Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started with an itch.

Or at least, it was how Sentinel would describe it later on. Not that he had been worried, exactly. After going through such heavy modifications as the ones that had changed him from a ground-based mecha to a flying one, it was expected his systems would still have an hard time adjusting. The Prime inspected his new frame with a critical optic. It wasn’t a bad body type, he admitted to himself. Rather slender than his previous one, it had been designed following schematic obtained from Starscream and various other Decepticons sharing what was called the ‘Seeker’ type.

The mech in the mirror was a stranger. He wasn’t quite as started as he first was when he saw his reflection, but still... Perhaps a full reformat hadn’t been the brightest idea he ever got. Perhaps, perhaps he should have thought about it a little longer before asking the Sciences Ministry for their help in becoming another flying Autobot. But, as it was, he had taken his decision and quickly followed through before having second thought. Just so Optimus wouldn’t be the only fragging bot able to fly around here aside of the twins.

Optimus was nothing special, Sentinel scowled. But of course, most people didn’t see that, and overlooked Sentinel, who was the true bot to watch for, the ture hero who would guide Cybertron someday. Everybody was talking about the wings the other Prime had gained, and well... Sentinel had decided that if Optimus could fly, then so could he. Except, he didn’t want to look like Optimus. If he was going to fly, he wanted to be the real thing, not a pale copy to true flyers. And wasn’t it his luck that Perceptor and that scientist bunch had just found a way to duplicate and actual flying frame? One Autobots didn’t have access to in billion of stellar cycles?

Nobody had mentionned just how hard it actually was to fly! Those Twins he kept an optic on because he was both their trainer and their commander seemed to reach for the sky without any difficulty. Even thrice-cursed-Optimus seemed to have no difficulty flying around and making crazy acrobatic moves that dazzled the crowds. And Sentinel... well, Sentinel did his best, anybody could see and say. But he seemed to be lacking the grace emaning from his fellow Autobots fliers. He ended more often crashing in the dirt, aft in the air, and he couldn’t just reach too high without feeling nervous, dizzy and freezing.

According to whatever scientists and medics who had examinated him, including the grumpy old mech that followed Optimus around, his systems and processors were still adjusting to a flying body. Basically, they didn’t seem to grasp he could pull the same moves as Optimus - and actually do them better! - instead sending off signals signaling he was ground-based and shouldn’t or couldn’t move far from the ground.

How long would it take for these systems to actually work wasn’t exactly clear. It just let Sentinel struck, moody and snarky, with a frame he now felt incomfortable with.

But he had wanted this, he reminded himself. Still, some of those modifications, he thought he could have gone without.

Take the heel turbines, for example. Walking with those things had been a trial. How in the Pit had they expected him to keep his balance on those things?! The Prime had managed if after a while, but it had been hard and embarassing, tripping every few steps and having to cling to someone for dear life while he tried not to fall down.

The wings, he had discovered, were slightly inconvenients. They were hard to pass through some doors and had to be watched constantly, least he would hurt them by hitting against a door, a wall or another mech. Sentinel thought he was dealing well enough with them, though. Why, he hadn’t hit them against someone else in cycles, now!

His whole frame had lost a lot of bulk, supposedly to make the take off from the ground easier, as well as for increasing his agility and reflexes in a flight and fight. Gone were the large shoulders he had grown so used to. His new shoulder pads were smaller and felt... very unthreatening. Sentinel was a mech used to rely on his bulk to make an impression on cadets and civilians. To lose this... it felt beyond weird. The canopy adorning his front was also hard to not frown at. It seemed so fragile, so easy to destroy... how in the Pit Seekers dealt with that?!

But what made him self-conscious was the way his new frame plainly exposed his belly and pelvis. There was a lot less armor here than what he had been used too, and it made him feel somewhat... Well, not nervous, but Sentinel noticed just how many people were staring at him and following him with their gaze in the streets when he wasn’t flying. In fact, he was pretty sure most of those gazes were fixated on his aft... Which could have been flattering if it had only been femmes doing so, because Sentinel fancied himself as a ladies mech.

But no.

It was also mechs - in fact, mostly mechs - who seemed to have gained a strange new fascination for him. Sentinel shuddered at the mere thought. Not that there was anything wrong with two mechs together, of course! Their species counted far more mechs than the rarer femme type, after all, so it was normal to see mechs pairing up and producing bitlets to raise. The Prime, however, had never feel any attraction to the mech frames. Oh, he had tried, once or twice, but the experience had held no appeal to him. Some called this a glitch in coding, given it was harder to find a femme to bond with, but Sentinel didn’t see it that way. And he wasn’t going to explain his personal preferences to anyone, thank you very much. He just... wasn’t much of a valve mech.

Despite the growing uncomfort he was starting to feel in that area.

Sentinel pressed a hand against the panel between his thighs. It was hot to the touch, and it send ripples of... not exactly pain, nor was it arousal either. It just... it was distracting. It had started the previous orn, with a single ripple through his whole frame, and ever since, it had somehow... increased in magnitude and now concentrated solely under his panel. It made the Prime grimace and frown. At first, he had ignored the phenomenon, thinking it was just some weird connection working and that it would stop once it stopped recalibrating whatver system it was bound at. However, as time passed, it didn’t. Stop. It just. Kept. Increasing.

Did he have some sort of injury there? Had one of Perceptor’s sloppy assistant rewired something wrong when they modified his frame? That must have been it, he decided. The wisest move, in this case, would have been to head straight for a medic and ask for a reparation before the problem grew worse. The thing was, Sentinel wasn’t in the mood and didn’t even want to contemplate baring his valve, even for a medic’s touch. He had escaped Red Alert’s infamous five stellar cycles’ mandatory check for countless times now, just because the mere idea was uncomfortable, even with a rather pretty femme.

Sure, that... itch behind his panel was growing more and more bothersome, but it didn’t actually hurt. So there were good chances it would eventually go away on its own, given enough time. If not... well, Sentinel would advise in time, he supposed. Still, he mused, it was getting quite hot under his hand... He let go of the panel reluctantly. Whatever freshness his cool servos had brought was now gone, and he wasn’t about to keep them here longer than necessary.

Taking a last look at the mirror and frowning, Sentinel turned away and went out. Hopefully, work would take his mind off that annoying itch that seemed to grow with each passing orn.

Chapter Text

It didn’t.

In fact, the itch had grown even worse during a single work shift, so much that, for once, Sentinel had just asked for the rest of the cycle off and just got back to his apartment, to the surprise of whoever knew him. it had never been in his habits to leave with a job half-done. He had vaguely pretexted... well, he wasn’t too sure anymore. It didn’t matter. Sentinel groaned as he curled upon his berth. His valve was starting to throb uncomfortably, sending wave of heat into his frame. So far, he had resisted the urge to just open his panel and touch himself, but... It just wouldn’t go away.

Shuttering his optics and moaning, he let his panel slid open, making a soft sound of both relief and pain as the incredible heat of his bare circuits met with the coolness of the ambient air. Tentatively, the blue mech slid over his bare valve, hissing as he made contact. Hot! Good! No, no, not good, a small part of him panicked. He didn’t want and wasn’t supposed to feel good when he touched himself here. The bigger part of him, though, was really past caring at this point. He just wanted relief, whatever it took.

His touch was hesitant at first. He wasn’t used to... touch himself there. But soon enough, he was pushing one digit after another in the folds of his valve, moving them, scissoring his port and moaning helplessly as a clear fluid - a rather thin brand of lubricant he supposed - was dripping over his fingers and starting to form a small puddle upon the berth. He tried, at some point, to release his spike with his other hand, wanting to at least pacify that small part of him that took anything done to his valve like a personal offense. If he also touched down his spike, then nothing was wrong, right? It was just that stupid itch that forced him to do something he wouldn’t even consider otherwise, right?

Sadly, despite his half-minded efforts, he just couldn’t get his cable to extend. It stayed nested into its housing, and Sentinel almost howled. He just didn’t feel anything around his spike, wherever his vave was getting over-sensitive. Soon enough, he was shooting loudly as an overload washed over him. His wings kept fluttering as he moaned helplessly.

The overload did nothing to calm him, and soon enough his fingers were moving again, even more desperately than the first time. He needed more, and he needed more now! A hazy cloud of lust, confusion and uneasiness started to overwhelm him as a second overload neared. He barely felt it. His fingers kept pumping in and out of him, in desperate gestures to appease him. His wings kept moving erratically with his every moves, sometimes banging against the wall, hurting him slightly, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Sentinel was unable to tell just how much time passed like that, nor how many time he managed to overload. It left him unsatisfied and craving for more. He needed something more than his fingers inside him, his body had long since realized. But there was no toy he could use instead in the whole apartment, nothing that could of would work, and the newly-turned Seeker could only keen and move his fingers faster.

“Sentinel? Sentinel, are you there?”

A voice. Sentinel’s body stilled a little, his wings flared high. There was somebody else here. Somebody who would be able to help... Somebody that would relieve his body of that damn itch that wouldn’t leave him. In a trance-like state, he let himself drop from the berth and started to crawl out of the berthroom, wanting to go near that voice. The small part of Sentinel still aware was screaming it was a very, very bad idea, but it was paid no mind. Someone was here. Someone with a delicious spike he would ride on so he would finally, finally feel better.

Going to his hands and knees, he dragged himself to the corridor and toward the living room, where his not-so-mysterious guest’s voice was coming from. He didn’t had to go further, though, because as he tried desperately to move faster, Optimus’ head poked by the open door. The other Autobot’s optics widened as he caught sight of Sentinel.

“Sentinel! Are you alright?!” he said, coming closer.

Sentinel’s body just... sprung forward the moment Optimus was close enough. His wings were flaring up again, almost scraping their edges against the wall. He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the mech in front of him, and he needed to reach him. Now! With a yelp, Optimus fell backward on his aft, and Sentinel pinned him to the floor, rubbing his open panel against the other Prime’s closed own with a deep purr of satisfaction.

“Sentinel? What do you think you’re doing? Sentinel? Sentinelllll?!” he yelped as the other Prime started to lick at his neck while his hands were trying to open his codpiece and gain access to the spike hiding under. “Sentinel, what is going on with you? Will you just stop that?! Will you... just... oooohhh!” he moaned as his panel clicked open unexpectedly and Sentinel’s hands started to roam all over his spike, trying to get it to extend as quickly as possible. It dawned on Optimus, at some level, that it was most unusual for his body to have reacted so fast. Things just didn’t add up. Why would Sentinel, a bot with whom he had a rather rocky relationship, try to jump him and visibly trying to berth him? Why would he even try to impale himself on Optimus’ spike when Optimus knew full well that Sentinel wasn’t a valve mech?

No, it wasn’t normal at all. But then, Sentinel did start to get down on his spike, and as the head of his now hard cable pushed inside the tight, wet heat - almost scalding! - of Sentinel’s port, he found he didn’t care that much. “Sentineeeeeeeeeeeel!” he cried out.

The next cycles were a blur. Sentinel had just conscience of moving up and down, of being deliciously filled and of the itch that bothered him so much to decrease with the welcome friction inside him. He howled, and he heard another howl as something lukewarm rushed inside him, filling his valve. It might not have been the first time, but he wasn’t completely sure. His wings were standing proudly behind him as he threw his head back. Good! So good!

Panting, Sentinel shuttered his optics and let his whole body sag. The itch hadn’t disappeared, but it had faded some, and now he found he could think more clearly.

Then his optics lighted and went comically round as he realized just what he had just done. Looking down at Optimus’ rather tired face, his jaw dropped in shock and he gulped. Then he looked lower, taking in the sight of their joined body, Optimus’ spike still buried into him, a mess of fluid painting their bodies.

“What in the Pit did you do yo me?!” he shrieked loudly.

Optimus winced and his optics narrowed. “What I did to you?! What about what you’ve done to me?! What’s wrong with you exactly? You jumped me, Sentinel, not the other way!”

“I certainly did not!” Sentinel shouted. “And even if I did...” he trailed off, mentally admitting the evidence pointed out he was the one at fault, though he wouldn’t admit it out loud. “You must have done something! There’s no way I would have consented to... to... that if you hadn’t done something before! It’s your fault! It must be! It always is!”

Optimus looked at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?! How can it be my fault that you jumped me? I just came and see if you were alright after hearing you had taken the cycle off! I thought you were sick or something! I was worried! You didn’t even answer when I tried to join you on your comm frequencies! Then I saw you, and next thing I knew, I was on the floor with you clawing at my panel! So excuse me to have reacted; I’m a mech with need too! I can hardly be the one blamed here. But of course, with you, it’s always Optimus’ fault, isn’t it? Never your own, ever, even when I actually told yo the truth or when I told you it was a bad idea,” the blue and red mech said with a glare.

“Well... well... it usually is!” the other Prime said, but even he had to admit it sounded very feeble. “Though maybe... just maybe... it wasn’t quite your own this time,” Sentinel groused. Optimus raised an optic ridge, surprised Sentinel actually agreed with him on something.

“That’s... nice of you to consider the idea,” he said mildly. “Now, would you care to tell me what it was all about? I thought... well, you did say you... liked... well, femmes,” he said, cheeks flushing.

Sentinel frowned. “I do. I just don’t know... I’ve been... feeling weird these last cycles,” he announced carefully, not wanting to sound weak. Optimus’ optics went round and full of worry.

