Smutty fluff, or perhaps fluffy smut?
This universe has been ignored far too long (this pairing has been ignored far too long!), I think, and this fic has been sitting in my hard drive unfinished longer. That, and I'm just too friggin' happy to be working on Star Crossed. ^^;
I think I've got only one more Prowl/Ratchet piece in mind for this verse (provided no further bunnies bite me), there are other stories to be told. Other hubs to be explored. And a main storyline to actually write. XD
Title Fidelity to Two
Pairing Prowl/Ratchet
Okami 'verse Elita
Warning Infidelity (as it applies to Tfs in Okami's head)
Summary Prowl + Ratchet + Smutty Fluff = Summary (aka plot is overrated)
Author's Note For much of my fiction (apparently with the exception of Star Crossed), the Autobots (haven't played enough with the D-cons to say) have a different interpretation of (in)fidelity. Kissing and seamstroking another mech/femme is in no way betraying one's lover/bonded. Interfacing, while frowned upon still is too commonly used for data transference to be considered wrong. But sparkplay is a whole other level. It is reserved for lovers and bondmates, and to share your spark with another even the tiniest bit is the worst betrayal.
Prowl looked up when Ratchet stormed into his office.
The CMO glared at him, optics blazing with his ire. “Prowl! What the slag is this?” A datapad clattered across Prowl's desk. “What makes you think I have the time to attend a slagging stupid charity event.”
Giving the datapad a cursory glance, Prowl twitched his doorwings up, clasping his hands before him. “It is for a children's hospital in Montana. Do you not want to go?”
Ratchet crossed his arms over his windshield chest. “I can’t be spared from the medbay for that long.”
Prowl's doorwings twitched again and he tilted his head, his expression inscrutable. “The Decepticons are currently incapacitated. Is Wheeljack incapable of handling the situation while you are gone?”
Red hands flung up in the air, beseeching patience from the air. “You can't ask me to leave the whole slagging 'bay to Wheeljack! He has his own responsibilities.”
White fingers clicked together, and Prowl's expression never changed. “And I suppose that First Aid and Perceptor are nuts and bolts?”
The crash of a fist landing upon the desk resounded through the room. “Fraggit, 'Aid's only a junior medic! And Perceptor! Don’t even get me started on him!”
Prowl allowed his lips to turn down, and his doorwings to lower. “I suppose that I shall have to ask First Aid to accompany me instead, then.”
“...what?”
Prowl's brow ridges lifted and he shrugged. “Well, if you do not wish to go...
Ratchet glared fit to peel paint. “Fraggit, you never said you were going!” The white arms crossed over the boxy chest again.
Wide optics stared innocently up at Ratchet. “I never said I wasn't.”
“...who else is coming?”
Another shrug. “The Decepticons are incapacitated.” Prowl picked up the datapad Ratchet had thrown, extending it toward the medic. “They will also be dealing with inexplicable leaks for the next few days. Therefore, we should be safe without an escort. And even so, it is within range of the Aerialbots.”
Ratchet took the datapad, his optics blazing, but his systems were rumbling with barely contained laughter. “If I wasn’t so fragged at you, I'd kiss you.”
The executive commander didn't bother to hide the smirk from his face.
****
Prowl decided that this was the best idea he had come up with since they had came online on Earth. (As this was Prowl, it was the best of many great ideas.) He and Ratchet had joined this particular crew specifically for the opportunity to see each other more often, but between the expectations of their duties and the supposed fidelity of Prowl to his bondmate that had never happened.
The hot summer sun warmed up the fuel in their tanks, and the plating over their bodies. The greenery offered little shade over the road they traveled, the branches thinned by humans pruning their growth. The winding road intermittently cast them in the shadows of the mountains and then curved into the full heat of the rising sun.
They were behind schedule, Prowl realized when they hadn't reached the coordinates he had predicted they'd be at by this time. They had even been traveling faster than initially planned to make up for time lost in reassuring themselves that things would be taken care of in their absence.
