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wyntir_knightWell this baby seems to be done. I'm not entirely sure about the make up sex, so any thoughts or criticism would be appreciated.
Tell me what you think!
For those who are interested, here are Parts One, Two, and Three.
And without further ado, here's the end of Thunder Crashes.
Thunder Crashes - Part 4
“Spawn of a slag-sucker!” Ratchet swore as he threw himself across Bluestreak’s prone body, shielding the young gunner from the falling dirt and oil. “Will you please keep them off of me?!”
“I am trying!” Prowl bit back, firing back at Dirge trying to drive the Seeker away from the medic.
“Oh come on!” Dirge yelled. “Give it up. You’re outnumbered and outclassed!”
“Yeah, just cut your losses now!” Thrust laughed. “Forget the medic and get out while you can!”
“That is not going to happen,” Prowl muttered. He fired his shoulder missile up at the Seekers, driving them back a little further, but still not driving them off.
The battle continued to rage around them, the Seekers keeping the Autobots distracted and pinned down while the Constructicons and Soundwave turned the oil of the East Texas Oil Field into precious energon cubes.
“How much longer do you need?” Prowl asked Ratchet, analyzing the scene around him and calculating the options.
“Two minutes,” the medic replied. Another shot, this time from Ramjet, nearly hit Ratchet, sending more dirt flying into the air, and knocking the medic to the side. He crawled back to his patient and looked down in dismay. “Make it five.
“We do not have five minutes; we need you two out of here now!” Prowl called back.
“He’ll go offline if I move him now. Just buy me a bit-” Ratchet was cut off by another explosion, this one from the other side of the field. “Just buy me more time!” he finished.
Prowl glared at him but did as he was told. Firing back at the Decepticons, he continued to ensure that he was between Ratchet and the attackers.
“Inferno,” he called out on his radio, “get over here! Ratchet needs more backup!”
“No can do!” Inferno called back. “The ‘Cons’ve set fire t’ one of th’ rigs. We’ve got t’ get it under control or we’ll lose it all!”
Prowl looked over to where he’d last seen the fire truck heading and saw the red-gold aura and deep black cloud of a large oil fire just beyond the horizon.
Shaking his head slightly, he continued to defend the medic, all the while tracking the rest of the battle. The Autobots continued to hold their ground, but gained nothing, and the Decepticons continued to create energon cubes. It would be another ten minutes before back-up arrived from the Ark, but Prowl estimated that by that time there would be nothing left to back-up.
Dirge and Thrust continued to play with Prowl and Ratchet, staying just out of range, moving in to take pot shots at Ratchet and keeping Prowl off balance. There was a moment of distraction as Thrust came in close, and Prowl took his attention off Dirge, giving the blue Seeker time to get a well placed shot in on Ratchet. There was a cry and Prowl turned just in time to see the medic hit, watch him fall, his whole right side burned and blackened. Prowl turned his gun on Thrust but was stopped by Dirge’s cold voice.
“Don’t even think about it Autobot!” he said, aiming his weapon at Bluestreak. “One more move and the kid gets it!”
Ratchet struggled into a sitting position, clutching his scorched arm. He was obviously in severe pain, leaking vital fluids, and yet he kept his body between the Decepticons and his patient. He stared up at Dirge defiantly, but Prowl saw a familiar look in his optics. He was judging his chances. Was he fast enough to get his gun and shoot Dirge before Dirge killed Bluestreak. Prowl knew he wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure that Ratchet knew this. There was a moment of palpable tension, and then, like he was watching slow motion, Prowl saw Ratchet move for his gun. Dirge turned his attention to the medic, raising his own firearm, when suddenly, he was knocked out of the sky. Time sped up again as the sky seemed to fill with Aerialbots, flying in to the defence of their comrades, a full five minutes early.
The rest of the battle was a blur. The Autobots reinforcements drove the Decepticons away while Skyfire evacuated the wounded back to the Ark.
***
An hour later, Prowl strode toward the med bay. He had completed his report to Optimus, and needed to check on the wounded. He needed to check on Ratchet. The scene that greeted him was not one of chaos as he had expected. First Aid was in the process of cleaning up and Prowl could see Wheeljack moving between the berths of the recovery ward.
