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Ironhide has seen and felt many things.
Limbs blown off, anger.
Sparks ripped out, remorse.
The list could go on forever.
He’s never forgotten those….memories.
And never could.
They’re burnt into his processor.
He sees them when he offlines his optics for the solar cycle.
This though, this was new.
Ironhide has never felt this warm as he watched Ratchet raise his wrench in a threatening manner towards his latest annoyance.
Jazz smirked at the medic’s clear annoyance, taking a step back.
“I swear to Primus Jazz, if you don’t leave right now, your loud aft vocalizer will be donated to Bee.”
Ratchet hissed.
A small flash of fear crossed Jazz’s visor, but he stepped forward tauntingly.
Unknown to the mech, Ratchet was now winding up the gears in his arm, preparing to throw his weapon of choice.
Ironhide, who was standing behind the medic, couldn’t help but stare.
The way Ratchet’s plating folding around his delicate wiring. His gorgeous white and red paint job.
The way he carried himself with confidence. His sass, even Ratchet’s face of disappointment and “I’m about to beat your aft” made Ironhide’s spark race and energon flush his face plates.
A loud clang and small squeak brought the weapon specialist out of his daze.
Ratchet was now facing him, wrench gone from servo, Jazz along with it.
He had a hip jutting out, and his arms crossed, looking at Ironhide judging.
Yet a smirk rested on his, very kissable lips.
Ironhide blushed.
Caught red servoed, well optic.
“See something you like, commander?” He purred(?)
Optics raking up and down Ironhide’s heated plating.
Ironhide flushed harder, and he swore Ratchet noticed with his Pit forsaken medical scans.
Ratchet teasingly rolled his optics.
“Go fetch my wrench, then we can talk.” He said, heading into his office.
Slag, right. Reports.
Ironhide ex-vented heavily.
Ratchet could have easily gotten his wrench on his own, but due to the fact it was quite literally embedded in the med bay wall.
It took a few, strong tugs before Ironhide was able to dislodge the weapon.
The end that was in the wall was sprinkled with silver paint specks.
Ironhide chuckled softly to himself as he made his way to Ratchet’s office.
He was in trouble.
Most bots aboard the Ark are scared of what they call, “Ratchet’s wrench wrath.” Or the ‘RWW’.
Ironhide wouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to fall victim to the RWW. He would probably thank Ratchet and/or make an embarrassing comment.
Ratchet sat at his desk, filling out one of the many data pads scattered across his desk.
When Ironhide entered, Ratchet motioned for the weapon specialist to sit in the chair opposite of him.
Ironhide disposed of the attempted murder weapon onto the medic’s data pad overflowing desk.
Ratchet didn’t remove an optic from his work.
It was a few nanoklicks before he set the data pad down.
“So what do you need to talk to me about?” Ratchet asked, folding his servos on the desk and looking at the mech across from him with a mischievous optics.
Ironhide vented, trying to not let his fans kick on.
“Optimus….Optimus wanted a report of Prowl’s condition.” Ironhide said, mentally cursing at his sudden stutter.
Ratchet nodded, “he’s fine. He’s able to stay in active duty, but no field work for the next two orbital cycles.”
He began digging through his subspace for something.
Ironhide tried not to stare at how muscular the mech was for only being the Ark’s medic.
Ratchet pulled out another data pad and handed it to Ironhide. “That’s my report on his medical files. You and Optimus can go through that for more details. I’m here for questions.”
Ironhide nodded, packing the report away in his own subspace. He made to get up but Ratchet stopped him. His optics rested on his folded servos.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me, especially when you think I’m not looking.” Ratchet whispered.
“The enamored look in your optics. The jealousy.”
Ironhide’s optics widened, glancing down at his own servos sitting in his lap.
“Sorry—“ He started but Ratchet cut him off.
“I didn’t think much about it first. Too busy with my work. But when First Aid made me slow down and focus on the present. I realized what it was. And how it made me feel.”
Ironhide vented at the medics pause. Great, he’s made him uncomfortable.
“Ironhide.” Ratchet murmured, meeting the weapon specialist gaze. “I know you want me, and I…want you. I’m willing to give us a try.”
Ironhide let out the ex vent he didn’t realize he was holding.
He would have thought he made the medic uncomfortable.
That Ratchet would ask him to stay away.
Ironhide stood up and walked around the desk.
He stood next to the medic who had turned in his chair, following the weapon specialist’s movements.
Ironhide placed a servo on Ratchet’s cheek.
“You really mean it?” He asked, leaning his face closer to Ratchet’s.
Ratchet nodded, optics swiftly glancing at Ironhide lips. “You want me to court you?” Ironhide whispered.
Ratchet second nod was all the confirmation Ironhide needed to press his lips hungrily against the medic’s.
Ratchet pressed back with an equal, if not more amount of hunger. He was quick to open his mouth, welcoming Ironhide in to explore it.
Ratchet moaned loudly when the weapon specialist move from his mouth to his neck cables.
Oh how he could frag this medic, his medic right here, right now on this data pad mess of a desk.
“Ironhide.” Ratchet moaned, gently pushing him back.
Ironhide removed his lips from the medic’s neck with disappointment in his optics.
“Not here. I’m still on shift.” Ratchet breathed, leaning into Ironhide’s servo that was still resting on his face. “My quarters, tonight. 20h00.”
Ironhide nodded, pressing a last kiss to Ratchet’s lips before rounding the desk and heading for the door.
He glanced back at the medic, “see ya tonight.” He winked, leaving the office, closing the door behind him.