“Cycles? Why didn’t you say anything? You should have seen a medic right away! After a full frame reformat, you know you’re not supposed to hide anything from...” he was cut off.

“I didn’t hide anything,” Sentinel insisted. “I just... didn’t think it was important enough to be mentioned. It wasn’t really bothersome at first, then it just... went out of control,” he finished lamely.

“Out of control enough for you to go against your base desires and jump someone you never felt attracted to?” Optimus quipped.

Sentinel gritted his dental plates. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not really smart. But now, it’s over, I’m fine, so I would like you to just get the Pit out of my apartment and forget it ever happened, so we don’t need to discuss of... it... ever again.”

Optimus narrowed his optics at him, but sighed. “Right. It never happened. So I’ll go my merry way... if you at least dismount from me.”

Sentinel felt alarms blaring in his CPU. “Wh... I did! Or at least, I was sure I did,” he said, his optics trailing down to see he was in fact still impaled on Optimus’ cable. And he had been so sure he had scrambled away when he had regained his senses.

Optimus was frowning and looking at him with something akin to wonder and weariness. “Well, you didn’t. You... hadn’t even noticed?”

Sentinel shook his head mutely and tried to rise. “I didn’t... I wasn’t... wasn’t even feeling anything...” he trailed off, face getting blank and optics dimming.

“Sentinel... you’re moving again,” Optimus pointed out, optics widening.

The other Prime almost shrieked. “I’m certainly not!” However, even as he spoke, it dawned on him that he was actually rolling his hips back and forth, seeking friction... and he hadn’t even noticed. Optics wide, he tried to stop the rocking motion, but found himself unable to. His body didn’t seem to want to obey him anymore. In the contrary, his pace seemed to increase and his hands grasped Optimus’ hips more firmly. “I... I can’t stop it,” he said, horrified.

Optimus and Sentinel looked at each other with a mix of disbelief, fear and pleasure.

“That’s not normal,” Optimus said.

“No, it’s not,” Sentinel agreed in a small voice.

“I think it’s high time we call on experts,” Optimus called out as he tried to push Sentinel away from him, without much success.

“Yeah... yeah, you do that,” Sentinel said, dazzled as a soft moan escaped him and he started to move up on down to impale himself on Optimus’ spike. Usually, he would have fought nails and teeth against the mere idea, but... Well, it wasn’t an usual situation, to say the least. He was actually fragging Optimus, for Primus’ sake! He was fragging another mech! Worse, he was being bottom... so to speak, since he was currently on top!

If that wasn’t a crisis, Sentinel didn’t know what it was.

The blue and red mech opened a comm. link. ::Ratchet? I think we have a situation...::

Chapter Text

“You’re in heat,” the medic said blandly

“In heat? What to do you mean, in heat?!” Sentinel yelped.

Ratchet gave him an amused look. Imagine his surprise when Optimus had commed him, telling him something was seriously wrong with Sentinel. Ratchet hadn’t rejoiced... much at the news. It was no secret he held no love for Sentinel fragging Prime, but the mech was a fellow Autobot and Ratchet was a medic, with the sworn duty to repair and heal any harm befalling other lifeforms. Even a braggart jerkass like Sentinel.

Then Ratchet had heard whatever symptoms Sentinel suffered from, and he had actually startled, searching his memory banks before guffawing as he drew the most likely conclusion. Still, to be sure, he had needed an actual physical check. Going to Sentinel’s apartment was apparently out of the question, since the Prime didn’t want ‘ruffians’ and ‘misfits’ to invade his home. Meaning, any examination would have to be made in a proper neutral setting, like the nearest clinic. Fortunately for the egomaniacal Prime, Ratchet had managed to get his own office since they came back to Cybertron. Sure, it wasn’t top quality, but it was discreet. There would be no need to parade him in the halls of greater centers of healing or the large, well-stocked Medbay of Fortress Maximus. Sentinel had complained, of course, arguing he wanted an expert, not some rundown relic of the old age to examine him, but Ratchet had been firm and rather cutting. “Either you take your chance with me in a private, discreet setting, or you go over Red Alert in Fortress Maximus and let people see you in your current state. Your choice!”

Sentinel had grudgingly relented. Especially after it became clear he could barely walk and that he just wouldn’t let go of Optimus. Dragging him to Ratchet’s small, private Medbay at the edge of Iacon had not been fun, but they had managed. Even if Sentinel had been craving and coercing Optimus into fragging him harder during the whole transport. The old medic rather thought he would need a good scrub after hearing and feeling the other two mechs getting off inside him. Though it probably the weirdest or grossest thing he had ever endured...

“Ratchet, I don’t understand. His systems are running hot, sure, but what does ‘in heat’ really means?” Optimus asked, in a small voice, sounding a bit tired. Which he was.

If Sentinel was lying down on one of the medical berth, wings flat against the surface, and Optimus was lying over him, spike still nestled deeply inside his former friend. In trust, Optimus would have rather wanted to be somewhere else and get off, but Sentinel just wasn’t letting go of him. The blue mech had wailed when they had been separated during Ratchet’s cursory check up, begging for Optimus to come back and ‘frag me, damnit!’ Then he had pretended to to want to be fragged, only to cling more desperately to Optimus if the truck made the slightest motion to indicate he wanted to get off his former friend.

It was... very confusing. And tiring, because so far, it had been four times already he overloaded into Sentinel, and he needed rest, or at least to refuel.

“Let’s put it otherwise...” Ratchet mumbled before smirking. “May I offer congratulations for your upcoming parenthood?” he asked dryly.

Both Primes’ jaws dropped.

“Wh... what?!” Sentinel shouted. “There’s no way I become a creator, do you hear me?!”

“Pity, because you’re in heat. It’s already a foregone conclusion,” the medic pointed out with a bored look as he turned away and checked his scanner again.
Optimus was staring at Sentinel, then staring at Ratchet. “Ratchet, I don’t understand. Why does Sentinel being... ‘in heat’... has to do with creatorhood?”

Ratchet frowned at him. “Didn’t you hear about that in learning facilities?”

Optimus shook his head. “I can’t remember ever being taught about it,” he said desperately. “You, Sentinel?” he asked.

The other Prime just mumbled and grumbled and moved his hips as to make Optimus’ spike go deeper inside him, making them both moan.

Ratchet sighed. “The ‘heat’ is... a special sort of special coding urge that is not exactly common in Cybertron’s general population. It only happens to some frame-types, most of them war-based,” he started to explain.

“Exactly,” Sentinel managed to cut out with a groan. “And I’m not! So why in the Pit am I in heat, medic?”

“Why in the...? Sentinel, did you even bother to read the memo the science team had published on the Seeker-class frame?” Ratchet asked, half-sighing, half-grousing. He just knew he was going to have a processor ache.

Sentinel searched his memory files. A memo... yeah, sure, he had perused over something like that before he went through the reformat. He had promised himself he would read it in details when he had more time, but with a schedule as busy as his, it had... slipped his mind. “Of course I did,” he defended himself. “And it’s Sentinel Prime, Sir to you!” he barked.

“When you’re in my Medbay, you’re a patient like any other, and not my superior, so quiet you!” the medic snarled.

“Can we please avoid the verbal war and get back to the matter at hand, please?” Optimus called out before crying out as he overloaded again, transfluid shouting out of his spike and deep inside Sentinel’s body.

Ratchet threw a nasty look at Sentinel but nodded, taking a sealed energon cube out of subspace and handing it to Optimus, who accepted it gratefully. “Take that, Prime. You’re going to need your strength.” He then grunted at Sentinel. “So you said you read it... But I guess you didn’t read all of it, did you?” Sentinel gave him a look.

The old medic sighed. “I just knew it. Dang it, Sentinel! You don’t go through life-altering decisions and change without being fully informed!” he lectured the flying mech. “Seekers are considered war-frames! They DO get in heat!”

“Well, Perceptor wasn’t very forthcoming either about whatever I needed to know,” Sentinel defended himself.

It seemed to work in some way, because Ratchet snarled. “You tell me. Don’t you worry, you’re not the only one I’m going to have a ‘chat’ with!”

Then Ratchet’s shoulders sagged. “Well, what’s done is done, I guess. Sooo,” he trailed, his smirk returning. “Did you already think of a name for the future sparklet?” he asked.

Sentinel’s cheeks flushed and Optimus just stared. “I already told you, I’m not having a bitlet! Especially one growing inside me!” Sentinel screamed.
Ratchet raised an optic ridge at him. “Well, you hardly have a choice. That’s what the heat is all about, after all.”

“Ratchet, that special coding you were talking about...?” Optimus asked, still feeling somewhat lost. He kept thrusting in and out of Sentinel’s valve by automatism, but his mind wasn’t on the interface at all. He wanted answers to, frag it!

Ratchet patted him on the shoulder. “What we call ‘Heat’ is basically a war-frame codings telling him it’s high time he reproduces. It’s not an issue with most civilian classes and frame-types, because we all tend to flirt and bond and reproduce and raise a couple of bitlets sooner or later. But in military-minded classes... Well, let’s just say bonding or raising a family isn’t a priority for them. They’re too... focused on their duties to do anything else, so most of them don’t actively try to reproduce. And as you might have learned, nature always find a way to screw you over, even if you’re mighty warriors,” he snorted. “Anyway, you could say the ‘heat’ system is nature way of... ‘evening the score’, so to speak. It causes a... compulsion for war-frames to just... frag until all of their systems certify they managed to sire an offspring and pass down their coding to a new generation. It might happen once, twice, thrice,... or any number of times during all of their lifetime. It varies between individuals. But they all go through a ‘heat’ at least once in their life. Except if they’re happily bonded or mated in some fashion,” the medic explained. “They can produce offspring outside of heat cycles, just like us, but it’s far rarer. In a way, we’re lucky it’s the way Decepticons reproduce. Without the Allspark to generate full grow mechs and by only relying on sparse and unpredictable heat courses, their number increase slowly, unlike ours, which is steady if lower than before the Great War. It takes time to raise an army when any new soldier you get is just a little protoform needing to be raised to adulthood.”

Well, it did sound like a good news... And also, not; it was, in fact, kinda sad and unfair.

“... you said ‘sire’, not carry. So that means mechs in heat are usually dominants in the berth?” Optimus asked curiously. “But Sentinel...” he started before stopping, cheeks flushing under Sentinel’s dark glare.

“Yeah,” the other Prime said between gritted dental plates. “Mechs... Mechs in heat usually rut. They do... do not... carryyyyyyyy!” Sentinel shouted as he overloaded, valve spasming around his partner’s cable, making Optimus whine and pant. He managed to compose himself long enough to give Ratchet a glare. “So why the slag...?” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, deeply ashamed of the whole situation.

Ratchet gave him a deadpan look. “They do usually rut, true. But not, and you would know had you actually read the informations given to you before your reformat, the Seeker-frames. Those ones carry their offsprings, they do not sire them on others.”

“But... why?” Optimus asked, hands moving to grasp Sentinel’s shoulder pads.

Ratchet shrugged. “We can only guess. Popular theory is that they don’t trust anyone but themselves to rear a newspark to term, so they modified their coding long ago to bear rather than sire. As they are not many Seekers left, and none of them that old to begin with, we may never know for sure.”

“Ratchet... does that ‘heat’ thing... affect normal mechs?” Optimus asked, wheezing a little. Ratchet looked at him inquisitively, and the Prime elaborated. “I mean, when Sentinel threw himself at me...” “I did no such thing! I did no... arg!” “...and started to touch me... I felt like I reacted too fast, as if my systems... weren’t exactly following my CPU. Was it normal?” he asked worried. “I mean, now I think I could let go of Sentinel, even if he doesn’t want to, but before that, I don’t think I would have been able to...”

Ratchet nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it’s not unusual. Seekers are known for releasing unheard signals to let other mechs they’re ready and even desperate to be taken. Mechs often pick it up unwittingly and it can have an affect on their own body control. It’s like... not exactly hypnosis, but it help the Seeker in heat to get a partner faster if he doesn’t have already a mate taking care of his needs.”

“I never did send any signal!” Sentinel called out, indignant.

Ratchet gave him a look. “I never said Seekers did it knowingly. Heat induced lust tends to cloud judgment and processor when not taken care of on time. ‘Catching’ a partner by mixed signals and basically drugging them into compliance happens only when the Seeker hasn’t gotten a lover in time for the start of his heat. My best guess is that, by the time Optimus reached you, you were already too far gone and didn’t want to let a potential partner get away, when you needed one right now.”

“And... now?” Optimus asked, trying not to look at Sentinel, who felt as ill-at-ease as him.

“Now? It’s over. It only last until the first mutual overload, sometimes the second. You’re both able to think and control yourselves on some degree, are you not? Well, Optimus should be able to do both. You, Sentinel, you can’t. Control yourself, that’s it. You need the frag,” the medic said with a thin smile.

Sentinel swore. Ratchet wasn’t impressed. “Don’t you talk at me like that, youngling,” he scowled. “It’s your own fault if you’re in that state. You should consider yourself lucky it didn’t happen in the middle of a battle. Do you imagine the consequences?”

Sentinel and Optimus both shuddered, for rather similar reasons. They could very well picture the results of a heat on a battlefield, with unscrupulous ‘Cons... It made Sentinel realize something.