“How did everything go?” Prowl asked First Aid.
“Quite well, all things considered. The Twins’ damage was pretty standard for them, and we’ve dealt with Inferno’s major injuries as best as we can. Once Ratchet is up and about, he can take a better look,” the Protectobot replied.
“Where is Ratchet now? Is he all right?” Prowl asked, trying not to seem too eager or too worried.
“His damage was mostly cosmetic. Really it looked a whole lot worse than it was. He’ll be fine, but he refused to stay still. Finally Wheeljack had to order him to go get some sleep,” First Aid said.
“And where is he now?” Prowl prompted.
“Back in your shared quarters,” First Aid replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He wouldn’t rest if he stayed here so Wheeljack marched him down there himself, since we couldn’t be sure he’d obey orders. … You don’t mind, do you?” First Aid added, suddenly sounding concerned.
“No, of course not,” Prowl said, looking over at Wheeljack as he continued to move through the recovery ward. “Since everyone is fine for the moment, I will leave you to it. Thank you First Aid,” he added.
He turned to leave the med bay, never noticing the slight, knowing smile that lit First Aid’s eyes, or the fact that Wheeljack chuckled as he watched him go.
***
Prowl stood outside his quarters. For the first time in a long time, he was indecisive. This was the third time he had stopped outside this door, the third time he had contemplated pushing the call button.
“This is ridiculous!” he thought to himself. “These are my quarters too. Why should I be worried about going in there?”
He moved away from the door again, but this time, he was stopped by Jazz. The saboteur had snuck up on him, moving more silently than a cat stalking prey.
“You know, you’ll get in there a whole lot faster if you just go in,” Jazz said with a grin.
“I was not intending to enter. Ratchet needs rest. I was simply on my way to my office,” Prowl replied.
“Uhn hunh, sure you were,” Jazz said. “You know your office’s nowhere near here, right?”
“Excuse me, Jazz, I have work to do,” Prowl said, turning to walk away.
Suddenly he was stopped by Jazz’ grip on his shoulder.
“You’re damn right you’ve got work t’ do, but it ain’t in your office.”
He gently took Prowl by the other shoulder and turned him toward the door.
“Now will you just get in there? This whole thing’s gone on long enough,” he said.
Prowl hesitated, refusing to press the call button. “Jazz, he needs his rest and he does not want to see me. Now will you please let me go?” he said.
“Oh for bootin’ up cold,” Jazz muttered. He reached out and pressed the call button.
“Come,” Ratchet called from inside.
“See it’s all good,” Jazz said. The door slid open, and he pushed Prowl into the room.
As the door slid silently shut, Prowl was sure he heard Jazz chuckling.
Ratchet sat on the edge of the berth, looking both surprised and sullen. His left arm and most of his chest were the dull putty colour of primed but unpainted metal and Prowl winced inwardly at the sight. For a long time the two just looked at each other, neither willing to make that all important first move. Finally, Prowl sighed and took a step further into the room.
“I was told that you were here. I came by to see how you were,” he said. Even to his own audials he sounded clumsy and overly formal.
“I’m fine,” Ratchet replied. “The only reason I’m here is because Wheeljack forced me. I should actually head back to work.”
Ratchet stood, and then looked forlorn, as if he didn’t know what to do or where to go.
“There is no need for that. These are your quarters as well. You should stay and rest. You will be of no use to any of us if you are exhausted,” Prowl replied.
“Thanks, I ...,” Ratchet’s voice drifted. He looked to the floor, his shoulders shaking in a small sigh. “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly small.
Prowl looked at Ratchet, trying to hold on to the righteousness that had sustained him. He found that it had evaporated leaving him with nothing but a deep hollow emptiness. All that moved through his thoughts was the knowledge that he had nearly lost Ratchet today. He looked over at the red, white, and now putty mech and saw him looking back. The forlorn expression had been replaced with a look that was both intense and decided.
Before Prowl could speak, Ratchet took a step forward.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he began.
