Rating: M
Chapter 19
He hissed a little as he slipped his
pants on, a painful twinge radiating from his valve. It only served
as a painful reminder.....
He shivered on his berth, rolling
and curling into the sheets; strained whimpers falling from his
vocalizer. His chassis was hot, almost blisteringly so, and his spike
and valve ached tremendously. It was painful, but that pain only
brushed at the large void inside him; a hole that desperately longed
to be filled and sated. Even with the cloud dampening his processor,
the autodog knew what his condition was, but was perplexed by it all
the same. Since moving out of his youngling years, as with any other
'bot, his heat cycles came far and few between. He hadn't had such a
cycle in a few good megacycles at least, and nowhere near as intense
or painful. Another charge ran through his systems, making the mech
whine almost piteously into his pillow; writhing as his core
temperature increased another notch.
Weak..... That's what he had been.
Weak. Rodimus made a face in disgust, keeping his optics away from
his berthroom's mirror. The last thing he wanted to see that morning
was his own face, and his shameful, coding-driven frame.
His berthroom door creaked open, and
went nearly unnoticed by the tortured golden retriever until the
sound of heavy intakes reached his ears. His body went nearly rigid
with the sound, core temperature sky-rocketing at the presence of
another mech. Wearily, Rodimus twisted his helm to the doorway,
optics gazing dazedly up at the kittycon looming over his berth.
Blackout stared down on him, red optics and faceplates amazingly
neutral. “You called me,” the panther rumbled, not so much asking
as stating.
Rodimus whimpered as another charge
flitted through his chassis, nodding his helm rapidly in answer.
Blackout did not move from his post,
gazing down upon the autodog still. “You never call me from your
house phone, let alone invite me into your home,” the kittycon
continued.
It had come on so unexpectedly..... and
the autodog had not thought his heat cycle would have struck again.
He was still debating if it had been heaven-sent that Ultra Magnus
was currently out of town for that conference, or if it was a curse
in disguise. Considering that he hadn't had the discretion to not
invite that flea-bitten kittycon to his home, Rodimus was currently
seeing it as an ill-fitted twist of fate.
The golden retriever arched against
the berth at a painfully strong charge, servos twisting the sheets
violently. His legs slid wide open of their own accord, already
slicked with condensation, codpiece retracted to show his heated
interface equipment. Lubricant pooled from his valve onto the berth
below; transfluid running little rivulets down his spike and along
his trembling, inner thighs. The sight increased the heaviness of the
panther's intakes, a hungry light coming to the other mech's optics;
yet still, Blackout did not move.
Rodimus growled as he was further
denied relief; pushing himself up shakily and grabbing hold of the
kittycon's shirt. “Hurry and take your slagging clothes off,” he
hissed, tugging harshly on the hem in his fists. His anger evaporated
almost instantly, his heat cycle making his emotions rapidly switch.
He whimpered again as his lust spiked, the golden retriever nuzzling
the other's chassis as his servos desperately pulled at the knot in
Blackout's track pants. “P-please.....,” the autodog begged.
“P-please, fr-frag me....!”
This time Blackout responded.
Rodimus cringed again, this time in
disgust as the memories from the night before replayed in his helm.
He couldn't..... he was...... Growling, the autodog ignored his
aching valve, putting on the rest of his clothes jerkily, anger and
contempt coursing through him. He hated that panther. Despised him.
It was all his fault that Rodimus had grown so comfortable with his
sins; no doubt, Blackout was somehow responsible for bringing his
heat cycle about again.
Faster than he had expected, Rodimus
found himself pinned to his berth, legs pulled apart by the larger
mech's claws as a thick spike was slammed into his waiting valve. The
autodog was left howling at the sudden assault, his hyper-sensitive
sensor nodes multiplying the sensation of the kittycon's entrance a
hundred times; bringing him to a quick overload. Rodimus groaned as
the pixels reoriented themselves in his optics, shivering as he felt
the big cat start to piston his hips. His chassis was beginning to
heat up again, the silken walls of his valve sucking Blackout in
deeper as his systems started burning once more. That rapid overload
was hardly enough to satisfy the golden retriever in his heat cycle,
and he knew that the panther would not be so easily satisfied either.
