Chapter Text
Ratchet supposed that if it was in the capacity of a non-extant concept to have a sense of humor, Primus would have a terrible one.
And if he had deigned to exist, then he better have fragged right off and died, before Ratchet came to kill him. He supposed it was unfair to place as much blame as he wanted for his mishap on said deity's representative mech (he didn't care about fairness), but at the same time there was something to be said for the venting of ones frustrations.
But, Primes always could be trusted on to Prime, and he as the infamous Ratchet the Hatchet, could always be trusted on to rail against them.
Especially, but not limited to heat cycles that absolutely were not supposed to happen.
Ratchet's gestation systems had been permanently ( so he thought ) offline since early into the war, and he'd gone through the disappointment and devastation and acceptance that it was probably thanks in part to his fragged up code and fragged up head from the seemingly never-ending conflict.
But then he had to trap himself on a ship with Rodimus fragging Prime, and of course they'd decided to randomly kick back on.
"Randomly."
Even worse, Rodimus had shown up right on time to his forcibly scheduled maintenance appointment- the one thing the muley-headed mech had never ever done before!
The speedster had frozen stock still as the exam-room door shut behind him, spoilers raised- up until he started to circle the berthing at the center.
"Y'smell really good, Ratch." He murmured, voice dipping into a sultry register he'd have never thought the mech capable of. Ratchet, him of quick thought and quicker reflexes, began to circle the same direction. Rodimus' spoiler blades perked and his engine revved, some primal (hah) part of him anticipating a chase.
So much for Ratchet's privacy, not to mention his medical overrides.
And, so much for his plans of taking care of his immediate need before holing himself up in his quarters for a few days of sad masturbation.
His plan had been to monitor his strange Heat and report his findings to anyone amicable on the science staff, to figure out why he would have gone into one again after so long without. But, as one Rodimus Prime gave him a half vacant glassy-optic stare, some deep part of him knew exactly why he had gone into heat again.
"Rodimus." He stated, trying his best to sound even and level and not at all full of fear. "You're not thinking clearly, this would be something you regret- you don't want this- you don't want me."
Rodimus' optical ridges furrowed, as if he was trying hard to think through and comprehend what Ratchet was saying.
"But I do." He replied muzzily, as if dreaming. "I want you. Wanna put a sparklet in you."
Heat flashed through Ratchet's spinal strut, and his legs gave a tiny wobble as he continued his circle. Rodimus wasn't too much younger than him by truth, but he was strong and energetic and by Primus Ratchet hoped it was the heat telling him he wanted him back, and not just that strange magnetism Primes seemed to have.
Not to mention, Rodimus seemed to be in the process of getting surgically attached at the hip to-
"Drift." He murmured- barely a breath- but it served to tense Rodimus in a wave. "He and you -"
"Did you want him instead?" Rodimus said, some raw edge to his voice. "I got here first."
As if Ratchet was some sort of vending machine for interface. He pointedly ignored his feelings welled back up inside him from where he'd pressed them down and Rodimus' question, pointedly kept moving, motioning to the door almost behind Rodimus' back.
"You want him." Ratchet said, that rawness- which he could identify in himself as jealousy and envy and a sad longing coming out clear. "I've seen you two. Together." And scrap, if this was a bad time for this conversations and these unrequited feelings to show to the second last person he wanted them to, and a worse time for Rodimus to have passed that door. They were on the long ends of the berthing, again.
"You don't want to hurt him, do you? This would hurt him." Rodimus scowled, obviously trying to think through his haze and his rut. They circled a moment in silence, and Ratchet considered the likelihood of running into someone who would turn his crankshaft enough to get him distracted, if he managed to get out that door. He was close to it though, and he knew with the mediberth between them, it'd give him a head start on the speedster.
Deep in his thoughts and his plan of escape as he was, he didn't notice Rodimus' optics widening, nor did he hear the door- left unlocked from Rodimus' entry- open behind him.
He gave a mighty startle when arms closed about his middle, and a clawed hand gently latched itself onto his armor. With a soft, smooth susurrus of metal on metal, a helm pressed into the side of his, and a nasal ridge pressed into his neck cabling.
Ratchet froze in place, willing it not to be the one mech he knew it had to be, to dare to be so familiar with him so casually, where Rodimus had been still cowed enough to not try and reach out and touch.
A pelvic housing, flash-heated, rocked against his aft. "Ratch" came the breathless voice of Drift. "You smell good."