Masters of Initiation

Authors Note: This was meant to be a cheap little oneshot, a crack bunny based on my crude mental image of Ratchet and Ironhide teaching a femme about interfacing, but yet again my brain has grabbed onto it, lifted it up over my head, and run away cackling with it into the bushes. Darn it. Emerald is a femme I quickly made up, solely for the purpose of Ratchet and Ironhide displaying their expertise. Hasbro own everything else. This first chapter is very mild, and I promise to get this fic FINISHED!

NEST base, Diego Garcia, Earth...

"You know, with this many femmes, we could declare to the Decepticons that we hold the majority of the females and therefore we have won the war. 'Nyah, nyah, we won, you lost, sucks to be you'."

Optimus Prime's body stiffened. His head turned a fraction to glare at his playful CMO; Ratchet; after the mechs loaded words. The glare was punishing, but it was shadowed by humor. The medic was standing just behind his Commander, his hands linked behind his back and his relaxed official pose giving nothing away that his words could be construed as potentially offensive and very sexist. The huge Commander mech twitched his mouthplates. If there was one thing he was more than certain of, it was that there was going to be plenty of trouble on base with this many unattached females wafting around, and Ironhide and Ratchet were on the hunt already.

Prime had dealt many times before with the troublesome duos appetite for females. Nothing female was safe, unless the femme in question happened to be Skids and Mudflaps sister... then Ironhide and Ratchet were united in demanding to be transferred to another country and being given identity protection.

"For once I agree with you, medic," Ironhide rumbled, nodding approvingly. He wasn't interested in appearing diplomatic or welcoming. His arms were crossed over his large chest with his hands tucked into his armpits. His cannons were whirring away in ready mode on his forearms. More than one femme stopped to stare at his obvious firepower. One thing Cybertronian females shared with Earth females – a big scary gun got a male tons of respect from the girls, and it was a big drawcard for those femmes interested in mechs with more than average dimensions between their legs.

"See?" Ratchet waved a hand at the progress of the females disembarking the shuttle, "they just keep coming!"

"'Coming', Ratchet?" Ironhide said suggestively.

"Put a shotgun in it, 'Hide," Ratchet shot back, pasting a welcoming smile on his faceplates.

The big charismatic, handsome, and genteel Autobot Leader was getting the majority of the gawking stares from the new femmes, and Optimus was gracious in nodding his head politely and warmly welcoming the new girls to Earth. Ironhide attracted femmes who either stared at him in shock or leered and cooed over his weaponry. Even Ratchet was getting interested glances. The femmes knew him by reputation – his legendary and skilful interfacing persona, or his long-time status as the best medic Cybertron had ever seen. Ever.

Ratchet was a professional. Yes, he had a reputation as something of a gigolo and femme 'educator', but he kept his private business and his dedication to his public duty as Chief Medical Officer, separate. The two did not cross. He was always available to repair and care for any bot – female or male – when it came to their health. He didn't blink an optic at any pretty or outrageously beautiful femme when she was in his medbay, his only concern was caring for their physical and mental health. When he was in his private quarters and on his own berth, and he was able to carefully put his medical self safely to one side, then he had a different agenda. Pleasure. Long and loud, slow and intense, with any femme who approached him when he was not on duty, and if she gave him her full consent.

"Hey," Chromia poked a stiff finger into Ironhide's back motor relay, getting him to flinch in surprise. She had glided with stealthy steps up to her bonded mate, "Hands and optics off the new hardware, afthead."

"Hardware? Chromia, females are software," Ironhide jerked a thumb at his own chest, "mechs are the hardware, obviously. What gets hard on a femme? You need us to let you run. We activate you," the mech smirked, "and we get the reward of an overload."

The optics of one slender femme straggling past the welcoming party, oggled Ironhide. She'd heard the comment. She gulped, ducked her head, and power-walked away.

Optimus Prime sighed, raising one large hand to cover his optics with it and wince. "Ironhide..."