Pushed deeper into the berth, the hulking kittycon growling above
him, Rodimus shuttered his optics and blocked out all sound;
imagining that the large claws at his hips were someone else's
servos.....
He had to end this. Before that moron
mistook this for a step forward in their “relationship”. Before
Ultra Magnus.....
Rodimus shook his helm as he walked
through the empty kitchen, grabbing his keys and briefcase off the
table before turning to the door.
xxXxXxx
“Listen, I really can't talk right
now, I've got things to do and, uh.... Things!” Swindle tried to
shift his cell, cursing softly as he almost fumbled his folders.
“What? No, listen, I wasn't talking about you, I just- urgh....
yes, right, I'm sorry,” he grumbled, managing to balance his load
and grab the doorknob to his office. “Anyways- no, I said I can't
talk right now. I've got to be somewhere shortly, for um, a meeting
and I- B-blackout!?!”
The kittycon fumbled his items as he
stormed into the room, finding the large mech hunched over in a chair
and glaring at him. Swallowing back a little whimper, Swindle hurried
to throw his files back together, turning off his cell and scooping
the messy bunch up into his arms. “Y-you're um..... H-hello
Blackout,” he greeted nervously, circling around to his desk and
dumping everything onto its surface, “W-what brings you here?”
“You've been avoiding me, Swindle,”
the panther glared.
“W-what? Nonsense, my good fellow,”
the tan mech anxiously grinned. “I've just been very busy and-”
Swindle quickly cut himself off as Blackout rose to his pedes,
looming over the devon rex; the corner of his lip component curled
with annoyance.
“Do not lie to me, geek,” the other
kittycon snarled, poking the entrepreneur's chestplates with one big,
fat claw. “I ain't so stupid as to realize when someone's ignoring
my phone calls, or making sure they're 'sick' every time I schedule
an appointment.
“L-listen, B-blackout,” Swindle
gulped, trying not to look too suspicious as he slid a servo slyly
for the gun holstered under his shirt. He leaned back as the bigger
mech leaned forward. “I r-really was si-sick, and I w-was just
goi-going to c-call-”
“Enough of your games, Swindle!,”
Blackout roared. “I don't have time to listen to your simpering -no
thanks to you, I've already got the answers I needed! The fragging
mutt does love his sire.....” The panther spit to the side
contemptuously. “And it's that old geezer, Ultra Magnus too.
I'll..... I'll kill him! I'll rip that rusting furball-”
“Woah, woah, woah! Before you get
your self arrested for murder, I think you need to re-evaluate a
couple things here,” the devon rex scowled, not so much scared as
annoyed with his client now. “Biggest factor here -that so called
'mutt' you're fragging..... is just that! A frag! Two, why the slag
would you ruin your life going to jail for him? And three......”
Swindle pulled a file folder out of the
chaos on top of his desk, waving it lightly before the panther's
baffled face. “I've got some info that is sure to take care of
your.....problems..... anyways. Interested?”
Blackout stared down the smaller
kittycon seriously, but seeing as how the tan mech did not flinch or
even try to shy away from his looming form, the panther took his seat
again; setting his fists on his legs. “What do you got?,” he
asked, lip components twisted in a snarl.
The devon rex smiled coyly, sitting
himself on the edge of his desk comfortably and thumbing the folder
open. “Only what I'm guessing you're desperate to hear,” Swindle
grinned cheekily, trying to hide his sneer, “Our mutt's 'Daddy
Dearest' has affections elsewhere....” He trailed off, having said
enough to tease the other kittycon without giving away the entire
deal.
At the words, the panther stiffened,
before a vicious smirk stretched wide across his face. “Tell me
more.”
xxXxXxx
Ratchet sighed as he ruffled through
his bag, checking that all his equipment was inside, plus a standard
version of basic first aid and CPR procedure book. “Why am I doing
this again....?,” he grumbled, turning to the autodog walking
through his office door.
First Aid smiled good-naturedly,
walking up to the older mech and handing him a mug of oil. “Because
you said you would, sir. And besides,” the apprentice added, “They
asked specifically for you. It's understandable that they would want
to learn this with someone they were familiar with.”
“Yes,” Ratchet retorted, a tad more
annoyed now, “But why the slag did I agree in the first place?
Couldn't Optimus just teach them himself? He's got a license as
well!”
