[TFP] Good Enough
Title: Good Enough
Characters: Ratchet, Soundwave, Megatronus/Orion Pax from afar
Universe: Prime, pre-canon
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Wrapped in the chains of unrequited love, Soundwave makes Ratchet a tempting proposal.
For Radio-Cybertron's birthday.
“Is that envy? Or pride?”
Ratchet tried not to jump, but when a voice nipped at him from the shadows, it was near impossible. Especially this particular voice.
“Neither,” Ratchet answered, and turned away from the sight of Orion and Megatronus meeting.
In public, no less. Did those two lovestruck idiots not realize how precarious their situation could be? How much danger they attracted? How easily some member of the High Council could arrange for their demise?
It was enough to make Ratchet's spark flicker and his plating draw tight to his protoform. Orion was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.
“It is concern,” Ratchet said as he stared into the dark of the alley where his position at the mouth of it had allowed him to unobtrusively watch from afar.
The shadows ripple. Ratchet caught a glimpse of violet biolights. A low laugh emerged; some might even call it frightening. It had certainly unnerved many in the gladiatorial arena. Ratchet had heard it too many times in joy to be alarmed by it now.
“Is that what we're calling it now?”
Ratchet slipped into the alley, fighting back a shiver. The dark felt so consuming to him. He didn't know how Orion adapted so quickly to it. Maybe it was because he tended to bring some kind of inner light with him wherever he went.
“I don't know what you mean,” Ratchet replied, the dark and violet shape in front of him coalescing into a familiar form, as he knew it would.
He should not be so surprised that Soundwave was here, too, doing much the same as Ratchet. They were both predictable, weren't they?
Soundwave shifted, his visor tilted toward Ratchet as though reading the lie in his posture. There was something eerie about Megatronus' right hand, something in the way he looked at you that suggested he knew more than he let on.
Ratchet huffed. “Fine. You got me.” He poked a finger toward the gladiator. “But you're one to talk. You're here, too.”
“As I always am.” Soundwave closed the distance between them, his field sliding up against Ratchet's, lingering at the gate. “Both of them, foolish.”
“Aye. That they are.” Ratchet rubbed his faceplate, feeling much older than he actually was. “Then what does that make us, watching from afar, pretending it's for the sake of their safety?”
Soundwave was all height and mass. He loomed over Ratchet easily. He, like Megatronus, carried the ironwork-scent of spilled energon, ammunition, and energy discharge. His field was hot, hungry, inescapable.
Ratchet's plating tingled. He worked his intake, mouth gone oddly dry. “You don't strike me as the type content with a consolation prize,” he murmured.
Proximity sensors served as warning. In the dim, Ratchet barely saw Soundwave move. He felt, however, the delicate touch of fingers that had taken many sparks. Said touch whispered over the side of his helm, like the ghost of a caress.
“No consolation,” Soundwave said. “They need us.”
“And we need each other?” Ratchet almost laughed, save there was nothing amusing about it. “Is that what you're proposing?”
Soundwave's energy field flexed, a coaxing ripple of temptation. “You oppose?”
“Depends.” Ratchet shifted, by micrometers, but ones that brought him nearer to Soundwave's frame. “What do you think you can expect of me, knowing where my spark lies?”
“No lies.”
A light touch, a whisper of something, crept down Ratchet's backstrut. Soundwave's cables perhaps. He could control the fine manipulators in them as easily as he could his own fingers.
To kill, yes. Ratchet had seen him in action. Now, he knew, to pleasure also. Their delicate touch made Ratchet's back plating tingle.
“Only ask for what you'll give,” Soundwave purred. “Loyalties will bind us.”
“Or break us.” Ratchet curled his fingers around Soundwave's wrist, his thumb pressed to a gap and rubbing the cables beneath. “It won't be a cure,” he said as he tugged Soundwave's hand close.
He ex-vented over those fingers. “It's static mesh on a protoform tear.”
Ratchet pulled one long finger between his lips, flicking the tip of it.
Soundwave's armor shuffled, heat wafting outward. Interest bled into his field. His biolights pulsed an off-rhythm.
“Do you oppose?” Ratchet asked, ex-venting over Soundwave's damp digit.
Soundwave's field buzzed in harmony with Ratchet's, and the caress of it made his sensornet light up with pleasure.
“No,” Soundwave rumbled. The ghostly touch to Ratchet's spinal strut firmed. “It will be… a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Ratchet shivered. Heat gathered in his array and radiated from the points of contact between himself and Soundwave. The gladiator drew him nearer, until they shared the same venting space, and Soundwave's field pressed against Ratchet's like a physical touch.
