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mmouse15, catraven, hd18, bookscrazygirl, dvana, obsoletereality, nekohitori, hellsangelcurse and Anonymous for all the suggestions, they were a big help ^_^
Title: Heat (Or, How to drive your brothers to drink in 10 easy steps) [Chapter 8]
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Ratchet. Ironhide. Tracks. Prowl. Dinobots. Aerialbots. Protectobots.(oh my)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Ratchet smirked into his energon. Across the rec room, a certain SIC was also getting a ration, and ignoring a rather persistent Corvette’s subtle attempts at seducing him. It seemed the news had gotten out at last, and it came as no surprise to the medic that Tracks would be one of the first to brave Prowl’s normal reserve (and Smokescreen and Bluestreak’s ire, not to mention the thought of what Jazz might do, hence the mech’s extremely delicate tread) in the hopes of marking a truly boast worthy notch on his fan belt.
If it were any other bot, Tracks would likely have already succeeded. The Corvette was attractive, there was no denying it, persuasive when he wanted to be and in high demand as an interface partner. Having him come to you instead of the other way ‘round was considered a compliment.
But this was Prowl, and therefore said Corvette had also been working on the SIC for more than a few days now. Bets were circulating (behind Smokescreen’s back, of course) over what would happen first, Prowl succumbing or Tracks landing in the med bay, and most of the rec room were watching the proceedings with an almost morbid fascination.
Younglings, the lot of them.
He caught Ironhide’s gaze and shared a grin with the other mech as Tracks upped the ante, launching a full scale charm offensive on the tactician. But before Ratchet could contemplate getting in on the betting pool, his notice was drawn to the next mechs to enter.
The Dinobots trooped in, and he sighed, getting ready to play peacemaker, just in case. Wheeljack was still banished to whatever corner of the Ark was furthest from the medic, and thus was not around to take on his usual role of Dinobot - Autobot mediator.
Still, the five seemed content to refuel and just hang around the room tonight, and the medic was grateful for the small mercy, nodding amiably at Swoop when the mech came to stand near him, brimming with questions and little observations for his mentor.
= = =
Ironhide looked away from Ratchet the moment Swoop monopolised the medic’s attention, choosing instead to watch the more entertaining spectacle of Tracks putting his cables on the line with his sudden interest in their SIC, while Prowl responded to the flirting with distant civility from behind a datapad, still working even as he refuelled.
The red mech wondered why the Datsun didn’t simply exit the room, but then noticed that Prowl had already brought his cube to his lips, slowly draining it in preparation for taking his leave. Then Slag, of all mechs, stomped up to Prowl and Tracks and sat down heavily at their table. A flicker of annoyance crossed red faceplates as the black and white mech put down his energon and datapad to acknowledge the Dinobot’s presence.
“Good evening, Slag.”
The large bot grunted, and when he did nothing else, the Datsun went back to his ration and whatever file he had open, clearly putting the Dinobot’s behaviour down to Slag being Slag. Thus occupied, Prowl didn’t see the Triceratops shifting positions in his seat, but the rest of the room did, and they stared, confused at the mech’s behaviour.
“Isn’t that a curious sight.”
Ironhide felt his fuel pump skip a beat as a mech faded into view beside him. Grumbling softly, he raised an optic ridge at the spy in askance. Mirage gestured at the trio of Dinotbot, SIC and Corvette, a look of resigned amusement on his faceplates.
“Watch.”
The weapons master blinked at the Ligier’s enigmatic reply, and took a closer look. Slag moved again, obviously flexing his servos this time, angling his plating to catch the light in the most flattering manner possible and throwing in a glare at Tracks for good measure. Ironhide stalled, then muttered at Mirage, trepidation growing in his spark.
“He’s preening?”
“Just paint Slag yellow and call him Sunstreaker.”
“Primus.”
Their focus was brought back to the Dinobot when Slag cleared his vocaliser, drawing Prowl’s attention once more.
“Prowl.” The SIC looked up again, expression neutral but slightly wary.
“Me Slag no like anything.”
“So you’ve said, on numerous occasions.” The Datsun replied, tone edging towards caution. Slag nodded, and spoke again.
“But me Slag don’t no like you.”
Ironhide could feel that hint of dread expand to a full fledged apprehension, even as he tried not to laugh at Track’s expression. Frag, they were in trouble.
= = =
Back across the room, Swoop’s next question had caused Ratchet to stall.
“Ratchet, him Sludge ask why him Prowl smell pretty.”
The CMO rebooted his audios, then shot a chortling Ironhide (the mech had caught the question and subsequently, had lost the battle with his mirth) a dirty look. Before he could snap at the weapons master, or come up with some kind of explanation for the flier, Swoop added. “Them other Dinobots also want to know.”
“Well, the Dinobots and me.” When did Air Raid show up?
