Not pole dancing, but almost as bad.
Title: Through the Windshield.
Rating: R
Pairings: Ironhide x Ratchet, implied Prowl x Jazz and Hound x Mirage.
Summary: G1 Sometime after the episode Divide and Conquer. Ratchet is stressed and his way to deal with it causes a certain red mech to worry.
Notes: This was inspired by a cousin of mine that is a doctor. During his first months in ER he went through something very similar to what Ratchet goes through in here. Though he obviously dealt with it in a different way.
Thanks to nkfloofiepoof for beta reading this for me.
The medical profession was one that entailed many satisfactions, hard work, and joy, but it also came with downsides -- Ratchet knew it first-hand. The degree of emotional detachment expected from a medic to perform with a cool head was something difficult to develop and even harder to master. It was a hard task for civilian medics, yet the mountain to climb was twice as big for a military medic. The emotional and psychological stress was a symbolic token offered upon pledging that oath.
To be one that played the role of a god and stop the course of untimely death to prolong the lifespan of a soul, perhaps interfering with what was meant to be. Sometimes, Ratchet felt he was playing with fate, and fate would one day find the time for its revenge. One day, his cares and expertise wouldn't be enough to salvage a comrade, a friend. That knowledge haunted him since the first day he saw action under the service of the Autobot army.
He was intense - he was perhaps too emotional under that cool, sometimes grumpy but endearing exterior; he was too attached to every single Autobot under his care. Losing any of them, even those who gave him grief, would fracture his very core, his very essence. One day he'd just brace himself and cry helplessly.
That day had almost come. He didn't show it at the time - his whole concentration had been on keeping Prime alive, buying time while other Autobots fought their way to acquire the item that would keep their leader alive. But when all was said and done, when Prime had defeated Megatron in a one-to-one match, when Ratchet was done tending to the injuries of his fellow comrades, the dam finally broke.
He was stressed, he was upset, he was afraid - afraid of not being good enough, afraid of tempting the fates too much, and afraid of trying and failing. But he couldn't do anything about it but keep trying, keep doing his job, and endure the weight that lurked in his spark. He was a medic. It was his duty -- his whole purpose in life was to save the lives of those who fought in a war they wished had never happened.
He didn't regret his choice at all. He was glad he was able to tend to and care for the brave fighters of the war. He couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction whenever a damaged 'bot left his med bay as good as new. He knew he was appreciated, even treasured among his peers for his efforts despite his lectures and cranky disposition. But the stress was taking its toll, and Ratchet needed a release.
And release was what he did. He had long forgotten how the mild celebration held in honor of Optimus' recovery had turned into a full blown party. Prime had excused himself early, requiring still plenty of recharge to get his systems back up in full force. The rest of the crew, save for those on patrol duty, remained in the party. Even Prowl had agreed to stay around and share drinks with his mate and other Autobots.
Ratchet, however, had interacted very little in the party. He had been in a corner all by himself, gulping down cube after cube of high-grade, driving himself slowly, but surely, into a state of intoxication that would hopefully cloud his mind and appease his troubled spark, if only temporarily.
A few more cubes of high-grade energon later, the medic was cracking a sour, humorless smile in direction of a group of Autobots dancing and flirting with each other. It was all innocent fun. Inhibitions were the first thing to leave when the high-grade energon kicked in. Sometimes, however, the flirts had more than just a little 'for fun' underneath. That had been the how Hound and Mirage ended up together.
The medic, devoid of all shame, decided to meld with the crowd and made his way with insecure steps towards the dancing group. The music was conveniently both catchy and sensuous, and the CMO needed little time to sway his body in accordance.
A couple of 'bots stopped their dancing to direct their attention to the dancing medic, evident to everyone with working optics that Ratchet was way gone with the high-grade. He smiled in a playful, almost seductive way to everyone that looked at him, swaying his body in a way nobody thought he could. Sensual and Ratchet were two words most Autobots would never consider to see together.
But there he was, sensually dancing to the catchy tune. Mirage gulped when the CMO's optics fixated on his frame, and just a few seconds later, Ratchet was right against him, swaying against him. Hound let out a whining sound and Mirage could do no more than give his lover an apologetic but somewhat amused look.
"Ohhh boy," Jazz chuckled as he looked at Ratchet dancing with Mirage. "Someone can't hold his energon."
"As long as he remembers Mirage isn't for the taking..." Hound trailed, a bit upset but trying to remain cool. "I hope he'll be somewhat functioning tomorrow. Wouldn't be good to be medicless."
"Let him be for now." Prowl sipped calmly on his energon cube. He had been sipping on the very same cube for hours, taking pleasure in drinking his high-grade slowly and savoring every bit of it. "He needs to let off some steam."