Chromia snickered, slapping Ironhide heartily in the shoulder. "Be careful with the innocent ones, my permanently stiff-and-ready mech, or you'll scare them all away. Then what will you activate?"

Ironhide guffawed, pleased as always that he'd chosen a femme with the same gaudy sense of humor that he had, "Ah Mia, you'll always be my primary target, you know that."

"Gee, thanks," Chromia mock-rolled her optics and let him drag her in close to his armored side. She snuggled in, never afraid of showing affection in public.

With the femmes disembarked and disappearing into the main assembly hangar for processing, Optimus sighed and rubbed at the back of his neckplates. "Well, I guess that's over with for the moment. Excuse me, I believe I'll use some spare time to talk to Elita."

"And I had better get to my medbay and wait for the first femmes to come through for their check-ups," Ratchet stated, "I think I'm going to be busy for the next month, caring for them all."

Prime turned to leave, but caught the swift stealthy movement of one silver mech sneaking into the hangar full of femmes, "Sideswipe, no! Out of there! Leave the femmes be!"

Ironhide loudly guffawed at the droop of Sideswipes shoulders and his disheartened spin on his wheeled feet. He swung around and rolled away like a reprimanded puppy. "We've got a competitor for getting to the femmes first, Ratchet," the Weapons Specialist said.

Ratchet stiffened his stance and lifted his noseplates into the air, "From that amateur? Bring it on. No mech surpasses us. No mech."

"Yes, I think that's enough rampaging egos for one day," Optimus Prime muttered. He stalked away to find somewhere private and talk to his beloved Elita One over his comlink.

Standing in the hangar doorway, a slim, petite, and very young female peeked out from behind the door. Her optics peered curiously at the broad mechly forms of Ironhide and Ratchet standing on the tarmac. She'd heard so much about them. She wanted to wander over and say hello but her insecurities and shyness held her back. Perhaps later... with less optics watching on. Yes, that was a good idea. Later.

One week later, on the target range...

Chromia watched the small femme, one arm hanging by her side and the other perching her hand on her hip and tapping away with her fingers. She was concerned with this new recruit. Concerned, as in, she seemed much too unsure of herself and nervous about everything to do with the mechs at the Diego Garcia base. Ratchet had reported that while the femme – going by the name of 'Emerald' – was physically in good condition, she seemed to have very low self-esteem, and worried about most things that she shouldn't be. He was going to recommend to Elita when she returned that Emerald have some counselling to soothe her nerves. Chromia had seen for herself what happened when Sideswipe had flirted with her – she'd backed away and taken off. Sideswipe had been shocked, staring after her with a genuine 'What did I do?!' expression.

Even Optimus Prime hadn't been spared. When the big guy had nodded and smiled at her on his way to the Operations hangar, Emerald had squeaked and covered her face with her hands. Now that was much more than general nerves around a legend. That was something else.

Chromia frowned. Nerves. Around males. Hmmm. Her fingers tapped quicker. There were ways to fix that, and quickly. If the femme was to utilise her potential on missions, and keep herself and those around her as safe as possible, she would have to get over her anxieties around the mechs. And in any case, she was such a sweet thing, friendly and amicable. She deserved to be helped by someone older and wiser.

Chromia raised her voice, "Emerald? Could you come over here for one moment?"

The femme was experienced enough to efficiently flick the safety on her rifle, stow it on her hip, and walk alertly over to her Acting Commander with little fuss. "Yes, Commander?"

Chromia gave her a tiny smile and gestured for her to walk at her side, "C'mon, you and me are going to have a talk. A talk about mechs... and what Ratchet and my Ironhide can do for you."

Emerald's face lit up, "I, er... I was going to ask you about. I've heard about what Ironhide can do, and Ratchet."

Chromia grinned, saying wryly, "Most femmes have. Let's go somewhere private, shall we?"

Later that night, in Chromia and Ironhide's quarters...

Ironhide strained his body over the top of Chromia's, his hips shoved into the erotic space between her thighs, and his upper body arched up off of her shuddering femme frame, spilling himself inside of her. Chromia was keening and spasming underneath him.