“Are you absolutely sure every Seeker goes through that damned heat?” Sentinel asked between gritted dental plates as he shifted, trying to make Optimus’ spike stroke a couple of different nods.

“It’s what medical files, the reports of various scientists and past behavioral analysis will tell you,” the medic answered simply.

“But there are no records or any kind of evidence showing that Starscream ever entered a heat cycle!” Sentinel shrieked. “I should know, I read a lot about him!”
Ratchet tried to not be sarcastic and say ‘so you can read?’. Instead, he just shrugged. “Starscream is a special case, I guess. There were rumors he had managed to modify his coding to suppress or even negate his own heats. No facts, mind you, just rumors, and I doubt whoever extracted his CNA took the time to ponder that theory before he escaped.”

“So there might be a way to make that deplorable... thing go away?” Sentinel insisted.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “There may be, but as I pointed out, there is nothing tangible showing that it’s possible...”

Sentinel didn’t listen. “Slag it, medic! I want you to discover what in the Pit Starscream did to deal with... with... that! Than I want you to give me back my original frame!” he shouted.

Ratchet tried to stay calm and collected. Hitting patients was bad, he reminded himself. Even if they were arrogant twerps. “Changing frame so soon after a whole reformat is impossible without extinguishing the patient spark, and you should know it, Sentinel! You’ll have to wait at least two hundred stellar cycles before your spark is correctly stabilized in your current frame, and two hundred more before even the dumbest medic on this planet agree to reformat you again! As for finding some way to suppress the heats like Starscream supposedly did... Well, unless you know how to resurect him and ask him the question yourself, I don’t think that lead will help,” the medic answered scathingly. “I’m a field medic, not a researcher! And besides, it won’t help you at this point! Your carrying chamber is already sucking fluids in for dear life, it’s not like the process can be stopped now! You should be more worried about how many partners it’ll take you before being successfully sparked!”

“How... how many?” Sentinel sputtered, his hips movements stilling for a breem. “What do you mean, how many?! I have Optimus here, and even if he isn’t my first or second or any choice at all,” Optimus growled but didn’t comment, just thrusting his hips forward harder, making Sentinel whine and choke on a cry before continuing his rant “... and I would rather not have a sparkling at all, I don’t intend to go and seek anyone else!”

“You might not want to, but that doesn’t mean you’ll have a choice. Seekers are know to easily wear out their partners. And I stress the word partners, with an ‘s’. As much as you wish to stay monogamous, I don’t think Optimus has the necessary stamina to last through your whole cycle. Especially if it’s a long one, and I don’t doubt it will be.”

“Wha... what make you think so?” Sentinel asked in a strangled voice. He was nearing another overload, he could feel it. Optimus was barely moving anymore, already tired, but Sentinel’s body was still burning, his body still grinding against his fellow Prime. It was getting old and really, really bothersome. Why, just why did it have to happen to him?

“Well, usually, that ‘itch’ you didn’t complain about to anyone, even a medic who could have told you so much about it?” he said, looking crossly at Sentinel. “It’s actually a predictive symptom. It should allow, for mechs who know better, to prepare themselves for the start of the real cycle.”

“What does it entail exactly?” asked Optimus.

Ratchet shrugged. “Stockpiling energon, courting mechs they wants to ‘face with, getting an authorised leave for their jobs,... Anything that can help him pass the cycle without worry. From what I read, some mechs start to interface right away as to decrease the intensity or duration of the heat cycle.”
“And does it work?” Optimus asked again, seeing Sentinel’s struck look.

“Depends. Some reports say ‘yes’, other ‘no’. Can’t hurt in any case, I’d say,” Ratchet pointed out. “Think about it. You get enough to refuel on the side, and you actually get to ‘face mechs you want instead of random strangers or the first bot you come across once you reach your limits. Would have been nice to know, wouldn’t it, Sentinel?”

Oh, Sentinel was really starting to hate that old, uncouth slagger... Sentinel had never liked medics before, but Ratchet just inspired him a special kind of loathing. And it wasn’t solely because he was obviously on Optimus’ side...

“Anyway, you have someone in mind?” At Sentinel’s blank look, Ratchet elaborated. “To take Optimus’ place between your thighs when he can’t keep up with you anymore.” Sentinel grimaced and didn’t answer. He wouldn’t grant the old relic with an answer. Ratchet snorted. “Of course not. Well, I’ll volunteer if it comes to that.”

Wait, what?!

“No way!” Sentinel shrieked. Optimus just looked grateful. “I’m not letting you touch me outside of a proper medical procedure, and a heat isn’t one!”

“Oh, is it not? If so, I’m sorry if I have offended you,” Ratchet said demurely. “But I would have thought you’d have liked that, given you DON’T want people to know about your... condition. By the way, I’ll need to comm Ultra Magnus to signify you’ll be taking a long leave in a...”

“Say what?!” Sentinel screamed, pushing away Optimus and sitting, wings moving swiftly. His valve burned with need as Optimus slide out of him and most of the blue Seeker’s processor wanted that nice spike back inside him right now, but Sentinel almost legendary stubbornness had raised his head and was actively refraining his first instincts. “There is absolutely no way I take a leave! There is nothing to call the Magnus about,” he insisted fiercely. He just didn’t want to think about what the Magnus would say if he ever learned of that... inconvenience. What anyone would say, because if he had to take a leave, there would be an official cause, and then everybody would know... No. Fragging. Way. That said, he swiftly went back in position and took Optimus’ spike inside him once again. “Aah,” he groaned.

Ratchet just looked at him with scorn. “Sentinel, might I remind you you’re going to end up sparked? Sooner or later, you’re going to birth a bitlet, and I doubt you’ll want to do that in your office. And people are going to notice; there is only so much our subspace pockets can hide, and a growing gestation chamber isn’t one.”
“I’m not telling anything to anyone,” Sentinel claimed stubbornly. “I’ll be perfectly fine in a moment and ready to go back to work.”

“Hum, actually,” Optimus started, “I... might have already told Ultra Magnus some of what was happening...”

“YOU DID WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!” Sentinel screamed, overload rushing through him. He grabbed Optimus’s shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Oh, he was going to strangle im, crush his vocalizer, tear his optics out,... lot and lot of unpleasant things. He wouldn’t touch the spike, though; he needed it too much right now.

Optimus winced at the loud volume. “I had to tell him we were with a medic, Sentinel, and I had to speak of some of your... symptoms,” he explained. “I would like to remind you that both of us were supposed to meet with him... three megacycles ago,” he said after checking his chronometer. “I needed a good reason to not come, and I told him the truth.”

Ratched had a thin smile. “Well, at least he will not be surprised by my call. And if I know old Ultra right, he may already have a fair idea of what’s going on. It’ll certainly be in the long run. He never was one to waste an opportunity.”

Sentinel stared at him in disbelief. “Easier? Are you kidding?! My career is ruined now! And what opportunity?!”

“Technically, it was already ruined after your turn at being temporary Magnus,” Ratchet pointed out almost merrily. “At least, with a future bun in the oven, as humans say, you’ll have a legitimate reason to retire early on and without losing your honor. As for opportunity... another flying Autobot is a welcome bonus. And yes, Sentinel, given your current frame, the chances it will not be some kind of flying model are very low.”

“I hate to say it, Sentinel, but he may have a point,” Optimus sighed even as Sentinel sputtered. “You’re not... exactly popular right now, from what I’ve heard. A leave enforced by serious medical reason might be the best solution until popular opinion calm down.” He pushed his hips forward again in a soothing, slow motion. Sentinel groaned.

He didn’t agree with that analysis, not the slightest. However, he just knew he was beaten. Fragging Seeker-frame...

“So, about that second partner...” Ratchet started again even as Optimus pushed the head of his spike back into the welcoming heat of Sentinel’s valve. The Seeker just barked.

“I don’t want anyone!” he said. “I don’t want my valve to take more abuse as it is! I’m not even a valve mech to begin with! No way I’m letting anyone else frag me as if I was a dumb submissive!”

The medic almost wanted to bang his head. “I already told you, it’s not about wanting one, it’s about needing one! So there isn’t anyone you presently feel at ease with? Fine! Want me to publish the fact you’re in heat on every message board in Iacon? I’m pretty sure volunteers will get in line for the change to frag your stubborn aft, you...” Ratchet started.

“Could you please both shut up?” Optimus called out, exhausted and cranky. That got him two puzzled and angered looks. “Sentinel, Ratchet is only trying to help; you’re playing with your health and mine here! Ratchet, don’t butt heads with him, you’re not helping! Sentinel, you either take Ratchet on his offer to help spark you up, or you immediately give an alternative, because I will not endure much more now. And before you say anything,” he added as Sentinel opened his mouth to speak, “I’m not doing that to humiliate you. I’m doing that because I actually CARE about what can happen to you! And about that future bitlet too! I don’t know if you’ve realized, but it could very well end up being MY sparkling you’ll carry, especially if you insist I’m the only one allowed to ‘help’ you! So sorry if I’m actually freaking out about the health of its carrier!”

That made Sentinel pause. Oh. Right. The bitlet would have another parent. So, perhaps Sentinel wouldn’t to keep or raise him himself... he could just drop it on the other creator’s laps and go back to his life merrily, without a care... Perhaps that could work. If Optimus went back to that rock in the middle of nowhere he was so fond of, Sentinel wouldn’t even have to spend time with it. Same thing if the grumpy medic sired it... Sure, it sounded cruel, but Sentinel was honest with himself, and right now, he knew he wasn’t the best mech to raise a sparkling, be it his or not. Already half-grown up younglings, he could deal with, but newsparks... Better let it be with someone who wanted it, so at least the bitlet would be happy.

Reluctantly, he nodded. “Okay... I guess.”

Optimus gave a sigh of relief. Ratchet’s optics narrowed in suspicion, but he didn’t comment.

“So...” Sentinel trailed off. “What are we...?” he started to ask.

He was cut, however, by the sound of an alarm. The sound startled the two Prime, but Ratchet barely frowned. “Someone’s at the door.” Quickly, he accessed a comm frequencies, sending a query signal. Honestly, he thought it might have been one of the locals with a basic injury to fix. Something he could be done within a couple of cycles so he could come back and take Optimus’ place; the kid looked ready to drop. And well, he supposed he should and could fuel Sentinel too while he was at it. Mechs in heat didn’t feel tiredness or hungriness the same way their partners did, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t.

The answer of the query wasn’t what he expected, however.

Ratchet actually blinked. “Well, if that identity ping is correct, it’s Jetfire and Jetstorm.”

The Jettwins? Here and now?

“What in the Pit are they doing here?” Sentinel shouted out, optics wide.

Ratchet shrugged. “I don’t know yet.” He gave his ‘patient’ and his commanding officer a look. “I’ll go and see what they want. Optimus, carry on. I won’t be long,” he said, taking long stride toward the doors.

Chapter Text

“What are you two doing here?” The medic said, frowning at the duo.

Jetstorm and Jetfire looked at eachother then at Ratchet, the picture of weariness and weariness and stayed mute. Ratchet felt a slight pang of sympathy for the two of them. “Go ahead, kids, I’m not going to scream at you. Are you two hurt?” he asked in a nicer voice.

They shook their heads. “We... we hear Mr Sentinel Prime Sir wasn’t well. Hear he be here, too. So we came,” the blue twin said in a small voice.

“We worried for Mr Sentinel Prime Sir, Sir. He is being alright?” the orange twin asked, optics full of concern. His brother clung to his hand desperately.

Ratchet snorted. “He’s perfectly fine, younglings. He’s just very busy making you a new baby brother or sister to play with.” Behind him in the Medbay, he heard Optimus choke and Sentinel shrieking loudly, though it probably was mostly because of the overload he was going through. “Whhhhhhhaaaaaaatttt!”

Not caring for the noise, the twins stared at Ratchet with large, hopeful optics. Ratchet had to restrain himself from patting them. “We be having sibling? Really?” Jetstorm asked, a shy smile on his lips.

“I’M NOT MAKING THEM A SIBLING!” Sentinel screamed loudly, making the twins wince and drop their head. Ratchet looked at him over his shoulder with a displeased face. “For all intents and purpose, you are,” he snarked at the blue winged mech. Gently, he put a hand on each of the twins’ shoulders. “Don’t listen to him younglings. He’s just grouchy because the process is long and not going according to his plans. But you’re definitely going to have a sparklet running around with you soon enough. Your daddy is working very hard on it, though he will always deny it,” he snorted.

“I’M NOT THEIR DADDY! I’M THEIR INSTRUCTOR AND SUPERIOR!” Sentinel screamed in protest, and the twins visibly flinched. Ratchet turned back and barked at him.

“Oh yeah? That’s not what your codes said when I read them over with the scanner! You’re a Seeker, now, with all the quirks that come with it. You think the heat cycle is the only one? Well, guess again! You’re older than both of them put together. They don’t have a parent or formal guardian aside of the Elite Guard. They cling to you for about anything. You’re the responsible adult around as far as they are concerned, especially since your full reformat. And you cling to them in turn and coddle them. Why do you think so? Your codes adopted and recognized them as adoptive creations! And they imprinted on you as guardian! Why in the Pit do you think you started to coo or bat your wings at them in Seeker’s cant?!”

