Hello, and welcome to our new story! I played Wheeljack, and Xobit Prime played Tracks. Transformers is not ours, nor do we make money off this. Hope you enjoy...
"I can't believe they left me here! I mean how will anyone see my new paintjob if I can't go out for a drive?" okay, so he was getting a little bit overcharged but Optimus could have hidden that high grade better and some of it was his anyway. Wheeljack didn't have to know where it came from and Tracks needed someone to complain to. "What did I do to deserve this…. I don't 'do' monitor duty that is like… Red's job!" He all but pouted at the engineer… and noticed that he was actually not all that bad looking. Huh? Ohh, frag that HAD to be the high grade talking there! Even if the other had a halfway decent alt mode he was not… and what was that mask for anyway? "Why are you always wearing that battle mask?"
"You've seen how much things blow up around me," Wheeljack answered happily. "And I thought that was a new paintjob, I mean, well..." It wasn't just the fact that Tracks had a new paint job every week or so. He'd actually been watching. "It looks... good on you?" Looking blankly at the high-grade because it was better to look at that then to look at Tracks, Wheeljack wondered exactly where the high-grade came from. Then he decided he didn't want to know.
"Yeah but that is like in the lab! I mean why do you wear it everywhere else? You can't be that bad looking and you do have some taste judging by your alt. mode…" He preened a little when the engineer complimented his paintjob he loved painting mechs… but what with the war and all, the only one he could practice his old job on was himself. In all fairness he had kept it a secret but still… all a mech had to do was ask right? "Thanks, it took hours! But at least it seems I have succeeded in finding a paint that may survive the grazing of a laser beam… I can hope…"
"Ah, habit, I guess." Wheeljack shrugged a little. Tracks thought he had taste? Wow... "Why, you want to see me without it? Sound's like it's bothering you or something. I mean, I don't know, I'm just used to it..." Turning his thoughts to other matters, the white inventor reached out and tested the paint with a finger, momentarily forgetting that Tracks was under the substance in question. "If this stuff doesn't last, I could always try mixing something up," he muttered, rubbing carefully at the paint.
"Yeah, I would like to see…" He stopped short as a digit touched his armor, normally he would have battered it away with the excuse that the owner might scuff his paint, completely ignoring the fact that most paint could hold up even under interfacing… unless it was rough and tumble interfacing. Right now though that digit felt rather good… like really, really good! "Mixing? Ohh yeah that might be worth it! Are you good with your hands?"
Wheeljack jumped a little at the reminder that Tracks was still there. Pulling his hand away, he started removing the battlemask, talking as he did so. "And sure, I love mixing things. Though sometimes I mix the wrong things, that's when things really go boom, especially the more volatile things. Those get big explosions!" he prattled on happily. "I guess I can't be too bad with my hands, I mean, I fix enough things, dealing with those wires is a really delicate job, so I guess I have to be good at it."
Slag, he had removed his digits… but he was taking off that annoying mask that was so absolutely a plus. The engineer talked as much as Bluestreak but not as fast… and the images his last words painted in Tracks over energized calculations processor where worth every word. High grade did have some side effects that normally made Tracks stop after having consumed a few cubes, not this time however and that all too brief caress made him more than interested in what else those hands could do. "So… you 'like' messing with delicate wires do you?" He all but purred out, leaning towards Wheeljack and placing his hands on the others knee joints.
"I, well, yes, of course, why would I do it so much if I didn't like..." Wheeljack's voice faded away as he noticed exactly what Tracks was doing. He looked at the mech blankly for a moment, then took advantage of his newly unmasked mouth, leaning in and ... stopping. He wanted very much to kiss Tracks, Tracks was giving every indication that he'd like to be kissed, and Wheeljack stopped.
The engineer was cute! There was simply no other way of putting it, at least not while overcharged, and he didn't seem all that adverse to Tracks' advances that was always good. He was leaning forward anticipating the kiss, almost shutting his optics down when he realized that his partner had stopped. Actually more like his partner had frozen in place… "What? Don't you want to kiss me?" He pouted slightly then leaned forward and nabbed at the temptingly close dermaplates, okay so he didn't have a lot of patience, so what!
It only took a little bit to pull away from Tracks. Wheeljack smirked, rubbing a hand against Track's arm as he answered. "Yes, I want to kiss you. I just wanted, you know, to see what you'd do." That wasn't everything, it was the best excuse he could come up with, and he was getting tired of excuses. "Oh, who cares," he muttered, leaning forward again that little bit and happily resuming the kiss. Wheeljack gave a little hum of enjoyment, his dermaplates were more sensitive than he remembered, maybe that was why he'd worn the mask, or was it because of wearing the mask...
He didn't have time to answer that rather confusing statement before Wheeljack was kissing him again… it might be the high grade speaking but the engineer was a great kisser. Tracks shifted his grip on both knee joints slipping his digits inside to tickle support cables and pressure sensors. Deciding that the kiss could be even more enjoyable he parted his dermaplates and pressed lightly against Wheeljack's hoping to be granted access…
Wheeljack happily let Tracks in, sucking lightly at his glossa. Tracks still tasted like the high-grade, a thin and rather sweet flavor that Wheeljack found he quite enjoyed. He lifted his hand higher, tracing seams along Tracks' arms, lightly pulling the well-painted mech closer. He still wasn't completely sure what he was doing, what he might be allowed to do, but for now it was quite enough to explore and be explored.
Oh yeah, a very good kisser! Wheeljack was a little bolder then Tracks had thought he would be but he wasn't complaining and besides it was not like he had thought that much of how the engineer would be like when interfacing. He didn't think like that about any of the Ark's passengers… much at least. This mission had gone for far longer than it was supposed to and he was getting a little needy, many had already paired off and he had to admit that he envied them. Again… who would want a slightly narcissistic lover with a penance for chassis art? Shoving the thoughts away he decided to just enjoy this and think it over later when he wasn't high off his aft.
