a small favor, but they stop. They stare. They made crude jokes in a language they think Ratchet doesn’t understand.
Ratchet can handle staring. He can handle whispering. He wouldn’t have left everything he once loved if he couldn’t. He can even handle aggression.
Point of fact, Ratchet can handle himself.
Especially when it comes to the Decepticons who take one look at their new, much smaller medic and see a cute toy they want to corner.
“You’re one of us now, right?” says the mech currently keeping Ratchet trapped by his bulk alone. He’s leaning over Ratchet, trapping him against the wall. “Our friend, our ally? We should get to know each other.”
Ratchet lifts his chin. “I know everything I need to know about you, scraplet. I’m a medic, remember?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing. I mean, unless you wanna use it for some fun if you know what I mean.” The Decepticon -- Faultline, Ratchet thinks -- leers. “I’ve always had a thing for the little ones. Ain’t much of those around here.”
He tries to touch Ratchet’s chin, and Ratchet grabs the mech’s wrist, fingers pressing in on a motor line, hard enough to make Faultline’s hand go limp and send a shock of pain through his arm. Faultline’s engine gives a pitiful, completely unconscious, whine.
“Hands off,” Ratchet growls.
“Yes,” says another voice, deeper and far more intimidating. “Hands off.”
Faultline jerks back so quickly, he trips on his own foot and tumbles to the ground, landing on his aft. “Lord Megatron, sir,” he stammers, scrambling to get back on his feet. It’d be hilarious in any other situation. “I didn’t see you there.”
He is, actually, a head taller than Megatron, but everything about him screams grovelling and well, alright, it’s pretty damn hilarious.
“It’s a public corridor,” Megatron says, and though he’s made no threatening motion, there’s a dark gleam in his crimson optics that almost makes Ratchet shiver.
Almost, mind. He’s too damn old to be intimidated.
“A corridor our new medic should be able to traverse in peace, don’t you think,” Megatron adds.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I agree, sir,” Faultline says.
Megatron takes another step closer to Ratchet and Faultline scurries back, shoulders hunched, engine giving a squeaky burble.
“In fact, I think it would be in your best interest to ensure that from now on, our new medic can travel wherever he likes in peace,” Megatron says, casually resting a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder.
He allows it. This time. Megatron can be a right possessive slagger sometimes. Ratchet has learned to accept this about him.
“If he’s not, I’ll know who to blame,” Megatron finishes, threat implied but oh so understood.
Faultline’s engine whines. “I… yes, sir.” He looks at Ratchet, tips his head in a respectful bow. “My apologies.”
Ratchet waves him off. “You were just trying to make me feel welcome, right? I mean, it’s important to be on the good side of the mech who might be rooting around in your internals one day.”
Faultline’s optics pale. “R-right.”
“Dismissed,” Megatron says.
Faultline flees.
“I had that handled, you know,” Ratchet says, looking up at Megatron with an arched orbital ridge. “He’s not the first Decepticon to test me.”
“I am aware. He would have made the… third mech you’ve had to drag to the medbay this week?” Megatron asks with an amused rumble of his engine.
“Second. The first one doesn’t count. He tripped,” Ratchet says with a huff.
“Tripped,” Megatron repeats, and laughter rasps out of his intake. “Of course, my mistake.” His hand shifts, thumb sweeping gently along the underside of Ratchet’s jaw. “I’ll see you in our hab later?”
Heat winds lazily through Ratchet’s lines as he grins. Megatron isn’t the only reason he’s found himself on a Decepticon warship with an Autobot brand still on his chassis, but he’s the best one.
“It’s a date,” Ratchet promises.
***
Universe: TFA
Characters: Ratchet/Megatron, Original Character(s)
Rated: K+
Description: There is no thing and no one who can intimidate Ratchet.
For yamiquietshadowflo, who gave me the prompt.