“An arrangement,” Ratchet repeated as he looked up into Soundwave's visor, close enough now to catch the gleam of optics through the transsteel, though guessing their color was impossible. “One without expectation or apology, I take it?”
“Affirmative.”
What stroked Ratchet's face next was an actual hand. It cupped his cheek, long fingers nearly overshadowing the length of his face, and drew Ratchet forward until their forehelms touched. There was a zap of contact, a light zing of charge between them.
The touch at his backstrut remained, offering little nips of pleasure to his sensornet. Ratchet's engine rumbled with approval, heat winding through his frame. His plating jittered as though it sought to open wider here and now, open himself to those long fingers and the expert manipulation of Soundwave's cables.
Ratchet still held Soundwave's other hand. He took advantage of it, drawing a single digit into his mouth and dragging his denta along the length of it. He scraped it a little, perhaps leaving a mark in the dark paint.
He was rewarded with a low thrum of satisfaction in Soundwave's chassis, in the way Soundwave's armor rippled, and his field along with it. The desire, at least, was mutual. Emotions didn't have to be involved.
Soundwave's engine purred. His cable stroked Ratchet's backstrut before he drew back, enough that he could turn his helm, look past and over Ratchet's shoulders.
“They are gone,” he observed.
Ratchet squeezed Soundwave's wrist. “No doubt to find some privacy. Maybe we should follow their lead.”
Amusement trickled into Soundwave's field, but the desire remained.
Soundwave's gaze returned to his. “Your company is welcome,” he said, thumb sweeping over the curve of Ratchet's mouth, teasing the seam of his lips.
“Then let's go.” Ratchet tilted his helm toward the other end of the alley. “There's nothing more for us to do here.”
Soundwave caressed his back one last time before unwinding his cable from around Ratchet, giving him freedom to move. “Follow me,” he said, taking Ratchet's hand in his. “I know a place.”
“Lead the way.”
Ratchet followed without a backward glance, one that served little purpose anyway. Orion and Megatronus had gone, perhaps to discuss treasonous things, perhaps to tangle together on a berth somewhere.
It didn't matter, because neither of them were his or Soundwave's to hold.
***
a/n: I need so much more of these two together. XD. If I had time, I would write a whole series. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/325435.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Characters: Ratchet, Soundwave, Megatronus/Orion Pax from afar
Universe: Prime, pre-canon
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Wrapped in the chains of unrequited love, Soundwave makes Ratchet a tempting proposal.
For Radio-Cybertron's birthday.
“Is that envy? Or pride?”
Ratchet tried not to jump, but when a voice nipped at him from the shadows, it was near impossible. Especially this particular voice.
“Neither,” Ratchet answered, and turned away from the sight of Orion and Megatronus meeting.
In public, no less. Did those two lovestruck idiots not realize how precarious their situation could be? How much danger they attracted? How easily some member of the High Council could arrange for their demise?
It was enough to make Ratchet's spark flicker and his plating draw tight to his protoform. Orion was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.
“It is concern,” Ratchet said as he stared into the dark of the alley where his position at the mouth of it had allowed him to unobtrusively watch from afar.
The shadows ripple. Ratchet caught a glimpse of violet biolights. A low laugh emerged; some might even call it frightening. It had certainly unnerved many in the gladiatorial arena. Ratchet had heard it too many times in joy to be alarmed by it now.
“Is that what we're calling it now?”
Ratchet slipped into the alley, fighting back a shiver. The dark felt so consuming to him. He didn't know how Orion adapted so quickly to it. Maybe it was because he tended to bring some kind of inner light with him wherever he went.
“I don't know what you mean,” Ratchet replied, the dark and violet shape in front of him coalescing into a familiar form, as he knew it would.
He should not be so surprised that Soundwave was here, too, doing much the same as Ratchet. They were both predictable, weren't they?
Soundwave shifted, his visor tilted toward Ratchet as though reading the lie in his posture. There was something eerie about Megatronus' right hand, something in the way he looked at you that suggested he knew more than he let on.
Ratchet huffed. “Fine. You got me.” He poked a finger toward the gladiator. “But you're one to talk. You're here, too.”
“As I always am.” Soundwave closed the distance between them, his field sliding up against Ratchet's, lingering at the gate. “Both of them, foolish.”
“Aye. That they are.” Ratchet rubbed his faceplate, feeling much older than he actually was. “Then what does that make us, watching from afar, pretending it's for the sake of their safety?”