He wanted... a lot more than what he was currently getting, Wheeljack decided. Using Tracks' overcharged state against him, the inventor pushed him to the ground, almost rough from sudden desire. Well, not really so sudden... Resting himself against the freshly painted chassis, Wheeljack teased a side seam. Hopefully Tracks wouldn't be too upset when he sobered up... "Do you want to find out just how good I am with my hands, Tracks?"
His processor was spinning from the sudden shift in position and he clutched at the engineer whimpering in a mix of confusion and need. Arching up in response to the light caress to his side he tried to retaliate, stroking down from the other's shoulders digging into his side seams intend on getting a moan out of him. "Oh yes! Umm… show me everything 'Jack." He was not even aware that he had shorted his name, it was not something he did normally since he did not consider himself a friend of the engineer. That did not mean he did not want to be a friend… but merely that he had succeeded in pushing everyone away as always. No one would ever get him to admit that he was lonely, his bragging was mostly a way of hiding how very unsure he was… as the only thing he knew he was good at was chassis painting.
The pleading, pleading! Tracks was pleading, it had to be the high-grade, but it was so nice, Wheeljack liked it so much. "Everything, yes, I will Tracks," Wheeljack murmured, digging fingers under armor until he could find some of the delicate wiring. Stroking that carefully, Wheeljack all but attacked Tracks with his mouth, kissing and nipping at his neck and chest, anywhere he could reach, anywhere that would produce a reaction. He might only get this once, and he was going to make it count.
Primus… Wheeljack seemed to be everywhere at once, touching Tracks in places that had gone without pleasure for far too long. He keened and bucked, holding on to the engineer for all he was worth almost afraid of waking up and finding this a dream. There was no hesitation from him at all he fully exposed his throat to the sensual attack resorting to begging when Wheeljack didn't stay there nearly long enough. "Please 'Jack… my neck joint… I want this, I want you to do that some more!"
Tracks' needy begging dragged a moan from Wheeljack. "Yes, yes Tracks, whatever you want, I'll give you whatever you want," the engineer promised. He returned his attentions to the offered throat, running his glossa across and between the tubing. "I've wanted you so long," he added between licks, the high-grade and the sheer impossibility of the situation leaving Wheeljack free to spill his secrets without fear.
He couldn't doubt the engineer's words and felt a sort of relief upon hearing them still high grade and desire had to be what made him hear that last sentence… but what a nice dream, so very nice. The thought of someone desiring him were pleasant… he tried to not think that it was probably only for his looks. No one really knew him so how could anyone find him attractive on anything but his looks… "Make me forget!? 'Jack, make me stop thinking, please…" Tracks mewled helplessly, digging his digits deeper into armor seams trying to convey how important the request was.
High-grade made sparks slow to react, it wasn't unusual for overcharged mechs to interface with no reaction from their sparks at all. So Wheeljack was completely unprepared for the pulse his spark gave at Tracks' words, Tracks' touch. Still licking and nibbling Tracks' neck joint, as per request, Wheeljack turned his main attention his body. Hands slipped deeper under armor plating, searching for the nodes and wires that would make Tracks scream, make him forget, make him stop thinking, just like he wanted.
Giving up on making sense of anything was easy, especially when he felt a spark pulse and the slow agonizingly pleasant reaction of his own spark. Calling it a pulse was incorrect it was more like a slow wave of warmth sneaking its way through his systems complimenting the pleasure Wheeljack coaxed fought with his skilled digits. Tracks decided that he was envious of those inventions that had the privilege of feeling Wheeljack's touches every day.
Oh, he could not be feeling that, Tracks was more overcharged than he was. This long tingling of spark energy that Wheeljack felt against his body had to be a trick of his overly-desirous processor. "Tracks, my precious Tracks," the inventor muttered, free hand instinctively moving to tease at the clasps keeping the beautiful mech's chest closed. He didn't really expect to do anything with them, although the lovely thoughts he was having were oh so enticing.
No, his world had truly stopped making sense, in reality 'Jack was passed out beside him in the rec room, not muttering endearments into his neck joint… but he had to admit that he had never been so overcharge before that he had dreamt of interfacing. And the detail, arching his back he cried out as digits slid along the clasps holding his chest closed. Wow he had a better imagination then he thought… he couldn't even really remember when someone other than Ratchet had touched those clasps and the CMO was defiantly not that gentle nor sensual about it. "Oh! That mm… that is good, touch me, my spark casing?" What could it hurt, he wanted it and Wheeljack at least seemed to want it too… why else touch the clasps in the first place…
"Gladly," Wheeljack answered, spark pulsing again. He was beginning to loose his overcharged high as his spark's activity increased, but that was fine, perfectly okay. He wanted to remember this, after all, everything. Tracks' moans, then way he arched into his touch, his expression of peace and wonder and need, Wheeljack wanted to remember it all clearly. He brushed against the clasps again, half expected a sudden denial as he unlatched them. But none came, even as Tracks willingly opened to him. Wheeljack couldn't help but stare. "Oh... Tracks..." he murmured in awe.
Wheeljack complied, his spark pulsing again making Tracks' spark answer with another slow but burning hot wave of energy. His processor cleared a little but all it did was making him feel Wheeljack's digits on his clasps all the better, not to mention the cool air that rushed into his chest when it opened. The engineer sounded genuinely awed at the sight of his spark making him feel rather self-conscious. "It's just a spark… 'Jack, please stop staring… I would much rather have you touching…?" He didn't demand, he didn't dare demand but that did not lessen his want any at all!
The quiet request roused Wheeljack from his blind wonder, and he smirked, glad the mask was off and Tracks could see his smirk. "Are you embarrassed, Tracks?" the inventor asked, stroking around the chamber but not yet touching it, even though he badly wanted to. "Or just that impatient?" It didn't matter, he decided, it truly didn't. "I never thought," Wheeljack mused, hand hovering over Tracks' spark, "That you would actually let me do this..." He wanted Tracks to scream in pleasure, to overload for him, and with those thoughts Wheeljack finally touched the spark's casing, handling it like it was one of his precious inventions.