“I did no such thing!” Sentinel defended himself. He did not... surely not... did he?

Ratchet snorted. “Sure you did, I have the security cameras records to prove it. Of course, given you didn’t bother to search anything about Seeker class models and their habits, I’m not surprised you didn’t even notice. Congrats, Sentinel Prime; you’re already a father.”

“Yeah...’tulation,” wheezed Optimus, who was starting to feel very tired. That was the tenth time he came, and Sentinel wasn’t letting go of him. “Ratchet, I really need a break,” he called desperately.

“In a joor or two,” the medic called back. He turned back to the two young Elite Guard members, who looked at him expectantly.

“So... Sentinel Prime Sir is really guardian of us?” Jetstorm tried tentatively, tried to make sense of the discussion between the older flying Autobot and the medic.

The medic nodded at him. “He is. I suggest you start calling him ‘daddy’, though,” he said with a smirk. The twins nodded with enthusiasm, not noticing Sentinel’s mumbled protest. By this point, he was too busy forcing Optimus to pick up his pace to protest or whine anymore about the silly ideas the old medic tried to put into the twins’ CPU. He would see to correct that later... when that fragging itch was gone. For now, he clung desperately to Optimus and bit his lips to avoid moaning.

Not worrying much about the noise they were hearing, the twins smiled tentatively at Ratchet. “But how we going to have sibling, Mr Ratchet, Sir?” asked Jetfire, curious. His brother nodded along, also wondering.

“Ah, that’s a very good question, Jetfire. How about your brother and you go see Ms. Arcee? She’ll tell you all about it.” The twins pouted a little, unhappy Ratchet wasn’t going to directly answer them. The medic noticed and smiled at them. “Me, unfortunately, I need to go and help your daddy and Optimus to make that future sibling. And at the rate your daddy is exhausting Optimus,” he said as he looked once more over his shoulder to see the red and blue Prime panting hard as Sentinel’s hips moved fast against his, “they’re going to need a lot of help.”

The twins shared a vaguely panicked look. If Ratchet was so important to making them a sibling, then they couldn’t bother him any longer. The promise of a little mech or femme to play with was more important than having their questions answered by the medibot. Besides, Ms Arcee was rather nice, and she often had energon cookies with oil chips to give them.

“We be going, Mr Ratchet, Sir. Can be we coming see... see Daddy later?” Jetstorm asked.

“Sure you can, younglings. Just call me before you want to, so I can tell if ‘Daddy’ is ready to have a visit,” Ratchet chuckled.

The twins smiled, saluted, turned heels and went running through the corridors, laughing and pursuing each other. Ratchet watched them go with a smirk, then closed the Medbay’s doors and turned his attention back to his ‘patient’ and his team leader. Optimus was half-lying on top of Sentinel, who was the driving force behind their coupling. He was grasping Optimus’ waist and guiding his movements with desperation.

“Right,” the medic mumbled. “Time for a change. Sentinel?” The flier looked at him but didn’t stop what he was doing. Ratchet quickly pressurized his spike and walked toward the pair. “Release him, I’ll take care of your... itch while he recuperates.” Optimus gave him a grateful smile, and Sentinel frowned but finally let go. He moaned as Optimus slid out of him, and had to force himself to let go. All his instincts were telling him to not release his catch and continue grinding their interfacing components together. He howled in misery.

“Fraggit all! When is it going to stop, medic!”

The medibot shrugged. “Depends. You’re still young enough and this is your first heat cycle. Might take a couple more solar cycles,” he said as he knelt between Sentinel’s legs at the place Optimus had previously occupied. The red and blue mech had let himself drop onto the floor, vents overworking to cool down his body. “If so, I just hope Optimus and I will suffice to your needs. Though it might be more careful to ask a third person to...” he continued before Sentinel loudly cut him off.

“No way! No way I let anyone else know what I’m suffering through! I will not be huuuuuuuumiliated this way,” he moaned as Ratchet’s spike slide easily inside him easily. “Oooohhh, yes, like that,” he groaned as the medic started a hard but slow pace, careful to hit as many sensor nods as he could with each thrust. Ratchet’s spike was nice, he mused as he wantonly moved to accompany Ratchet’s moves. Shorter but larger than Optimus, and the medic knew how to use it. “You... you two are-re.. already bad enough! You told me I only needed a second! Be-besides, you seem to know what you are... ugh... doing!”

The medic glanced at him. “I do. But I’m not as young as I used to, and I’ll get tired more easily than Optimus. And I doubt he will have fully recovered before you start jumping him again,” he said, quickening his pace a bit, making Sentinel moan harder. “And I never actually said two mates would suffice during your heat. I battled to make you understand you needed more than one,” Ratchet corrected him. “Seekers have more stamina than most Autobots. You WILL need someone else, Sentinel.”

“No way! Nooooooooo way!” he denied. “I will be perfectly fine between the two of you! I swear!” If word get out of his predicament, he would never hear the end of it! His reputation would be forever damaged!

“Sentinel,” Optimus tried, “it doesn’t need to be someone you don’t know. Sure, Jazz is unavailable - and I know you could and would have trusted him. But I could ask a member of my team to...” he started.

Sentinel growled. “N...n...oooo! There’s no way I’d let that bumbler anywhere near me with his spike out, heat cycle or not!” Ratchet grunted. Optimus frowned, wanting to defend his friend, but he noticed fluid was starting to gather in Sentinel’s optics, and he didn’t insist. He knew it was hard on the other Prime, having his body betraying him this way... “What about Bulkhead?” he proposed instead.

Sentinel almost snorted. “That... oaf? And that’s better than the bumbler... how?!”

Ratchet stopped moving brutally, making Sentinel gasp in surprise. “Wh.. what?! No! Don’t stop!” he begged.

The medic glared at him, his spike starting to slide out. “I will not continue if you don’t give your excuses. Bumblebee and Bulkhead might not be the most graceful or clever people around, true, but they have their CPU in the right place. They’re probably two of the more gentle and dedicated bots I ever met! Bumblebee made a lot of effort to become a better soldier! And Bulkhead is probably the smartest mech I know, actually! He’s big, strong as a rock, and he’s THE foremost expert on Space Bridges on Cybertron! Without minds like his, we would have lost that war long ago!” He drove himself right back inside Sentinel’s valve to drive the point across.

Surprisingly, as he finished talking and without any further move, Sentinel overloaded. Hard. He kept thrashing for several joors, loudly howling his release.

Sentinel’s sudden overload took everyone by surprise. It was the most... intense he had felt so far, and he looked comically at Ratchet, who was still immobile, and at Optimus who was gaping. “What just happened?” he asked stupidly.

Ratchet stared at him before smiling, than outright laughing. “Oh my... Oh my!” Sentinel flushed, and Optimus looked at him with incomprehension. “Ratchet...?” he tried.

The medic smirked at Sentinel, who immediately tensed. “Tell me, Sentinel... wouldn’t you like Bulkhead’s big spike inside you, stretching you wide?” he whispered, making Sentinel gasp and Optimus gap in shock. “Wouldn’t you like to be fragged, long and hard by such a large, protective mech, who wouldn’t allow you to fear or lack for anything? Wouldn’t you like your future child to inherit such a bright, insightful, brilliant mind?” he murmured at Sentinel’s audio receptor.

Sentinel keened despite himself, and he grew more and more mortified as he noticed that his valve seemed to get more slick and clenched desperately around the medic’s spike, while his CPU kept sending him mixed signals, and his body was starting to want something larger inside him.

“Wh... what?” he shrieked. “What’s happening to me?”

“That proves it,” the medic nodded to himself as he slide out of Sentinel’s body. “Optimus, call Bulkhead and tell him to come and join us immediately.”

“No!” Sentinel keened, but his valve gave an hungry throb. Erk! Why did it just...?

“Seekers frag about anything when they’re in heat,” the medic started, “but they do have standards. They seek out mechs they like, mechs they tolerate... and mechs they think we’ll give them smart, strong, superior offsprings,” he smirked.

“Bulkhead?” Sentinel and Optimus exclaimed together, looking at each other in disbelief.

Ratchet shrugged. “Look like. Sentinel’s processors caught on the ‘big’, ‘strong’ and ‘smart’ aspects he supposedly displays. His body wants this for his future sparkling.”

Sentinel’s optics widened. “No, no, no, no, no!” he protested. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere near his spike! Have you seen how large he is? I don’t want to find out if what’s behind his panel match the rest! And there’s no way I... ‘spark’ with him! Can you imagine how large it could be?! My figure is going to get ruined! And giving birth to something that large? No way!”

“You poor dear. Your silhouette is going to be ruined? I regret to tell you, but that’s what usually happens when someone get sparked, no matter the size of the Sire,” Ratchet deadpanned. “And honestly, there’s only one chance on three that he ends up being the Sire, so you have every chance to still keep an... acceptable figure,” he snorted.

“No, no and no,” Sentinel insisted. “There’s no way I mate with that oafy... sturdy... big... handsome... mech...” he trailed off, looking very disturbed. “What’s in the Pit is happening to me?!” he wailed in panic.

“Told you,” Ratchet sighed. “Hearing about Bulkhead’s qualities as an individual just make your subroutines lock on him as good breeding material. It’s going to affect your CPU until you will WANT him. The same way you wanted Optimus because he was the first available mech you met.”

“No way,” Sentinel said in disbelief.

“Way,” Ratchet answered with a smirk. “Though luck, Sentinel.”

Though luck indeed, Sentinel thought in despair. Why was he cursed with such rotten luck, why? On the floor, Optimus had curled on his side, and by the dazed and absent look in his optics, he was indeed calling the oaf. Nothing he could do about it, Sentinel supposed, and besides, his body was starting to burn again. Wiggling, he tried to get Ratchet to impale him again. Better have the medic take a turn with him; with any luck, it would help stretch him more for when the green oaf would take his turn. The medic gave him a look then smirked, and alarms blared through Sentinel’s CPU.

“It must be hard, to stay on your back all the time,” the medic commented eerily. “Don’t your wings start to hurt?”

Sentinel’s wings twitched in answer. “... a bit,” he allowed, knowing now lying to the medic wouldn’t help his case.

“So you wouldn’t actually mind changing position, would you?” the medic asked with a smile.

Sentinel’s valve gave an hungry throb and he gasped, eyeing Ratchet’s spike warily. “So long as you put it back inside me, I don’t slagging care!”

Ratchet just chuckled and helped him move, pushing him to his hands and knees on the berth before angling Sentinel’s torso downward. The Seeker Prime’s cheeks flushed in shame as he realized Ratchet intended to take him like a mechanimal. His wings, however, were twitching and fluttering agreably, not constricted any longer by the weight of their owner and his previous partners. Ratchet gave the blue mech a playful spank, making Sentinel gasp.

“Why you...!” he started to rant before cutting himself as Ratchet filled him up again, spike hitting numerous sensors in one stroke. “Oooh yeeeessssss!” he hissed as the medic started a quick pace inside him. “Yeessss!”

Ratchet laughed. “Feel good, doesn’t it? And just wait for Bulkhead to be here. I bet you’ll just love to have him take you like I do,” he leered, making Sentinel sob in want and despair.

“Hmm... not teasing, Ratchet,” Optimus called out from the floor. Sentinel felt some gratitude for his former friend. Just for that, he hoped HE would be the sire of his sparkling, and not the enormous sloppy mech or the old weezer. Besides, at least Optimus was attractive...

“Of course not,” the medic said seriously. “Just making sure Sentinel understands some things. Like the fact he better shut up and take it like a mech, for example. I wouldn’t want to have to gag him to stop him from hurting Bulkhead’s feelings,” he said eerily. “That would be too bad, wouldn’t it? Of course, I’m sure Sentinel will be a gentlemech, just like Bulkhead. Won’t you, Sentinel?”

Sentinel grunted in acknowledgement, knowing he was beaten... for now. he would play nice with the oaf, if only because he wanted this damn heat cycle to be over as soon as possible. But someday, he would avenge himself. Someday...

Chapter Text

Bulkhead shuffled nervously before the door. Optimus’ call had made no sense to him. Sure, he was always happy and ready to help the boss-bot, but he hadn’t even clearly understood what the Prime wanted. All he had been able to understand in the exhausted slurr Optimus had used were ‘Ratchet’s office’ ‘come’ and ‘help’. He had vaguely understood something about a medical condition and that he was needed immediately.

But if it was right, then that made no sense, really; why would Ratchet need his help? He was good with Space Bridges, true, but he didn’t know anything about medicine. So what help could he be? He just hoped Optimus was fine; he had sounded so tired over the comm. … Perhaps he had caught a virus and Ratchet was just checking none of them caught it too? That would be more likely than needing Bulkhead’s help for a medical matter. The fact he hadn’t been able to really understand Optimus was already worrisome, but even more so the fact that any time he had tried to call him back, he had just met statics. For some reason, Optimus’ comms were mute. He hadn’t even be able to get a confirmation from Ratchet. For some reason, both of their comms were unavailable.

Uneasily, he wondered if he should enter or wait until Ratchet or Optimus call him again. If there was a virus to be treated and Ratchet was in the middle of unrooting it, then he would only be a bother. But on the other hand, if there was a problem... if they were both lying unconscious and he was the only one able to help...

