Rating: M
Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Recovery
“Brother..... Missing Ratchet are I.”
Jetfire turned his helm at the
sorrowful whisper, looking at his twin. Jetstorm laid across the roof
of the bulkhead with him, but the blue flyer's visor was dim and a
dark blue, fixated firmly on the stars twinkling above them. Unsure
of what to say himself, the orange youngling turned his helm back to
the sky, watching as the occasional space craft drifted past his line
of sight. It had been two whole orns since they had been back on
Cybertron -nearly a whole decacycle of traveling before that. Though
they were glad to be back home, the younglings were just beginning to
realize how lonely it all was.
“Same are I, brother,” Jetfire
replied after a klik, “....Missing of Earth as well are I.”
Jetstorm did not answer, but his twin
could feel his own feelings of that statement over the bond. Being on
Earth had been such a new experience for the flyers. Not only had
they met Ratchet, the love their sparks, but they had also met
Optimus and the others. They had begun making friends with the other
mechs, and even the strange techno-organic that came over to the
Autobot warehouse often. But that was not all: the planet itself was
amazing. All the different organisms, living together in a
never-ending, overlapping existence. Each one varying from the
next..... there was so much diversity among the humans, yet through
it all, there was a sort of acceptance for their fellow man. Even if
he was a giant, bald-headed, big-nosed man with spotty skin.
He was not judged and then prosecuted
for his own biological coding; ostracized and despised by all others
afterwards.
The jettwins, who were very much
grateful for the life they had now, had also been made suddenly aware
of how different life on Cybertron was from life on Earth. The
accident at the energon farm had almost offlined them both.....
Perceptor and Wheeljack had rebuilt them, as per order of the Elite
Guard, imbedding decepticon coding into their own CNA and giving them
new forms. To fly was an exhilarating feeling, heightened because
they were the only ones who could do so, and that made them equals
with the opposite faction's jets. Within the Council, the younglings
were respected and treated like the junior soldiers that they were.
Outside....
Outside, they were hated and despised,
feared and ignored. The citizens of Cybertron had spent eons knowing
that anything that could fly was not to be trusted, and sooner shot
dead before it could shoot you first. Never mind that Jetfire and
Jetstorm bore the Autobot symbol proudly; the rest did not care, and
made it quite apparent the last time the younglings had attempted to
sneak out for some fun. They were not wanted or cared for..... in
fact, the jettwins were thought to be abominations.
How many cried out that they should be
offlined, the flyers wondered.
Cybertron was their home, but when it
refused to acknowledge your existence or even willingly accept you,
how could you hold onto the feeling of warmth and comfort such a
place used to bring you? It made for a very lonely place.....
“Come brother,” Jetfire mumbled,
pushing himself up. The orange youngling looked to his twin, forcing
a smile to his face. His spark was still heavy with sad thoughts, and
he could feel the same in Jetstorm's. “Let us train go.”
Jetstorm turned his gaze to his
brother. “Not wanting go to are I....,” the blue jet replied.
Jetfire released a heavy intake, the smile on his face growing a
little more sincere.
“Knowing are I, Jetstorm,” the
other flyer said. He held out his servo for Jetstorm to take;
gripping his brother's servo and yanking the blue youngling to his
pedes. “Training be fun, remember. Take processor from Ratchet off.
Afterwards then, may of the being find Jazz..... make trip to Earth
going soon, perhaps.”
Jetstorm's visor flared a little bit at
the suggestion of returning to Earth. He hugged his brother tightly,
resting his helm on the other's shoulder plating. With their chassis
pressed tightly together, he could almost feel Jetfire's spark, and
it soothed him greatly. Waves of love and concern flowed to him over
their bond; mixed in with the swirls of sadness, loneliness and fear.
Jetfire stroked his wings, and the blue
flyer gripped his brother tighter to him response, a small smile
coming to his lip components. “Right of all being brother,”
Jetstorm said. “Go for training, will I.”
The orange youngling's engine rumbled a
little within; spark pulsing joyfully as he felt the smile return to
his twin's faceplates. “Good of knowing. Let going us now.”
xxXxXxx
He was back on Cybertron.
Ratchet felt his spark whirl excitedly,
optics snapping from one titanium building to the next in rapid
succession. The string of glowing blue lights, mixed between reds,
greens and yellows blazed brilliantly just before the canvas of
far-away stars. On his left, almost seen in the distance was the
spacebridge nexus; to his right, the spiralling Towers of upper
Iacon. And all around him was the sound of rotating gears,
crankshafts, hissing pistons, the thrum of vocalizers and the scent
of recycled oil.
Every single one, the signs of home.
The CMO wanted to laugh. He was almost
tempted to throw his helm back and twirl in place -he was that
ecstatic! It had been almost a couple vorns since he had last touched
his planet's steel..... a long enough time to even begin missing the
dark, dank sewer system. A cry dragged the medic from his bliss
though; sounds of some sort of commotion taking place the next street
over. Frowning at the interruption, Ratchet stomped on over to the
location. He was just in time to see the flashing of tailpipes as
other 'bots ran from the vicinity, leaving behind a red femme and a
giant, hulking white mech.