Prowl cut him off. “No,” he said, “I should have listened to you. I should have explained myself and not put you in that situation.”
“I was the one who didn’t listen. I just heard what I-”
Prowl cut him off again. He crossed the space that separated them and swept Ratchet into an embrace, kissing him with a gentle, almost tentative passion. Ratchet froze for the barest instant before returning the embrace running his hands up Prowl’s back sending shivers up the tactician’s spine. Leaning into the embrace, Prowl opened his mouth slightly, allowing his glossa to brush over Ratchet’s lips. Ratchet responded in kind and their kiss deepened to a greedy need.
Prowl ran his hand down Ratchet’s unpainted arm and felt the medic shudder under his touch. The nearly bare metal was highly sensitive, and Prowl took full advantage. He ran his fingers first over Ratchet’s arm, then down his side, feeding off the needy sounds that he was drawing out of his mate.
Ratchet suddenly broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. He looked at Prowl, his gaze dark, intense, and almost feral.
“That’s not fair,” he growled.
His look and his voice sent shivers through Prowl’s systems, but he stood his ground, continuing to stroke the bare metal over Ratchet’s chest, watching as his optics turned from blue to indigo, and then almost to black with lust.
“All is fair is love and war,” Prowl whispered, sending a sudden vibration through the seal of Ratchet’s windshield.
Ratchet gasped, and his knees buckled beneath him. Prowl moved in to catch him before he fell, but realized too late that it had been a trick. Ratchet reached out, grabbed Prowl by the arms and spun him around, leaning him against the berth.
“So all’s fair, is it?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
He pinned Prowl against the side of the berth with his body, kissing his chevron lightly, sending little vibrations through the crest. Not to be outdone, Prowl reached up and grabbed Ratchet’s hands, stroking his fingers, paying close attention to the new ones. Ratchet gasped, his attention diverted just long enough for Prowl to switch their position, rolling over suddenly and pinning Ratchet beneath him. He looked down, taking in his lover’s face, relishing the look of intense passion and need in his optics that he knew was just for him. Ratchet attempted to lean up; trying to use his greater mass to his advantage, but Prowl was having none of it. He may have been slightly smaller, but in hand-to-hand he was far more skilled, and Ratchet wasn’t going anywhere. He pressed his hands against Ratchet’s shoulders, holding him in place as he straddled his hips.
Ratchet moved his hands to Prowl’s waist making light circles with his fingers, a wicked smirk forming on his lips. Prowl fought back against the sensations, focusing all his attention on his partner. He ran his hands over Ratchet’s chest, tracing the edge of his windshield, running probing fingers over the seams along his sides, searching for a gap to take advantage of. As he gently searched, Ratchet found, working his fingers into the space between Prowl’s legs and his hips, gently stroking the wiring within and sending perfectly timed pulses that matched the beat of Prowl’s fuel pump.
“Uhn ... Ratchet!” Prowl moaned, throwing his head back and clutching at the medic’s shoulders with an iron grip.
Suddenly, Prowl was no longer in control. Ratchet moved his hands up Prowl’s sides, touching and tapping the seams of his armour, drawing ragged moans and gasps out of his vocalizer. Slowly, Ratchet sat up, one arm wrapped around Prowl’s waist to keep him close, the other reaching around to stroke the edges of his doorwing. Prowl leaned in further, his hands spasming on Ratchet’s shoulders, sending pulses and vibrations through the new arm.
“... oh primus ... PROWL!” Ratchet cried out, bucking his hips and tightening his grip on the dastsun’s doorwing.
They were both moving without clear thought now, caught up in the waves of passion. Hands searched bodies, lips sought out lips, fields mingled, joined, and became one. Their engines revved, their cooling systems desperately tried to keep up, and the room was filled with crackling electric energy as the two mechs founds release in each other.
Slowly as they lay on the floor, their shuddering subsided. The error messages stopped flashing before drained optics as they began to finally cool down. Recharge beckoned seductively, and neither found they had any energy to move back to the berth. Lying in each other’s arms, they began to drift off peacefully, confident in the knowledge that all that mattered was right here in this room. They had each other and that was everything.
