[G1] Home Sweet Home

Compared to Jazz’s proximity sensors, Ratchet might as well be blind and deaf. Nevertheless, he wakes when the berth jostles, alerting him to the fact he’s no longer alone.

That and the ice cold frame that wraps around him without pause, a helm nudging against his frame. A softly purring engine is accompanied by a relieved energy field.

“You’re back early,” Ratchet murmurs, a touch of static in his vocals. He shifts to make room for his partner, who is leeching heat from his frame without any shame. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah. It’s a good kind of early.” Jazz’s exhalations tickle at Ratchet’s throat.

“Mmm.” Ratchet’s right hand wanders to Jazz’s aft, giving it a gentle pat. The saboteur’s plating is smooth and he smells of cleanser. “You even had time to shower. I’m impressed.”

“Last time, ya complained about grit in the berth and said ya’d use a power washer on me if it happened again.” Jazz wriggles his aft. His engine clicks into a deeper pitch, his field nudging against Ratchet’s with eager entreaty.

“It was sand,” Ratchet retorts, and onlines one optic to peer down at Jazz, but given the way his partner has nuzzled into Ratchet’s throat, it’s impossible. A glossa then tickles at Ratchet’s cables, making a shiver dart down his spinal strut. “Early and a playful mood. A success, I take it?”

Jazz shimmies his hips again, their armor sliding together in a pleasant chime of metal on metal, the vibrations of which resonate through Ratchet’s frame. “Mebbe I just missed ya.” Clever fingers trace around a seam in Ratchet’s side, stroking the cable-webbed protoform beneath.

“I’ll bet.” Ratchet’s engine rumbles into a low idle. Amusement trickles into his field.

He tilts his helm down, pressing a kiss to Jazz’s forehelm. “I’m kind of wiped though, as much as I’d enjoy pinning you down to this berth and ravishing you.” Jazz does smell enticing, and now that he’s finally warming up, his ice-cold armor is not so jarring.

“S’okay, Ratch. Me, too. We can play later.” Jazz tilts his helm up, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

A gentle warmth suffuses Ratchet’s frame. If only he hadn’t spent all afternoon on maintenance appointments followed by sparring with the Dinobots. He feels far too exhausted and sore to be interested in anything more than cuddling.

“I even have something in mind,” Jazz says, their lips brushing together as he speaks. His fingers continue to trace Ratchet’s seams, though it is more soothing than arousing.

Ratchet rubs his aft and settles back into the berth. “And I have a new item from Wheeljack we can play with.”

“Ooo. Sounds like fun.” Jazz snuggles closer, enough that the thrumming of his spark can be felt through Ratchet’s tactile sensors. It is a reassuring sensation. “In the morning though.”

“Mm-hm.” Ratchet starts to drift back toward sleep, easier now that he doesn’t have to worry about Jazz. “Welcome home, Jazz,” he murmurs as their fields entwine.

Jazz’s engine eases into a soft purr. “Love ya, too, Ratch,” he says on the tail end of a sigh. “It’s good to be back.”

A smile curves Ratchet’s lips, and then he lets himself drift back into sleep, comforted by the knowledge that Jazz is back, and unharmed for it.


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