“Ewwww,” the femme said, “Step on
it!”
“H-hey!,” came another, smaller
voice of protest. It sounded oddly familiar to Ratchet....
The medic watched for a moment as the
bigger mech lifted his pede, stomping it down on the ground several
times before the CMO realized that the little shadow ducking out from
the giant pede was none other than Captain Fanzone. The human tripped
over his own feet as he yet again tried his best to avoid getting
squashed; the shadow of the large Autobot's pede hovering over his
curled up form.
This was just getting out of hand! A
magnetic beam crossed the street, tangling about the mech's pede and
keeping it from dropping on the poor Captain. “No 'bot is stepping
on anyone!,” the ambulance exclaimed. Transforming to alt-mode,
Ratchet flung his passenger door open, allowing the flustered Fanzone
to climb inside and away from his would-be murders. Tires squealing,
the CMO hurried into the next available street.
“I can't believe we're on Cybertron,”
the old 'bot was saying to himself, hidden faceplates grinning in
uncontainable glee. “Of all the places we transwarped.... This is
great!!”
xxXxXxx
It was a dull day.
Jetfire and Jetstorm walked slowly from
the training halls of Metroplex, conversing silently over their bond.
Their limbs felt heavy and their joints a little sore, but it did not
compare to the exhaustion in their processors. Typical Sentinel
refused to go to Earth again any time soon. Still being under the
truck's command, the flyers weren't even able to garner another team
for the trip and had to comply to every single demand that their
commander made. Thankfully, the blue Prime was being too power-happy
with his temporary Magnus title to really annoy them with his usual,
menial tasks.
Still, that left nothing for the
jettwins to do, who would have loved to go see Ratchet again this
very moment.
Oh, they were sooooooo bored!
“Brother.... wanting to see Wheeljack
make the booming?,” Jetstorm proposed.
“No....,” Jetfire replied, lip
components pursed in a frustrated pout. “See booming yesterorn.
Want not to see again.”
The blue youngling fell quiet for an
astrosecond, attempting to think of something else. Though the lack
of action was bothering to himself as well, for Jetfire -who was
always impulsive and eager to start the next activity- this dry spell
was doing nothing for the other mech. His brother was getting
restless; an antsy Jetfire was a rambunctious one. Jetstorm recalled
well enough the jokes the orange flyer pulled the last time he was
bored....
Alpha Trion had been sorely displeased
with both of the younglings.
“Go see Jazz, might yes?,” Jetstorm
finally said, thinking of the cyberninja. Jazz usually knew of a few
things to do when one was feeling frustrated, and anything that the
older Guardsmech had to offer was surely better than the two of them
walking about aimlessly, thinking hopeless thoughts about Ratchet and
Earth.
Jetfire mulled it over, lifting his
servos behind his helm. As they were rounding the corner, they
spotted Perceptor from down the hall, exiting out of the council room
with a thread of other 'bots. In a perfect demonstration of the
orange flyer's capricious nature, Jetfire suddenly began hopping in
place, waving his arms above his helm wildly. “Hello, Perceptor,
sir!!,” he yelled down the hallway, startling more than several of
the other 'bots.
Jetstorm, embarrassed by his twin's
erratic behaviour, waved back all the same when the scientist turned
at the call; gazing at each youngling in silence. Slowly, Perceptor
raised his own servo, giving it a small wave in return. Pleased with
himself, Jetfire skipped off down the next hallway, leaving his
brother to stand behind by himself for a couple nanokliks; just long
enough for the blue youngling to watch as the microscope lowered his
servo, staring at it oddly, as if he knew not just what he had done.
Chasing after the other youngling, Jetstorm was quick to grab
Jetfire's wrist before his twin could get too far ahead.
“That wrong doing, brother,”
Jetstorm frowned.
The orange flyer scoffed, pushing on
ahead. “Not was. Saying of hello's doing was only. Harm not in
that.”
The blue twin, still holding on to the
other's wrist, gave it a harsh tug now; forcing Jetfire to turn
around and look at him. Yellow optics narrowed angrily at his
brother, annoyance spitting across the bond acidly. Jetstorm did his
best not to quail at the nasty emotion, understanding that the other
youngling wasn't doing it out of any real anger. “Should not
pushing be of Perceptor,” he said. “Perceptor has funny coding;
vulnerable makes of him on council. Doing things such as that
confuses him.”
The jettwins had noticed since the
moment they had come online again that something about Perceptor was
off. Aside from his strange tonal modifier and his amazing brilliance
-all attributes that could be individual to a 'bot naturally- there
was a strange blankness in how the scientist acted. That blankness,
the younglings were soon to realize, was a by-product of the numerous
sub-routines that the microscope had uploaded to overwrite his
emotional programming. Like caging his spark, and everything that he
was, just so his processor could be used for scientific advancement
throughout the war.