Tell me what you think!
For those who are interested, here are Parts One, Two, and Three.
And without further ado, here's the end of Thunder Crashes.
“Spawn of a slag-sucker!” Ratchet swore as he threw himself across Bluestreak’s prone body, shielding the young gunner from the falling dirt and oil. “Will you please keep them off of me?!”
“I am trying!” Prowl bit back, firing back at Dirge trying to drive the Seeker away from the medic.
“Oh come on!” Dirge yelled. “Give it up. You’re outnumbered and outclassed!”
“Yeah, just cut your losses now!” Thrust laughed. “Forget the medic and get out while you can!”
“That is not going to happen,” Prowl muttered. He fired his shoulder missile up at the Seekers, driving them back a little further, but still not driving them off.
The battle continued to rage around them, the Seekers keeping the Autobots distracted and pinned down while the Constructicons and Soundwave turned the oil of the East Texas Oil Field into precious energon cubes.
“How much longer do you need?” Prowl asked Ratchet, analyzing the scene around him and calculating the options.
“Two minutes,” the medic replied. Another shot, this time from Ramjet, nearly hit Ratchet, sending more dirt flying into the air, and knocking the medic to the side. He crawled back to his patient and looked down in dismay. “Make it five.
“We do not have five minutes; we need you two out of here now!” Prowl called back.
“He’ll go offline if I move him now. Just buy me a bit-” Ratchet was cut off by another explosion, this one from the other side of the field. “Just buy me more time!” he finished.
Prowl glared at him but did as he was told. Firing back at the Decepticons, he continued to ensure that he was between Ratchet and the attackers.
“Inferno,” he called out on his radio, “get over here! Ratchet needs more backup!”
“No can do!” Inferno called back. “The ‘Cons’ve set fire t’ one of th’ rigs. We’ve got t’ get it under control or we’ll lose it all!”
Prowl looked over to where he’d last seen the fire truck heading and saw the red-gold aura and deep black cloud of a large oil fire just beyond the horizon.
Shaking his head slightly, he continued to defend the medic, all the while tracking the rest of the battle. The Autobots continued to hold their ground, but gained nothing, and the Decepticons continued to create energon cubes. It would be another ten minutes before back-up arrived from the Ark, but Prowl estimated that by that time there would be nothing left to back-up.
Dirge and Thrust continued to play with Prowl and Ratchet, staying just out of range, moving in to take pot shots at Ratchet and keeping Prowl off balance. There was a moment of distraction as Thrust came in close, and Prowl took his attention off Dirge, giving the blue Seeker time to get a well placed shot in on Ratchet. There was a cry and Prowl turned just in time to see the medic hit, watch him fall, his whole right side burned and blackened. Prowl turned his gun on Thrust but was stopped by Dirge’s cold voice.
“Don’t even think about it Autobot!” he said, aiming his weapon at Bluestreak. “One more move and the kid gets it!”
Ratchet struggled into a sitting position, clutching his scorched arm. He was obviously in severe pain, leaking vital fluids, and yet he kept his body between the Decepticons and his patient. He stared up at Dirge defiantly, but Prowl saw a familiar look in his optics. He was judging his chances. Was he fast enough to get his gun and shoot Dirge before Dirge killed Bluestreak. Prowl knew he wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure that Ratchet knew this. There was a moment of palpable tension, and then, like he was watching slow motion, Prowl saw Ratchet move for his gun. Dirge turned his attention to the medic, raising his own firearm, when suddenly, he was knocked out of the sky. Time sped up again as the sky seemed to fill with Aerialbots, flying in to the defence of their comrades, a full five minutes early.
The rest of the battle was a blur. The Autobots reinforcements drove the Decepticons away while Skyfire evacuated the wounded back to the Ark.
An hour later, Prowl strode toward the med bay. He had completed his report to Optimus, and needed to check on the wounded. He needed to check on Ratchet. The scene that greeted him was not one of chaos as he had expected. First Aid was in the process of cleaning up and Prowl could see Wheeljack moving between the berths of the recovery ward.