Trying to hear something through the door, he powered his audio receptors at their maximum capacity and winced as the noises of the streets around were amplified to extreme levels. If he didn’t get processor ache from that, it would be a miracle. Still, despite the sounds of mechs living their lives, he could hear something through the medbay doors. People were... speaking, he guessed. Ratchet’s soundproofing of the building was very good, he remarked to himself off-handedly as he carefully raked his fist against the door, trying to signal his presence.

He was rewarded by a short ‘beip’ on his comm frequency.

::Bulkhead? Finally! We’ve been waiting for you for the better part of a cycle! where the Pit were you?! Didn’t Optimus say how important it was?:: Ratchet sounded peeved over the comm, and rather tired too. Bulkhead felt guilty.

::Ah, uh... Sorry, Doc, but Optimus didn’t say much. He said to come quickly but I haven’t understood why and I just couldn’t leave Sari alone like that so I had to wait for...::

::He didn’t...? Yes, I suppose he was too tired to really make sense at the time, wasn’t he?:: Ratchet sighed. ::Oh, well, what’s done is done. The door is open; enter and lock behind you.:: And with that, he cut the communication.

Bulkhead frowned. Sure, Ratchet was, by default and despite having Arcee back in his life, bitter and cynical, but he was usually making and effort not to be too much with him, unless he did something really stupid. This time, he didn’t even try to be amiable. Something was really wrong, and the big mech dreaded a bit to find out what.

Still, he wasn’t a coward. Taking a resolute stance, he entered the private medbay.

And had to froze in shock and reboot his optical sensors several times in a row to be sure he was really seeing what he was seeing. But no, the video feed didn’t change. He was really seeing Ratchet, back to him on the berth, fragging Sentinel Prime, his former drill sergent at Auboboot Camp and notorious pain in the aft, from behind. The Prime was moaning helplessly and moving his aft in rhythm with Ratchet’s thrusts, and cursing under his breath when he didn’t.

“Frag it medic, harder! Is it so hard to understand?”

“You don’t go and start to get on my CPU, or I swear I’m going to take measures to make you shut up,” the medic warned with a low growl.

“R... Right, as if you could,” the Prime said with a moan. “All... ugh... all bark but not bite! You haven’t gagged me yet, have you?” he challenged.

“Don’t tempt me, because I swear I will!”

Bulkhead’s CPU finally caught on what he was seeing and hearing and he he started to blush and quickly turned his head to the side, mortified to walk on a couple sharing in such a private moment. Were they seriously speaking about bondage? Wow, who would have guessed they had that in them? Even better, who would have guessed Ratchet had the hots for the bot Sari and Bumblebee privately refered to as ‘Blowhard Prime’?

His optics met the unexpected form of Optimus. He was curled on the floor next to the berth, deep in recharge. That was a relief; at least, the boss-bot seemed to be alright. And if he was in deep recharge, that might explain just why Bulkhead hadn’t been able to join him back. Optimus mustn’t have heard the calls. There were lot of paint streaks and dried fluids on his frame, and Bulkhead gulped as he realized just how they had happened. He glanced rapidly at Ratchet and Sentinel, still snaping at each other while they were interfacing. Had they managed to knock out Optimus with too much interfacing? Were they... were they in a polyamory relationship? If he ever told that to anyone, nobody would want to believe him...

What was he doing here, again?

“Hum, Ratchet?” he called uncertainly, feeling silly.

Both lovers stilled and turned their faces toward him as best as they could. “Finally,” the medic muttered.

“You took your sweet time,” the Prime groused. He sounded unahppy, but the way he was looking at Bulkhead... there was a mix of exasperation, disgust, resignation and, most of all... hunger. Bulkhead shuttered his optics quickly and took a step back, suddenly very nervous. That wasn’t normal at all, was it?

Trying to ignore the Prime whose wings were fluttering rapidly, the green mech tried to focus on the medic. “I just couldn’t drop what I was doing right away, and I couldn’t call Optimus back for precisions. I couldn’t get you either, Doc.”

“Yeah, I suppose you couldn’t have. My comms failed on me after a particularly intense overload, they finished rebooting a few moments ago,” the medic sighed, half glaring at Sentinel. Who stiffened and growled.

“That was not my fault you old timer took so much time to properly recover!”

“Remind me again why I’m ‘facing you in the first place?” the medic snarked back.

Bulkhead tried very hard to turn off the sound as they bickered. Being in the same room as people behaving like an old bonded pair always made him feel awkward. Well, more awkward than usual.

“... not my fault Optimus couldn’t even get a simple comm. call right!”

“And who managed to wear him out so much he dropped into deep recharge almost the moment you allowed him to pull out?”

Oh Primus, too much details! Bulkhead felt his whole body heat up in embarassement; there were things he DIDN’T want to think about, and his Boss’ interface life was one. Even if he was, maybe, a bit curious about what kind of ‘bots Optimus liked... That didn’t mean he wanted to know everything!

“Doc, what do you need me again?” he asked, desperately trying to have his questions answered so he could either help or run and forget whatever he had seen.
That seemed to calm down the pair, if only a bit.

Ratchet pointed his finger at him, then at Sentinel. “Frag him,” he said. And that was it.

Bulkhead’s optics shuttered on and off several times. Had he heard Ratchet say what he thought Ratchet had said?

“I... I’m sorry, Ratchet, I’m not sure I heard you right,” the big mech said, feeling silly. The look Sentinel gave him didn’t help.

“Sure, make it harder and more embarassing,” the Prime groused, only to have Ratchet slap his aft to make him stop.

The medic looked at Bulkhead. He was clearly unamused but perhaps, just perhaps somewhat understanding. “It’s simple. I need you to help me ---and Optimus, who already did his part--- to frag Sentinel. I need you to stick your spike into his valve to replace mine. I need you to interface with Sentinel. Like, now,” he elaborated.

Bulkhead’s jaw dropped in shock and he froze as his CPU looped over the sentences and tried to make sense out of it. Which he couldn’t, despite repeating it several times in his head. “Whhhaaaa?” he said, rather unintelligently, jaw still dropping. That was a bad joke, right? Something Bumblebee had asked them to do, right? There was no way Ratchet had seriously asked him to interface with Sentinel Prime in his private medbay, right?

Sentinel snorted... or tried to. “We... Well, he looks like a bigger idiot than... than usual,” he grunted.

The medic glared at him and snarled “Quiet, you!” at the Prime before turning toward Bulkhead again. Ratchet narrowed his optics at him. “Primus help me, Bulkhead, if you dare to fry or crash your CPU now, I’m going to sent that wrench straight into your faceplates to help you reboot,” the medic warned him nastily, already having taken a wrench out of subspace and holding it loosely, reading to throw it with force.

Oh, something normal! His CPU caught on that and started to operate at normal capacity again. Obeying to his instinct, Bulkhead took a step back and raised his arms to protect his face. “I’m sorry Doc! It’s just...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say or how to say it. He shifted nervously on his feats, barely daring to look at the medic and the Prime, still tangled together on the berth.

Ratchet sighed. “Yes, I know. Feel unreal, doesn’t it?” Bulkhead nodded slightly.

“I’d really like for it not to be real,” Sentinel groused unahpilly has he moved backward to impale himself deeper on Ratchet’s spike. “Frag it medic, move!”

“With joy,” the medic deadpanned as he thrusted his hips forward, making Sentinel hiss. Bulkhead tried very, very hard not to look at them. It was really embarassing. Why did they need him to interface? They seemed to be doing good by themselves.

“Ratchet, I don’t understand. I... I’m not tempted by a threesome or foursome or anything...” he trailed.

“Good, because neither I am,” Sentinel snarked. “And certainly not with other mechs!”

Bulkhead’s shuttered his optics again. No sense at all, really. He must have stepped in a different dimension without noticing. Perhaps he was just having a very weird hallucination because Bumblebee had accidentally knocked chemicals in his drink, again.

Ratchet, thankfully, took pity of his confusion. “We’re not in a relationship, Bulkhead, and I’m not proposing you to join. Sentinel suffers from a... medical condition we need to cure by interfacing with him until his body gives the signal indicating it’s no longer necessary.”

Bulkhead blinked. “Hum, Doc... if he’s in heat, shouldn’t he, you know, rut?” he asked, surprised.

Now it was Ratchet and Sentinel’s turn to blink and be surprised. “Usually, mechs in heat do, yes. But the Seekers are the exception to the rule, as Sentinel recently discovered. What surprise me is that you’re so well informed. Optimus had no idea of what we were speaking at the beginning. You know about heat cycles, Bulkhead?” Ratchet asked, wary.

The green mech passed a hand between his head, nervous. “Well, kind of. I do remember my Sire going through at least one when I was still a bitlet. He... He just wouldn’t let my Carrier go out of the berthroom and she couldn’t take care of me while correctly while he was like that, so they sent me to spend a few cycles on my Aunt’s farm until it stopped. Then it happened again a couple of vorns later, for some reason. I spend a lot of time at my Aunty’s farm at the time,” he mused. Then he shook his head. “Anyway, they explained it to me when I was a bit older, in case it happened again, so I wouldn’t worry. My Sire... He was part of a decommissioned military branch and frame type,” he explained warily. “It’s from him I got my size. And that’s how I know Sentinel should...” he made a vague gesture “if he really was in heat. Right?”

“I knew it. I just knew no Autobot could be that big naturaly,” Sentinel grunted.

Ratchet gave him a look. “So he has some leftover Decepticon coding in him; big deal! All Cybertronians have, in case you don’t remember your history books. Just because we went to form separate factions over the course of time doesn’t mean we weren’t all from the same mold at the very beginning!”

His optics narrowed a bit as he looked at Bulkhead. “I must admit, though, it wasn’t in your medical file. Is there any risk you can enter in a heat cycle of your own?” the medic asked to the large mech, trying to be reassuring.

Bulkhead shook his head. “No. My creators made me checked up for that as soon as my interface array became active. I don’t have the code strands commanding heat cycles. Though one of my brothers has them for sure,” he added.

Ratchet blinked. “You have brothers?” That was new. He couldn’t remember a time where Bulkhead ever mentionned his family.

The green mech nodded. “Uh, yeah. Those heat cycles my Sire went through? Well, they had... consequences, so that how I know what... must happen. Those consequences, you guessed, were my siblings. Two. Hauler and Boulder. They’re in the construction and engineering business. Never were much interested by entering the Autobots forces or by staying on Aunty’s energon farm ---though Hauler sometimes explore to find deposites and he does lot of construction on various farms, so he kinda does work in the family business. Still, my parents took their choices better than mine,” he mumbled. Ratchet could feel a story here, but he didn’t press for further infos. Bulkhead cleared his vocalizer. “So... you need me to help Sentinel have bitlets?” he flushed.

“That’s the idea, yes,” Ratchet said.

Bulkhead passed a hand nervously behind his head again. “Ah, but... no offense, Doc, really, and you too... Sir, but... Why me? I mean, it’s obvious there’s not much love between me and you, Sir. with all due respect,” he added hastily.

Sentinel tried to snort. “None taken. The least I see you and the bumbler, the better I’d feel.”

Ratchet narrowed his optics at him and Bulkhead refrained himself to frown. He didn’t like when people called his little buddy that, but he had long given up on Sentinel miraculously stopping to call the little yellow bot ‘bumbler’ unless the situation was so dire he didn’t have time for insults and derisive comments.

He cleared his vocalizer, unsure. “So... why me?”

Ratchet sighed. “Well, Sentinel wants you.”

“I don’t,” the Prime said back. “I don’t want that solid... sturdy... frame... over... me...” His optics went weird and glazed over, and he passed his glossa over his lips.

“Doc?” Bulkhead asked nervously. He wasn’t sure he liked the way Sentinel was starting to watch him, as if he was some kind of large energon goodie.

“Well, Sentinel might not like you personally, but his frame is just begging for your touch. You’re not familiar with Seeker’s heat, right?” Bulkhead shook his head. “A mech in rut care little for whoever he impregnates. A seeker is selective about who can impregnate him. Right now, Sentinel’s systems for a strong, handsome, protective, caring, smart and intelligent mech.”

Bulkhead’s jaw dropped open as he pointed a finger at himself. “Me?” he asked in disbelief. Ratchet nodded. “You.”

“I’m having a bad recharge cycle,” Bulkhead muttered, unconvinced.

“If so, you’re not the only one,” Sentinel said, shaking his head to clear it. He looked at Bulkhead with a slight frown. “So? Are you going to help?” He wanted to sound rude, but Bulkhead could perceive the waver in his voice, as well as the accents of desperation as his frame jerked back to impale deeper on Ratchet’s spike. Sentinel moaned lowly as his frame shuddered, and Ratchet patted him gently in a uncaracteristical show of comfort. The blue Prime’s wings fluttered.

Bulkhead hesitated for a second. Lots of things went through his mind at the same time.