The australian shepherd paid no mind to
his superior, walking around the office and collecting the rest of
his things for the labrador. Ratchet, grudgingly, thanked him, but
said nothing as the younger mech took it upon himself to even pack
everything into his carry-along satchel. “But it's just a temporary
license,” First Aid answered kindly, “He does not have an actual
practitioner's degree, nor is he a registered medical official, so
Jetfire and Jetstorm's lessons wouldn't be considered authentic. If
they want their licenses as well, it'll have to be through you. You
like the twins though, don't you?”
The old mech did not reply, grumbling
and muttering as he headed over to his chair.
“Don't,” he growled softly, raising
a servo at his assistant, “Put that in. I'm not even going to start
the practical anytime soon.” First Aid shuttered his optics slowly,
before smiling and putting the miniature dummy torso aside.
“Sir,” he giggled, “Are you
nervous? You're blushing!”
“Am not....!,” Ratchet protested
grouchily. He turned his helm away from the smaller mech, venting
shortly in frustration, running his servos down his face. “....why
are they bugging me again? I thought that they'd grown up some after
that..... that whole sire incident, and yet, they're bouncing around
like new-born pups all over again. I tell you, this is just an excuse
for them to latch onto me some more! I don't even think-”
“I think it's nice though,” First
Aid interjected, cutting off the vet before he could get into his
rant. The labrador fell quiet, sullenly allowing his companion to
speak. Optics shuttered tightly as the australian shepherd smiled at
the older mech, cheekplates tinged with a slight blush. “The boys
could have done any number of things after Perceptor became unwell,
but instead they wanted to go see their sire and ask for his help. It
may have been foolish, yes,..... but it made them stronger and more
confident in the things they could do to help the ones they
loved. It's endearing then that they would wish to seek more
knowledge from you, someone obviously very respected and admired in
their optics.”
Ratchet stared at his assistant for a
couple kliks, before he flatly asked, “You know about Wheeljack
beginning to court Perceptor, don't you?”
The smaller autodog smiled sheepishly,
servos cupped before himself. “Well, yes,” he giggled a little.
“I saw him buying flowers the other day at the gift shop
downstairs, and I asked how he was doing. Me and all the nurses are
very glad to see him happy again, and to know that Perceptor is
better too! Maybe they'll finally get bonded. I think that would be
especially nice, don't you?”
The labrador rose slowly from his
chair, shrugging off his lab coat and grabbing his jacket instead.
“Right, 'nice'..... Listen, I'm old and maybe that makes me a
little cynical, but if you start spouting about the wonders of love
and the season of affection and all that slag,” he started
seriously, pointing a digit at First Aid, “I will swat you with my
stethoscope. Are we clear, First Aid? I don't want to be mean or
anything, but you're awfully naive for someone in your field. And no,
I don't think Jetfire and Jetstorm are attached to me, I think
they're just acting out. Their bout of freedom has gone to their
helms, and now they're trying to milk it for all that they can.”
“....Wish it weren't me that they
were bugging though.....,” Ratchet finished off, grumbling to
himself again. He grabbed his satchel, mumbling what must of have
been a thanks to the australian shepherd before leaving the office.
Rolling his optical sensors, First Aid
smiled wryly; turning and gathering together his superior's forgotten
files. “And he says I'm the oblivious one,” the mech whispered,
sighing in good nature.
xxXxXxx
Tracks stared blankly at the box.
Golden servos had held it out for
him, before they lowered slowly, setting it on the table. “Status:
Will not come to see you anymore....”
Lies. He had been sure of it. Why
should he trust the mech that had forced him into this position.
A red visor tried to catch his gaze,
but he viciously turned away, giving the other not even that. Venting
softly, the persian respectively stepped back, standing there idly
for a klik. He'd almost thought the other had gone, when..... “Box:
Gift for you. Tracks: free to open whenever you wish. Fact: No
obligation.”
He hadn't answered. What would have
been the point? Perhaps though his silence had been enough in some
way for Soundwave, or maybe Flare-up was done playing around, because
security led the kittycon out of his apartment shortly after. Only
temporarily, Tracks had thought, certain that the persian would
return the orn before or even this orn.
....He hadn't.....