It takes a certain kind of mech to boldly stride through the corridors of a Decepticon warship whilst surrounded by warriors who are, even at the very smallest of them, twice your size. One must be bold, fearless, and perhaps a little bit off in the head.
Fortunately, Ratchet is all three.
Those Decepticons who do not loathe him on sight merely for the Autobot badge he refuses to remove see him as something of a novelty. They’re not intimidated by him, a small favor, but they stop. They stare. They made crude jokes in a language they think Ratchet doesn’t understand.
Ratchet can handle staring. He can handle whispering. He wouldn’t have left everything he once loved if he couldn’t. He can even handle aggression.
Point of fact, Ratchet can handle himself.
Especially when it comes to the Decepticons who take one look at their new, much smaller medic and see a cute toy they want to corner.
“You’re one of us now, right?” says the mech currently keeping Ratchet trapped by his bulk alone. He’s leaning over Ratchet, trapping him against the wall. “Our friend, our ally? We should get to know each other.”
Ratchet lifts his chin. “I know everything I need to know about you, scraplet. I’m a medic, remember?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the same thing. I mean, unless you wanna use it for some fun if you know what I mean.” The Decepticon -- Faultline, Ratchet thinks -- leers. “I’ve always had a thing for the little ones. Ain’t much of those around here.”
He tries to touch Ratchet’s chin, and Ratchet grabs the mech’s wrist, fingers pressing in on a motor line, hard enough to make Faultline’s hand go limp and send a shock of pain through his arm. Faultline’s engine gives a pitiful, completely unconscious, whine.
“Hands off,” Ratchet growls.
“Yes,” says another voice, deeper and far more intimidating. “Hands off.”
Faultline jerks back so quickly, he trips on his own foot and tumbles to the ground, landing on his aft. “Lord Megatron, sir,” he stammers, scrambling to get back on his feet. It’d be hilarious in any other situation. “I didn’t see you there.”
He is, actually, a head taller than Megatron, but everything about him screams grovelling and well, alright, it’s pretty damn hilarious.
“It’s a public corridor,” Megatron says, and though he’s made no threatening motion, there’s a dark gleam in his crimson optics that almost makes Ratchet shiver.
Almost, mind. He’s too damn old to be intimidated.
“A corridor our new medic should be able to traverse in peace, don’t you think,” Megatron adds.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I agree, sir,” Faultline says.
Megatron takes another step closer to Ratchet and Faultline scurries back, shoulders hunched, engine giving a squeaky burble.
“In fact, I think it would be in your best interest to ensure that from now on, our new medic can travel wherever he likes in peace,” Megatron says, casually resting a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder.
He allows it. This time. Megatron can be a right possessive slagger sometimes. Ratchet has learned to accept this about him.
“If he’s not, I’ll know who to blame,” Megatron finishes, threat implied but oh so understood.
Faultline’s engine whines. “I… yes, sir.” He looks at Ratchet, tips his head in a respectful bow. “My apologies.”
Ratchet waves him off. “You were just trying to make me feel welcome, right? I mean, it’s important to be on the good side of the mech who might be rooting around in your internals one day.”
Faultline’s optics pale. “R-right.”
“Dismissed,” Megatron says.
Faultline flees.
“I had that handled, you know,” Ratchet says, looking up at Megatron with an arched orbital ridge. “He’s not the first Decepticon to test me.”
“I am aware. He would have made the… third mech you’ve had to drag to the medbay this week?” Megatron asks with an amused rumble of his engine.
“Second. The first one doesn’t count. He tripped,” Ratchet says with a huff.
“Tripped,” Megatron repeats, and laughter rasps out of his intake. “Of course, my mistake.” His hand shifts, thumb sweeping gently along the underside of Ratchet’s jaw. “I’ll see you in our hab later?”
Heat winds lazily through Ratchet’s lines as he grins. Megatron isn’t the only reason he’s found himself on a Decepticon warship with an Autobot brand still on his chassis, but he’s the best one.
“It’s a date,” Ratchet promises.
***