Even if Ratchet and Optimus had apparently ‘contributed’ to abate Sentinel’s heat cycle, there was still a good chance Bulkhead would be the one who ended siring a bitlet. Was he ready to be a creator? About everyone but a precious few believed he was just a clumsy oaf. Sure, he was a war hero now, and he was starting to get some modest recognition as an artist and art amateur, but for most people, he remained a too large, too awkward mech you couldn’t trust with delicate little things like sparklings. Of course, he too had been a delicate little things at first, with very bulky creators, they had the holovids to prove it, and they had managed. Speaking of his creators, what would they think of him if he gave them grandcreations with a bot he hadn’t even presented to them, even less dated properly beforehand? Sure, they knew about heat cycles and all that jazz, and how sometimes there was little choice, but he had the feeling that would just be another thing they would be disappointed about with him... On the other hand, perhaps a sparklet was just the thing he needed to break the ice between him and the rest of his family. And well... He could really imagine himself with a little one. He could already picture himself taking the bitlet to visit the energon farms on Moonbase One, and teaching him to fingerpaint on Bumblebee’s recharging frame... And maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get Sentinel to stop callling him and Bee names.

It all went through his CPU in a klik. slowly, he nodded at Sentinel. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Both Sentinel and Ratchet sagged in relief. “Thank Primus,” Ratchet muttered under his breath as he picked up his pace, intending to finally overload before letting Bulkhead take his place. Sentinel grunted under him as he went faster, but he paid him no mind. He was starting to get tired too, and he had half in mind to imitate Optimus and recharge. He almost roared as he spilled his transfluid inside Sentinel, who paid him little attention. He was back at watching Bulkhead with glazed over optics, clearly wanting the big mech right now. With a humph, Ratchet let his spike slide out of the Prime and retracted his panel. He would need a good cleaning later on, he thought distantly as he saw the mess on his thighs. He glanced at Bulkhead and frowned at seeing him shifting on his pedes awkwardly. His panel was open, but his spike was still retracted in its housing.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked the giant of a mech with a frown.

If possible, Bulkhead started to look even more embarassed. “Well, I... uh, I... I can’t... it... it doesn’t want to...” he trailed off.

Ratchet blinked. “You can’t expand it?” Bulkhead nodded, cheeks hot-red with shame. Ratchet felt like swearing or crying. Perhaps both at once. They didn’t need that now. Oh, he didn’t blame Bulkhead; he could guess that the Prime wasn’t exactly appealing to him, either on a physical or mental level. Sure, Sentinel wasn’t bad looking, but his processor and vocalizer ruined any lasting interest. Ratchet had mainly fragged him because he had to, and had he been anything other than a medic and well, old, he might not have managed to get his spike stiff enough to ‘face the arrogant youngster. It reminded him of some of his one-night-stand and trysts during the war, where a bot got what he could when he could; it had taught him how to be at the ready at any time for some fun. As it was, he doubted Bulkhead had enough experience to get hard when not exactly interested in a casual frag. And he knew, he just knew Sentinel was going to make a cutting remark about it.
He wasn’t disappointed.

“What do you mean, you can’t expand it? I thought you wanted to help?!” The Prime almost shrieked. Optimus turned in his recharge, mumbling, the noise apparently bothering him. Bulkhead gave him a worried and fond look that didn’t escape the other mechs. Sentinel twitched, and the medic could already picture a future rant. Primus, he needed a break from the Prime and his ego! On the other rant, perhaps this ego could get used to ‘motivate’ Bulkhead a bit... Ratchet narrowed his optics in thought, thinking and finally smirking as he had an idea.

“Bulkhead... I don’t doubt of your willingness to help, but I gather Sentinel isn’t your kind of bot, isn’t it?” Ratchet asked carefully.

Bulkhead nodded slightly, embarassed. “N... No offense, Sir,” he said to Sentinel, “but... no,” he finished in a small voice. Sentinel’s look darkened. Ratchet coughed to get Bulkhead’s attention. “Is it because you still have a crush on Optimus and still hope to...?” he trailed off, trying not to smile.

Bulkhead looked at him as if he was crazy. He never had a crush on Optimus! He respected the boss-bot, and wanted to always keep an optic on him to be sure he was alright, especially because there had been crazy bots lusting after him and Decepticons wanting revenge for Megatron’s capture, but he wasn’t in love with him at all! What was the medic playing at...?

“Optimus! Always Optimus!” Sentinel’s wings flared behind him as he gave the sleeping Prime a nasty look. “Why is everyone always looking at him and not at me?!” he shouted as he shifted position and sat on the berth, hands ready to become fists. His voice was a bit different, like it had gained an echo. Bulkhead took a step back; he hadn’t expected the blue mech to start ranting. Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest, trying to not smirk. Just like he had hoped for; just drop a hint Optimus was better at something than Sentinel, and you could be almost certain the other Prime was going to work himself up. Sure, in this case, it wasn’t about being better, it was about attention... attention from a Seeker’s potential mate, who was looking at a rival. Sentinel wasn’t exactly in his right state of mind, Ratchet could already say, but he had hoped on that. Seeker’s mating instincts were running stronger than before now that a part of Sentinel’s CPU thought his dream-mate was going to escape him. He was bound to do something to gather Bulkhead’s attention. Cautiously, the medic took a step back as Sentinel snarled and made a gesture for Bulkhead.

“Come here. Now,” he snarled.

“Uh, Ratch?” Bulkhead asked, slightly scared. His Sire hadn’t sounded like that, ever.

“Go ahead, Bulk,” Ratchet smirked. “I think our dear Sentinel just wants to prove you just how better he can be in the berth than Optimus.”

“Damn right I am,” the Seeker Prime groused. “Here; now!” he said again, gesturing for Bulkhead to come closer as he went to his knees.

Unsure, Bulkhead looked again at Ratchet, who nodded. Gulping, the green mech came to stand at the foot of the berth. Sentinel lost no time. As soon as Bulkhead was in grabbing range, he lunged forward and put his hands on both side of his massive body at hip level. Licking his lips hungrily, he gave a heated look at Bulkhead before diving his head between the larger bot’s thighs. His glossa started to lick eagerly at the green mech’s spike housing, making Bulkhead gasp in shock.

“Sen... Sentinel Sir?” A muffled sound answered him, and vibrations run over his interface array. He moaned. Oh frag... He looked at Ratchet, optics wide. The medic just smirked at him, shrugging, and silently mouthed ‘enjoy it’. Frag, frag, frag... it wasn’t exactly the first time someone did that to him, sure; he and Bumblebee a fooled around a bit after Bootcamp, but Pit... his little buddy had never seemed so good at it. Already, he could feel his spike twitch in its housing, just begging to be released. Sentinel’s lips sucked at the edge of the housing, alternating with trails of kisses all over the array and soft licks. At one point, his glossa even dipped in the spike housing to tease the very tip of Bulkhead’s spike. The green mech could only pant and vent as his spike started to rise out of its housing. Sentinel was making a very good and thorough job at arousing him, he thought as he watched the Prime run his glossa over his still expanding lenght. he had already wrapped his hands around it and was now licking the tip like he would with and energon goodie. Bulkhead tried to keep still and just moaned at the oral he was receiving.

At some point, however the Prime stopped. His optics shuttered on and off, and he shook his head. He looked around him, perplexed, than at the spike he was holding. He herked back, optics wide. “Wh... What?! What did I do? What did...? How did that thing...? It’s large!” he sputtered. Bulkhead shyed away at that comment.

“It goes with the bot,”Ratchet shrugged at him. “As for what you did...?” he smirked. “What does your glossa tell you?”

Sentinel gagged. “Erk! I didn’t...! Did I?”

Bulkhead shuffled uneasily. “Uh, you kinda did. You told me to come close and you...”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sentinel moaned. “Please, don’t say it.”

Bulkhead hesitated. Ratchet chuckled. “He will not, I reassure you. But now, I think it’s high time he takes good care of you, don’t you think? I can see your valve throbbing in need from here,” he added, lowering his head a bit. Sure enough, the rim of Sentinel’s valve was swollen, lubricants and transfluid dripping from it. Sentinel’s cheeks went hot in shame and rage. He wanted so much to scream it wasn’t, but the fact was, Ratchet was right. His valve kept squeezing upon nothing, and it took all his will power to not just keen in want and need.

“I fragging hate heat cycles,” he moaned as he fell back to his aft, legs opening largely almost inconsciously, displaying his valve to Bulkhead. “I want it to stop now!”

“You’ve been saying that for cycles, I think we gathered the idea,” Ratchet gave him a look as he sat on a nearby chair. Primus, he was exhausted. Sentinel was a very needy thing, wasn’t he? And of course, he had had to bitch for most of it, snaping at Ratchet for things that weren’t even his fault in the first place. At least the Prime would never be able to claim he wasn’t a good lover, and that made Ratchet feel smug. “And despite all your protests, you’ve became extra clingy since we started.”
Sentinel sputtered he had not, though he had to admit that yeah, maybe, despite his snarls, he had become more susceptible to lean backward against Ratchet for contact. Kinda. Maybe. The medic’s weight on his frame had felt good in some way, and if he hadn’t necessarily wanted more, he hadn’t wanted to feel it less.

Bulkhead scratched his head in thought. “I think my creators said to me once that when a bot grew very clingy, that meant the cycle was reaching its peak, and that it would dissipate very soon after. Or at least, it seemed to be like that for my Sire. I’m not too sure about Seekers,” he mumbled as Sentinel looked at him with something akin to gratitude, as if he had told him he could offer him the Magnus Hammer and Title on a cybertronium plate.

Ratchet narrowed his optics in thought. “Hmm, maybe. Hear that, Sentinel? A couple more frags and hopefully, you’ll be out of my processor.”

“I could say the same thing to you, medic,” the Prime riposted. “I truly hope that whatever ---sparkling--- I bear,” he said the word ‘sparkling’ with a shudder, “don’t take after you.”

“Please, don’t remind me of the outcome,” Ratchet grumbled. He really hoped, for his sake and the future bitlet, that he or she would take after the other creator, be it him, Bulkhead or Optimus. Better be Bulkhead or Optimus, in fact; Ratchet was a crotchety, bitter individual, and it wasn’t traits he wanted to pass down to another generation. Better be Bulkhead well-meaningness or Optimus’ hopefulness.

Sentinel had started to stroke himself absentmindedly as he watched Bulkhead, who was still unsure of what to do and had remained standing at the foot of the berth while the other two mechs were snarking at each other. “Well? What are you waiting for, you oaf?” Sentinel asked, tense and wary as he stared at the spike erected between Bulkhead’s legs. Huge... He was thankful that, at least, his body was kinda prepared for it; after so long taking his old pal and the medic from the Pit, his valve had loosened and the disgusting fluids he was dripping with would ease the penetration... he hoped. Still, he knew it was going to give him nightmare later one. And possibly complexes.

Oh Primus, he thought as Bulkhead came nearer. He was going to end up completely bloated if that mech reached release into him. With the size of his rod, he was bound to produce lot of transfluid... lot of richly nanite-laced transfluid, that would give him a strong, smart heir... Gah! No! Yes! Pit... He was going to have a processor ache between what his body wanted, what his CPU didn’t want, and what Seeker coding bended his will to.

All caught up in his personal misery, he didn’t even notice Bulkhead tense and looking sad at being called a oaf to his face, nor did he notice Ratchet’s optics taking a brieve but dangerous glint. If Sentinel couldn’t be trusted to act like a gentlemech, he was going to have to take measures so he wouldn’t hurt Bulkhead feelings more. Sure, Sentinel was a patient, but Bulkhead was friend. And since Sentinel was a nasty specimen of Cybertronian anyway, he’d felt no guilt over it. Quietly, he got to his pedes and went to search in a nearby drawer for something he knew he had kept in store.

Bulkhead looked at Sentinel and bite his lower lip. “That’s... not going to work,” he worked out reluctantly.

Sentinel’s optics widened. “Wait, what? What do you mean, it’s not going to work?”

“That position,” Bulkhead continued. “I mean, I... I’m a bit large, next to you, and... Well, I don’t think it would be good for you to have me weighting so much over you and pinning your wings to the berth,” he explained himself.

Sentinel had to give him that, it was a valid concern. “What do you suggest, then?”

“... perhaps if you go back to all four, it will be easier?” Bulkhead asked, embarassed.

Sentinel took a deep intake through his vents. “Okay. Okay,” he said, shifting and turning so he could go back to the position he had previously be in. “If you think it’s going to be easier this way, okay.”

He wiggled his aft several times, shuddering in anticipation as he waited for Bulkhead to just climb on the berth behind him and frag him. But the gentle giant didn’t move. Sentinel gave him a look over his shoulder. “So? Are you going to do something or not, you oaf?”

Bulkhead bite his lip. “Please, don’t call me that,” he rumbled softly. “It... isn’t very nice, given the circumstances.”

Sentinel gave him a look. “Oh, it isn’t very nice? Right, sorry. You know what else isn’t nice? It’s making me wait for you while my body is burning up with need I’d like not to feel, so please, just come and frag me!” he shouted. His wings flared. On the ground, Optimus grunted and turned over, a hand over his audio receptor.

Bulkhead’s shoulders sagged. “Yeah... yeah, alright.” Carefully, he climbed on the berth behind Sentinel, mindful of the wings that kept fluttering before him, and half-worried the medical device would just fell under his weight. But Ratchet had invested into good quality material, and it barely moved as he installed himself comfortably. Sentinel’s frame was tense and he was panting, vents working hard. The edge of his valve was swollen and covered in lubricant and rivulets of transfluid that cascaded along his thighs. Carefully, Bulkhead took some on the tip of his fingers and started rubbing the fluids all over his spike, hoping to ease the initial penetration this way. Sentinel’s body was already well-prepared by the numerous overloads he had already went through, but Bulkhead like to reassure himself he wouldn’t hurt the smaller mech.