Another 'bot might not have cared.....
But Jetfire and Jetstorm did. They had
no recollections of their real creators or sires; they had been
working on the energon farms since the time they were able to name
the different parts of their frames. When they had onlined again
after their accident, the jettwins were unable to halt the coding
within them that immediately latched on to the concept that Perceptor
and Wheeljack were their respective creator and sire. It wasn't
entirely illogical really..... after all, it was Perceptor that had
drawn up the designs to implement Decepticon flight modules into
them, essentially rebuilding them. And Wheeljack had done his part as
well, assisting in the process of making sure that their new programs
were synched correctly. The scientist and engineer held their own
sentiments to the two younglings as well, noticeable to everyone who
had met three of the four together.
As such, the jettwins were avidly
concerned with their “mommy's” self-forced detachment. It was
becoming more and more apparent that whatever firewalls Perceptor had
put up were beginning to crumble, and Jetfire and Jetstorm did not
want to see the microscope hurt when they fell completely. But when
the orange flyer did random things like that, it only caused
Perceptor's processor to fritz; breaking down his customized
sub-routines even faster.
“I..... sorry are I,” Jetfire
apologized softly, slacking in his brother's hold. Jetstorm smiled,
wrapping his arms about the other youngling's waist. “So angry be
I....,” his twin grumbled further, sliding his own arms around the
blue jet's chassis. “Miss Ratchet much are I, and want of seeing
him. But Sentinel Prime, sir, not let us go.... and no 'bot here us
like.....”
For the first time in a while, their
roles were reversed and Jetstorm was now the one comforting his twin.
The blue flyer pulled back just enough so that he could seal his lip
components along the other's, servos rising up and massaging tense
backstruts. Across their bond, he sent out waves of love and
acceptance, engine purring contently when he felt the other spark
turn into his phantasmal touch. The orange mech responded slowly, but
when he finally did, he was mashing his mouth against his brother's
desperately, attempting to steal more of his twin's affection.
“Jetfire! Jetstorm!”
The two mechs twisted apart, turning to
their commander; faceplates lit with a deep blush. Sentinel looked
positively disturbed as he stared down on the younglings, Jazz eyeing
the back of the truck, before shooting considerate looks their way.
Thankfully though, the blue Prime did not bother to make a spectacle
of finding his two subordinates making out in the hallway, instead
coughing uncomfortably and straightening to full-height.
“Crank it into gear, half-nodes.
Readings indicate a transwarp energy field activated in lower Iacon.
We're going to investigate.”
“Sir, yes, sir!,” the jettwins
replied, saluting. Sentinel lifted his chin approvingly at their
quick response, turning about on his pede and marching down the hall.
Jetfire and Jetstorm followed behind at his heels; Jazz pulling up
the rear.
xxXxXxx
Ratchet was here!
“You can take your curfew and your
fear-mongering propaganda, and blow it out of your exhaust port,
Sentinel Prime.... sir!”
Jetstorm practically swooned listening
to the grouchy CMO growl at their commander, tacking on the
respectable title as an after-thought to what would have been a
highly offensive statement. As it was, it still made Sentinel scowl;
denta clenched tightly in his jaw.
“And I don't see a spacebridge around
here; do you?,” Ratchet continued snippily.
Three helms turned about at that. “Ah,
his point,” Jetstorm piped up, resting his visor back on Ratchet.
“Is true!”
“Is no spacebridge,” Jetfire, oh so
graciously added. It was almost amusing to watch Sentinel shutter his
optics dazedly, before the truck got angry all over again in the face
of the medic's logic. Of course, that enjoyment only last for about
as long as it took for the Prime to get all vindictive. Already,
Sentinel was responding: puffing his chest out further and stepping
into Ratchet's personal space.
“Well,” Sentinel drawled
accusingly, “If the transwarp energy we detected isn't coming from
a spacebridge, then where is it coming from?”
The jettwins pouted angrily from behind
Ratchet, barely noticing as the CMO's helm bowed slightly in thought.
They were too busy trying their hardest not to glare at their
commander -which was getting steadily more and more difficult as the
truck continued to glare at the ambulance detestably. Why did
Sentinel Prime have to be such a jerk for? Ratchet obviously hadn't
been on Cybertron for very long, and already he was being harassed.
If the medic was run off because of Sentinel, there would be two very
unhappy younglings to deal with -especially if they were denied the
chance to be alone with the older mech, one-on-one.
“....Omega Supreme,” Ratchet
mumbled, lifting his helm again. Jetfire and Jetstorm tore away from
their angry musings, giving their full attention to the medic.
Who was Omega Supreme?
“Omega Supreme?,” Sentinel
repeated, before laughing obnoxiously. “Wasn't that over-sized 'bot
decommissioned and melted down for spare parts?”