"Ya noticed it, too?" Jazz looked back to the medic who had migrated from Mirage to Sunstreaker, dirty-dancing the Lamborghini in a way that was terrifying the golden twin much to his red brother's amusement. "He worked himself hard this time."
"Not surprising." The tactician set his empty cube down, looking back at Ratchet, "He's not like Wheeljack who takes things in stride and rides the wave as it comes and will get back up without second thought if he trips. Ratchet will consider if he'll trip again before trying to stand back up."
"Hey guys!" Sunstreaker aimed a pleading look at the nearest group of Autobots. "Help?"
Ironhide shook his head, far from amused and instead rather concerned about the medic. "Ratchet, let go of the kid. You're gonna give him nightmares for orns to come."
The CMO glanced lazily to the weapons specialist, beaming a cheerful, playful smile to the red van. With the same ease as he had migrated from Mirage to Sunstreaker, Ratched moved over to Ironhide, wrapping his arms around the warrior's neck and proceeding to dance sensually against him.
Ironhide wasn't too phased, knowing it was the energon acting. However, the situation only made his concern grow. Ratchet was unlikely to drink more than one or two cubes of high-grade, and even when he drank more than that, it was unlikely for him to go get to this state of utter abandonment. Something had to be troubling him to wish to lose himself to the intoxicating pleasures of the high-grade energon.
"C'mon, Ratchet, you need to get some recharge." Ironhide wrapped his arms loosely around the white and red mech, trying to con him into allowing himself some much needed rest. What Ratchet did next, however, managed to prompt a collective gasp from all present.
Ironhide let out a muffled sound as he felt Ratchet's mouth covering his own with a lingering kiss. When the medical officer pulled away, he remained firmly perched against the larger red 'bot, swaying his body lazily to the music with a smug look on his features. "Not a g-good kissssser, are you?" He drawled with drunken amusement.
"What was that?" Ironhide called upon all his self control to keep himself from licking his lips to taste the traces of the kiss.
"Hu-mans call it a kiss, 'Hide." Ratchet's optics flickered and dimmed, going almost limp against the other mech's body, his coordination beginning to falter.
"Don't play fool with me. I know what a kiss is. You seriously need some recharge before you do somethin' stupid and wake up to regret it." Ironhide all but growled the words, holding the medic firmly against his frame for support. While he had been interested in Ratchet for a while, this wasn't exactly how he expected to approach the medic about his attraction.
"I'm fiiiine~" Ratchet grinned and brushed his lips along Ironhide's jawline, frowning as the red warrior pulled his head back to break the contact. The white mech pulled away and waved a hand in a disdainful way. He took a few steps away and looked around for another potential, unwilling dancing partner.
Ironhide growled in exasperation and stalked over to the medic, catching him by his wrist and pulling him back to scoop him in his arms. "You're going to get some recharge now, even if I have to chain you to that berth!"
Before Ratchet could protest, the weapons specialist stalked out of the recreation room. The remaining Autobots looked at each other in confusion before they decided to continue the party as if nothing had happened.
"Aww c'mon 'Hide. I waaas hav-havin' so much fun!" Ratchet protested but allowed the other Autobot to carry him to his dorm, red fingers playfully brushing the edge of Ironhide's helmet.
"You know what they say. Too much fun can be bad sometimes."
"Mmm... maybe w-we can have morrre fun at my dorm," the medic whispered playfully, studying the red mech's face carefully. He had always taken into account Ironhide's good looks despite his rough edges. The energon just made it easier to notice.
"I'd rather not."
Ratchet frowned again and rested his head on Ironhide's chest, remaining quiet for the rest of the trip to his private quarters.
"Code." Ironhide ordered once they reached Ratchet's dorm. The CMO punched the code, having to do it twice as his coordination faltered and typed the wrong code. With an exasperated sigh, Ironhide strode into the room, commanding the lights on and taking the white mech to the berth. "Now, get some good recharge. It'll do no good if you're too wasted to do your job tomorrow."
Ratchet let out a sour snort and curled up on his berth in a tight ball. Ironhide watched the medic for a moment before he reached hesitantly to touch his shoulder. "What?" The medic's voice was shaky.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Go away." Ratchet curled up tighter, a soft sob escaped him.
"Like slag it's nothin'." The weapons specialist sat on the berth by the curled mech, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing gently. "Somethin's been buggin' you, Ratchet. You're not normally like this. What's wrong?" Ironhide pulled the other gently against him and frowned deeply at the traces of fluid that had been leaking from the white mech's optics.
