[TFP] Click-Clack

The lack of necessary materials on Earth was never more apparent than now. Bumblebee’s transformation cog had been repaired. Bulkhead’s mobility returned to him. And Ultra Magnus was left with this… claw.

He stared down at the makeshift limb and flexed the three digits. Open-close. Open-close. Well, he would be capable of the basics at least. It was better than no hand at all, he reasoned.

Open-close. Open-close.

“I kinda like it, actually.”

Ultra Magnus looked up. Wheeljack stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. It was a casual pose, his arms folded, the tip of one pede braced against the ground.

“You would probably consider it a badge of honor,” Ultra Magnus said as he dropped his gaze back to the claw-hand. Open-close. Open-close. At least, it moved.

“Well, it ain’t an insult, that’s for sure.” Wheeljack pushed himself off the jamb and strode inside. One hand lifted, brushing over the multitude of scars on his face. “I figure it’s a trophy. Proof that I’m still alive.”

“A trophy,” Ultra Magnus repeated. He couldn’t hide the doubt in his tone.

“Yep.” Wheeljack plopped himself down on the edge of the berth, not that there was much room. His hip pressed to Ultra Magnus’. “A little practice, and I guarantee, you won’t even miss your old hand.”

“I do not think I can share your enthusiasm,” Ultra Magnus said with a little sigh.

Wheeljack smirked. “You sure about that?” He grabbed Ultra Magnus’ pseudo-hand, warm fingers enclosing it about the wrist. “Maybe I can change your mind, eh?”

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. “I suspect that you are about to engage in some behavior that is against medical recommendations.”

The Wrecker laughed. “I don’t know what I did to give you that impression.” He drew Ultra Magnus’ pseudo-hand toward his lips, ex-venting damp heat over the clawed digits. “I mean, you’re right. But still….”

Ultra Magnus’ fingers twitched. He was actually surprised how much sensation he retained in them.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Ultra Magnus started to say, but the rest of his protest dissolved into nothing as Wheeljack drew one of the claw tips between his lips, flicking his glossa over the tip of it.

Ultra Magnus’ engine stuttered.

“Hmm,” Wheeljack said. “I was right. I do like it.” He winked and moved on to a different clawtip, laving the entire thing with his glossa. “Kinda wondering what it’d feel like in me, too. Think you’ll indulge me later?”

Ultra Magnus worked his jaw, unable to ignore the lazy heat Wheeljack’s boldness ignited in his groin. “So long as Ratchet approves.”

Wheeljack laughed. “Doc isn’t gonna approve of half of what I got in mind. Trust me.”

Ultra Magnus twitched his hand, hooking one of his claws on Wheeljack’s lip. When all it provoked was a spike in Wheeljack’s field, and a rev of his engine, Ultra Magnus had to admit, maybe there was something to enjoy in this claw after all.


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