“That's the official story, yes,”
the CMO growled in reply, vocalizer making it quite clear that he
wasn't impressed one bit by the truck's disrespect. Frowning, he
pulled a scanner from subspace, holding it out in the atmosphere. Its
screen blipped as it read the area; indiscernible information
scrolling up its blue face. “He must still be here somewhere....,”
Ratchet was mumbling to himself again, “Giving off residual
transwarp energy. Combine that with this electric storm, and boom
-you've got yourself a spacebridge effect.”
Once more, Jetstorm was amazed by the
amount of wisdom Ratchet had. He could feel his spark whirling as the
medic talked..... Even if they were things that he didn't quite
understand himself, he was content to bask in the sound of that
handsome, gravelly vocalizer for vorns. Now if only Ratchet was
whispering sweet things to him with that vocalizer.... or maybe
something perfectly naughty....
“So you expect me to believe Omega
Supreme is still online, and just floating somewhere over
Cybertron?,” Sentinel spoke up, snide tone cutting through the
beginnings of the blue flyer's pleasant simulations like a hot wire.
Scowling, Jetstorm shot the Prime a nasty look, which -unfortunately,
or fortunately- was unnoticed.
Thunder crackled overhead ominously,
and only by pure chance did the red clouds part, revealing the form
of a large mech, hovering just over Iacon city in a web of lightning.
All optics were glued to the sight in utter astonishment; even
Sentinel rubbed at his optics, almost distrusting that they were
functioning properly.
“Omega Supreme?!,” he started in
disbelief.
Ratchet ignored the idiotic response,
tapping away at his scanner. “No wonder my scans didn't pick him
up.... Interference from the storm!”
“This can't be,” Sentinel
continued, stepping closer to the medic. He practically loomed over
the older mech now, and it didn't look as if the truck would be
backing down any time soon. “I want this planet on full-security
alert now!,” he barked, addressing his subordinates.
“You two are coming with me,” the
blue mech said, turning his attention to Ratchet and Fanzone. At the
silent command, Jazz and the jettwins stepped forward: Jetfire and
Jetstorm clasping servos about the medic's arms, while the cyberninja
lifted Captain Fanzone by the cuff of his shirt.
“....So let me guess. I'm not going
home any time soon, huh?,” the human retorted, before he was being
carried off.
xxXxXxx
They had several breems before the next
Council hearing began.
Ratchet paced the length of the room,
grumbling to himself in a steady stream of low intakes, every once in
a while something about idiots and power-trips making itself audible
to those still in the vicinity. For a time, Jetfire and Jetstorm
watched the medic stomp back and forth, but they slowly grew tired of
it; their sparks aching for some of Ratchet's attention.
“Ratchet, sir....,” Jetfire whined.
With a sigh, the CMO stopped his
pacing, glancing at the flyers sitting at the room's only table.
After Sentinel had locked him up in this room, declaring that he
wasn't to go anywhere until the Council was ready to meet with the
blue Prime, Jazz had decided as well that he needed to show Captain
Fanzone something and quickly departed with the human as well.
Leaving Ratchet all alone with the jettwins.... That made the medic
increasingly anxious. He didn't trust them, or himself, to be locked
up in a room, unsupervised for any length of time. But apparently,
trying to ignore Jetfire and Jetstorm was doing nothing more than
upsetting the younglings further..... and that pulled at the old
mech's spark painfully.
The past megacycle without either of
the jets was surprisingly difficult.
Honestly, Ratchet did not think that
their separation would have been such a big deal. He had spent vorns
as it was -away from home, away from friends, away from family. But
to not have Jetfire and Jetstorm in his life constantly, as he had
started to become accustomed to, made a sort of void within the mech,
just near his spark. A hole that nothing else could fill.
“I..... I'm glad to know that you're
both in good shape,” the medic said softly, returning to his
pacing. Anything to keep his jumbled processor from lagging any
further.
Two helms canted at the words.
Noticing this, Ratchet couldn't help
but frown. “Optimus told me what happened on your way back here.
About the Decepticon prisoners escaping and nearly running the lot of
you into scrap. I'd have something to say to your commander, if he
hadn't already been handed his aft to him by the Decepticons and
Optimus.”
“Worried was you?,” Jetfire asked.
Jetstorm sat on the edge of his seat,
waiting for the medic's answer.
“Of course I was!,” the CMO
growled, insulted that they would even imply he was that sparkless.
“It's one thing to be under attack on Earth or here on Cybertron
-it's another altogether when you're stranded in the middle of space,
where help isn't likely to come anytime soon. If anything were to
happen to you two....”
The jettwins felt their sparks pulse
sharply in their chambers. Was this..... was Ratchet really
saying....? They leaned forward, anxiously waiting for the rest of
what the ambulance would say. But Ratchet had already fallen silent,
cheekplates stained with boiled energon. “Well.... yeah,” the
medic mumbled, “I was worried.”
The two flyers did their best not to
sigh at the typical response, smiling softly up at Ratchet instead.
“Love of you Ratchet,” they said, turning their faceplates up to
the medic.
Ratchet's blush deepened; the older
Autobot clearing his intakes loudly and quickly turning to the door.
