TF: Activities in the Supply Rooms
Series: G1
Rating: R almost
Pairing: Ratchet/Wheeljack
Summary: Inventory is boring. Inventory in the dark is problematic. Although Wheeljack has plans to take inventory of something else… namely Ratchet.
Warnings: PWP? Without a lot of P…
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: Written after the bunny bit and produced a small snippet in response to a comment by kookaburra1701 to my last fic ( Infernol Problems). And of course, I was prodded *looks at mmouse15* into writing this… *grins* Not that I’m complaining mind you!
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
The Decepticons were quiet after their recent battle. The Autobots were taking the time to relax and enjoy the quiet.
Well, all except those who still had work to do.
Ratchet grumbled to himself, almost envying those who were laughing and joking in the rec room. He didn’t get that luxury, instead forcing himself to spend the time cataloguing the remaining medical supplies. His only consolation was that Wheeljack had elected to join him.
“Ratch’, stop grumbling. You know you’d only complain if ya didn’t get this done now.” Ratchet straightened, putting down his datapad and turning to glare at Wheeljack.
“You don’t have to be here you know.” Far too many hours of taking inventory had left him tired and cranky. All he wanted to do was go back to their quarters to refuel and recharge. But he couldn’t, not until he’d finished this supply room.
“I know. Wanted to help.” Wheeljack wasn’t at all fazed by the tone in Ratchet’s vocaliser, retorting cheerily.
“Then shut up and help.” Ratchet snorted to himself and picked up his datapad, bending back over the box he was examining.
Then the lights went off.
“What the frag?” Startled, Ratchet dropped the datapad in the box.
“Looks like the power’s out. Comms are out too.”
“Just slagging great.” Stomping his way to the door in the dark, Ratchet tried to open it.
“Won’t work Ratch’.” Ratchet growled in reply, jumping again as Wheeljack came up behind him to rest one hand on his shoulder.
“So we’re stuck here?” The tone of his vocaliser was flat.
“Yup. Can think of worse places to be stuck though.” Despite the situation, Wheeljack was still cheerful. “I expect they’ve already got Grapple or Hoist working on it.”
“Hmpf.” Carefully, Wheeljack turned Ratchet around, both hands now resting on the medic’s shoulders.
“Least there are worse people to be stuck with.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yeah…” Wheeljack murmured, leaning up to kiss Ratchet, hoping to cut off any further protests. It didn’t work.
“I am not doing this here ‘Jack.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a supply room!”
“A spacious locked supply room.” Wheeljack pointed out, reaching up to run his fingers across Ratchet’s chevron, smirking at the tremble that ran through the medic’s frame.
“So?”
“So we take advantage. We’re locked in here with nothing better to do.”
“We can continue taking inventory. Our optics do work in the dark.” Ratchet reminded him dryly.
“Not half as much fun as what I have in mind…” Wheeljack stroked his fingers back across Ratchet’s chevron before dropping his hand back down to the medic’s shoulder.
“You are insatiable.” Ratchet muttered, though there was no real heat behind his words.
“And ya love me for it.” Wheeljack grinned up at him, leaning in for another kiss. Ratchet didn’t reply, capturing Wheeljack’s lips with his own. Wheeljack managed a small smug sound before it turned into a moan as Ratchet’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him as close as their frames would allow. Talented fingers worked their way under plating and Wheeljack soon forgot about anything else other than how good Ratchet’s fingers felt tweaking his wiring just like that. He arched against the medic, paint scraping and metal squealing, but he didn’t care. Through the heady sensations, he managed to lift his hands to reciprocate, fingers finding a sensitive junction at Ratchet’s hip causing the medic to gasp and his hands to falter momentarily.
When (or indeed how) they managed to move away from the door and collapse on the floor, legs entwined and fingers scrabbling and smoothing across plating, neither of them were sure.
Ratchet found himself pinned under Wheeljack, twisting and writhing as the engineer sought to find all his hotspots one after another giving his systems little chance to recover between each assault. His hands rested on the engineer’s thighs, fingers spasming in the wiring, sending pulses of pleasure through Wheeljack’s systems. His cooling systems were quickly failing as his internal temperature soared, electricity racing through his circuits.