Carefully, he pressed the tip of his spike against the tight opening. “Ready?” he called out softly.

Sentinel grunted and mumbled and wiggled his aft some more, which must have mean yes. Steadying and holding the smaller mech immobile between his hands, he started to press the tip of his rod inside, slowly, making sure it wasn’t stretching the Prime too much at once. Sentinel just moaned and tried to jerk back to get him to go faster. Bulkhead’s hold made sure he couldn’t move much, though, and he was determinated to be careful. Slowly, ever so slowly, he thrusted his spike inside while Sentinel moaned wantonly, his valve tightening reflexively around the massive intruder. Bulkhead was hard pressed to keep moans of his own quiets. After a while, he didn’t even try. Still, he continued to go slow, until he felt he could no longer make more of his lenght fit into the Seeker. Surprisingly, Sentinel’s valve could take at least three-quarters of his lenght without problems. Perhaps, if he forced a bit, the Prime could take the whole thing, but Bulkhead didn’t want to take the risk yet.

Immobile, he stayed quiet as under him he could feel and hear Sentinel getting adjusted to the large member stretching him wider than he had ever been. “Ooooh... Ooh... frag,” the Prime sighed.

“Everything alright?” the large mech asked worriedly.

Sentinel gave a short nod. “Y... yeah. Just... yeah. Feels... feels very large,” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” Bulkhead excused himself, though he didn’t know exactly why.

Sentinel grunted unhappily. “Yeah, right. Well, I hope you aren’t as clumsy with this thing as you are in real lmmmmmpphhhh!”

Bulkhead just shuttered his optics on and off as the rest of Sentinel’s words was muffled by a hand. Optics hard, Ratchet glared at the Prime. “That,” he said quietly, dangerously, “was a word too many, Sentinel Prime. I won’t allow you to hurt Bulkhead’s feelings further.”

Bulkhead flushed. “Oh, Ratchet, it isn’t so bad,” he tried to defend the blue mech. Sure, he was a bit hurt, but he had heard worse over time, and it wasn’t as if he has expected Sentinel to be nice with him despite the circumstances. He shut up quickly when Ratchet gave him a look.

“I don’t care if you think it ‘isn’t so bad’, Bulkhead. I, for a matter of fact, think it is. Beside, I had asked our mutual friend to be on his best behaviour, something he obviously failed at. So I think I need to remind him of what happen to mechs who can’t hold their glossa to themselves.” he gave Sentinel a hard look, which was countered by the Seeker’s own unamused and resentful glare.

Ratchet showed something hardly in Sentinel’s mouth, not even letting him the time to make a sound. Muffled protests and insults escaped him as the medic fastened a couple of straps around the Prime’s head, holding the gag he had found in the drawer in place. Satisfied, he took a step back to contemplate his work. The Seeker Prime glared at him as he tried to make his jaws work around the large ball struck between his dental plates, to no avail. With a hand, he tried to unfast the straps holding it in place, but he couldn’t reach them right, and the simple act of having to rely on only one hand was unbalancing his body, threatening to make him fall face down on the berth. Which would mean having Bulkhead thrusting into him at a new angle he wasn’t certain he really wanted to explorate.

He glared at the medic with all his might, muffled insults escaping him. The medic gave him a smirk. “No need to get so worked up, Sentinel. I told you I would do something if that glossa of yours got the better of you. I happen to keep my promises, as you can see. So now, be nice and let Bulkhead frag you while I take a nap.”

“Ratchet, I don’t know if...”Bulkhead started before being cut off.

“Oh no, don’t go defend him, Bulkhead. And you better not take that gag out; I happen to like silence when I recharge, and I need it. If you even dare try to get if off, I swear to the Allspark you’re going to live an interesting time when your next check up’ll come,” he warned the big mech. Bulkhead gulped and looked at Sentinel in excuse. He wasn’t brave enough to test Ratchet’s mighty wrath. “I trust you won’t need me for the next cycle or so?” Bulkhead nodded. “Good. So just make him overload as often as you can and everything should be fine.”

With that, the medic sat back in his chair, leaned against the back and shuttered his optics. Bulkhead stood there for a short while, before a muffled sound by Sentinel made him concentrate back on the Seeker under him.

“Well, I guess it’s just the two of us yet,” he started. Sentinel grunted unhappily. “Ah, uh... sorry, but I don’t want Ratchet’s wrath headed at me, so... uh, no, I won’t take the gag out.” It gave way to more muffled sounds. “Sorry. Very, very sorry. But, uh... I think I can take your mind of that problem...”

Sentinel grunted and shook his head. He wanted the damn thing off! But of course, the oaf was too much of a coward to...

“MMMMMPPPHHH!” he shouted through the gag as the big mech started to pull out, before pushing back in, stimulating nodes upon nodes and making Sentinel’s knees weak in pleasure and desire.

Oh frag, he thought, lust starting to cloud his processor. Felt so good... He wanted more, and he wanted more now! Who cared he couldn’t talk? He would always find a way to make himself understood. Besides, he didn’t need a voice to enjoy the long, hard frag his body was anticipating and that the green mech would certainly give him with enough encouragements.

Sure, there would be Pit to pay once he was back to his normal state. That medic was going to suffer, he would make sure of that.

But for now, he was going to ride that spike and forget about the rest... At least, until the next couple of overloads.

Chapter Text

“Nnnnghh...ah... ah... aaaaaaaaaaah!” Sentinel shouted as his body shook under the strain. Slag it, why had nobody seen fit to tell him labor could be so fraggin’ painful? And why the Pit were they all crowding around him to begin with? Wasn’t a birth supposed to be a private moment or something like that? At least, he had been told so. So why in the Pit were so many people crowding around him and peering at his dilated valve?!?

Ratchet, he could understand. He was a medic, after all, and qualified to oversee the ‘delicate birthing process’, after all. The giant green oaf, he could also grudgingly accept and understand, because he was one of the possible Sires. Same thing with Optimus. Red Alert, he also reluctantly accepted, because she too was a medic, and one not very invested on a emotional level in the matter at hand. On a medical standpoint, because of his previous reformat in which he had been involved, Sentinel supposed that Perceptor’s presence could make sense, but it was really creepy to see him lurk in a corner while taking notes. But why in the Pit were the Jettwins, that pink femme, Jazz and the yellow nuisance on Optimus’ team doing here?!

Ah, right, the Twins didn’t want to miss the birth of their ‘new baby sibling, pretty please Daddy’. And the femme was sort of their default teacher, and caretaker since Sentinel was on ‘enforced leave’, so it was normal for her to be here. She wasn’t half-bad at her job, Sentinel supposed. She at least didn’t grit on his nerve sensors the way the Bumbler did. Jazz was here to offer ‘moral support’, or so he said, because he was on friendlier terms with Sentinel than most of the people in this very room. However, he was mainly busying himself chatting with the Twins. As for the Bumbler... Sentinel’s fuel lines ran hot in hate and shame. The yellow nuisance was goofing off and recording the birthing process for the Science Ministry, who wanted a video feed to further defend their case in front of the Autobot High Council.
Apparently, Sentinel’s reformat was for them the ‘test run’ of a process they hoped to repeat on other Elite Guard members in the hope of reforming an aerial troop. His ‘unexpected carrying cycle’ was to be used as further proof of a job well-done and needed to be thoroughly documented. Perceptor was taking the notes, Red Alert the medical readings and Bumblebee was using the need of a recording of sort to be present. The feed was also supposed to be shown to Optimus’ pet human, who wanted to assist to the emergence of her future ‘godchild’ but had been unable to come to Cybertron for the event. Sentinel didn’t know what a ‘godchild’ was, and he didn’t care. It seemed to be some sort of agreement between Team Optimus and their organic mascot.

All in all, they had ‘official’ reasons enough to be here, but the way they kept staring eagerly at him... It pissed Sentinel off. Fragging band of pervs!

Throwing a dark look at the various mechs peering at him, he snarled. “Do you mind?!” The snarl turned into a wince and a short cry of pain as he felt another contraction going through his body. He wanted to cross his legs, but his panel had been removed and his legs were firmly held in stirrups.

Ratchet patted him on the helm, and Sentinel had to refrain from biting him. It would be so easy... and he could always blame it on the stress and mental anguish. “There, there,” the medic commented eerily. “It isn’t so bad.”

“Not so bad?! You’re not the one currently trying to expulse something far too big from a far too little opening!” Sentinel shouted, before keening. Pit, it hurt! “How can you say nothing is wrong when it’s been megacycles since it started?! Shouldn’t that thing be out already?”

Red Alert just gave him a look. “I must remind you, for what I think is the thirtieth time...” She was cut off. “Thirty-second,” Perceptor said quietly. Red Alert barely glanced at him “... that the duration of a sparkling emergence vary from one frame-type to another. Although we’re unable to give you a proper estimation for a Seeker-frame, you’re doing alright as far as the medical scanner says. Your valve and birth canal are dilating correctly, though rather slowly. Although I agree that the process isn’t the most... agreeable, you’re actually doing quite well.”

“Is that supposed to be a consolatiiiiiiiiiiiiooooonnnnn?!” he screamed as he felt something press internally against his pelvis. It seemed so monstrously large! “What the Pit is that?!”

Red Alert and Ratchet looked quickly at some monitors. Ratchet had a satisfied smile. “Look like the head of the sparkling is now engaged in the birth canal. It should emerge in a couple of megacyles at the most.”

There were general cheers from most of the crowd, though both Optimus and Bulkhead seemed a bit dazed. In contrast, Sentinel’s optics widened. “Couple of megacycles? No! No way I’m lasting through that! Can’t you just cut it out?” he almost begged, looking at Ratchet.

The old medic gave him a look. “A bit late for that now. If you wanted it so badly, you should have told us earlier.”

“I did,” Sentinel said between gritted dental plates, pain coursing through him. “But somebot decided I just had to ‘give birth the natural way for the sake of science’.”
Ratchet paused and turned toward Perceptor with a disapproving look. “He isn’t a science experiment, Perceptor,” he warned the bot. Unconcerned, the red mech barely glanced up from his notes.

“It depends on the point of view. As it is, the birth of a Seeker sparkling on Cybertron hasn’t been recorded since the Great Wars, and lot of archives were lost. it is an unique occasion to replenish our archives with potential useful datas, especially for the medical corps,” he said in a toneless voice.

“As much as I want to understand the argument, it doesn’t make it right,” Ratchet groused, putting a protective hand on Sentinel. Well... he could have done without the hand, but the Prime felt somewhat happy that the old geezer was taking his defense. “Sorry, Sentinel, but you’ll have to live it through. A couple more megacycles, perhaps less if everything is alright,” he reassured the mech.

“A lot less, actually,” Red Alert said, frowning. “There’s something not quite right...” Alerted, almost everyone turned toward her. Already, Perceptor and Ratchet had joined her, looking determined. Sentinel felt worried. Whatever they were looking at and whispering about, it didn’t seem good.

“It’s progressing very fast now... Sentinel, is everything alright? Are you feeling well? And do not lie, it could be very important,” Ratchet asked him, optics worried. The blue mech felt the Twins grab his hands in worry and one of Bulkhead enormous paw was put over his shoulder. Sentinel gulped.

“I... I still hurt,” he said, grimacing as he felt something slide down inside him, something large and unwelcome “but it doesn’t seem so bad anymore. Is that... is that abnormal?” he asked with a twinge of fear.

“We don’t know,” Red Alert answered honestly.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Sentinel yelped. “Aren’t you supposed to be experts or something?”

Ratchet gave him a look. “We’re professional medics and scientists. That doesn’t make us expert on emergence processes, especially when it comes to the Seekers frame-type. Any living expert on our side would be as old as Alpha Trion, and it wasn’t that common. Of course, if you want a real expert here, we can still comm. some nice Decepticon so he can get a good look at you. What do you think?” he asked with sarcasm.

Sentinel didn’t answer him, but gave him a weak punch. Fragger...

Ratchet glared at him. “Anyway, if you feel fine and your spark isn’t guttering, then I’d have to guess it’s normal for the emergence to be so quick. Be glad; it’ll be over in mere cycles after all. Feel it going down?” he asked.

Sentinel grimaced, half in pain and half in disdain. “Yeah... yeah, I do. I... AAAAAHHHHHH!!” he shouted as he felt what he supposed was the sparkling head press hard through the dilated opening of his valve. Oh Primus, something was poking out! The Twins were pushed away and more sturdy servos grasped his hands. Optimus and Ratchet, he noticed even through his pain and sharp cries. Bulkhead was hovering near, short of touching him and in that moment, Sentinel couldn’t bear to curse at any of them.

“That’s good, Sentinel,” Red Alert called out as she was hovering between his legs, ready to catch the sparkling when it would fell down. “It’s almost out. A last effort, and you’ll have your sparkling.” She seemed tense, for some reason.

Talk about something he didn’t know, he mused to himself as he pushed again. People were giving him praises and encouragements, and he wanted to strangle them; fragging voyeurs, couldn’t they look away?! With a last cry, he felt the sparkling leave his body entirely.

He heard cheer from some people, and congratulations he cared little about for the moment. Red Alert was still bend forward between his legs, and probably already checking the bitlet’s health. Sentinel didn’t feel like caring.