“And me. First Aid was kinda sketchy on the details. Said it was something you hadn’t explained to him yet, and you were kinda tetchy these past few days so he didn’t want to bother you.” Ditto for Groove. Ratchet could feel a processor ache coming on as the realisation that there were fifteen mechs in the Ark who had no clue about the Cybertronian development cycle sank in. Groaning, he commed Wheeljack.
//Wheeljack.//
//Ratchet?//
How could the engineer infuse one word with such hope and utter sparkrending pleading for forgiveness? Practice, his more cynical circuits replied; the inventor regularly needed to beg absolution for his tendency to explode everything and anything, after all. Whatever the reason, it never failed to work on Ratchet and the white mech sighed, shuttering his optics in defeat.
//Get your aft to the rec room, ‘Jack. You need to give someone the nuts and bolts talk.//
As a puzzled Wheeljack replied in the affirmative, the medic glanced at Groove and Air Raid. Thanking Primus that he and Wheeljack had seen fit to build their de facto creations as adults (they most certainly did not need fifteen bots going through what their head tactician was currently experiencing, and since Primus thought it was fun to torment him it would likely be all at the same time as well), he cycled air slowly, then folded his arms across his chassis in a stern manner.
“Dinobots. Front and center. Air Raid, Groove. You two get the rest of your teams in here. This is not something I want to have to repeat. Everyone else, I’m quite sure your educations in this matter don’t need refreshing.”
In the chaos of Aerialbots and Protectobots hurrying in and the rest of the crew making themselves scarce, it was understandable that most everyone quite forgot about Prowl and Tracks altogether.
mmouse15, catraven, hd18, bookscrazygirl, dvana, obsoletereality, nekohitori, hellsangelcurse and Anonymous for all the suggestions, they were a big help ^_^Title: Heat (Or, How to drive your brothers to drink in 10 easy steps) [Chapter 8]
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Ratchet. Ironhide. Tracks. Prowl. Dinobots. Aerialbots. Protectobots.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Ratchet smirked into his energon. Across the rec room, a certain SIC was also getting a ration, and ignoring a rather persistent Corvette’s subtle attempts at seducing him. It seemed the news had gotten out at last, and it came as no surprise to the medic that Tracks would be one of the first to brave Prowl’s normal reserve (and Smokescreen and Bluestreak’s ire, not to mention the thought of what Jazz might do, hence the mech’s extremely delicate tread) in the hopes of marking a truly boast worthy notch on his fan belt.
If it were any other bot, Tracks would likely have already succeeded. The Corvette was attractive, there was no denying it, persuasive when he wanted to be and in high demand as an interface partner. Having him come to you instead of the other way ‘round was considered a compliment.
But this was Prowl, and therefore said Corvette had also been working on the SIC for more than a few days now. Bets were circulating (behind Smokescreen’s back, of course) over what would happen first, Prowl succumbing or Tracks landing in the med bay, and most of the rec room were watching the proceedings with an almost morbid fascination.
Younglings, the lot of them.
He caught Ironhide’s gaze and shared a grin with the other mech as Tracks upped the ante, launching a full scale charm offensive on the tactician. But before Ratchet could contemplate getting in on the betting pool, his notice was drawn to the next mechs to enter.
The Dinobots trooped in, and he sighed, getting ready to play peacemaker, just in case. Wheeljack was still banished to whatever corner of the Ark was furthest from the medic, and thus was not around to take on his usual role of Dinobot - Autobot mediator.
Still, the five seemed content to refuel and just hang around the room tonight, and the medic was grateful for the small mercy, nodding amiably at Swoop when the mech came to stand near him, brimming with questions and little observations for his mentor.
= = =
Ironhide looked away from Ratchet the moment Swoop monopolised the medic’s attention, choosing instead to watch the more entertaining spectacle of Tracks putting his cables on the line with his sudden interest in their SIC, while Prowl responded to the flirting with distant civility from behind a datapad, still working even as he refuelled.
The red mech wondered why the Datsun didn’t simply exit the room, but then noticed that Prowl had already brought his cube to his lips, slowly draining it in preparation for taking his leave. Then Slag, of all mechs, stomped up to Prowl and Tracks and sat down heavily at their table. A flicker of annoyance crossed red faceplates as the black and white mech put down his energon and datapad to acknowledge the Dinobot’s presence.
“Good evening, Slag.”
The large bot grunted, and when he did nothing else, the Datsun went back to his ration and whatever file he had open, clearly putting the Dinobot’s behaviour down to Slag being Slag. Thus occupied, Prowl didn’t see the Triceratops shifting positions in his seat, but the rest of the room did, and they stared, confused at the mech’s behaviour.
“Isn’t that a curious sight.”
Ironhide felt his fuel pump skip a beat as a mech faded into view beside him. Grumbling softly, he raised an optic ridge at the spy in askance. Mirage gestured at the trio of Dinotbot, SIC and Corvette, a look of resigned amusement on his faceplates.
“Watch.”
The weapons master blinked at the Ligier’s enigmatic reply, and took a closer look. Slag moved again, obviously flexing his servos this time, angling his plating to catch the light in the most flattering manner possible and throwing in a glare at Tracks for good measure. Ironhide stalled, then muttered at Mirage, trepidation growing in his spark.