However much he may grumble about Wheeljack, there was no denying how compatible they were. No denying how easily his systems would head towards overload as the engineer deftly manipulated wires and flared his energy field.
Of course, Wheeljack would say exactly the same thing about him. Ratchet had a medic’s knowledge of a mech’s systems and used that to his advantage, caressing innocent sensor nodes and sending pleasure shooting straight to his spark.
They battled for dominance, neither giving up, both distracting the other by pleasant manipulation of energy fields, tweaks of wires, rolling with each other as they moved to new positions. Straddling Wheeljack’s hips, Ratchet allowed himself a smug smile before leaning back down to nuzzle the engineer’s helmet, murmuring against his audio. Wheeljack bucked as a hand slipped underneath his plating, stroking along fuel and coolant lines, brushing past sensor nodes and setting them alight with a simple touch. It was all he could do not to whimper. He turned his head, nipping gently at the fuel lines exposed in Ratchet’s neck, using the pause of surprise to flip their positions once more.
“That was low.” Ratchet muttered, breaking off into a soft moan as Wheeljack’s energy field rippled insistently at his.
“Sorry.” Wheeljack mumbled, sounding anything but sorry as he nuzzled against Ratchet’s neck, flaring his field out again, tangling it against Ratchet’s.
They both gasped at the sensations, the teasing and battle for dominance over, replaced by overwhelming need. Ratchet pleaded with Wheeljack, head thrown back as he surrendered to his feelings.
“’Jack, please, link, please.” He couldn’t construct a sentence, just needy words, his hands running feverishly over Wheeljack’s plating. Wheeljack nodded slowly, letting out a whimper as Ratchet’s hand brushed against his port. Slowly, they linked, cable to cable, fans humming as their systems synched.
The tender caresses continued, carrying them higher and higher, pleasure racing through their systems. They arched against one another, frames scraping and squealing, but neither of them caring; attention focussed inwards on the link they now shared, feelings and thoughts flowing back and forth.
Fingers brushed against sensors and wires, teasing and tormenting. Sounds of roaring engines filled the supply room, punctuated by moans and whimpers and pleadings for oh yes please more Primus.
Ratchet’s systems failed first; his engine redlining and warnings flashing in his vision as he reached his overload. The backwash over the link forced Wheeljack into his own and they slumped together, armor pinging as it cooled.
They both came back online slowly, systems resetting themselves, both registering the intrusion of the other at the same moment. Their hands collided as they both moved to detach the cables connecting them.
“Let me…” Wheeljack murmured, before unplugging Ratchet from his systems, reaching to disconnect himself. Once their cables were neatly packed away, they snuggled against one another, simply enjoying the moment.
The moment which was broken by the lights flaring back on, causing both of them to turn their optic sensitivity down.
They scrambled to their feet moments before the door was opened and Grapple, Hoist and Bluestreak peered in.
“Are you two okay? Because I accidentally shorted out all of the Ark’s power systems when I tried to play that new game Spike’s got and everyone was shut in their rooms or offices and I’m sure…” Ratchet wearily held up a hand to stop Bluestreak’s run-on sentence.
“We’re fine Bluestreak.” He nodded to Hoist and Grapple, silently thanking them for their assistance.
“We’re just great Bluestreak! Thanks Grapple, thanks Hoist. Guess we’ll just carry on with the inventory now the power’s back!” Ratchet mentally cursed, knowing that Bluestreak in particular would wonder what they’d been doing during the power outage.
“Well we’ll let you get back to your work.” Hoist nodded and gently pulled Bluestreak away from the door.
Once the door had closed, Ratchet turned to Wheeljack.
“I am never letting you talk me into anything like that again!”
“Hey now Ratch’. Didn’t exactly talk ya into it.” Grumbling, Ratchet turned back to pick up his datapad, almost dropping it again when Wheeljack wrapped his arms around him.
“Besides… you ain’t gonna tell me you don’t wanna do that again are you?” He murmured against Ratchet’s audio, pressing a kiss to the top of his spinal strut before retreating to the other side of the room to resume the inventory. Ratchet watched him go.
“No, no I’m not.” He said softly.