He felt exhausted. The grasp on his hands lessened and he shooed them away. He was staring at the ceiling. Over, finally. He could finally rest. Frag, that was the last time he’d get knocked up. Once was enough. He would give the bitlet to its other creator and then go back to work as soon as possible...

Sadly, the universe’s strange sense of humor didn’t seem to want to let go of him just yet.

Shouldn’t the bitlet have started to cry now?

Not good, he realized with fear. What the little one... dead?

“Ratchet...” Red Alert called, obviously confused. She moved slightly away, letting the older medic take a good look at the newspark. The white and red’s mech jaw dropped.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Ratchet started, obviously overwhelmed.

“What? What was unexpected?” Sentinel asked, feeling some dread in his spark. He couldn’t bring himself to look down. If he continued to look at the ceiling, then he could pretend the thing that just came out of him was fine. But if it wasn’t? “Is that... is the sparkling alright?” he asked nervously, still keeping his optics away.

“I... guess it is,” Red Alert said. “Or it will be.”

She moved away, letting the various occupants of the room look at the newly emerged mechling. Or what should have been a newly emerged mechling. Because it certainly was not.

“Is that...?” Optimus asked, optics wide.

“...an egg?” finished Bulkhead, jaw dropping.

Wait, what?!

Sentinel peered at the thing between his legs with astonishment. It was indeed an egg, or at least it seemed to be one. It had the form of an egg, and it was grey in color. It was large, but not obscenely so; Sentinel had expected something worse, given the pain he had been in. But an egg? Seriously? “...The Pit?” he said.

“Fascinating,” Perceptor, of course.

“Is Mr. Sentinel Prime chicken then?” One of the twins, he didn’t know which one. He would have to hit both to be sure. But already, the pink femme was chiding them. Good for her. She wasn’t half-bad for a friend of Optimus, he supposed.

“Man, SP, that’s a surprise.” Jazz. Not a big help here.

“Do flying mechs all lay eggs like some organic birds?” Bumblebee, who was asking a very, very important and welcome question.

Perceptor cleared his vocalizer. “Well... very old records given to us and confirmed by the testimony of Civil Guilds representant Alpha Trion do point out the very first Seeker used to build ‘nest’ with mesh and soft material to lay ovoid metallic receptacles in which their young finished to grow. They would then brood them until they ‘hatched’ once the sparkling had grow to sufficient strength and size.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it because...?” Ratchet groused as Sentinel’s CPU almost crashed.

“Because primitive Seekers have evolved since, and now birth live sparklings, like any other known frame-type,” the microscope answered easily in his monotonous voice.

“So why did Sentinel just lay an egg?” Bulkhead asked, visibly confused. He was peering at the egg curiously, and Sentinel felt vaguely panicked. As big as he was, if he ever tried to pick it up, the oaf could crush it between two claws! He gave the green giant a look and Bulkhead gulped and took a step back. Good mech, he mused, internally pleased. Then he winced; why the Pit was he feeling so protective for something he was grossed out about? Frag, he had heard of ‘carrier instinct’ and the fact carriers who just had given birth could be snappish and overprotective, but Sentinel could swear he wasn’t the type! … Right?

Perceptor seemed to ponder the question he had been asked for a long while. “It might be a spontaneous mutation from the coding extracted from Starscream. It’s perfectly possible that some CNA strands mutated when coming in contact with the coding dictating the specific functionment of Sentinel’s interface and reproduction array. As it is, a heat cycle shouldn’t have initiated in Sentinel to begin with, based on observations from Project Safeguard. Of course, their reformat wasn’t as complete as the one underwent by Sentinel Prime, so datas may differ. As it is, it is fascinating to see such a throwback to older codes and programming inside Sentinel. It’ll need to be thoroughly investigated at the earliest convenience...”

Investigated?! No way! Knowing Perceptor, it wouldn’t be anything good, and Sentinel wasn’t about to become a lab rat! Obviously, Ratchet was sharing the Prime’s mindset.

“Do I have to repeat: ‘he’s not a fragging science experiment’ once more?” the medic said, taking a wrench out of subspace. He looked like he was seriously considering hitting Perceptor with it. Sentinel approved. Personally, he would have rather throw the damn egg at the scientist face, but such action wouldn’t be productive and would, he didn’t doubt a klik, be ill-perceived by everyone in the room. That, and he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the egg-thing... Not to throw it anyway. His hands were twitching in want to hold his future offspring, but he refrained himself to. He wasn’t going to hug an egg - especially if it was covered in foreign fluids he didn’t want to think about. Even if his CPU kept urging him to take it in his arms and be sure it was safe.

“Shouldn’t someone clean it up?” he whined, reminding everyone there was still an egg lying between his legs.

“I... I’ll do it,” Optimus volunteered, shuffling a little. Sentinel felt a twinge of... something. There was a good chance Optimus was the other creator of this egg, even though the aspect of the shell was bland and non-descriptive. There would be no way to know for sure until the sparkling was out, but... He shook his head. He wasn’t going to become a softy about Optimus, no way.

“I’ll help him out,” Red Alert announced. “Ratchet, monitor Sentinel Prime closely, will you?” The old mech just grunted in acknowledgement. Awkwardly, he patted the younger’s mech shoulder. Sentinel’s wings twitched, but his body relaxed. From the corner of his optics, he could see Optimus rubbing a rag over the egg, Red Alert helping him hold it steady. Not risk of them dropping it. Bulkhead was standing next to them, watching the process and stealing quick glances at Sentinel -- why, he even waved shyly at him, making the flying Prime flush. Bumblebee was filming the cleaning with application, Jazz was holding the Twins close to him and chatting with them about ‘future activities they would/could do with their new baby sibling’ and Arcee was talking with Perceptor about something Sentinel wasn’t sure he wanted to know about.

An egg... He looked at Ratchet in the optics.

“So,” he tried uncertainly, “I laid an egg...”

Ratchet nodded matter-of-factly. “That’s right.”

“And... it’s alright...”

“It is,” Ratchet agreed again. “And you also seem to be healthy,” he added for the mech benefice.

“So... does that mean I can go back to work like it was planned?” the Prime asked with a small voice.

Ratchet grunted. “Don’t think so, Sentinel.”

The Prime frowned, displeased. “Why? You just said I was healthy and the... egg was too. I don’t see why I couldn’t go back to...”

The medic cut him out. “We presently have no idea of why you laid that egg; you need a thorough system check at the very least. I don’t agree with Perceptor on large scale studies, but you NEED to be checked over until we know for sure there’ll be no other surprises. Besides, that egg is going to need you if you want it to hatch properly.”

“I don’t see what I could do more now it’s out,” the Prime protested.

“Brood it,” Ratchet answered easily.

Sentinel’s systems surged. “Say what? I’m not... brooding that egg! Ultra Magnus will not...”

“Ultra Magnus shares out point of view. I’ve already send him a message, and he already given instructions. Your leave have been increased as of now until Red Alert, Perceptor and I deem you ready to go back on active duty,” Ratchet said dismissively.

It stung, really. Sentinel felt vaguely hurt, but more than that, he was ticked off.

“Why do everyone feel the need to go behind my back?” the Prime gritted his dental plates.

“Because nobody here believes for a klik you’re mature or thoughtful enough to take the right decision, even about your own health,” the medic replied with a look.

Sentinel sputtered indignantly. “Why you...!”

“Dare to say the contrary. Go ahead, just try,” Ratchet dared.

Sentinel opened his mouth to start an argument, but suddenly, Optimus was back at his side, holding the egg precariously and handing it to him. “There,” he murmured. “All clean...”

Sentinel’s optics dimmed a bit as he reached out for the newly cleaned egg. Suddenly, it felt... right to take it and hold it close. It was soothing. The egg was warm against him, and he could swear he was feeling something move inside. His wings started to flip, and a soft coo escaped him. Without even meaning to, he was humming.

“That... came from me. That really came from me,” Sentinel said, lost in a daze. “And there’s a bitlet inside...”

Ratchet nodded. “There is,” he said quietly, with a voice soft as to not startle Sentinel. There was something really... unsettling about the scene he was watching, something about Sentinel that was both sweet and weird. Sweet, because it was always sweet to watch a parent with its sparkling, and weird because, well... it was Sentinel Prime, and Sentinel wasn’t a sweet mech. He was a blowhard and a gloryhound and a real ball of spit when it came down to an argument. But right now, right now... well, Ratchet couldn’t find a fault to him. He could hear the zoom of Bumblebee’s camera recording the scene. Maybe he should ask for a copy... for memory and possible blackmail purposes.

“Sentinel?” Red Alert asked.

“Hmm?” the Prime answered, optics still on his egg. Primus, he was starting to rock it against him!

“Do you feel like... wanting anything?” she asked, a bit unsure, glancing at Perceptor.

“What Red Alert is asking is, do you feel any need to curl up in a nest or to gather materials to construct the aforementioned nest? It is my understanding that Seekers prefer to put down their eggs in nests of their own construct rather than hold them or letting someone else hold them once they have recognized that...” Red Alert shushed him.

“Temperature regulating covers,” the Prime answered in a distant voice, probably not even fully registering what he was asking for. “Used ones would be better; they’re softer. Some mesh, too... and some sturdy metal sheets, to make good walls... pikes to surround the nest’s location... can’t have predator coming too close...”

“What predators?” Bumblebee asked dumbly. “Hum, Sentinel Prime, sir? You’re sure you’re alright?” ‘Cause really, it didn’t sound like Sentinel was all here anymore.

“Sentinel?” Optimus asked worriedly. Sentinel paid them no mind.

“Fascinating,” Perceptor said, taking notes. “It might be the emergence of distinctive memories, transmitted through codes and nanites through generations of Seekers...”

“Is that supposed to be a good news?” Bulkhead asked worriedly.

“It certainly is an interesting phenomenon, at any rate,” the scientist answered, uncaring.

“Right,” Ratchet groused. “I think it’s time most people get out. The medically qualified personnel can stay... and Bumblebee,” he added with a glare as the little yellow ‘bot waved the camera at him. “The others, outside, now!”

“But, Ratchet,” Optimus protested. “Can’t I...?”

Sentinel actually snapped out of his sweet mood at this. “Yeah... some privacy would be nice,” he said, giving a dark look at most of the onlookers, especially Jazz, who had the sense to be sheepish.

“Here we go, kids,” he said, taking the arms of the Twins. “We’re going to let your Daddy recuperate. We’ll be back later, okay?”

“But we wanted to stay with Daddy and new sibling still in shell,” Jetfire pouted.

“Later, younglings. Sentinel Prime needs some rest,” Arcee said, gently pushing them out. Both jets gave her a sad look, but she stayed strict. As they exited the room, she turned to Sentinel and saluted. “I’ll be taking care of them until you feel better, Sir.”

Sentinel nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah... you do that... thank.”

The pink femme nodded and left. Bulkhead and Optimus lingered by the door, obviously not wanting to go just yet. Sentinel gave them a look, then looked at the egg nestled in his arms. He frowned.

“Do you... want to come and see it closer?” he asked them reluctantly. Eagerly, the two mechs came to him and peered at the egg. They both looked reverent, as if they had never seen something more marvellous before. For some reason, it made Sentinel want to boast.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked with a large smile that didn’t feel forced. Honestly, he didn’t think the egg was that pretty, but Optimus and Bulkhead nodded, quite taken.

“Is there... is there a way to know who the other creator is for sure?” Optimus asked, embarrassed, as he turned toward Ratchet. The old medic shrugged.

“Bite me. It’s impossible to say for sure at this stage. Perhaps, if it gained some colors... But most likely, we’ll only know once it hatch. Could be you, me, Bulkhead,... no way to know.”

“And only one of us has a chance to be a creator,” Bulkhead said, a bit bitterly. Sentinel frowned; was the oaf actually really looking forward reproducing?

“Actually, that might not quite be true,” Red Alert called out to them.

Sentinel startled and put the egg in Ratchet’s arms without thinking.

“What do you mean, medic?” he asked, feeling tense.

“Your reproduction chamber is still bloated, Sentinel,” Red Alert commented as she took a good look at Sentinel’s frame. Sure enough, despite the egg behind out, his frame was still heavy and round looking.

“So?” the Prime asked with a twitch. Oh, he just knew he wasn’t going to like what he was going to hear.

“That means there’s a least a second one which is going to be shortly on its way. Perhaps more. Seekers have apparently been known for laying ‘large clutches’ when they were still laying eggs, ” Ratchet said matter-of-factly as he gave the egg for Optimus to hold.

“Large? How ‘large’?” Sentinel asked, feeling slightly panicked.

“Hmm, anywhere between one and seventeen eggs per clutch, with an average of seven or eight,” Ratchet said after quickly checking the documents Perceptor had silently transmitted to him. As Sentinel’s intakes stopped briefly, he patted the younger mech. “Brace yourself,” he warned the Prime with a thin smile as Sentinel cursed at him, Optimus, Bulkhead, Perceptor, Starscream and anything with wings and the universe in general.

Sure enough, he could feel something inside him, something that was moving down and pressing, wanting out... He groaned as both Bulkhead and Ratchet grabbed his hands to comfort him.

What kind of deity had he mortally offended to be punished like that?

 

END