"Ahh… a little of b-OH!" How did he expect to get an answer when he did that? Tracks gave up and chose to just enjoy the sensations of having his internals stroked, wiggling a little in a vain effort to have the engineer pay attention to his spark casing. Apparently though Wheeljack weren't done talking, what he had to say made Tracks dizzy and unsure… he was not nearly as over energized as before and did not know how to take the confession. That concern was put on low priority when digits suddenly began caressing his spark casing, drowned out by the immediate pleasure and the first real spark pulse from his spark.
He wanted so badly to open himself, to meet Tracks' spark with his own, but fear of rejection kept Wheeljack's hands buried in Tracks. Wheeljack moaned as Tracks' spark pulsed under his hand, so welcoming. "Tracks," he requested, "will you... scream for me, please, I want to hear you..." The first real request he'd asked, he wasn't even sure Tracks had heard him, since Wheeljack was currently doing everything in his power to keep Tracks from putting two thoughts together.
He had no idea what the other was saying he wasn't even sure he was still in the rec room or if he was even on a planet and he did not really care either because it felt so good! And yet it was not enough, he could feel the overload building in his systems and he wanted it… but he also wanted more than a simple overload. All of this was felt more than thought since Wheeljack did as promised forcing the ability to think from his processor. "More… Primus! I need…'Jack, just… please?" His words fell in a jumble heap, making almost no sense as he withered and tried to press closer to the mech straddling his hips.
Shock froze Wheeljack for a moment as he processed the confused plea. "Yes... yes, gladly," he babbled, pulling his hand out from Tracks' seam almost too fast. It took only seconds to unlatch himself, and then he was bending over Tracks, sparks almost but not quite touching. He studied Tracks' face for a moment that he knew he would never forget, and Wheeljack smiled. "Gladly," he murmured again, dipping in that last little bit.
He whimpered in protest when the hands left his spark and armor, dizzy as he was he had just collected enough coherency to beg for further caresses when the light of his partners spark emerged from the opening chest plates. Stilling entirely, afraid to move or say the wrong thing he waited for Wheeljack to take action. He didn't have to wait long and ultimately gave what the engineer had requested screaming at the sensation of their merging sparks, pure unadulterated pleasure!
"Oh, Tracks," Wheeljack groaned, pressing further against the screaming mech. "Tracks!" he called again, voice rising to meet the other's in pitch. Oh, this was far, far better than he had ever dared to hope, the object of his unspoken desire giving himself like this, even if it was only this one time, it was worth it. Nothing could go wrong in this moment, absolutely nothing.
Tracks would have loved to draw out these sensations and had he been less aroused, less overcharged… less a lot of things he would properly not have reacted this strongly to the initiating merge thus enabling them to do so. Now however he bucked hard against Wheeljack, his spark flaring enticingly into the already establishes link and the immediate response he got send him into overload. he pressed as close as he could to the other, clutching at his chassis so hard it had to be hurting but unable to let go…
Tracks was beautiful in overload. Beautiful, and his cries, and the way he clung, were too perfect. It was a conspiracy, Wheeljack was sure, a conspiracy to send him into the most glorious of overloads. It was working, too, and Wheeljack thought he might melt as pleasure dragged him to the peak and threw him into the overload.
The overload sadly tapered off, as even over energized circuitry could only sustain such massive bursts of energy for a short while. His processor was soaking in bliss and he kept his grip on Wheeljack's chassis he did not want to let him go now and preferably not ever… no one had ever been that good before! "Thank you… mmm 'this good…" The words where mumbled sleepily as he nuzzled his face into the crook between neck joint and shoulder, he didn't even bother to move falling offline with the engineer sprawled on top of him.
Wheeljack wasn't sure just how much later it was when he onlined. He didn't particularly care, he was so very comfortable where he was, with Tracks underneath him... Wait a tick, back up. That meant what had happened last night had really happened last night. Wheeljack felt his face threatening to split in a happy grin. "Tracks," he whispered, stroking the face gently. "Tracks, it's morning, time to online."
Tracks wasn't a morning person, meaning it took him a while to wake up and so his reaction to the stroking digits where a small muffled moan and an attempted to nuzzle the hand. It felt good, the weight on his chest was… wait what? Searching his memory blocks he realized that he had been very over charged the night before and that it had had a very pleasant outcome. But what was he supposed to do now… contrary to popular belief he had not had that many lovers and most had been one time 'let's comfort each other before mission/after mission' not anything deep and meaning full at all. "Umm… Wheeljack?..." What could he say, what would be acceptable and what would the engineer do to him? Irrationally that thought made his calculation processor spit out a couple of very nice possibilities…
"Hum, yes, Tracks?" the inventor asked, pushing himself up on one arm to give Tracks room to move. The mech was so cute waking up, and after the way he tried nuzzling, there was no way Wheeljack was going to move his hand away unless and until he was asked. Or told, that would work to. And maybe, if he stayed focused on how cute and good things were right now, maybe he would stop worrying about what Tracks would do when he woke up more.
"I…" About now would be a good time to have a functioning processor, but then again as long as he was still half asleep he could enjoy the hand lazily caressing his faceplate without questioning it too much. What he really wanted to know was why the engineer had gone along with it, why he had said what he had… Tracks was very aware that he had started it all, thank you very much! "What… how did you… I mean…" Slag his lack of eloquence when it came to personal matters he just plain sucked at finding the right words. Off-lining his optics to think he unconsciously turned his head face first into Wheeljack's palm, it made him feel safe…
Not entirely sure what Tracks was trying to ask, Wheeljack continued his petting. "I..." Wheeljack hesitated to bring this up, sure that it would be misconstrued somehow, but still... "I... Thank-you, Tracks. Thank-you so much..." There were a myriad number of things he was actually thanking the mech for, and most he couldn't even put to words. That was okay, though, they could stay like this for longer.