And then Flare-up had come downstairs
that morning, to dutifully inform him that Soundwave had terminated
his account with the company and had even left a large sum behind for
the pomeranian alone. As compensation, she had said exactly. He would
not come back until the sparkling had been born, and even then, it
would be only to collect the bornling. For some reason, that made the
escort's fuel tanks roil uneasily.
So he had left a box...... Why?
Curiosity could not be reigned in any
longer. Slowly, Tracks glanced over his shoulder plating, seeing that
his guards were currently preoccupied in a conversation with each
other. Releasing one grip on his robe, the multi-coloured mech
stretched a servo out towards the box; gently thumbing open the tab,
lifting its lid. Inside the cardboard rested a pocket calendar,
marked with dates and events all across Iacon for that month..... and
the next...... and the one after that.......
Perplexed, Tracks turned the calendar
over and around, flipping through the pages, before his optics caught
a slight depression in the middle of the box. He put the calendar
aside, finding a seam in the cardboard lining the bottom of the box;
slipping his fingers inside and prying it open. His ears perked in
alarm as he saw a cellphone lying on the bottom, taped to a note:
'In case you wanted to be free'
Ears flattened against his helm, Tracks
quickly covered up the cellphone, throwing the calendar back inside
and slipping the box out of sight once again.
xxXxXxx
“Ratchet! Ratchet!”
Optimus turned away from the terminal
as two merry shouts punctuated the air, watching warmly as his
students jumped from their seats, running for the vet. Ratchet
scowled as he usually did, grunting lightly as he was suddenly mobbed
with hugs.
“Boys,” Optimus called, collecting
his files together as he stood up, “Come now..... let's give
Ratchet the chance to breathe.” He chuckled as Jetfire and Jetstorm
whined, but respectively released the labrador, only stepping back
half a step.
“Hellos Ratchet!,” they chimed in
perfect sync, black tails wagging from side to side. “How you is
day of?”
Ratchet's shoulders slouched a little
now that he was free, shifting his grip on his black, medical
travel-bag. “Fine.....,” he grumbled noncommittally. The german
shepherd joined the three of them, smiling politely at the older
autodog.
“I'm glad that you had the free time
this week to come teach the boys CPR, Ratchet,” Optimus smiled,
“They were really looking forward to getting their licenses, and
after......” The security wisely trailed off, smiling brighter,
ignoring his little slip-up. “Well, all the same. I'm sure our two
favourite boys are sure to be a delight to teach. They catch on fast,
you know.”
The vet glanced at the younglings'
cheerful faces quickly, before venting softly and turning his
attention back to the other autodog. “Yeah, I can see that..... So,
where are we setting up?,” Ratchet asked, trying to move on.
Blue ears perked in alarm, an
embarrassed blush rising to the german shepherd's cheekplates. “Yes,
my apologies,” he said. “Follow me. One of the conference rooms
has been cleared out and cleaned, so you'll have plenty of space for
your training.” Optimus started down the hall, and the others fell
into step behind him.
Skipping, Jetfire pulled up to
Ratchet's side, gently nudging the vet's arm with his elbow. He
grinned, ears twitching slightly with joy, as the older mech glanced
at him. “Yes?,” Ratchet quietly mumbled.
“Just want thank of,” the orange
youngling smiled, optics glittering as they half-shuttered with his
smile, “For doing of what night that did.”
The labrador felt something softly
clutch at his sleeve on his right; turning, he found Jetstorm smiling
up at him just as warmly. “Not having do, but did you,” he
continued for his twin, “Brave was. Mommy happy, too Uncle
Wheeljack...... and we.....”
The hybrids leaned a little closer,
helms turned down to hide their expressions from the vet. Ratchet
didn't know if that was a good thing or not yet; he was more
concerned about the little chills running up and down his spinal
struts, his spark started to pulsate quicker than he was used to in
his nervousness. He clenched his servos, ignoring his clammy palms,
optics focused on Optimus' back in front of them.
“.....we never thank of yet saving us
for...... Thanking you Ratchet..... Mean lots us to.......”