Soundwave was all height and mass. He loomed over Ratchet easily. He, like Megatronus, carried the ironwork-scent of spilled energon, ammunition, and energy discharge. His field was hot, hungry, inescapable.
Ratchet's plating tingled. He worked his intake, mouth gone oddly dry. “You don't strike me as the type content with a consolation prize,” he murmured.
Proximity sensors served as warning. In the dim, Ratchet barely saw Soundwave move. He felt, however, the delicate touch of fingers that had taken many sparks. Said touch whispered over the side of his helm, like the ghost of a caress.
“No consolation,” Soundwave said. “They need us.”
“And we need each other?” Ratchet almost laughed, save there was nothing amusing about it. “Is that what you're proposing?”
Soundwave's energy field flexed, a coaxing ripple of temptation. “You oppose?”
“Depends.” Ratchet shifted, by micrometers, but ones that brought him nearer to Soundwave's frame. “What do you think you can expect of me, knowing where my spark lies?”
“No lies.”
A light touch, a whisper of something, crept down Ratchet's backstrut. Soundwave's cables perhaps. He could control the fine manipulators in them as easily as he could his own fingers.
To kill, yes. Ratchet had seen him in action. Now, he knew, to pleasure also. Their delicate touch made Ratchet's back plating tingle.
“Only ask for what you'll give,” Soundwave purred. “Loyalties will bind us.”
“Or break us.” Ratchet curled his fingers around Soundwave's wrist, his thumb pressed to a gap and rubbing the cables beneath. “It won't be a cure,” he said as he tugged Soundwave's hand close.
He ex-vented over those fingers. “It's static mesh on a protoform tear.”
Ratchet pulled one long finger between his lips, flicking the tip of it.
Soundwave's armor shuffled, heat wafting outward. Interest bled into his field. His biolights pulsed an off-rhythm.
“Do you oppose?” Ratchet asked, ex-venting over Soundwave's damp digit.
Soundwave's field buzzed in harmony with Ratchet's, and the caress of it made his sensornet light up with pleasure.
“No,” Soundwave rumbled. The ghostly touch to Ratchet's spinal strut firmed. “It will be… a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Ratchet shivered. Heat gathered in his array and radiated from the points of contact between himself and Soundwave. The gladiator drew him nearer, until they shared the same venting space, and Soundwave's field pressed against Ratchet's like a physical touch.
“An arrangement,” Ratchet repeated as he looked up into Soundwave's visor, close enough now to catch the gleam of optics through the transsteel, though guessing their color was impossible. “One without expectation or apology, I take it?”
“Affirmative.”
What stroked Ratchet's face next was an actual hand. It cupped his cheek, long fingers nearly overshadowing the length of his face, and drew Ratchet forward until their forehelms touched. There was a zap of contact, a light zing of charge between them.
The touch at his backstrut remained, offering little nips of pleasure to his sensornet. Ratchet's engine rumbled with approval, heat winding through his frame. His plating jittered as though it sought to open wider here and now, open himself to those long fingers and the expert manipulation of Soundwave's cables.
Ratchet still held Soundwave's other hand. He took advantage of it, drawing a single digit into his mouth and dragging his denta along the length of it. He scraped it a little, perhaps leaving a mark in the dark paint.
He was rewarded with a low thrum of satisfaction in Soundwave's chassis, in the way Soundwave's armor rippled, and his field along with it. The desire, at least, was mutual. Emotions didn't have to be involved.
Soundwave's engine purred. His cable stroked Ratchet's backstrut before he drew back, enough that he could turn his helm, look past and over Ratchet's shoulders.
“They are gone,” he observed.
Ratchet squeezed Soundwave's wrist. “No doubt to find some privacy. Maybe we should follow their lead.”
Amusement trickled into Soundwave's field, but the desire remained.
Soundwave's gaze returned to his. “Your company is welcome,” he said, thumb sweeping over the curve of Ratchet's mouth, teasing the seam of his lips.
“Then let's go.” Ratchet tilted his helm toward the other end of the alley. “There's nothing more for us to do here.”
Soundwave caressed his back one last time before unwinding his cable from around Ratchet, giving him freedom to move. “Follow me,” he said, taking Ratchet's hand in his. “I know a place.”
“Lead the way.”
Ratchet followed without a backward glance, one that served little purpose anyway. Orion and Megatronus had gone, perhaps to discuss treasonous things, perhaps to tangle together on a berth somewhere.
It didn't matter, because neither of them were his or Soundwave's to hold.
***
a/n: I need so much more of these two together. XD. If I had time, I would write a whole series. :)
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/325435.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.