Gapping at the mech lying on him he tried to process the words just spoken. Thank you? What did that mean, what purpose did it have in relation to their interfacing and why the pit did it make him feel uncomfortable? Tracks wasn't used to get thanked for anything barring the occasional 'thanks for watching my back' on the battle field. "Ah… why did you do it?" He was immediately embarrassed at his own bluntness and turned his face back into the engineer's hand, completely disregarding the fact that doing so showed that he wasn't adverse to what Wheeljack seemed to offer.
"Wha- why?" What kind of question was that! "Because I wanted to, Tracks! I've wanted you... Oh, slag, at least ever since I saw..." Wheeljack looked away, still tracing Tracks' face, since he seemed to want that. Oh well, if it was confession time, he might as well be thorough... "It... was your voice, first, that got my attention. And the way you fight, like you're not afraid... I'm always so terrified when I have to fight... And..." How was he supposed to explain his crush, especially to the mech he had said crush on? Wheeljack slipped a hand down, took Tracks' hand in his own. "I saw the art these hands created on your chassis. I saw you happy... I'm sorry, I know it was private, I didn't mean to see, it was just..."
If he had been stunned before it was safe to say he had no words to describe his current state, the idea of Wheeljack, of anyone in fact, wanting him for something other than his looks was just foreign. Then he processed the last bit and felt faint, his painting sessions almost always ended with an overload… his profession had a lot in common with that of a pleasure 'Bot. The intimate nature of painting another's chassis could not help but cause pleasure to the one receiving such attention. Neither profession, pleasure 'Bot or chassis artist, where looked down upon but Tracks had still kept his past hidden for all feeling that it would perhaps not help him convince other that he was a good warrior, after all acceptance of a profession did not equal understanding of the mech. "I… don't know… that is, why would… umm my voice?" He commented weakly, feeling supremely stupid at being constantly reduced to hacked off and stammered out sentences.
Carefully levering himself off of the flustered mech, Wheeljack nodded. "I can't... explain it. Not really. And I figured, you know, who would be interested in the inventor who always blows himself up? And, um... Maybe we don't want to have this conversation in the rec room?" Tracks was so... shy. Embarrassed. Like he was afraid that Wheeljack would reject him. It was a novel concept for the engineer.
"Okay… where do you want to have it then?" It was a reflex answer as his processor was busy mulling over the novel idea of Wheeljack liking him and flailing around in disappointment that the engineer had moved. Oh, and of course trying to figure out if he liked the engineer… he had just never allowed himself to think of any of the Ark's crew as potential lovers.
"Um... my ro- lab! I mean lab!" Yes, lab, nice... neutral... no available flat surfaces... To cover for his scattered thoughts, Wheeljack stood up, forgetting that he was still holding Tracks' hand. That ended with the inventor awkwardly hunched over from the middle of standing up when Tracks... wasn't. You know, he should probably just let go of the hand, that would probably solve the problems...
"Okay either is fine…" He wasn't really paying attention, reviewing every memory he had of the engineer. It was complicated trying to suddenly figure out if this was more than just a onetime thing and was it even a good idea to think like that? He didn't know but couldn't help obsessing over the possibility while he got to his feet. He didn't let go of the engineer it would have made the process easier but to the pit with easy he wanted to make sure that Wheeljack stayed.
It was an unexpected pair that made its way to Wheeljack's lab. Mostly because who would think that vain, narcissistic Tracks would go anywhere near some place as likely to blow up as Wheeljack's lab? Probably the same people who would think that Wheeljack would be leading Tracks about by the hand, both mechs looking like they were trying to blush and that either would bolt if not for their linked hands. Once safely inside the lab, with the door closed, and locked, Wheeljack turned again to face Tracks, with nothing to say.
Being led was not normally his style but then interfacing with someone while overcharged wasn't either… nor having mechs confess to… Primus! He needed to figure this out before he damaged something and got Ratchet on his case. He stared at the engineer waiting for him to speak and starting to fidget when nothing happened. "Um… Wheeljack? I… to be honest I don't know what I feel… I just… I think I would like to try again without being overcharged and I mean try to ah… I still don't understand how you can like me…"
Wheeljack didn't really ignore the warrior's words, he just focused on the parts he wanted to hear. With a happy noise, Wheeljack swooped in and kissed Tracks, only pulling back when he realized that he might be coming on just a little strongly. Pulling back a little, he looked at the floor. "Um... I'm sorry, Tracks, I mean, I can't expect you to know how you feel already, and I shouldn't be pushing you, I'm just... You'd really ... you wouldn't mind... trying that again?" He had been right, Tracks was afraid he'd be rejected! Now, why would he be afraid of that?
He had not been prepared for the kiss, but the hands that came up to shove the engineer away instead ended up resting on his hips and he whimpered in protest when the kiss was broken all too soon. Trying to gather up his fragmented thought processes he stepped closer to the other seeking reassurance in touch resting his head on a white shoulder. "I don't think I would mind… at least I don't feel like I would mind you were very… very good…"
Shocked, Wheeljack wrapped an arm around Tracks, holding him close. "That... might just be one of the nicest things anyones said to me, Tracks," the engineer commented, for sheer lack of sensible thought. This was... very encouraging, Wheeljack felt better than he had for... a long time.
It was strange to just… cuddle like this, before the war he had sometimes experienced situations like this though never with an interface partner, mostly it had been a part of his job as it were. This was much nicer, it felt like it really meant something instead of just an empty gesture. Tracks nuzzled the shoulder hesitantly, trying to gauge how much he could do without being rejected or reprimanded… a slight tremor traveled over his chassis. He had to stop judging this as he had his once job it wasn't fair to Wheeljack or to himself, and if he didn't learn to differentiate this, whatever it was, had no chance of working at all.
Wheeljack brought his other arm up, surprised at how happy such a simple thing was making him. Tracks' gentle nuzzle was answered by Wheeljack carefully rubbing circles on his back. "Talk to me?" he requested softly. He realized how very little he actually knew about warrior, how much he wanted to learn. "Tell me... about yourself? Or, or I'll talk, if you'd rather. Or, we can just... stay here. We don't have to talk. But I'd like... to learn more... about you, I mean...." Wheeljack realized just how much he was babbling and shut up.