“Just how long are they planning to keep us locked up in here?,”
he spoke to no one in particular, knocking lightly on the steel.
“Honestly -several breems!! This is Omega Supreme we're talking
about. The Council should be able to gather faster than that!”
“Ratchet....,” Jetstorm whimpered
quietly behind the CMO.
Jetfire felt his shoulders sag, looking
to his twin. The blue youngling was staring at Ratchet's backstruts
desperately; spark-broken that the other mech had turned away from
them that quickly. It had been too long in their opinion since they
had last seen Ratchet, and they wanted to savour every moment they
were together. But the old 'bot kept pushing them aside, even when it
was obvious that he was just as happy to be in their presence, if not
a little uncomfortable judging by his wandering optics and flustered
behaviour. Silently, the orange jet rose to his pedes, coming up
behind his brother and hugging Jetstorm tightly.
His twin barely responded, only making
sad, little chirping noises in his vocalizer.
“Brother....,” Jetfire
soothed over the bond.
“N-not crying,” Jetstorm
protested, trembling in the other flyer's arms. “J-just.... hot
is chassis. Want.... needing of R-ratchet, sir.... Touching of me
have must.”
The orange youngling opened his mouth,
about to verbally enquire as to what his brother was talking about,
when he took notice of the heat slithering through Jetstorm's frame.
Slowly, Jetfire slid his servo along the glass casing on the other's
chassis, feeling the engorged spark release pulses of energy into the
seeking appendage. The blue flyer exhaled sharply at the teasing
sensation, and his twin could only smirk wryly at the reaction he had
drawn. Jetstorm always seemed to get charged the easiest out of the
two of them.... and he always had the most naughtiest of simulations
too.
“B-Brother! Jetfire!!,” the
other squeaked as Jetfire pulled him flush against the back of the
chair, reaching down and looping his servos under Jetstorm's knee
joints.
“Hush, brother,” the orange
twin soothed, pressing a kiss to Jetstorm's helm. “Trust of me,
are doing?”
“Yes.....t-trust completely of
you, brother,” the blue youngling replied, as he allowed the
other jet to spread open his legs, pressing them back against his
heating chassis. He was fully exposed now: arms pinned to the back of
the chair, legs lifted high, aft hanging just over the chair's edge
slightly and in clear view from any 'bot's scrutiny. It was
incredibly embarrassing, but very arousing as well.
A nibble on his helm fin, and a brisk
whisper across their spark bond had the mech retracting his codpiece;
baring himself utterly.
“Ratchet, sir,” Jetfire called.
“N-no....,” Jetstorm mumbled
quietly, ducking his helm as best as he could given the situation, to
avoid seeing the medic's expression once he took in the sight. The
tell-tale chug of heating systems and cooling fans kicking in had the
flyer looking up again shortly though; moaning softly as he saw the
lustful gaze Ratchet was giving him.
Primus.... they were trying to offline
him, he swore it!
“Ratchet, sir,” the orange
youngling was grinning seductively, “Patient trying bestest are we
to be.... but brother being naughty very.” One servo slid down a
trembling blue thigh, fingers slipping into the waiting valve.
Jetstorm gasped sharply at the sudden intrusion, a small trickle of
lubricant seeping out from around white digits. “Brother able not
to stop simulations. Pretty valve your spike hungry for. Seeing what
wetness he making.”
Jetfire pushed his fingers a little
deeper, trying to drive his point home. The blue mech keened at the
sensation, wriggling his hips in an attempt to push his twin's
fingers along his valve walls. “Naughty, naughty,” the other
flyer tsked, still slowly wriggling his fingers within Jetstorm.
“R-rat-ratchet, s-sir!,” Jetstorm
managed to spit out, vocalizer cutting into another moan immediately
after. The youngling physically thrust into his brother's servo this
time, unconsciously spreading his legs wider. The medic watching
visibly flinched at having his designation called; optics welded to
the beautiful chassis offered before him, blue visor dim with desire
and heavenly lubricant dripping from a blushing jet's valve as he was
fingered by his twin.
“T-take me...... si-sir, please!”
“Ratchet, sir,” Jetfire cooed, over
his brother's cries. “Not wanting?”
At the subtle taunt, Ratchet had
quickly crossed the room, looming over both flyers. “You two will
be the death of me....,” he grumbled, before he grabbed Jetfire
about the back of his helm and mashed their lip components together.
Distracted by the dangerously hungry glossa invading his mouth, the
orange youngling pulled his fingers out from Jetstorm's valve; using
the free servo to gain some leverage by grasping the medic's shoulder
plating.
The older mech paid it no mind,
retracting his codpiece and having his spike pressurize out into the
atmosphere with a small hiss. Jetstorm, momentarily neglected, heard
the protective plating slide back and turned his gaze away from the
two 'bots kissing above him to the stiff cable visible from between
his legs. Ratchet's spike -a sight the blue flyer had not seen since
their last attempt to interface with the medic- was still as handsome
and thick as ever, making the youngling swoon as he looked upon it.
