unesheet asked: Ratchet/Rung
Ratchet called them “professional consultations”. It was essentially code for “get stinkin’ drunk and complain about our patients” - not that Rung himself ever participated very much in either activity. Instead, he’d sip a light energon spritzer and listen, because Ratchet had a wicked sense of humour once he got going, and Rung liked hearing him talk.
One evening, Ratchet abruptly leaned over and dropped one hand heavily onto Rung’s knee. ”Rung,” he breathed, the words a little slurred, “why don’t you come on back to mine? I’ve got a bottle of vintage highgrade I’ve been saving. We could crack it open, maybe have a little fun - I don’t care what kids like Rodimus say, youth’s got nothing on an old fragger who’s picked up a few tricks along the way.” He winked, and Rung’s ventilations caught. For a long moment, he couldn’t think of what to say as he peered up in to Ratchet’s hopeful smile. Rung was just opening his mouth to ask whether Ratchet was actually serious when Ratchet finally dropped his gaze and withdrew his hand, wincing and murmuring, “Slag, sorry; stupid, that was stupid.”
"Oh." Rung blinked, feeling strangely disappointed. "Ratchet, maybe you’ve had enough for tonight? I could walk you back -"
"No, no. I’m fine. Thank you. You’re a real gentlemech to offer." Ratchet smiled wryly, and let himself out.
Rung deliberately put the incident, and his surprising feelings about it, out of his mind, until he walked into his office two weeks later to find a tinier-than-usual model ship sitting on his desk.
Picking it up reverently, he turned it this way and that: it was a little model of the Lost Light itself.
"Had to get Perceptor to help me with the specs," a voice said behind him. Rung turned to find Ratchet leaning in the doorway. "I know the work’s not as fine as on your other models, and I promise I’m not going to be offended if you, I don’t know, use it as a paperweight instead of putting it on the shelf."
"Nonsense," Rung replied, carefully shifting his other models so that he could install the Lost Light in pride of place. ”Ratchet, this is - truly, I don’t know what to say. What a generous gift.”
"Well, you’re a good friend, Rung. The best. I wanted you to know that." Ratchet vented deeply, and squared his shoulders, though his voice remained deceptively casual. "Besides, nothing but the best for the mech I’m courting."
It was a good thing that Rung had already put his new model on the shelf, or he might have dropped it. ”But - you said you didn’t mean that. That it was a stupid thing to ask.” Some of the pain of that rejection bled through into his voice.
"I meant that the way I asked was stupid.” Ratchet was deliberately studying the ships on the wall rather than looking at Rung. ”You deserve more consideration than that.” And then he did look at Rung, and the intensity of those optics made him feel lightheaded. ”Look, you don’t have to give me an answer yet - unless you want me to stop right here, and then I will.”
"No!" Rung took a second to collect himself. "No, I - don’t wish you to stop."
"Well, then." Ratchet’s optics sparkled mischievously. "Would you care to accompany me to Swerve’s this evening?"
"It would be my pleasure."
Oh, I can’t even BEGIN to cope with this. <3