Chapter Text
Ratchet had his fair share of bad patients before the war. Fussy, irritable patients that thought they knew more than him. Seekers insisting it wasn’t feasible for a grounder to properly adjust an altimeter and the like.
Team Prime weren’t poor patients. It was more like the time and intimacy of being part of a team made Ratchet more attuned to their individual needs. Those needs could be frustrating at times. If Ratchet had to pick a favorite, it would probably be Bumblebee. He knew what injuries were important and ones he could wait on. He was always polite and Ratchet would never tell him that he was the best patient or he’d never get rid of the yellow and black Autobot.
By far the worst patient. The absolute worst patient in Team Prime was none other than Optimus himself.
Optimus and Ratchet had a history long before the start of the war. However, Ratchet never once had to fix Orion beyond a simple patch after he and Megatronus got into a scuffle. But as a Prime, Optimus was the absolute worst patient Ratchet ever had.
Maybe it was Ratchet’s own concern for him that kept him constantly on edge about the state of the leader’s systems. However, Optimus made things infuriating every time he was injured, which elevated the medic’s stress levels.
First, he was damn near impossible to find. How anybot twice his size could hide so efficiently made Ratchet more determined to find him. He wouldn’t answer com’s but he’d somehow find time to go on patrol with Bumblebee or help Arcee or have any duty besides the duty of a patient. Usually, he had to be unconscious or someone knew he was injured. Routine maintenance was out of the question.
Second, Optimus always put others care before him. So usually by the time Ratchet came around to help the Prime, there weren’t enough resources left. Optimus would always give him a look and in a calm tone say, ‘Maybe next time, old friend.’
Ratchet loathed it with every fiberoptic of his spark. Perhaps it was everything that was happening lately, but Ratchet was determined to at least do a full frame scan of Optimus to make sure his functions were normal.
He was obsessed, tailing the Prime like a love forlorn. Bulkhead even pulled him aside to question if he was feeling okay or if this was one of his ‘medical obsessions’.
There was only one opportunity to get at Optimus as he came and went in the base and that was when he was in his room. Finding out what time he would be in there was as impossible as figuring out where he hid. Luckily, Ratchet devised a plan to wait.
This time, he was the one not answering his com. Optimus rarely called for him unless it was for a bridge, so it was easy to answer the communications of others and ignore his inquiries. The Decepticons were luckily quiet.
Hours passed and Ratchet impatiently waited. Optimus’ quarters were rather sparse. A berth and not much else.
Finally, Ratchet flinched as he heard heavy pedsteps. It better not be Bulkhead again, wandering the halls.
No, there was a screech of metal as Optimus opened the door to his berth room.
If his leader was surprised to see him he did little to show it.
“Hello, old friend.”
He’d half expected Optimus to question as to why he was in his room or ask him to leave but Optimus merely closed the door behind him and shuttered the locking mechanism which squealed from disuse.
“I’m here to give you diagnostics,” Ratchet stood up and insisted.
Optimus retained a serious expression, “I see.”
He seemed utterly unfazed by the breach of privacy. Ratchet debated long and hard with himself if he should step into the Prime’s one secluded place. He shouldn’t have worried.
Perhaps he should take this approach more often as Optimus seemed his normal self. He sat down on the berth without being told and looked expectantly up at Ratchet. He didn’t expect it to work so easily.
“Alright,” Ratchet said, lifting his scanner up. But Optimus caught his servo in a light hold.
“Before we begin, I would like to ask you something.”
Ratchet blinked at Optimus. He noticeably ran the side of a digit on the medic’s wrist cabling, tracing little circles on the sensitive cabling enough to tickle.
“-Yes, uh, what is it, Optimus?”
Optimus looked over Ratchet’s armor with a serious, unexplained look before meeting his optics, “When was the last time you performed self-maintenance?”
Ratchet flinched at the statement. It had a double meaning, if Bumblebee or Bulkhead were saying it, he wouldn’t pause. But this was Optimus, there was no way he could be asking about interface values.
“I’d like to know if perhaps I can do this duty on my own,” The Prime continued, “We already overtax your systems with our demands, Ratchet.”