"There isn't that much to tell…" He tensed a little but forced himself to relax the engineer would not hurt him… nor judge him, he hoped. "I lived at Iacon, I was apprenticed to an chassis artisan… he was frequented by the elite, even some council members. I liked my work… but I… I'm a good warrior I don't like people thinking that am too delicate to do my duty…" He became slightly defensive while pressing a little closer to Wheeljack's chassis, telling the truth was harder then he imagined… not 'the getting the words out' but rather the feelings of uncertainty that nibbled at his resolve.
Chassis artisan, right, that explained the painting. Why did that embarrass Tracks so, why was he so quick to remind of how good a fighter he was? Well, it didn't matter, not yet. He could ask those questions later. "You're a good warrior, I told you that, you fight so strong and bravely..." Wheeljack liked it when Tracks pulled closer. "Hey, you don't have to worry, I'm not going to tell anyone." Actually... Wheeljack understood Tracks concern, not that a past profession would earn judgment, Wheeljack didn't have to worry about that, but being laughed at when you tried to do the one thing you enjoyed, were good at... That was something Wheeljack understood all too well.
Wheeljack did understand it seemed or he at least respected Tracks enough to promise to hold his secret something he was very grateful for. He hadn't needed it though… no amount of, even when admittedly the best ever, interfacing would have made him tell the truth if he had not believed it safe to do so. "Thank you… it's just that… I can make a difference as a warrior, just because I'm an artist doesn't mean I'm delicate or frail… just look at that yellow aft head of a Lamborghini… no one calls him frail!" Somehow he needed to talk about this, it was really the first time he could.
Wheeljack started laughing. It wasn't that what Tracks said was funny... well, mildly, but not for the reasons he might think. It was just... "Oh Primus, calling him frail... good way... suicide!" Wheeljack forced an explanation out. Oh, he shouldn't be laughing, not over something like that. "Sorry, sorry!" Even while giggling, Wheeljack held Tracks, stroking his back lightly, trying to use his actions to sooth any sting his mirth may have caused.
The laughter was unexpected, surprise freezing him in place long enough for Wheeljack to explain somewhat and for the light caress to his back to clam him. The engineer was right it was a rather ridicules idea, turning his faceplate into the crook between shoulder and neck joint he tried to smother his own giggle. He wasn't very successful and tightened his hold on the other because the close contact where slowly turning his knee joints into goo.
The feel of Tracks laughing against him was almost enough to start Wheeljack up again. "From the way you're gripping... definitely not frail..." the inventor commented, still chuckling now and again. Not that he minded the hold, it was... reassuring. "You should laugh more..."
"I don't have that much to laugh about… but I'll try. " He nuzzled the neck joint and then experimentally nibbled at a support cable. It wasn't that he absolutely wanted to escalate this… it was just too tempting and he felt like doing it. It was novel to him, the whole acting on his wishes instead of reading and responding to the body language of his customer.
Any response he might have made was cut off by Tracks unexpected advance. It felt good, yes, but the fact that this was Tracks, so often seen as vain and aloof, Wheeljack was reminded again about just who he was holding... and just how different he was from what others thought. And Tracks trusted him enough to show that side... Wheeljack moaned softly, encouraging without demanding.
The moan was barely audible but oh so sweet, and he just had to hear it again so he continued his careful nibbling. He also began caressing the engineer's back plating moving his hands in slow circles they were shaking slightly as he was still nervous about how Wheeljack would respond. He felt naked without either his arrogant mask or his professional one. Would Wheeljack like him, the true him…
Oooh, he liked that, he liked that very much. Wheeljack moaned again, shifting slightly under Tracks' touch, wordlessly directing him. At the same time, his hand on Tracks' back grew more insistent. Brushing dermaplates against Tracks' cheek, Wheeljack was surprised to find he had forgotten to replace his mask, surprised he had been able to forget. But then again... Tracks seemed to like him without it.
That sound could become addictive really fast Tracks decided before he whimpered in surprise at the insistent caress to his back plating. Frag! That was so good… so was the feel of dermaplates against his cheek he groaned and bit a little harsher into the neck joint then he had actually wanted too and immediately licked at the spot to sooth the ache murmuring between licks, "sorry I didn't mean to hurt you… it just felt so good, was so unexpected…"
That had... not hurt, exactly, but Wheeljack couldn't really call it pleasant either. "It's okay, it's okay, Tracks," he soothed. "You didn't hurt me, I blow myself up worse than that every second orn." Maybe not the best way to calm Tracks, he realized after he said it. Oh well, said was said... Wheeljack continued his stroking, wanting Tracks to stop apologizing and go back to... whatever... he'd been doing...
While relived he hadn't hurt him Tracks didn't know what to do with the rest of the statement, of course he knew as well as anyone that the engineer was prone to lab accidents. Pit, the whole Ark knew when he had had one, but what was he supposed to do with the knowledge now? And why was he worried… more than normally, what made it nearly panic inducing to think of this now…
He chose to ignore it for now, ignore it and distract Wheeljack from it too and so he slipped his digits inside the engineer's back armor. Shyly he slipped his dermaplates up the engineer's neck joint over his jaw and pressed their dermaplates together.
Wheeljack's moan was cut off by the unexpected, so sweet, kiss. He didn't know where this hesitant, unsure Tracks had come from, but he didn't care, Wheeljack liked him just fine this way. He opened his mouth a little, letting Tracks deepen the kiss if he wanted. Stroking and teasing a seam, Wheeljack arched carefully against the digits that were bypassing his armor.
He vaguely remembered their first kiss, a foggy unclear recollection of need, tasting high grade in another's mouth and an almost smug happiness over getting what he wanted. This was so different… he could taste Wheeljack, oil and smoke, he could feel their glossas move against each other's and there was nothing but a gentle kind of desire in it. The kiss coupled with the engineers reaction to his hesitant caresses told him that the desire would not stay gentle for long if they kept going… He decided that it did not matter, he would like to interface with Wheeljack again, like it a whole lot actually!