Surprisingly enough, it had been Raoul who had motivated them out the door, with his unknowing quip about a couple of parents ensuring the babysitter knew everything. Optimus had assisted by abruptly evicting the pair and telling them not to come back inside unless they wanted him to ‘sic the Dinobots on their afts’.
They both had decided that it would be prudent to start their far too delayed trip.
Thankfully, Prowl had planned this out to last a few days
As evening encroached to twilight, they pulled off the main roads, no longer finding shade within the mountains looming over them. They climbed a dirt path that led to their layover for the night. The sun slowly sank toward the distant horizon, and Prowl edged up to Ratchet’s bumper, nudging him to go faster.
He didn’t want to miss the sunset.
They went through a small pass, barely big enough for Ratchet’s clunky form and then climbed another ridge. Halfway up the mountain, Prowl stopped them at a large outlook. They edged onto the loose dirt, stopping with their rear wheels still situated on the packed earth that constituted the road. They sat there, and watched the sky blossom with red and orange flames above the trees. A forest fire within the heavens. It sent chills across his plating to see those colors cast above such fragile wood. Even in his practical processors the similarities were too close.
Ratchet suddenly leaned closer, brushing his side against Prowl’s. The ambulance’s engine turned off with a relieved sigh of his vents. Prowl shut his own engine off, dropping on his shocks to lean against Ratchet’s side.
They watched the horizon, until the color bled from the sky and not even any warmth remained from the day. Then they inched off the outlook and Prowl led Ratchet down another mountain path.
Ratchet transformed, eying the entrance to the cave that Prowl sat in front of. “You don’t actually expect me to go in there? It’s…”
Prowl transformed, and pulled out the makings for a canopy. “No, Ratchet. Only if it rains, or if Decepticons appear.” He smiled at the medic. “Though I’d rather not have to crawl in there, myself.” He began to put the canopy together, boring holes for the posts with his fingers and then packing the dirt tight around the poles. Ratchet strung the canopy up, the thick tarp a shield against scanners. They sat under it, leaning against the rocks to stare up at the night sky.
“This is nice,” Ratchet sighed, pulling out his goody canister and offering Prowl the first that one that popped out.
Prowl looked at Ratchet from under his chevron, the blue of his optics shading the bottom edge of the stick purple. He glanced at the goody and then back at Ratchet. His systems cycled a little louder, and he turned, curling his fingers around Ratchet’s knuckle joints. Slowly, easily, he reached up and set his dental plates into the stick, dragging it out of the canister, careful not to break the stick in his mouth.
He offered the stick to Ratchet, the plastic scraping against Ratchet’s lips.
The medic’s intakes hitched, but he pulled away. Preferring Prowl to take the first one.
Prowl didn’t draw his face away, but the stick slid the rest of the way into his mouth; concentrated energon glowing briefly between his dental plates before sliding down his tracheal tubing. Ratchet took the opportunity to take another stick out, holding it between his dental plates as Prowl had done.
Prowl vented softly, leaning forward to accept the half Ratchet offered him. He closed his lips around the goody, stroking the back of Ratchet’s hand as he broke the stick in half.
Ratchet jerked back, energon dribbling down his chin. His optics brightened in surprised and he reached up with his free hand to wipe up the spilt energon.
Prowl caught Ratchet’s hand, pushing it away from the now pink chin. He stared intently at the glowing fluid as he leaned forward, tips of his doorwings quivering with anticipation. One white hand reached up to brush the medic’s jaw hinge, his mouth catching the energon that dripped off Ratchet’s chin.
Ratchet dimmed his optics, stroking his hands over the Datsun’s canopy, and the wide panels at his back. Primus he loved those doorwings. He loved what touching them did to Prowl. So he spread his hands over the black and white panels, creeping his fingers up their bottom edge and stroking one finger over the corner.
Prowl stiffened in Ratchet’s arms, his lips on the medic’s chin. He stared at Ratchet until his optics dimmed and he shuddered against the medic’s chest. His dental plates scraped at the white chin, and then he kissed Ratchet, making small needy sounds and arching his back into the red hands.