“How did everything go?” Prowl asked First Aid.
“Quite well, all things considered. The Twins’ damage was pretty standard for them, and we’ve dealt with Inferno’s major injuries as best as we can. Once Ratchet is up and about, he can take a better look,” the Protectobot replied.
“Where is Ratchet now? Is he all right?” Prowl asked, trying not to seem too eager or too worried.
“His damage was mostly cosmetic. Really it looked a whole lot worse than it was. He’ll be fine, but he refused to stay still. Finally Wheeljack had to order him to go get some sleep,” First Aid said.
“And where is he now?” Prowl prompted.
“Back in your shared quarters,” First Aid replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He wouldn’t rest if he stayed here so Wheeljack marched him down there himself, since we couldn’t be sure he’d obey orders. … You don’t mind, do you?” First Aid added, suddenly sounding concerned.
“No, of course not,” Prowl said, looking over at Wheeljack as he continued to move through the recovery ward. “Since everyone is fine for the moment, I will leave you to it. Thank you First Aid,” he added.
He turned to leave the med bay, never noticing the slight, knowing smile that lit First Aid’s eyes, or the fact that Wheeljack chuckled as he watched him go.
Prowl stood outside his quarters. For the first time in a long time, he was indecisive. This was the third time he had stopped outside this door, the third time he had contemplated pushing the call button.
“This is ridiculous!” he thought to himself. “These are my quarters too. Why should I be worried about going in there?”
He moved away from the door again, but this time, he was stopped by Jazz. The saboteur had snuck up on him, moving more silently than a cat stalking prey.
“You know, you’ll get in there a whole lot faster if you just go in,” Jazz said with a grin.
“I was not intending to enter. Ratchet needs rest. I was simply on my way to my office,” Prowl replied.
“Uhn hunh, sure you were,” Jazz said. “You know your office’s nowhere near here, right?”
“Excuse me, Jazz, I have work to do,” Prowl said, turning to walk away.
Suddenly he was stopped by Jazz’ grip on his shoulder.
“You’re damn right you’ve got work t’ do, but it ain’t in your office.”
He gently took Prowl by the other shoulder and turned him toward the door.
“Now will you just get in there? This whole thing’s gone on long enough,” he said.
Prowl hesitated, refusing to press the call button. “Jazz, he needs his rest and he does not want to see me. Now will you please let me go?” he said.
“Oh for bootin’ up cold,” Jazz muttered. He reached out and pressed the call button.
“Come,” Ratchet called from inside.
“See it’s all good,” Jazz said. The door slid open, and he pushed Prowl into the room.
As the door slid silently shut, Prowl was sure he heard Jazz chuckling.
Ratchet sat on the edge of the berth, looking both surprised and sullen. His left arm and most of his chest were the dull putty colour of primed but unpainted metal and Prowl winced inwardly at the sight. For a long time the two just looked at each other, neither willing to make that all important first move. Finally, Prowl sighed and took a step further into the room.
“I was told that you were here. I came by to see how you were,” he said. Even to his own audials he sounded clumsy and overly formal.
“I’m fine,” Ratchet replied. “The only reason I’m here is because Wheeljack forced me. I should actually head back to work.”
Ratchet stood, and then looked forlorn, as if he didn’t know what to do or where to go.
“There is no need for that. These are your quarters as well. You should stay and rest. You will be of no use to any of us if you are exhausted,” Prowl replied.
“Thanks, I ...,” Ratchet’s voice drifted. He looked to the floor, his shoulders shaking in a small sigh. “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly small.
Prowl looked at Ratchet, trying to hold on to the righteousness that had sustained him. He found that it had evaporated leaving him with nothing but a deep hollow emptiness. All that moved through his thoughts was the knowledge that he had nearly lost Ratchet today. He looked over at the red, white, and now putty mech and saw him looking back. The forlorn expression had been replaced with a look that was both intense and decided.
Before Prowl could speak, Ratchet took a step forward.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he began.
Prowl cut him off. “No,” he said, “I should have listened to you. I should have explained myself and not put you in that situation.”