Taking the distraction granted to him, Jetstorm carefully wound his
legs around the CMO's waist, pulling Ratchet to his chassis. The
resulting action caused the other's spike to plunge deep into his
valve, drawing a strangled moan from the jet.
At the sudden motion, Ratchet tore away
from his kiss with Jetfire, staring down at the twin still sitting in
the chair. Jetstorm looked back up at him dazedly, cheekplates dark
with energon and moist lip components mouthing wordless syllables
about the delicious girth stretching him. “Primus.....,” the
ambulance growled, yanking his hips back and snapping them forward
again. Jetstorm yelped at the quick response, being shoved back
further into the chair with each following thrust. Jetfire moaned
slightly as he felt his brother's pleasure over the bond, lubricants
seeping into valve.
He remembered what it was like to have
that spike buried deep inside of him, stimulating sensor nodes and
driving his systems into blessed overload. He desperately wanted that
again, to be in Jetstorm's position: screaming and moaning as his
valve was filled to the brim; Ratchet only pulling out to ram back in
again, sliding his spike along frazzled sensors.
Jetfire reached between the two mechs,
forcing the blue flyer's legs to unwind from the medic's waist.
Jetstorm barely had an astrosecond to whine in complaint before his
twin was pulling his legs back to his chassis, deepening the angle at
which the older mech was plundering his valve; increasing the
sensation and making him scream in rapture.
Oh, Primus.... The orange youngling
whimpered as the phantasmal feelings grew, almost to the point that
he could feel Ratchet within his own valve. Knees buckling, Jetfire
slid to the floor, shaking servos still holding Jetstorm's legs up.
Ratchet did not notice his “disappearance”. The CMO grabbed the
back of the chair, gripping it tightly as he focused entirely on
thrusting into the blue youngling.
So much heat!
The medic growled lustfully, increasing
his tempo into that soaked passage. Lubricants burst out around his
spike, slicking it further and making it easier for him to continue
his rapid thrusts. “R-ratchet!,” Jetstorm cried, pushing back
against one particularly hard thrust. The flyer wriggled wildly, but
could not get his arms free, instead only managing to drive Ratchet's
rigid cable against further sensor nodes. “R-ratchet, m-mmmmore,
pl-please! O-ohh..... ov-overload need, v-very!!”
Ratchet groaned at the plea, pushing
deeper. He could tell Jetstorm was close..... Primus, he was close
himself. His systems were melting from the inside it felt, cooling
fans choking as they attempted to spin faster; alarms and messages of
red-lining pinging constantly across the back of his processor.
Cables clenched tightly about his spike, making the CMO gasp at the
delicious pressure. Unlike before, the valve walls did not relax
again around his length -informing him that Jetstorm was just on the
brink of completion. With renewed vigor, the ambulance focused on
pulling out of that incredibly tight passage and ramming back in.
“A-aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!
R-ratcheeeeeeeeeeeeeeettt!”
Jetstorm spasmed beneath him, vocalizer
spitting static as he screamed. His whole chassis shook as he
overloaded, helm thrown back and visor blacking out as he was
overwhelmed by the sheer amount of pleasurable feedback swamping his
circuitry. The cords within the jet's valve only clenched Ratchet's
spike tighter, locking the mech in place. Unable to pull back, the
medic reached his own overload still lodged deep within the blue
twin; transfluid spurting up the warm passage.
The younger 'bot moaned as he came back
online, feeling Ratchet's fluids coating the walls of his valve
thickly, and trickling out from the aperture along with the rest of
his lubricants. “R-ratchet....,” he moaned softly as the CMO
finally pulled out.
“Recharge, kid,” Ratchet replied,
nuzzling the top of Jetstorm's helm quickly, before he withdrew
entirely. Jetstorm chirped quietly in the back of his vocalizer,
visor dimming down in response to the ambulance's command.
Jetfire, still behind the chair, slowly
rose to his own pedes; releasing his hold on his brother. With
charged optics, he looked to the medic's spike -still fully
pressurized and now slick with the combination of transfluids and
lubricant. His glossa suddenly twanged in remembrance; his own valve
clenching hungrily behind his codpiece. “R-ratchet, sir,” the
orange youngling mumbled breathlessly.
“Guess I'm to take care of you now,”
the older mech smirked uncharacteristically, circling around the
chair to the flyer on the other side.
Jetfire only had a moment to
acknowledge his spark pulsing in excitement, before he was swept up
into Ratchet's arms and all other consciousness escaped him.
xxXxXxx
Council meetings were boring.
Jetstorm shifted on his pedes, doing
his best not to simply cycle an intake in weariness. It was not often
that the flyers were forced to partake in a meeting like this, but
Sentinel was adamant that all his crew be present while he spoke with
the Council. As of the moment, their commander was trying to persuade
Perceptor and Alpha Trion that the right course of action was to
shoot on Omega Supreme and eradicate the Decepticon threat.