Oh yes, he definitely had nothing to loose by letting Tracks lead this time. Tracks' shy passion was intoxicating, even better than the high-grade which had started this whole thing. Wheeljack groaned deeply, feeling the glossa exploring his mouth, tightening his fingers on the seam he was tracing. How lucky could a mech be, having his fantasies become such a sweet reality?
The engineer clearly didn't mind the thought of interfacing either, perversely it made Tracks unsure of what to do… kissing was working and if he recalled anything about last night correctly Wheeljack liked to have his seams stroked firmly. Shifting his digits out of the back seam he began tracing the edges of said seam instead applying pressure and friction-heat, hoping that he remembered right.
Wheeljack broke the kiss with a pleased yelp, shivering and hanging off Tracks in a daze. "More, oh please," he gasped, pressing against Tracks. He started searching for wires, trying to return the pleasure Tracks was so freely giving.
Tracks got more of a reaction then he had expected, still it was gratifying to have such a responsive lover… pit it was weird to even think that, but good weird definitely good weird! "I'll give you everything, just… just tell me if I do something wrong…" He decided that sitting down was the best solution since he couldn't keep supporting them both for much longer, since the lab was stuffed the floor was the only available surface… and well it had been quite adequate last night.
He sank to the floor with Tracks, idly observing that his reason for moving to the lab had just become void. "I will," Wheeljack agreed, pressing heated kisses to Tracks' chest. He moved against Tracks hands, silently begging for more.
"Good… I want this to be good…" More like he wanted it to be all that he vaguely remembered from last night, just real this time without the fuzzy feeling that it had to be the high grade talking, that it could not possibly have felt that good. He traced the edge of every seam he could reach, hands shaking slightly trying to please the withering mech in his arms… praying to Primus that the contortions really was from pleasure, not quite trusting that he was the cause of the pleasured moans coming from his lover.
He wanted this to be good? Then he was doing things wrong, because this wasn't good. This was great. Wheeljack couldn't think, wasn't sure how reassuring his observation would be anyway. Neck, that was right, Tracks had liked that, hadn't he? Wheeljack pulled himself up, hard to think, hard to do anything, and licked the neckjoint, rubbing dermaplates against wires.
Whether or not he was doing something right was debatable, that Wheeljack was doing everything right was not! The engineer was so good… so slagging talented, yeah talented. It suddenly hit home that they were in Wheeljack's lab surrounded by his inventions, his tools… things that he cherished and touched every day. Incredibly enough that was as much a turn on as the dermaplates that suddenly found his neck joint. "Oh 'Jack, ke… keep doing that, so unfair…mmm…" His own caresses turned erratic, more clawing then stroking, his spark pulsed heavily breaking his voice up into a shaky moan.
Slag, that moan, that moan was almost better than his screaming, so sexy, so delicious. The sudden action of Tracks' spark made Wheeljack whimper as his own spark flared in reaction. He lavished attention on Tracks, licking and nipping at his neck while burying his hands against internal wiring. Surely this couldn't go on much longer, it was too pleasurable to last.
He arched against Wheeljack, tilting his head back all but offering himself on a silver platter. His spark flared reaching for that of the engineer, this would be over very soon he had never before gone so fast from pulsing to flaring and he could already feel the buildup of energy crackles. "'Jack!" His next spark flare released the crackles, causing the engineer's name to leave his vocalizer on a scream.
The flare nailed Wheeljack hard as he pressed against Tracks, who was already as close as physically possible, without another merge of course. And the sounds he made, it was too much. "Tracks," Wheeljack moaned, low and deep as his charge let off gloriously.
Overload was always pleasant, but this had been… wow, just wow. He clung to Wheeljack as the charge wore off leaving him dazed, his chassis buzzing with excesses energy. This was not something he had ever felt before he couldn't even remember holding someone after an overload, it was… something he wanted to do again, with Wheeljack and preferably soon. 'Soon' being after they had had some energon, normal energon. "Thank you 'Jack, that was… umm… are you… will you go with me to take some energon?" Why was he shy now? That was stupid, but not something he could control.
"Um... what, Tracks?" Wheeljack murmured, still a little dazed. Energon, wasn't that what got them into this? No, wait... Oh. That was a good idea. Yeah, a very good idea... "Oh, yes. Energon. Good. Yes, good idea." Aw, Tracks was still hesitant... that was as cute as the slagging pit itself, if a little... weird. Yes, weird. Disentangling from Tracks and standing up brought a feeling of loss. That was stupid, they were just going to go get some energon.
He bit back a protesting whimper when Wheeljack began to move, logically speaking they had to move to get energon, but cuddling had been so nice! Still dazed Tracks resolved that his life would involve a lot of cuddling in the future. He had trouble getting to his feet, groaning when his stiff joints sent small tingles of pain through his systems in the end he had to support himself against Wheeljack while his joints eased up. "I'm sorry, it was umm… a cramped position and… I haven't really gotten to get a checkup in a while so…"
"Well, I'd offer to, you know, help with that. But, um, I think maybe... um, not that much... ah, work would get done," Wheeljack babbled. "So maybe, next time, I mean if there is a next... Well, anyway, I was thinking, next time... we could always, maybe... use a berth?" Once it seemed that Tracks could support himself, Wheeljack unlocked the door to the lab. "Of course, that's, ah, after we refuel. Because Ratchet wouldn't like it if we stasis locked because we were to busy interfacing to refuel."
He was babbling as bad as Tracks himself was and it was rather difficult to follow after the 'not' offer of helping him with his maintenance problem… the thought of the engineer doing a through systems maintenance on him was arousing to say the least. So was the fact that he was even thinking of a third time… the fact that he was requesting a berth was just rather processor blowing to Tracks. "A berth would be… nice, and no Ratchet… would be mad…" His voice wavered uncertainly as he confirmed Wheeljack's statement and then stated one of this eon's greatest understatements. The door slid open and he hesitated unsure if really wanted to leave the lab… they had to get energon but he was reluctant to rejoin the rest of the Ark.