"GAH! Primus~! Uh!"

Ironhide felt his systems winding down after the intense overload, and he propped his upper body up on his straight arms on top of her, his optics darkening. He made no attempt to remove his male spike from inside of her. "Liked that, eh?"

When Chromia remembered how to articulate words; and words that weren't proclamations to Primus; she put each of her hands on her sparkmate's hips. "Yeah... slag. You're good," she dragged one pointed finger down the front of his black chest, purring, "very good."

"The best?" Ironhide growled dominantly.

"Oh yes." She winked at him, "By several galaxies."

Her mate began to grin, but she cut off him by flexing the pliable walls of her feminine valve, rippling them up and down his interface where it was buried deep inside of her. "Femme!!" He snapped his hips back to exit her bodily hold and crumpled in a body roll next to her on the berth. Another grunt and the Weapons Specialist was on his way to recharge land.

"Oh no you don't," Chromia rolled to face him and gripped his body armor with both hands, "don't pass out just yet, I want to ask you something."

"Eh," 'Hide rubbed at his faceplates tiredly, "so ask then."

"Emerald. One of the new femmes, I want you to do an induction for her. Her first time."

Ironhide paused his hand. Lowered it to cover where her hand was on his chest. "What brought this on?"

Chromia shrugged, tracing the lines of his truck hood where it split across his front. "She's a shy one. Very nice, sweet in ways that I'm not, and when she has to interact with mechs it scares the energon out of her. She has potential but only if she can get past her inhibitions." She poked at his square headlight, "Understand?"

The big mech thought about it – for all of a microsecond. No one had to ask him twice to interface with a femme. "You want me to show her how to interface. To get used to a mech."

"Yup. She has to stop thinking of them as mystical and scary. I've talked to her, she likes the sound of you and Ratchet."

"Yeah?" He cracked a grin. "Well, who wouldn't? Sure, count me in. Tell me when and where." He poked her in the shoulder playfully, "Tonight?"

Chromia used her arms to pull herself over his high chest and brush her mouth over his, "No, not tonight! Smexy mech. Thank you, 'Hide."

Next morning...

Ratchet was feeling good this morning. He had the morning free to potter around his beloved medbay and do all of the things that were non-critical and always got shoved to the back of his list of medbay duties. Polishing, getting out the equipment that he only rarely used, washing down walls... all that. He was crouching on the floor and sweeping out one of his low level cabinets when the medbay door creaked open. Ratchet peered around the cabinet door, and lifted an optic ridge at seeing two pairs of pretty femme feet. One pair he knew – Chromia – the other he reconised as one of the new femmes he'd checked over the week before. He got up from his crouch.

"Morning Chromia," Ratchet glanced at Emerald, giving a brief nod of hello. "What brings you in this morning? You don't have appointments and I don't have either of you logged as needing servicing."

Emerald had trouble meeting Ratchet's gaze. She was keeping herself just behind Chromia's tall shoulder and trying to look at anything and everything except the broad, lime-green, very mechly doctor in the middle of the bay with his arms and legs composed of powerful hydraulics and muscle cables underneath his heavy armor. For a medical bot, Ratchet was one strong and experienced warrior.

Chromia strode confidently over to stand in front of the CMO, her rifle on her leg clinking against her armored thigh. "Ratchet, we're here to ask a favor. A very, special, favor." She rested her hand on Emerald's shoulder, shifting the smaller femme around to in front of her. "For Emerald."

"Special?" Ratchet echoed. Not many bots asked him for favors. "What are you talking about?"

Emerald dropped her gaze and stared at her feet nervously.

"I'm talking about helping Emerald with being intimate with a mech," Chromia said, her tone softening. "Helping her with her first time."

