XFMR - Temptation, Frustration
Title: Temptation, Frustration
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Ratchet/First Aid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Inside her there's longing
This girl's an open page
Book marking She's so close now
This girl is half his age
Warnings: Mild age kink
Notes: Based (rather obviously) on the Police song, but it decided it wanted to go past the usual song meme size. If I knew diddly squat about the Protectobots, I'd keep going with it.
Table of Contents
o o o
Ratchet shuttered his optics briefly, looking away from his assistant. He had spent too much time away from the cultured, regulated halls of the Council; once upon a time, he'd never have even entertained the idea of any kind of relationship between himself and an underling beyond the strictly professional. But Optimus Prime had never had a use for such a restriction, and those that were around him enough found themselves thinking much the same way, and now he had his back to the white mech he was training, focusing inwardly to tamp down on the entirely inappropriate ideas floating through his processor.
They were all less than a vorn old, the young transformers who'd been born during Sam Witwicky's mad dash through Mission City. By all rights, they should barely be coherent, but they had been born fully developed. Naive, but the long phases of forming their personalities, as naturally born sparklings did, had been skipped. They were bright, helpful mechs, brave and resourceful, and they had taken the role of protecting the humans on Earth with a vigor few of the Cybertronians could match.
And they were all incredibly attractive, by Cybertronian standards.
Ratchet had taken one under his wing with the intent of training a new medic. His intentions, however, seemed to want to take a rather heated turn, completely without his permission. His attraction wasn't completely unwarranted - there were very few mechs who wouldn't look twice at the youngsters, and they were all genuinely likable, as far as personality went. But this desire, thick and potent, was too much, was too far out of the bounds of the acceptable.
It wasn't helped by the fact that, in their naivety, the youths often said things or did things that, from any other mech, would be flirtatious and openly inviting. They couldn't possibly know the effect they were having on others, that even Ratchet's shy assistant could work a battle-hardened mech into a frenzy of overheating circuits with just a few words and a sweet smile and-
Slim white hands in his vision, taking his own hands, working open the clenched-tight digits. "You can't do this to yourself," came the gentle chide. "Your hands are too precious to grind into scrap. What's wrong?"
Too close, all innocent concern and somehow knowing how to stand just so, showing off every lovely line of his form. Ratchet should have been pulling away, distancing himself from the gentle, maddening hands massaging the kinks out of his palms. "Nothing is wrong," he said instead, not looking into those trusting optics. "Just a bit of frustration I need to work out."
"Hm, well," a drop in tone; lower, inviting. "Can I help?"
There was no way he could mistake that for naive helpfulness. There was no way he could mistake the way those hands ran over his wrists, clumsy in inexperience but willing. There was no mistaking the look on his assistant's face as he stepped even closer. "No," Ratchet murmured, half-heartedly trying to tug his hands away, to step back. "No, you shouldn't, I shouldn't-"
First Aid followed his steps, never letting Ratchet break full contact. "You know," he said, wrapping a hand around the guards on Ratchet's chest. "We're not nearly as young as our age would suggest." Ratchet thought about that for a moment before his arms came up to encircle the younger mech, and even though First Aid's brothers would probably kill him for this, he could no longer resist.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Ratchet/First Aid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Inside her there's longing
This girl's an open page
Book marking She's so close now
This girl is half his age
Warnings: Mild age kink
Notes: Based (rather obviously) on the Police song, but it decided it wanted to go past the usual song meme size. If I knew diddly squat about the Protectobots, I'd keep going with it.
Table of Contents
o o o
Ratchet shuttered his optics briefly, looking away from his assistant. He had spent too much time away from the cultured, regulated halls of the Council; once upon a time, he'd never have even entertained the idea of any kind of relationship between himself and an underling beyond the strictly professional. But Optimus Prime had never had a use for such a restriction, and those that were around him enough found themselves thinking much the same way, and now he had his back to the white mech he was training, focusing inwardly to tamp down on the entirely inappropriate ideas floating through his processor.
They were all less than a vorn old, the young transformers who'd been born during Sam Witwicky's mad dash through Mission City. By all rights, they should barely be coherent, but they had been born fully developed. Naive, but the long phases of forming their personalities, as naturally born sparklings did, had been skipped. They were bright, helpful mechs, brave and resourceful, and they had taken the role of protecting the humans on Earth with a vigor few of the Cybertronians could match.
And they were all incredibly attractive, by Cybertronian standards.
Ratchet had taken one under his wing with the intent of training a new medic. His intentions, however, seemed to want to take a rather heated turn, completely without his permission. His attraction wasn't completely unwarranted - there were very few mechs who wouldn't look twice at the youngsters, and they were all genuinely likable, as far as personality went. But this desire, thick and potent, was too much, was too far out of the bounds of the acceptable.
It wasn't helped by the fact that, in their naivety, the youths often said things or did things that, from any other mech, would be flirtatious and openly inviting. They couldn't possibly know the effect they were having on others, that even Ratchet's shy assistant could work a battle-hardened mech into a frenzy of overheating circuits with just a few words and a sweet smile and-
Slim white hands in his vision, taking his own hands, working open the clenched-tight digits. "You can't do this to yourself," came the gentle chide. "Your hands are too precious to grind into scrap. What's wrong?"
Too close, all innocent concern and somehow knowing how to stand just so, showing off every lovely line of his form. Ratchet should have been pulling away, distancing himself from the gentle, maddening hands massaging the kinks out of his palms. "Nothing is wrong," he said instead, not looking into those trusting optics. "Just a bit of frustration I need to work out."
"Hm, well," a drop in tone; lower, inviting. "Can I help?"
There was no way he could mistake that for naive helpfulness. There was no way he could mistake the way those hands ran over his wrists, clumsy in inexperience but willing. There was no mistaking the look on his assistant's face as he stepped even closer. "No," Ratchet murmured, half-heartedly trying to tug his hands away, to step back. "No, you shouldn't, I shouldn't-"
First Aid followed his steps, never letting Ratchet break full contact. "You know," he said, wrapping a hand around the guards on Ratchet's chest. "We're not nearly as young as our age would suggest." Ratchet thought about that for a moment before his arms came up to encircle the younger mech, and even though First Aid's brothers would probably kill him for this, he could no longer resist.