“I was the one who didn’t listen. I just heard what I-”
Prowl cut him off again. He crossed the space that separated them and swept Ratchet into an embrace, kissing him with a gentle, almost tentative passion. Ratchet froze for the barest instant before returning the embrace running his hands up Prowl’s back sending shivers up the tactician’s spine. Leaning into the embrace, Prowl opened his mouth slightly, allowing his glossa to brush over Ratchet’s lips. Ratchet responded in kind and their kiss deepened to a greedy need.
Prowl ran his hand down Ratchet’s unpainted arm and felt the medic shudder under his touch. The nearly bare metal was highly sensitive, and Prowl took full advantage. He ran his fingers first over Ratchet’s arm, then down his side, feeding off the needy sounds that he was drawing out of his mate.
Ratchet suddenly broke the kiss and pulled back slightly. He looked at Prowl, his gaze dark, intense, and almost feral.
“That’s not fair,” he growled.
His look and his voice sent shivers through Prowl’s systems, but he stood his ground, continuing to stroke the bare metal over Ratchet’s chest, watching as his optics turned from blue to indigo, and then almost to black with lust.
“All is fair is love and war,” Prowl whispered, sending a sudden vibration through the seal of Ratchet’s windshield.
Ratchet gasped, and his knees buckled beneath him. Prowl moved in to catch him before he fell, but realized too late that it had been a trick. Ratchet reached out, grabbed Prowl by the arms and spun him around, leaning him against the berth.
“So all’s fair, is it?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
He pinned Prowl against the side of the berth with his body, kissing his chevron lightly, sending little vibrations through the crest. Not to be outdone, Prowl reached up and grabbed Ratchet’s hands, stroking his fingers, paying close attention to the new ones. Ratchet gasped, his attention diverted just long enough for Prowl to switch their position, rolling over suddenly and pinning Ratchet beneath him. He looked down, taking in his lover’s face, relishing the look of intense passion and need in his optics that he knew was just for him. Ratchet attempted to lean up; trying to use his greater mass to his advantage, but Prowl was having none of it. He may have been slightly smaller, but in hand-to-hand he was far more skilled, and Ratchet wasn’t going anywhere. He pressed his hands against Ratchet’s shoulders, holding him in place as he straddled his hips.
Ratchet moved his hands to Prowl’s waist making light circles with his fingers, a wicked smirk forming on his lips. Prowl fought back against the sensations, focusing all his attention on his partner. He ran his hands over Ratchet’s chest, tracing the edge of his windshield, running probing fingers over the seams along his sides, searching for a gap to take advantage of. As he gently searched, Ratchet found, working his fingers into the space between Prowl’s legs and his hips, gently stroking the wiring within and sending perfectly timed pulses that matched the beat of Prowl’s fuel pump.
“Uhn ... Ratchet!” Prowl moaned, throwing his head back and clutching at the medic’s shoulders with an iron grip.
Suddenly, Prowl was no longer in control. Ratchet moved his hands up Prowl’s sides, touching and tapping the seams of his armour, drawing ragged moans and gasps out of his vocalizer. Slowly, Ratchet sat up, one arm wrapped around Prowl’s waist to keep him close, the other reaching around to stroke the edges of his doorwing. Prowl leaned in further, his hands spasming on Ratchet’s shoulders, sending pulses and vibrations through the new arm.
“... oh primus ... PROWL!” Ratchet cried out, bucking his hips and tightening his grip on the dastsun’s doorwing.
They were both moving without clear thought now, caught up in the waves of passion. Hands searched bodies, lips sought out lips, fields mingled, joined, and became one. Their engines revved, their cooling systems desperately tried to keep up, and the room was filled with crackling electric energy as the two mechs founds release in each other.
Slowly as they lay on the floor, their shuddering subsided. The error messages stopped flashing before drained optics as they began to finally cool down. Recharge beckoned seductively, and neither found they had any energy to move back to the berth. Lying in each other’s arms, they began to drift off peacefully, confident in the knowledge that all that mattered was right here in this room. They had each other and that was everything.