If Sam or Mikaela, or practically any other human had been listening, they would have freaked. Humans did NOT give their young innocent women and girls to another man just to remove her virginity or receive coaching. To them it would've seemed outrageous. Scandalous. Just plain, wrong. To the Cybertronians, this was a very old and acceptable method of helping new bots integrate into society and care for their needs. It was done for femmes and mechs. For any bot who asked or showed signs of needing attention.

"Hmmm," Ratchet braced his hips on a bench behind him and folded his arms, looking at Emerald. "You need some help and attention do you?"

Chromia placed her arm around Emerald's back and shuffled her forwards. The young female flicked her optics up at the mech then looked away, mumbling, "Yes sir."

Ratchet peered at her calmly. Emerald was an attractive femme. She was a soft green, with accents of chrome, her build structure was one of the newest designs to come from Cybertron. She was slender, curvy and enchanting. "And I'm guessing that you want me to do that for you."

Emerald's voice dimmed further, "Yes... please? I know other femmes that have done this, and they're happy and satisfied. I want that too."

"Ironhide has volunteered as well, and Em says she would feel more comfortable with you, but she'll use Ironhide if you decline. Unless you and 'Hide do it together?" Chromia spoke, her firm professional and smooth. The femme had no qualms about her sparkmate performing such a duty. It was no problem. Ironhide wouldn't spark merge with any femme he was coaching, only interface. He was still totally her mech. And besides, Mia was proud of her mechs prowess. A female never forgot their time with him. He was special.

Ratchet smiled slowly. Warmly. It had been a long, long time since he'd had the pleasure of educating a female. It was one of his favourite duties. "Well." He pushed himself off the bench and walked over to stand in front of Emerald. The femme backed up a step cautiously. "Have you discussed this thoroughly with Chromia? Do you understand what you're asking one of us to do for you? We don't go ahead unless you give your full informed consent."

A slow nod, her voice tiny, "Yes. I want you to, showing me how to interface."

"Hmm." Ratchet switched his gaze to Chromia. The elder femme had an intense look on her faceplates. "You came to the same conclusion I did when I examined her."

A patented Chromia smirk, "Pretty much. We can't have her in the field being worried or nervous about having so many mechs around her or getting close. If we can settle her nerves enough to make her relax and be in control of herself, things will be easier for everyone." Mia patted Emerald on the back, "You'll feel better, Em."

"What did Ironhide say?" Ratchet queried Chromia.

"HA! What do you think he said? I had to stop him from marching to her quarters and locking himself in with her."

Emerald gulped. Oh no. A gentle hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up to see Ratchet bending over in front of her with soft optics and a kind expression.

"Emerald, we will look after you. I promise. We'll start and stop whenever you say, and we will never hurt you. Okay?"

Chromia was surprised when Emerald reached up and put her arms around Ratchet's neck, hugging him hard and tugging him down to her level before shyly pulling back. "The other femmes... I had heard how nice you and Ironhide are when you do this," Emerald said softly. "I trust you."

Ratchet smiled, a genuine smile. "Good." He looked up at Chromia, "I'll clear this with Prime, he needs to know, then arrange the time and place, and-" he grinned down at the new young femme, "we'll be ready to go."

"Ironhide too?"

The medic rolled his optics, "Yes, Ironhide too, if that's what you want. Now away with you, I have many tasks to arrange and perform before we do our duty."

Emerald nodded, leaving the medbay with several glances at him over her shoulder.

"How many of the new femmes have you done this to, you recycled pervert?" Chromia demanded once the medbay door swung shut.

"Done? Such a crude word. Five so far, what's wrong with that?" Ratchet shot back smoothly. He took a step close to her and nudged her with his elbow, "Did you need a refresher course?"

Chromia huffed, growled at him, and stomped out the door, her armor glittering. "When you set my spark racing like Ironhide does, then we'll talk, medic."

"Doesn't a large erect spike persuade you easily rnough?" Ratchet called out, smirking.

Chromia stuck her head back into the medbay, snapping out, "I have a mech with a humongous spike, old mech!" Then she playfully stuck two fingers up at him and disappeared. Ratchet laughed his head off.