Once again Wheeljack took Tracks' hand, not even realizing what he was doing as he pulled the taller mech out of the lab. "Then we'll just have to get a ber...th...." His voice dropped at the end as the inventor realized they weren't alone in the hallway. "Ah... Hi, Mirage," Wheeljack smiled, faced the sudden remembrance that he still wasn't wearing his battlemask, and tightened his hand around Tracks'. Well, this was awkward.
"Hello Wheeljack, Tracks," Mirage answered, optics flickering slightly as he realized just what he'd said. "Um, Tracks? Maybe you don't realize this, but..." pointing at some scruffs, Mirage continued, "Your, um, paint..." That might not have been the best thing to do, probably would have been better to let Tracks find out about the scruffs on his own...
He allowed the engineer to drag him out the door, feeling warm and flustered as Wheeljack was again confirming that this had not been a onetime thing. He froze mid step, tripping a little ending up slightly behind his lover who squeezed his hand… almost as if to reassure him that he was safe from Mirage. Caught up in his own thoughts he just stared uncomprehending at the spy until Wheeljack prompted him with a small push. "Umm… I am? Ohh no problem it'll go away… 'Jack can we go get that energon?" He was a little panicky in his answer since he was not really sure what had been asked in the first place. Pushing the smaller mech carefully in the back he got them moving sending Mirage an overly bright, nervous smile.
"Ah... um. Okay then, Tracks. I'll... see you around, I ....guess...." It took Mirage a couple of moments to realize he was talking to an empty hallway. "Hum. That was weird. I wonder what's got into them?" he asked himself rhetorically.
"Tracks, did you hear what he said?" Wheeljack asked, leaning slightly into the hand that still rested on his back. That felt nice, very nice... "Oooh, energon!" Okay, yep, he need refueling. Badly.
"No… not really. Does it matter any? And yeah energon, I for one am hungry and…" Wheeljack was highly distracting and had still not released his hand, not that he really minded that but, yeah, at some point he would need it.
Adroitly filling a cube, Wheeljack handed it to Tracks before filling another. Holding hands didn't bother him any, it was his secondary hand anyway, so far as he could be said to have one. "Tracks... your PAINT is scuffed," Wheeljack elaborated, pulling him to a table and idly noticing the high-grade cubes from last night were now missing. "I guess I need to come up with a better formula after all... The current stuff might be able to take lasers, but..." He trailed off into a grin, watching Tracks.
"My paint?... Slag… so oh!… that was why Mirage seemed so nervous?" He was utterly fascinated by how easily Wheeljack handled the cube, filling it and giving it to him only to start over with one for himself. He really couldn't pay attention to his paint right now… his narcissistic behavior a shield more than anything else and the engineer had done a very good job of tearing it down. "The help would be appreciated, I just don't know how to mix some of the paint types… I never got my full education."
"Well, that and the fact I'm... still leading you around... um, sorry?" Despite apologizing, Wheeljack still didn't let go of that hand. Though he'd have to let go to actually try mixing... well, anything. "Sure, I bet we can find some good paint, and it will be able to survive blaster bolts and interfacing, and Sunstreaker will beg us for some, and we won't give him any, how's that sound?"
He didn't mind being led around, not at all it felt nice and he had no wish to feel separated from the engineer. Somehow the continuing touch made it all real, there was no mistaking that it had happened… he tried to find a way to say it but ended up laughing instead from the outrageous comment about Sunstreaker. His rivalry with the yellow frontliner was caused more by the fact that Sunstreaker was accepted for what he was and had been while Tracks himself still felt that his former occupation would label him as unsuited for his warrior duties. "Well… maybe we can relent if he allows that I am better at painting chassis then he is..? Or would that be too evil." He lifted an optic ridge, the gesture lost in his mirth as he broke into laughter again almost at once.
There was that laughter again, rich and wonderful. Yes, he definitely had to coax Tracks into laughing more, a lot more, every day! Yes, that was a good goal, Wheeljack decided as he joined the warrior in mirth. "No no, I don't think think that would be near evil enough! But if it's enough to satisfy you, then I suppose we could relent. But of course, we wouldn't have any yellow paint." Because Tracks was not yellow. Blue, and a lovely shade of red, and in absolutely no way whatsoever yellow.
"Oh… right, but we would have green and white? Because I would like to… um paint you if… that is if you would let me?" Primus he felt embarrassed and… uncertain, it would be the first time he had painted someone he had any kind of relationship with. That thought made his processor freeze up… he had a relationship? Well, he did, did he not… or at least he could have one if he choose to, if he dared to and made an effort at not pushing Wheeljack away. The realization made him stare at the engineer in awe, completely taken aback that such a possibility had been given him.
"Well, of course, any color you wan... me? I mean... you want... me?" Wheeljack was so busy working through the unexpected, welcome, very welcome, offer, that he didn't notice the way Tracks was gazing at him. It was like... he was the best gift the other mech had ever received. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, especially since it was Tracks looking at him like that. Wheeljack wasn't sure what to do, so he drank some energon, remembering, again, that his mask was STILL OFF.
"Mm.. sorry." Realizing that he had stared unabashedly at his… lover, he lowered his gaze to their entwined hands and took a sip of energon. He had all but forgotten that was the reason for them coming here at all. So much had changed in the space of one night… all because of high grade and a spark merge unlike any other in his experience. Merging did not have to have anything to do with love and he couldn't rightly say if he loved Wheeljack yet… but the possibility was there, that if he allowed himself to feel affection would grow into love.
What... sorry? No, that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear at all! "Why... are you sorry? Tracks, I... would love it if you feel comfortable enough to paint me. I... would like to see the results..." Okay, that wasn't exactly going very well. "I just... you surprised me? And..." Hum, proverbial hole, getting deeper. Sometimes it was best to just shut up and drink, so Wheeljack did.