And Ratchet was being just as verbal
about the opposite.
“....blowing up Omega Supreme could
take out the entire planet!,” the medic protested.
Sentinel turned away from the Council,
glaring at Ratchet. “I brought you here to keep an optic on you,
not for your opinion!,” the truck hissed.
Ratchet scowled back at the blue Prime,
venom in his optics as well. But before anyone else could make a
move, Perceptor was speaking from his seat on the podium. “Ratchet
is a great asset,” the scientist said on the medic's behalf. “His
experience with Omega Supreme exceeds even mine.”
Jetstorm grinned merrily at his
adoptive creator's noble defense of Ratchet, while Jetfire rolled his
optics at Sentinel's typical play of the 'Magnus' card.
“The council will deliberate, “
Alpha Trion replied, cutting off further rants from the truck.
“What's to deliberate!,” Ratchet
shouted, stepping forward, “Omega Supreme is one of us -an Autobot;
a friend!”
To Sentinel, the medic growled, “Harm
one circuit on him and you'll answer to me.”
“Are you threatening me?,” the
taller mech started in disbelief. “That's treason, soldier!,”
Sentinel continued, raising a finger accusingly. “Arrest him!”
Wait, what?! Was Sentinel Prime
speaking to them?! Jetstorm felt his spark hiccup in shock, and his
fuel tanks sink to the bottom of his chassis. Their commander was
glaring still, anger etched firmly across his faceplates. Jazz, from
his own post, did not take any initiative to move.... leaving the
action of apprehending the medic to fall to the jettwins. Hesitantly,
the blue youngling pulled a set of stasis cuffs out of sub-space,
noticing Jetfire copy the motion from beside him. With heavy sparks,
they slowly marched toward Ratchet, who was staring back at them
blankly.
The little human with the CMO turned
about as the flyers approached; making odd, tiny sounds as he tipped
his head back. Something yellow and slimy started descending from the
organic's nostril. Jetfire and Jetstorm froze in place, disturbed and
confused by the peculiar sight. “T-this feels like a big one!,”
Captain Fanzone declared before he rapidly pulled a hankie out of his
pocket, blowing into the clothe with a sound reminiscent of a fog
horn.
In the momentary confusion, Ratchet
withdrew his tools, shooting the younglings with the magnetic beam.
They were sent flying, backstruts skidding across the council room
floor, as the medic quickly transformed; him and the human tearing
from the room with a squeal of burning tires. “Sorry about that
kids!,” the ambulance shouted over his axle as he raced out the
front door.
Quickly, Jetfire and Jetstorm
transformed as well, giving chase.
“Ratchet, sir!,” the orange jet
called over the comm link.
“Sir, why attack of us is?,”
Jetstorm cried out. “Sentinel make of punishment worse for running
being. N-not of trouble making, please doing!”
“You just don't understand....,”
Ratchet sighed over the frequency. The twins caught the flash of his
tail pipes turning the corner up ahead, and gunned their engines in
response. “Listen, there's something I've gotta do, and if I simply
comply with Sentinel's glitched commands then everything we've worked
for until now will be lost. I need you to stay here with your
commander; keep him busy or the like, but make sure he doesn't shoot
on Omega Supreme. It's not the right thing to do, you have to trust
me.”
Jetfire began to slow at the medic's
explanation, but Jetstorm only increased his speed.
“Not go, please!,” the blue flyer
begged, trying to catch the medic.
“Jetfire, Jetstorm....,” came
Ratchet's voice as the youngling was zipping around another corner,
“....I love you.”
And then the connection cut.
Stunned, Jetstorm flew helm-first into
the adjacent wall, tumbling and rolling as he crashed to the floor
below. “B-brother!,” Jetfire shouted, running to his fallen twin.
Slowly, the blue flyer transformed, visor fixed to the ground in
shock.
“Brother....?,” the orange
youngling started anxiously.
“H-he.... he confessing love of us,”
his brother mumbled in reply. Jetstorm lifted his helm, locking gazes
with Jetfire. A drop of coolant was collected at the corner of the
other's visor. “H-he it saying.”
“Yes,” Jetfire smiled softly,
falling to his knee joints and hugging his brother tightly. “Now
must trusting him be we are. Ratchet okie for dokie be.”
Jetstorm only nodded his helm, burying
his faceplates into his twin's neck cables as he hugged the other jet
back.
xxXxXxx
“Jetfire! Jetstorm! Open fire!! Take
down Omega Supreme!”
Jetfire perked at the command, whipping
his helm to his brother sitting in the seat next to him. Jetstorm
was staring at him just as stunned, lip component nibbled tightly
between his set of denta.
Was Sentinel Prime serious?!
“Brother.... shooting on Omega
Supreme not can. He Ratchet's friend is!”
“I know, brother.....,” the orange
youngling replied, servos clenching tightly over the controls.
