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Medical Expertise

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Ratchet ex-vented, already bitter and revved up at his current predicament. He couldn’t move his hands, as they were currently strapped down to a lap-height medical berth. He was seated with his arms outstretched before him with his forearms held still by heavy metal straps. “The GALL you have, coming into MY medical bay and ordering ME around! Who do you think you are??” The burnt-orange-accented medic turned his icy glare to his bossy cohort.

Wheeljack smirked from his place across the berth, standing by a tray of Ratchet’s equipment, tracing over each piece and not responding just yet. He seemed relaxed and not bothered by the furious Autobot medic staring him down. He was quiet, waiting out the other’s temper and when it seemed Ratchet had said his piece he tisked in a mockery of disappointment. “I’m real sorry to hear you feel that way,” he drawled. “I thought I was here to tell you exactly what to do for a while?”

“That’s not how-! It isn’t what I meant!” Ratchet blustered. “You’re being arrogant! Rude!”

“Am I? Or are you just being melodramatic because you’re embarrassed that you need a dirty ole’ wrecker like me to help you spruce up your rusty old joints?” He finally looked directly at Ratchet. The medic’s mouth opened but nothing came out while he worked his jaw around in angry silence. He clamped it shut and looked away, pede now tapping impatiently on the floor. “Aw, come on now, doc, don’t mope on me. I’m not going to poke around where I’m not supposed to.”

The wrecker pulled up a seat across from Ratchet and once he was on the other’s level he placed both his hands over Ratchet’s, surprised the hardened medic FLINCHED. He didn’t goad or mock or do anything to exacerbate the other’s fried nerves at that point. “Hey,” he started softly, getting the other’s attention. “Its just a tune up. I’ll treat you just like the Jackhammer.” Ratchet’s fingers curled tightly and he snapped an angry glare on the other. “Not how I drive her, just how I upkeep her. You know I take care of my ship!” Wheeljack defended himself and Ratchet deflated finally.

“I know,” he sighed. “You just… I don’t know if you understand how important this is. If your calibrating is off, it could be someone’s life on the operating table later.” Wheeljack nodded and patted his hands.

“I got a steady hand. I’ll make sure you’re purring just like the Jackhammer when all this is said and done.”

Wheeljack got to work, opening up very delicate hidden compartments and needing minimal guidance from Ratchet. He worked quietly and without any more chatting, appearing to take things as seriously as the medic wanted him to. Ratchet’s servos were so intricately wired that Wheeljack had to take a moment to appreciate just how delicate they looked without his guards over it. He worked finger by finger, loosening over-tight pins and adding tiny bits of lubricated oil where needed. Nothing serious came up during the tune up and Ratchet was glad.

Wheeljack left the medic’s right hand opened up and moved to the left, now needing no words between them. Even the wrecker was a little surprised at how little input the other gave him, seemingly doing very well for the other. He reached the crux of Ratchet’s thumb and palm and hummed.

“What is it?” The doctor spoke up gruffly.

“How long has your hand been bothering you, doc?” Wheeljack asked quietly, trying to leave his personal emotions out of this.

“Why?” Ratchet tried to lean forward to see what Wheeljack saw. The wrecker sighed and hunched over his ‘work’, not letting the medic get a good look. “Wheeljack what are you-OW!!” He shouted and tried to jerk his hands free, both wrists clattering on the straps.

“You had a yellow fleck of paint jammed in there. When was the last time you worked on Bee??” Ratchet huffed and was about to shout back at the other but saw how Wheeljack looked… angry? Concerned? He took a few calming vents and looked back to his thumb, the appendage not hurting at all anymore. “Did you think I was just gonna sweep your circuits and not be thorough about this? Doc, if you’re hurting you gotta tell someone. Like you said, it could be someone’s life on the line next time. If your hands aren’t up to snuff then...” He sighed and rubbed his face, leaning backward to stretch and let his irritation go.

“You’re right.” Ratchet frowned to himself. “You’re absolutely right. You aren’t always around and I didn’t think I’d ever trust someone besides another medic to work on me.”

“I know I’m right. What I want to hear is that you’ll tell someone, anyone, next time. Give others a chance to help you, alright?” Wheeljack leaned forward and was much calmer, placing his hands lightly over the medic’s exposed ones.

“I-uh, yes… I will. I absolutely will.” Ratchet shuddered, the sensation of the other’s (for once) cleaned hands resting over his exposed components was a whole new type of sensation. It wasn’t unpleasant but it felt too pleasant to be something that should continue. Wheeljack gave a light rub up and down in a comforting gesture and the medic turned his face away, hunching his shoulders a little. “Wheeljack, that uh-you should probably close them up.” He tried to sound professional.

“Y’know I’ve always wanted to hear you call me ‘Jackie’, doc.” Ratchet froze. He could HEAR the smirk on the other’s face and looking up in shock only confirmed it.

“Wheeljack, you… you’d better not,” he tried to warn but choked on his words when expert fingertips teased down the back of his own finger’s, down to the tips and lining up with each one, interlacing and pausing so their servos looked like a puzzle fitting together flat on the table.

“I think it would be good to put your fingers through their paces before closing them all up,” Wheeljack growled and pushed forward, entwining their fingers and flattening their palms together. Ratchet’s seat clattered from how hard he jumped and he ducked his head down, moaning openly. His hands and arms shivered, charge building suddenly within him.

“Ah! Wheeljack--!!” He shouted and looked up, still hardly able to process how easily the other was toying with him. The wrecker smiled gently and wrapped his fingers slowly around the back of Ratchet’s hand, all the while the medic’s fingers were spread wide and outward, afraid to curl back in turn. “Please...” His field was already conflicted on what was happening. It didn’t hurt, it was the far opposite. It felt amazing, but it SHOULDN’T continue, it wasn’t RIGHT. It wasn’t acceptable. It shouldn’t but he couldn’t stop from letting the pleasure overtake him. He could shut down his receptors remotely, but he didn’t.


“Wheeljack?” The wrecker questioned, optics glowing brightly with his anticipation.

“… Jackie...” The medic huffed the nickname and swallowed thickly. “Jackie, please… don’t...”

“Don’t what?” He continued to tease, slowly squeezing and relaxing his grip over the other’s servos and making him quake and stamp his pede, ducking his head back down to regain his composure. There was silence but he could feel Ratchet enjoying it, his field was wildly out of control and Wheeljack reached his out in turn. Gentle and caring caressing the confused and hungry field. Ratchet didn’t seem like he was going to yield so Wheeljack leaned in, kissing the back of each of the doctor’s hands. When he looked up from the left servo, he locked optics with the other’s now brightly shining ones. He grinned and let his lips linger on the fine wiring, murmuring deeply against them.

“Ask nicely.”

Ratchet keened and grit his teeth, the conflict between duty and desire evident on his face. He buckled. He needed this more than he knew he shouldn’t.

“Jackie,” he gasped. “Please don’t stop.” Wheeljack nodded and sent the command to unstrap Ratchet’s wrists. He brought both hands up to his face and kissed over them repeatedly, going down the trembling fingers and moving them over to kiss the palms, letting Ratchet gasp and moan openly.

“I’d never stop taking care of you, doc. See? All ya gotta do is ask.”