"It's just stress, ok?"
"Wanna talk about it?" The red van wrapped his arms gently around the shuddering medic, stroking the back of his helmet in a soothing way.
"Jusst... We a-almost lossst Prime and..." Ratchet confided his worries and problems as best as he could in his still heavily intoxicated state, breaking down against the red mech, fluid falling from his faceplates as if the stress was flowing out with it. All through his ranting, Ironhide's gentle embrace and soothing hand lent emotional support for his troubled spark.
When the medic had emptied his optics of all the fluid they could shed, he felt Ironhide nuzzle his head affectionately, prompting a tired look from the CMO. "S-sorry about that, 'Hide..."
"Nothin' to be sorry about. You have a big load on your shoulders, Ratchet. But you know, you don't have to keep it to yourself until you break down." The red mech smiled a caringly and tipped Ratchet's nose playfully. "You know you can come to me if you need someone to vent to."
"You k-know you'rrre irresistible when y-you're like this?" Ratchet smiled lightly, sliding his hands back to wrap around the weapons specialist's neck.
"Ratchet..." Ironhide warned but didn't pull away.
"Please, 'Hide..." Ratchet whispered heatedly as he brought his lips against Ironhide's, kissing him with longing. Despite his best attempts to keep a cool head, the red mech found himself giving into the kiss, responding the affection as he pulled the medic better against his frame.
"Please, 'Hide... t-take me..." Ratchet whispered against the warrior's lips, pressing his body tighter against Ironhide's.
"N-No." Ironhide broke the kiss gently, stroking Ratchet's face. "Not like this, I mean."
"W-what?"
"I am not takin' any 'That was the energon talking' in the mornin', Ratchet." He chuckled softly and brought the CMO's head up again for another kiss. "When you're not this fragged."
Ratchet smiled in genuine amusement, pulling away gently as he laid better on his berth. "S-stay with me at least?"
"Always." Ironhide smiled and moved to lay on the berth with Ratchet, pulling him against his frame. "Now get some recharge or you're going to be a sore aft in the morning."
"Yes, master." Ratchet snorted softly and cuddled against Ironhide, already feeling about ready to collapse for the night. He mumbled something softly before he finally fell into recharge mode.
Ironhide smiled a bit to himself, staying online for a while as he watched over the recharging mech before he decided to get some recharge of his own.
Rating: R
Pairings: Ironhide x Ratchet, implied Prowl x Jazz and Hound x Mirage.
Summary: G1 Sometime after the episode Divide and Conquer. Ratchet is stressed and his way to deal with it causes a certain red mech to worry.
Notes: This was inspired by a cousin of mine that is a doctor. During his first months in ER he went through something very similar to what Ratchet goes through in here. Though he obviously dealt with it in a different way.
Thanks to nkfloofiepoof for beta reading this for me.
The medical profession was one that entailed many satisfactions, hard work, and joy, but it also came with downsides -- Ratchet knew it first-hand. The degree of emotional detachment expected from a medic to perform with a cool head was something difficult to develop and even harder to master. It was a hard task for civilian medics, yet the mountain to climb was twice as big for a military medic. The emotional and psychological stress was a symbolic token offered upon pledging that oath.
To be one that played the role of a god and stop the course of untimely death to prolong the lifespan of a soul, perhaps interfering with what was meant to be. Sometimes, Ratchet felt he was playing with fate, and fate would one day find the time for its revenge. One day, his cares and expertise wouldn't be enough to salvage a comrade, a friend. That knowledge haunted him since the first day he saw action under the service of the Autobot army.
He was intense - he was perhaps too emotional under that cool, sometimes grumpy but endearing exterior; he was too attached to every single Autobot under his care. Losing any of them, even those who gave him grief, would fracture his very core, his very essence. One day he'd just brace himself and cry helplessly.
That day had almost come. He didn't show it at the time - his whole concentration had been on keeping Prime alive, buying time while other Autobots fought their way to acquire the item that would keep their leader alive. But when all was said and done, when Prime had defeated Megatron in a one-to-one match, when Ratchet was done tending to the injuries of his fellow comrades, the dam finally broke.
He was stressed, he was upset, he was afraid - afraid of not being good enough, afraid of tempting the fates too much, and afraid of trying and failing. But he couldn't do anything about it but keep trying, keep doing his job, and endure the weight that lurked in his spark. He was a medic. It was his duty -- his whole purpose in life was to save the lives of those who fought in a war they wished had never happened.
He didn't regret his choice at all. He was glad he was able to tend to and care for the brave fighters of the war. He couldn't help but feel a bit of satisfaction whenever a damaged 'bot left his med bay as good as new. He knew he was appreciated, even treasured among his peers for his efforts despite his lectures and cranky disposition. But the stress was taking its toll, and Ratchet needed a release.