Ratchet vented out and rubbed his faceplate, “I suppose I can show you, but if you have any noticeable pain while doing self-diagnostics you need to come to me.”
Optimus nodded sagely and said nothing.
“Well, first you should transform in and out of alt modes at least ten times before you begin. This loosens your joints,” Ratchet explained, “And then you lie back down-“
“Would you mind showing me?”
Ratchet shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”
But as he moved to lie on the ground, Optimus patted on the berth, “Please, up here where I can see you.”
Something told Ratchet to abort right then and there. But he was going to push through if it meant getting Optimus into a self-diagnostics routine.
Ratchet sat at the end and felt the Prime move. He assumed it was off the berth, but when he leaned back he found himself enveloped in the Prime’s servos; peds and all.
“Optimus,” Ratchet began, wary.
“I merely wish to observe protocol, old friend,” Optimus told him gently, stroking his helm to be a little more reassuring.
They kept such a short distance between each other in front of the team and humans so Ratchet was rather happy for the touch. War didn’t exactly bring people closer together and Optimus had a figurehead image to maintain. Besides, Megatron always had an uncanny interest their relationship. If Optimus openly displayed the behavior he had before the war, Ratchet would’ve been a target much earlier than a few thousand years ago. But he had a duty, no matter how comforting it was to be happily placed on the Prime, he needed to show him properly.
“Okay, so now you stretch out,” It wasn’t all too hard to do, being cradled like this.
Ratchet stretched out all his limbs only to feel Optimus’ servos on his plating. His flat digits slipped under his door plating and the thumbs tickled at his sides.
“Optimus,” Ratchet pulled away to stare at the Prime, “What are you doing?”
“I need to see how you adjust your plating.”
Optimus was always so serious when it came to these things. But now Ratchet had a terrible inclination to believe he was being toyed with.
“Are you sure you’re not trying to feel me up?”
Optimus tilted his helm, a small smile on his faceplate.
“Primus, you are,” Ratchet floundered in the sea of metal to try and squirm away from the trap he fell into.
Strong servos wrapped around his waist, “Forgive me, old friend. Please continue your lesson.”
Ratchet was held until he stopped struggling, venting out in exasperated defeat, “Fine.”
There was a slight tingle in his processor that begged him to let Optimus touch him. He could easily break protocol, touch him wantonly and still get the data he required.
Ratchet shook his helm as if to expel the thought. He stretched out again, bracing himself a little differently this time so Optimus would not have the vantage of playing his grille like an earth instrument.
“So you check the lines under your servos and every joint along them looking for splitting or roughness because that means it’s wear.”
Optimus made a soft hum and Ratchet looked up at him. He wished he hadn’t because the inexplicable look he was given made Ratchet flush and turn away, “What do you think you’re looking at?”
“A proper exercise in self-maintenance,” Optimus vocalization was tinted with a rusted edge. The grating made Ratchet shiver and he snapped forward.
Ratchet tried to get his spark regular again and worried his servos together. This was stupid. He was acting like this is the first time he and Optimus were in this kind of situation. Well, this situation yes, but one like it plenty of times. It had just been awhile and never in the cramped space of the Earthian Autobot base.
“Next you do the same with your peds,” Ratchet pretended as if Optimus didn’t just coquettishly imply that he was going to masturbate in front of him. He stretched forward only to predictably be fondled from behind. Optimus pressed against his lower backstrut. This time it wasn’t as sexual in nature, more of a gentle push to help him stretch and then rubbing.
Although Ratchet hadn’t been aching, it soothed his systems so much he sat there for a moment to enjoy it. He must’ve sat there for a little too long, because Optimus finally murmured, “Do you like that, old friend?”
“Hmmm,” Ratchet had gotten a little sleepy with the touch, “Yeah.”
Optimus pulled him closer, pulling him by the hips further against his chestplating. Ratchet blinked a little more alert at that. But he was already in a sweet embrace, Optimus nuzzled onto his shoulder and sighed happily.
Ratchet’s spark gave out with that, he wanted to protest but Optimus rarely hugged him so intently.
“What next?” Came a soft whisper from his leader.