"I was staring… it's, oh… well I would like so too and I think I could… I will… I want to try?!" he was watching the table intently and so didn't really register how flustered Wheeljack was. "I… umm… I have never painted anyone I liked before… and I… have you ever been to a chassis artist?"
"I... um... no? I mean, no, I never... really cared how I look, and... um, sorry?" Putting the half-emptied cube down, Wheeljack reached out to cup Tracks' face. "Come on, please don't be embarrassed, it can be cute as all pit but you haven't... I mean, there's no reason to be.... you haven't done anything wrong." Or was he pushing Tracks too hard, he probably was, he didn't want to do that but he never quite knew the right thing to say.
Oh… he could really learn to love those hands. The thought was rather scary, he had never allowed himself to be that attached to anyone or at least had never admitted to himself if he had been. Wheeljack seemed to be so unafraid, touching others all the time, touching everything as if that was a way to verify its existence, Tracks almost never touched others, his entire education had discouraged actual touching, 'let the brushes do the work'. "It's not…I would like to paint you 'Jack… It is about the only thing I can give you, I don't have much and… I am not very... social and such, not… like you…" this was a lot harder than he had thought, had the engineer stopped touching him at some point earlier he would perhaps, almost certainly, have fled. Now… now he couldn't do it, there was too much he longed for that he could have with Wheeljack, maybe if he wanted it too.
"Tracks, no, you don't... you don't HAVE to give me anything, you know that, don't you? Please don't feel..." Wheeljack shook his head a little, smiling at Tracks. "If you want to paint me, I already said it, I'd love that. I'd love... I'll take anything you want to give me, but only as long as you know you don't have to give me anything." Wait, Tracks thought he was social? Where the pit did he get that idea? "I'm not... exactly social myself... I mean, I spend all my time in my lab, you know I usually only talk to Ratchet or Perceptor."
"Well… you are more social then me… I mean, you might not talk to them often but you can talk to anyone… you… even before this you always noticed me and was polite, I do know that I'm… self centered…" 'Stupid, awkward, idiotic why did I bring that up?' it was true of course but to actually bring it up and right now. Tracks felt really uneasy, waiting for… something to happen. he had no idea how Wheeljack might react to it and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"I... well, you said... that is, you're afraid of getting... hurt?" Wheeljack answered, not entirely sure what to do with the confession. He couldn't deny it, as much as he might like to, but it was hardly the thing to do, 'yes, you are quite self-centered'... no, you just don't say that to a mech. "And, well... I don't... mind that? That you're, I mean... oh slag." Wheeljack was getting no-where with that sentence, so he stopped and took a drink, even though he had to move his hand away from Tracks' face.
Tracks off-lined his optics for a click and then realized that he had completely forgotten his own energon, while internally lamenting the loss of the warm hand. Wheeljack was not judging him... he wasn't trying to contradict him either or give him excuses all of which made him, rather ridiculously so, happy. He was also very accurate in his guess of the reason, witch meant he had really listen to him… "Thank you…" He relaxed a tad more and began drinking his forgotten energon with a silly smile on his dermaplates.
He liked that smile. Almost as much as he liked the laughter, actually. He liked that Tracks was so... what, innocent maybe, open around him. Silence descended between Wheeljack and Tracks as the two mechs finished their energon. "Um... if you want," Wheeljack hesitantly spoke, putting his now-empty cube on the table. "I mean, I don't have any projects I'm supposed to be working on... Um, so if you wanted... We could... maybe see about mixing some paint...?"
"Oh how sweet!" The voice cut through Tracks' happy little world as a laser through armor and he turned his head to glare at the owner of the voice. Gears… of course it had to be Gears. "Aren't you afraid of losing your positions as the Ark's most perfect mech to Sunstreaker? I mean you have white scruffs ALL over that perfect blue paint job, what did you do? Force yourself on Wheeljack?"
The world froze as he stared in shock at the minibot, not comprehending the accusation, not really registering the condescending sneer… a click later his fist had inexplicable made abrupt contact with Gears face plate and he would have done worse if Huffer hadn't jumped on him, a stunned looking Cliffjumper helping to force him off his victim. He was beyond angry, ready to rip the minibot apart for that accusation! He might not be the most… friendly of mechs but he would never, ever in a million eons force himself on another!
"Little scrapheap! I am gonna tear you apart for that remark…" Fear… some of it was fear because in a sense he had forced himself on the engineer, getting him high like that and then… but Wheeljack had told him it was alright! That he had wanted it… he had wanted it! Whimpering he twisted in the two mech's grip and turned until he could see the engineer, his own optics widening with terror when he saw the repulsed fearful look in Wheeljack's optics.
He had forgotten, somehow, how much damage Tracks could do, how quickly he could move into an attack. More than that, he had forgotten how mechs might respond, did they really think Tracks was so.... trying to find a word, Wheeljack faltered, watching blankly as his lover turned... "Wha... what... Why did you say that, Gears? ...why...?"
"How can you even be with such a self-centered brutish thing? Look what he did, he is almost worse than Sunstreaker! Primus, it's a wonder we are not all dead yet with the all the psychos and traitors running aromuff." Even Brawn thought that Gears had gone a little too far this time clamping a hand over his fellow minibot's mouth.
"Shut it Gears, I'll take you to Ratchet and… yeah." The orange and green minibot shot a look at Jazz… Prowl would know, there would probably be two mechs in the brig by nightfall.
Tracks … just sat down on the floor. He was feeling, no, he wasn't really feeling anything, not really hearing or processing anything… all he had in his head was that terrible image of Wheeljack faceplate. He didn't try to defend himself when Prowl showed up, walked like a drone down to the brig and just sat down again the moment they allowed him to do so.
Why wasn't he doing something? Why couldn't he... protest the accusation, insist on going with Tracks, something! But no, Wheeljack was left standing like some kind of statue while Tracks was dragged away for fighting... for defending... And like the coward that he was, Wheeljack slipped away, back to his lab. Back to his lab, and certain his fear and confusion had lost him what he had so newly gained.
That seems like a good place to end this Friday the 13th posting, no? Please leave a review!