kinrazza (kinrazza) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-06 00:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: kinrazza, f: transformers, p: ironhide/optimus prime, september 05 |
Heroes, Transformers (movieverse), Optimus Prime/Ironhide
Title: Heroes
Author/Artist: kinrazza
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Word count: 1,225
Summary: For prompt:- 27. Transformers Movie, Optimus Prime/Ironhide: hurt/comfort - "hero complex"
It takes eighteen months, three weeks, five days and four point seven Earth hours for Ratchet to fix Jazz. Long before that though, he patches the rest of his team up as much as he can. Resources are short on this technologically backward planet, and there is only so much of his own body that he can sacrifice before the system strain becomes too much even for him. As it is, he is forced to allow Bee's legs to heal naturally to a far greater degree than he is altogether happy with.
The rest of the team watches him quietly, their eyes on the clock as hours pass and then days between one recharge session and the next. Eventually, Optimus Prime puts a gentle hand over the medic's own and orders him to stop. Ratchet glares and curses, and looks like he might put up a fight, but the shaking of his arm beneath Prime's touch tells them both that he is defeated. Feet near dragging in weariness, he is escorted back to his berth in the air hangar by Bee, too tired even to complain at the escort.
Optimus watches them both go and then turns back to the silent form of his first lieutenant lying stretched out on the medic's bench. Wires and support systems feed into his circuitry, supplying the tiny glowing ember of his restored spark with the energy it needs to maintain its grip on Jazz's body. He remembers Ratchet holding the fragment of the AllSpark cradled carefully in his palms, letting its energies creep out into the lifeless body below it-waiting, waiting, all sensors straining for any sign of a response and then!-movement. The barest stirring of delicate inner gears and the tiniest, barest flicker of the spark in his chest that signified life! Precious memory, the sweet taste of hope. Only time will tell.
He reaches a hand out to place it gently on Jazz's shoulder and as he does something pulls hard and sharp in his side, hot flaring white agony that lights up alarms and flashes warnings across his vision. He winces and bends over slightly in pain reaction.
"Prime?"
He looks up and to the side, nodding a response as the pain subsides.
"You okay?"
The sound of footsteps and then Ironhide is beside him, one palm on his back, the other supporting him flat on his chest, just above the spark. Optimus nods, drawing himself up and around the pain, shutting down sensor networks and rerouting input through different circuits. “Yes,” he replies quickly. “It’s nothing, just a few bruises left over.”
Ironhide’s growl is disbelieving and his palm remains flat on the other mech’s chest, supporting him even as Prime makes his denials. “Does Ratchet know you still have damage?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“There is no need to trouble Ratchet over something so minor,” Prime replies just as Ironhide knew he would. “He must focus his efforts on Jazz for the moment. He is now the top priority.”
Ironhide nods, letting the other mech straighten up. He knows the way Prime’s mind works and he understands the sentiment. After all, Prime may be a ruler and Ironhide may be a soldier, but at spark they are both warriors. And so the weapons specialist doesn't need to say more than, "Let me see what I can do," for Prime to understand him.
They retreat together to the back rooms of the hangar where there are still military crates and containers piled high even though they've been promised for weeks now that they would be moved. Perhaps military precision on this world means something different to what it did back on Cybertron. Ironhide indicates one of the sturdier metal containers and motions Prime to sit down in front of it. With a raised optic ridge, Prime obeys, stretching his long legs out before him. Ironhide moves around to kneel at his side and Optimus lifts his arm, laying it across the top of the container so that the other mech can reach in and examine him.
Ironhide's touch is gentle for a mech whose hands are most suited to the wielding of heavy cannons, and his large, blunt fingers run with sure insistence over taut circuitry and stretched connector cables. Prime shifts beneath his fingers, the flick of an optic ridge the only indication that he suffers any discomfort. It takes the weapons specialist some time to work his way around to the ridge of panelling and struts along the larger mech's back, and when he lifts aside the outer armour his features draw into a frown. "Hid this well, didn't you?" he growls. "Damned hero complex, Prime, that's your trouble."
Optimus stiffens and Ironhide grumbles to himself, his tone reluctantly placatory. "All right, all right, forget I said anything. Just hold still, quit stiffening up like that…"
He slides his fingers down the ridges of cables and wiring, kneading the circuit boards below with persistent, knowing fingers. At first Prime winces, and then, as the other mech works out the kinks in the wiring, his head lowers and his body relaxes. Behind him, Ironhide's optics flicker with satisfaction. Working his way up the other mech's broad back, he reaches his shoulders and is just sliding his palms across joint and steel when Prime reaches up to grasp his wrist with one hand.
For a moment, they both freeze and Prime turns his head enough to meet Ironhide's optics with one of his own. There is a pause and then, "Come here," Prime murmurs, his voice low and scratchy with something that sounds an awful lot like desire. The desire that mechanoids feel for touch and stimulation and the refreshing oblivion of overload. Ironhide huffs something unintelligible and then leans slowly forward into Optimus' embrace.
"Was fixing you up," he mutters.
"Yes," Prime replies, his fingers finding the sensitive joins between armoured plating and shoulder mechanisms. "You were indeed…"
He is gentle and skilled, despite his larger size, and his hands find all the places that Ironhide has been keeping hidden from Ratchet. All the kinked circuits and torn wiring that just doesn't warrant drawing attention away from far more deserving projects. The weapons specialist arches and flexes beneath Prime's touch, alternately growling at his persistence and complaining when he moves on. For all his gruff insistence that his commander not play the hero, still Prime finds enough spots that elicit genuine winces from him for there to be any doubt that two can play at that game.
"You speak of heroes and hero complexes, Ironhide…" Prime hums in their native tongue. "I had thought you more sensible…"
"Slag it," Ironhide growls, but his optics are dark with amusement as he meets Prime's own. "If this is the punishment, Prime, then I am guilty as charged."
Optimus laughs softly at the suggestive tone of the other mech's voice, and lets his friend pull him down into an embrace that steals both their senses away.