Ratchet dimmed his optics as Prowl’s hands slid over the transformation seams at his waist. The tactician moved closer, climbing onto the medic’s lap to reach around Ratchet’s back and under his canopy. Ratchet hissed, clenching the doorwings only to drop his hands and grab at Prowl's waist, his fingers denting the black metal. Eagerly he returned the kiss, ventilators cycling in desperate bursts to cool his systems. Prowl's lips sliding over his own sent surges through his face sensors, reaching deep down to his torso and equilibrium sensor. The world spun about him, and yet Prowl remained as a steady pillar in his needful world.
Ratchet abruptly pushed him away, but only so that he could reach the tactician's neck cables, mouthing and nipping the wires, and making the smaller frame tremble under his hands.
Prowl moaned, rolling his head to give Ratchet better access. White fingers probing the medic's seams with eager hands.
Red hands gripped Prowl's waist, kneading the sensors there and drawing a soft whine from Prowl's vocalizer. They kissed again, pinging their hands over each other's bodies in a moaning game of finding the other's most sensitive spots first. Their ventilations shuddered their frames and their engines revved, Ratchet's deep rumble counter pointing Prowl's high performance whine.
A name slipped through the tactician's lips, and for a spark-stopping moment Ratchet thought it had been the name of a femme that was the part of Prowl's existence that Ratchet had always wished to be.
Prowl paused, catching the hitch in the medic's engine. “I'm here with you,” he nuzzled Ratchet's jaw, kissing soft reassurances across the strong chin, “I'm here, right where I want to be, Ratch.” He pressed the medic to the hard ground, straddling the red and white mech just below his chestplate.
Ratchet dimmed his optics, scraping his fingers across Prowl's knee seams. Then the tactician stroked his lips across the edges of Ratchet's chevron. Ratchet jerked at the unexpected sensation, his hands spasming on Prowl's legs. A guttural groan slipped out of his engine as Prowl repeated the caress. Ratchet pawed at the Datsun's bumper, seeking the cable that lay just under the black armor. He pressed into the small cavity, dragging his large fingers over the cable in an unsuccessful attempt to snag the wire.
Prowl kissed Ratchet, his mouth dominating the medic's, and he pressed the ambulance into the ground. He dug under Ratchet's chestplate, smiling as Ratchet scraped his fingers at the stubbornly stationary cable. He grabbed Ratchet's cable, laughing within his throat as he twirled the wire in his fingers. He trailed his lips down to Ratchet's neck, making the medic writhe under him as he shoved the interface into his port, barely waiting for the connection to be established before dominating it.
Data poured through the interface, making Ratchet's fingers curl and finally snag that pesky cable. His firewalls flashed briefly in alarm before they dropped. His ventilators rushed with the effort to cool his systems, Prowl’s presence within his processor working him into a frenzy that he couldn’t seem to calm. His hands shook, unable to place Prowl’s plug into his port. He writhed under the Datsun’s touch, feet biting into the mountain soil and plowing up a layer of dirt. Still Prowl kissed him senseless, his lips meeting the fevered, desperate need with his own desire and his own passion.
Prowl finally seemed to realize Ratchet’s dilemma, and guided his plug into the other’s port, digging his fingers into the sensitive hands and eliciting excited, panting whimpers from the larger mech's vocalizer and excited revs from his engines.
Ratchet initialized the system, and then plunged himself into Prowl’s CPU, scraping against the tactician’s firewalls before they dissolved in recognition. A glitching cry erupted from Prowl’s vocalizer and he scrabbled at Ratchet’s seams, trying to bring out that same sound from the medic.
Ratchet grunted and groaned under the assault, until he latched onto the wide panels on Prowl’s back, rubbing his fingers over the edges. Prowl jumped in surprise, and then huddled over Ratchet, unable to do more than sporadic ventilations and shivering twitches.
Ghostly sensations at his shoulders echoed off of the stimulation of Prowl’s doorwings. Ratchet threw his head back, moaning as the tactician shared the experience with Ratchet through their interface. What he couldn’t do with his hands, he did through their connection, activating sensors along Ratchet’s side.