When their commander had ordered them
to Fortress Maximus, the jettwins had thought little of it. Ratchet
had asked them to do all they could to distract Sentinel, and the
best way to do that was to follow the truck's orders. Powering up the
Autobot's defense unit would take time..... long enough, the flyers
had hoped, for Ratchet to do what he needed to.
They still didn't know what the medic
was up to, but they trusted him, with all of the happy, loving
rotations of their sparks. An explosion over the commlink had the two
younglings tensing in their seats.
“Ratchet, sir!”
“Twins,” Sentinel responded,
instead of the medic, “I told you to fire! SO SHOOT ALREADY!!”
“B-but, Sentinel, sir,” Jetfire
stuttered, servo pressed to his audio anxiously.
“Happened what to Ratchet?,”
Jetstorm cried, interrupting his brother.
“Slaggit..... stop interrupting me,
already! Do as I order and shoot -before the Decepticons can get
away!!”
Jetstorm shook his helm to the Prime's
words, clenching the controls desperately. His brother noticed, and
lowered his servo from his comm link. “Brother....,” the orange
youngling whispered, turning to the other mech. “Must doing.
Decepticons if being there..... t-then must trigger pulling.
R-ratchet w-would say yes of doing.”
“Jetstorm!,” Jetfire shouted, when
his twin refused to answer him still.
Spark fluctuating, the blue flyer
snapped his servo forward, slamming the release button. Above their
helms, Fortress Maximus' ginormous cannon rapidly set to charging;
golden particles focusing at the weapon's very tip. It took only a
klik later for the gun to power up, before releasing a bolt of raw
energy toward the hovering Omega Supreme. Dreadfully counting down
every intake-clogging nanoklik, Jetfire kept his focus on the
monitors, waiting for the moment when the shot would collide with the
immobile Autobot.
With shock, the orange twin watched as
blue light gathered around Omega Supreme; transwarp energy flaring
brightly over Iacon's skies, before fading away again.
When nothing but the red clouds and
crackling lightning remained, there was no sign left to be seen of
the guardian 'bot. The shot from Fortress Maximus' cannon, without a
target any longer, flew toward the empty sky, slowly fizzling out of
existence in the atmosphere. “What.... where'd he go?,”
Sentinel's voice came across the commlink again. “Where the slag
did my target go?!”
“It doesn't matter now.....,” they
could hear Ratchet say over Sentinel's end. “The Council will need
to be informed of this.”
“Ratchet!,” the jettwins chirped,
leaping from their seats. Sentinel might get angry at them, but
without the threat of Decepticons, there was no need for the
younglings to remain at their posts. Running out of the room, they
quickly transformed, honing in on their commander's energy signature.
“Friends of yours?,” Captain
Fanzone said, as the two jets came sweeping in; transforming mid-air
and tackling the CMO to the floor.
Ratchet merely scowled, turning flushed
cheekplates away from the human.
xxXxXxx
“....Do you have to leave again?”
Ratchet attempted to ignore the
messages coming across his comm link, trying to follow the
conversations that were happening at that very moment around him.
Jetstorm did not relent though, and neither did Jetfire, adding in
his own two-cents.
“Not angry being us with for on
shooting Omega Supreme, you are?”
Forcing himself to turn away from Alpha
Trion reaming Sentinel out for his latest bigot actions -an
experience that he was greatly enjoying before he had been
distracted- the medic tapped into the frequency as well. “No,
I'm not..... You didn't shoot immediately. Though I'm not happy with
Shockwave escaping with Arcee on Omega Supreme, I'm also glad to not
have to lose another friend so soon,” he answered. “.....There
is still hope for Omega Supreme, the same as with Arcee. Until
circumstances prove otherwise, I will do my best to rescue them.”
“B-but..... not wanting of to you
go!,” the blue youngling protested again. Though he stood at
attention, he wanted nothing more than to throw himself at Ratchet's
pedes and wind his arms about the other mech's legs tightly. Why did
the CMO have to come back, only to leave again so soon? It was not
fair! Especially after the older 'bot had just admitted to them his
feelings.
Ratchet glanced at the flyers as he
turned his helm to the transwarp field, answering Fanzone to a
question that he only vaguely caught. The regret in his own optics
was enough to ensure the jettwins that this was not a farewell
Ratchet was looking forward to either.
“....Can't come we....?,”
Jetfire asked, spark shivering nervously in its chamber. He
prayed to Primus that the medic would agree; say that they could join
him on Earth, where they would all be happy. “We helping! Stop
the vily mechs together!!”
The medic turned his back to the other
two, growling back at Sentinel for a moment. He tightened his grip on
the Magnus Hammer, that he had reclaimed from Shockwave, before
picking up Captain Fanzone and jumping through the spacebridge
portal. “No....,” came Ratchet's final comm. “You
must stay here. Cybertron needs you now, whether they know it or not.
Please believe me when I say I'll return.”
They tried to reach the medic, to say
one last thing, but he was already out of range.
With heavy sparks, Jetfire and Jetstorm
turned away from the closing bridge; their optics already glued to
the stars, wondering when they might see the CMO again.
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