“He’s preening?”
“Just paint Slag yellow and call him Sunstreaker.”
“Primus.”
Their focus was brought back to the Dinobot when Slag cleared his vocaliser, drawing Prowl’s attention once more.
“Prowl.” The SIC looked up again, expression neutral but slightly wary.
“Me Slag no like anything.”
“So you’ve said, on numerous occasions.” The Datsun replied, tone edging towards caution. Slag nodded, and spoke again.
“But me Slag don’t no like you.”
Ironhide could feel that hint of dread expand to a full fledged apprehension, even as he tried not to laugh at Track’s expression. Frag, they were in trouble.
= = =
Back across the room, Swoop’s next question had caused Ratchet to stall.
“Ratchet, him Sludge ask why him Prowl smell pretty.”
The CMO rebooted his audios, then shot a chortling Ironhide (the mech had caught the question and subsequently, had lost the battle with his mirth) a dirty look. Before he could snap at the weapons master, or come up with some kind of explanation for the flier, Swoop added. “Them other Dinobots also want to know.”
“Well, the Dinobots and me.” When did Air Raid show up?
“And me. First Aid was kinda sketchy on the details. Said it was something you hadn’t explained to him yet, and you were kinda tetchy these past few days so he didn’t want to bother you.” Ditto for Groove. Ratchet could feel a processor ache coming on as the realisation that there were fifteen mechs in the Ark who had no clue about the Cybertronian development cycle sank in. Groaning, he commed Wheeljack.
//Wheeljack.//
//Ratchet?//
How could the engineer infuse one word with such hope and utter sparkrending pleading for forgiveness? Practice, his more cynical circuits replied; the inventor regularly needed to beg absolution for his tendency to explode everything and anything, after all. Whatever the reason, it never failed to work on Ratchet and the white mech sighed, shuttering his optics in defeat.
//Get your aft to the rec room, ‘Jack. You need to give someone the nuts and bolts talk.//
As a puzzled Wheeljack replied in the affirmative, the medic glanced at Groove and Air Raid. Thanking Primus that he and Wheeljack had seen fit to build their de facto creations as adults (they most certainly did not need fifteen bots going through what their head tactician was currently experiencing, and since Primus thought it was fun to torment him it would likely be all at the same time as well), he cycled air slowly, then folded his arms across his chassis in a stern manner.
“Dinobots. Front and center. Air Raid, Groove. You two get the rest of your teams in here. This is not something I want to have to repeat. Everyone else, I’m quite sure your educations in this matter don’t need refreshing.”
In the chaos of Aerialbots and Protectobots hurrying in and the rest of the crew making themselves scarce, it was understandable that most everyone quite forgot about Prowl and Tracks altogether.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:41 am (UTC)Oh man. Oh, Slag, you're so hopelessly hilarious! ::pets::
Mirage. Hee!
Ok, I thought that was going to go more pear-shaped than it did - good thing too. ^^; Dinobots...oy.
Aaahahahaha! Oh hey, good idea Ratch, get EVERYBODY in for Ze Lecture at once! XDDDD
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:44 am (UTC)Poor Wheeljack, too. I guess he's pretty good at putting ten minutes worth of begging and pleading forgiveness into one word. :D
*snicker* I think Tracks should take this as a hint to stop bugging Prowl - if not, he's likely to end up on the bottom of a Dinobot pile-on!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:58 pm (UTC)Heh, and he can't even fly away, because 'Swoop fetch!'
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:55 am (UTC)*Bows to queen of crack*
*laughing too hard to type anymore*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 05:30 am (UTC)Keep up the good work i look forward to seeing how the story develops
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 11:30 am (UTC)Oh dear, the nuts and bolts talk to 15 youngsters XDDDDDDD
And the image of Slag preening and interrupting Tracks' seduction attempt, (and using double negatives no less!) is beyond hilarious *rolls about*
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 11:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 05:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 01:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 05:02 pm (UTC)For now *nodnod* >:3
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 06:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 09:33 pm (UTC)And too bad the 'Bots can't use something like the Rejection Hotline phone number; it looks like Prowl needs it.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:08 pm (UTC)As for the Dinobots... Eh, we'll see. I don't know 'bout that part yet.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 11:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-30 04:33 am (UTC)But yay for everyone's life being made just a little more difficult! I'm very much looking forward to seeing what happens to Tracks. Prowl's made his choice after all, and I very much doubt that Tracvks will be able to change his mind, no matter how pretty he is. XD
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:11 pm (UTC)But Tracks can try. And we'll be muchly entertained by it.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-30 09:26 pm (UTC)This is just simply hilarious. I choked on my tea reading about Slag preening for Prowl ("Me Slag don't no like you"). How could Tracks possibly compete against that?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-31 07:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-02 05:32 pm (UTC)Whirlwind
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-04 03:18 pm (UTC)