Ratchet froze as Prowl unlocked his chestplate, feeling the tactician opening his own chestplate. He sent an alarmed query through their interface, wide optics staring at his lover. In the absence of Ratchet stimulating his doorwings, Prowl moved, fingers sliding under Ratchet's chestplate to open the most armored panel on the mech's body.
Ratchet seized his lover's hands, earning a frown from the tactician. “You shouldn't.”
The doorwings twitched, but Prowl's expression remained immutable. Yet he didn't ask 'Why?' he didn't need to, not only did Ratchet's reasoning pulse through their interface, but Prowl was hardly what one would call 'stupid' or 'ignorant'. “There is no one here to know.”
Ratchet's fingers tightened. “I'll know.”
Prowl's doorwings drooped, and his optics dimmed, despair flooding his face. “Elita may hold my spark, but it is you that deserve it.” Prowl almost seemed to sag, listing to one side. “Let me give you what I am able. Let me play my spark over yours even though they will never twine.”
Ratchet's tight grip turned into a calming caress, and he tucked his chin down. “What's this about? This isn't like you. This trip, what you're doing here. You've been avoiding me since Prime came back.”
Prowl's head lifted, letting him look at Ratchet from under his chevron. “He believes he owes me an apology, and he wishes to share a message from Elita. I desire neither of them from him.”
Ratchet laughed, and Prowl's doorwings twitched up, an insulted air falling across his demeanor.
“So you're avoiding him.”
The white hands turned over, stroking Ratchet's palms. “I owed this to you.”
Surges shuddered through Ratchet’s frame and he groaned, but his fingers curled over the white hand, stopping the stimulating caresses. “It’s wrong.”
Prowl pulled his hands out of Ratchet’s lax grip. “Is it?” The tactician leaned closer, his lips brushing Ratchet’s audio receiver. “When my spark was yours to begin with? When it is Elita who is the interloper on our relationship? If you will not let me give this to you, then give it to me. Let me have this.” As he spoke he pulled at Ratchet’s chestplate, lifting the massive piece of metal and letting it fall back on its hinges.
Ratchet caught Prowl’s wrists again, rushing air through his vents to give himself a moment to think. What Prowl said… it made sense. Though that came as no surprise from the mech that had scored highest on any tactical evaluations in the academy, who’d been built with war in mind.
Prowl kissed Ratchet again, the smell of heated metal strong in the medic’s sensors as Prowl pleaded with desperate lips on Ratchet’s, scraping and caressing over the white metal, the closest to begging his pride would allow him. Prowl still sorted through Ratchet’s processor, pouring through the medic like a slick liquid, or even the finest sand. Ratchet retaliated, tweaking Prowl’s systems as he wove his way through lines of code until he found his target.
Prowl arched his torso toward Ratchet, jerking away with a startled gasp, optics opening wide and bright. His chest plate rose, using the same system that dropped him into car mode. Blue light pulsed out from the undercarriage, and another light echoed from Ratchet’s open chest.
Prowl dropped forward, letting his chestplate cover this most intimate act. Both mechs cried out as their sparks touched, sending static through their sensors and surges through their internal systems.
Even in the grip of one of their most intense overloads since coming online on Earth, Prowl still whispered through Ratchet’s processor, emotions he couldn’t put into words.
They lay side by side, fingers caressing over sensitive seams. Dim optics watched each other, cables tucked into their appropriate holding areas and chestplates replaced. Ratchet leaned toward the face pressed close to his own, placing light kisses over the tactician’s cheek seams and chin. Prowl moaned, his hands twitching on Ratchet’s side.
“This was a good idea, Prowl.”
“Mmhmm,” came the drowsy response.
Ratchet smirked, rubbing their nasal ridges together and the unresponsive frame closer. “Next time could you let me in on your idea ahead of time, maybe?”
Prowl draped an arm over Ratchet’s shoulder, pressing a kiss against the corner of Ratchet’s mouth. “Not as fun then.”
“…slagger.”