And release was what he did. He had long forgotten how the mild celebration held in honor of Optimus' recovery had turned into a full blown party. Prime had excused himself early, requiring still plenty of recharge to get his systems back up in full force. The rest of the crew, save for those on patrol duty, remained in the party. Even Prowl had agreed to stay around and share drinks with his mate and other Autobots.
Ratchet, however, had interacted very little in the party. He had been in a corner all by himself, gulping down cube after cube of high-grade, driving himself slowly, but surely, into a state of intoxication that would hopefully cloud his mind and appease his troubled spark, if only temporarily.
A few more cubes of high-grade energon later, the medic was cracking a sour, humorless smile in direction of a group of Autobots dancing and flirting with each other. It was all innocent fun. Inhibitions were the first thing to leave when the high-grade energon kicked in. Sometimes, however, the flirts had more than just a little 'for fun' underneath. That had been the how Hound and Mirage ended up together.
The medic, devoid of all shame, decided to meld with the crowd and made his way with insecure steps towards the dancing group. The music was conveniently both catchy and sensuous, and the CMO needed little time to sway his body in accordance.
A couple of 'bots stopped their dancing to direct their attention to the dancing medic, evident to everyone with working optics that Ratchet was way gone with the high-grade. He smiled in a playful, almost seductive way to everyone that looked at him, swaying his body in a way nobody thought he could. Sensual and Ratchet were two words most Autobots would never consider to see together.
But there he was, sensually dancing to the catchy tune. Mirage gulped when the CMO's optics fixated on his frame, and just a few seconds later, Ratchet was right against him, swaying against him. Hound let out a whining sound and Mirage could do no more than give his lover an apologetic but somewhat amused look.
"Ohhh boy," Jazz chuckled as he looked at Ratchet dancing with Mirage. "Someone can't hold his energon."
"As long as he remembers Mirage isn't for the taking..." Hound trailed, a bit upset but trying to remain cool. "I hope he'll be somewhat functioning tomorrow. Wouldn't be good to be medicless."
"Let him be for now." Prowl sipped calmly on his energon cube. He had been sipping on the very same cube for hours, taking pleasure in drinking his high-grade slowly and savoring every bit of it. "He needs to let off some steam."
"Ya noticed it, too?" Jazz looked back to the medic who had migrated from Mirage to Sunstreaker, dirty-dancing the Lamborghini in a way that was terrifying the golden twin much to his red brother's amusement. "He worked himself hard this time."
"Not surprising." The tactician set his empty cube down, looking back at Ratchet, "He's not like Wheeljack who takes things in stride and rides the wave as it comes and will get back up without second thought if he trips. Ratchet will consider if he'll trip again before trying to stand back up."
"Hey guys!" Sunstreaker aimed a pleading look at the nearest group of Autobots. "Help?"
Ironhide shook his head, far from amused and instead rather concerned about the medic. "Ratchet, let go of the kid. You're gonna give him nightmares for orns to come."
The CMO glanced lazily to the weapons specialist, beaming a cheerful, playful smile to the red van. With the same ease as he had migrated from Mirage to Sunstreaker, Ratched moved over to Ironhide, wrapping his arms around the warrior's neck and proceeding to dance sensually against him.
Ironhide wasn't too phased, knowing it was the energon acting. However, the situation only made his concern grow. Ratchet was unlikely to drink more than one or two cubes of high-grade, and even when he drank more than that, it was unlikely for him to go get to this state of utter abandonment. Something had to be troubling him to wish to lose himself to the intoxicating pleasures of the high-grade energon.
"C'mon, Ratchet, you need to get some recharge." Ironhide wrapped his arms loosely around the white and red mech, trying to con him into allowing himself some much needed rest. What Ratchet did next, however, managed to prompt a collective gasp from all present.
Ironhide let out a muffled sound as he felt Ratchet's mouth covering his own with a lingering kiss. When the medical officer pulled away, he remained firmly perched against the larger red 'bot, swaying his body lazily to the music with a smug look on his features. "Not a g-good kissssser, are you?" He drawled with drunken amusement.
"What was that?" Ironhide called upon all his self control to keep himself from licking his lips to taste the traces of the kiss.
"Hu-mans call it a kiss, 'Hide." Ratchet's optics flickered and dimmed, going almost limp against the other mech's body, his coordination beginning to falter.