The vet felt his optics flash at the
soft, whispered words, but before he even had a chance to process
them completely, Optimus was stopping; turning to the trio with a
grin. Ratchet panicked, for a moment thinking that the twins were
still plastered to his sides, but he realized with a strange
sensation that they had changed position and now respectively stood a
couple feet away from him. “Just in here you can set up,” the
secretary was saying, distracting Ratchet from his thoughts. “Feel
free to take as long as you need today. I'm just going to go take
care of some paperwork in the meantime; I should be done in half a
cycle. If you finish before that point, you can just take the boys to
the front desk. Jazz will take them for their lessons then.”
“Um.... right,” the older autodog
gruffed, trying to shake off the haze filling his processor suddenly.
Had to be old age...... he hoped..... “I'll do that then. Thank
you, Optimus.”
The taller mech smiled kindly, before
patting each of the younglings on their helms and heading down the
rest of the hallway. Standing their awkwardly for a moment, Ratchet
quickly shrugged off the big, inquisitive optics that turned to him
then, grabbing the door handle and walking into the empty conference
room. “Right, let's get this thing started,” he grumbled.
Jetfire and Jetstorm followed after him
with a skip, tails wagging behind them merrily.
xxXxXxx
The nervous cough was barely heard over
the photocopier. Setting his paperwork aside, Optimus turned
slightly, his optics meeting with Sentinel's. Keeping the rising
blush down, the secretary stiffly nodded at the other autodog,
turning back to his work. “Sentinel..... I see you've shown up for
work finally today.”
He could hear the rottweiler shift from
pede to pede slowly behind him. “....yeah..... Listen,” the blue
mech began, “Optimus.....”
The machine beeped as it finished;
quietly, Optimus bent down to retrieve the warm sheets, piling them
neatly together with their originals. He turned around, finding
Sentinel still standing in the doorway of the copier room, servos
fisted in his pockets and a small scowl pulling at his lip
components. The smaller autodog refrained from rolling his optical
sensors.
“Yes, Sentinel? You wanted
something?,” he asked.
Sentinel shrugged off a flinch at the
question, unaware that his shoulders still lifted defensively at the
inquiry. “I, umm....,” he grumbled anxiously. “Listen, I
-uh..... I might have gotten a l-little trashed the other night a-and
umm.... I might have said some stupid slag.....”
The secretary shrugged casually. “Of
course you did. You slurred something about disliking Elita, me and
how sorry you were,” he replied, carefully watching his ex-friend,
trying to gauge his reaction. “Unless there's something relevant in
there, I don't see how anything you said would be but the ramblings
of a drunk.”
The rottweiler bristled at the
statement, mouth twisting in a slight snarl. “You know the frag
well that I said some.... some things.... a-and I didn't want it to
get your helm or a-anyth-”
“What would I possibly let get to me,
Sentinel? I've been pretty capable of brushing off everything you've
ever said or did to me.”
“Y-you.....” Sentinel flailed a
little, growling lowly as his patience started to wane. “You're
full of slag! I said..... s-something.... and now you're being
all..... t-this!”
“What's 'this', Sentinel?,” Optimus
asked exasperatedly. “I don't think I quite know.”
The other mech's upper lip component
lifted, his optics flashing angrily. “Being nice again! Fraggit,
you were pissed at me, and now you're speaking to me just how you
used to!,” he growled, “You're fragging ecstatic a-and-”
Sentinel still wasn't saying what he
should. If he remembered anything about that night, and he seemed to
remember a little amazingly, then this wasn't what Optimus wished to
hear. “It was just a note, Sentinel,” he pushed, “Wishing you
to get better. Something anyone would gi-”
“No it wasn't!!,” the security
guard finally exploded. He marched forward a couple steps, looming
over Optimus. “Nobody writes notes like that to people they hate!!
You're just doing this to tease me about the fact that I said I was
sorry and that I l-loved you a-and-”
There it was.
Optimus rocked up on pede-tip, brushing
a soft kiss on the raging mech's cheekplate; stunning Sentinel into
silence. Leaning back, the german shepherd smiled kindly up at the
bigger autodog, his optics warm and almost affectionate. “I forgive
you, Sentinel,” he said. “And I'm sorry too, that I never tried
to tell you how important you were to me before now.”
Still smiling, the secretary stepped
around Sentinel, heading out of the door, spark at peace for the
first time in months.
Behind him, his old friend stood
-shell-shocked- a servo slowly lifting up and touching lightly at the
spot where soft lip components had landed on his blushing
cheekplates.
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