"Don't play fool with me. I know what a kiss is. You seriously need some recharge before you do somethin' stupid and wake up to regret it." Ironhide all but growled the words, holding the medic firmly against his frame for support. While he had been interested in Ratchet for a while, this wasn't exactly how he expected to approach the medic about his attraction.
"I'm fiiiine~" Ratchet grinned and brushed his lips along Ironhide's jawline, frowning as the red warrior pulled his head back to break the contact. The white mech pulled away and waved a hand in a disdainful way. He took a few steps away and looked around for another potential, unwilling dancing partner.
Ironhide growled in exasperation and stalked over to the medic, catching him by his wrist and pulling him back to scoop him in his arms. "You're going to get some recharge now, even if I have to chain you to that berth!"
Before Ratchet could protest, the weapons specialist stalked out of the recreation room. The remaining Autobots looked at each other in confusion before they decided to continue the party as if nothing had happened.
"Aww c'mon 'Hide. I waaas hav-havin' so much fun!" Ratchet protested but allowed the other Autobot to carry him to his dorm, red fingers playfully brushing the edge of Ironhide's helmet.
"You know what they say. Too much fun can be bad sometimes."
"Mmm... maybe w-we can have morrre fun at my dorm," the medic whispered playfully, studying the red mech's face carefully. He had always taken into account Ironhide's good looks despite his rough edges. The energon just made it easier to notice.
"I'd rather not."
Ratchet frowned again and rested his head on Ironhide's chest, remaining quiet for the rest of the trip to his private quarters.
"Code." Ironhide ordered once they reached Ratchet's dorm. The CMO punched the code, having to do it twice as his coordination faltered and typed the wrong code. With an exasperated sigh, Ironhide strode into the room, commanding the lights on and taking the white mech to the berth. "Now, get some good recharge. It'll do no good if you're too wasted to do your job tomorrow."
Ratchet let out a sour snort and curled up on his berth in a tight ball. Ironhide watched the medic for a moment before he reached hesitantly to touch his shoulder. "What?" The medic's voice was shaky.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Go away." Ratchet curled up tighter, a soft sob escaped him.
"Like slag it's nothin'." The weapons specialist sat on the berth by the curled mech, reaching for his shoulder and squeezing gently. "Somethin's been buggin' you, Ratchet. You're not normally like this. What's wrong?" Ironhide pulled the other gently against him and frowned deeply at the traces of fluid that had been leaking from the white mech's optics.
"It's just stress, ok?"
"Wanna talk about it?" The red van wrapped his arms gently around the shuddering medic, stroking the back of his helmet in a soothing way.
"Jusst... We a-almost lossst Prime and..." Ratchet confided his worries and problems as best as he could in his still heavily intoxicated state, breaking down against the red mech, fluid falling from his faceplates as if the stress was flowing out with it. All through his ranting, Ironhide's gentle embrace and soothing hand lent emotional support for his troubled spark.
When the medic had emptied his optics of all the fluid they could shed, he felt Ironhide nuzzle his head affectionately, prompting a tired look from the CMO. "S-sorry about that, 'Hide..."
"Nothin' to be sorry about. You have a big load on your shoulders, Ratchet. But you know, you don't have to keep it to yourself until you break down." The red mech smiled a caringly and tipped Ratchet's nose playfully. "You know you can come to me if you need someone to vent to."
"You k-know you'rrre irresistible when y-you're like this?" Ratchet smiled lightly, sliding his hands back to wrap around the weapons specialist's neck.
"Ratchet..." Ironhide warned but didn't pull away.
"Please, 'Hide..." Ratchet whispered heatedly as he brought his lips against Ironhide's, kissing him with longing. Despite his best attempts to keep a cool head, the red mech found himself giving into the kiss, responding the affection as he pulled the medic better against his frame.
"Please, 'Hide... t-take me..." Ratchet whispered against the warrior's lips, pressing his body tighter against Ironhide's.
"N-No." Ironhide broke the kiss gently, stroking Ratchet's face. "Not like this, I mean."
"W-what?"
"I am not takin' any 'That was the energon talking' in the mornin', Ratchet." He chuckled softly and brought the CMO's head up again for another kiss. "When you're not this fragged."
Ratchet smiled in genuine amusement, pulling away gently as he laid better on his berth. "S-stay with me at least?"
"Always." Ironhide smiled and moved to lay on the berth with Ratchet, pulling him against his frame. "Now get some recharge or you're going to be a sore aft in the morning."
"Yes, master." Ratchet snorted softly and cuddled against Ironhide, already feeling about ready to collapse for the night. He mumbled something softly before he finally fell into recharge mode.
Ironhide smiled a bit to himself, staying online for a while as he watched over the recharging mech before he decided to get some recharge of his own.