For the February 2025 prompt on the TF creatives server! A song of love <3
First Aid just can't seem to let that tall, handsome soldier go <3
Song prompt (approached as if it’s Every Breath You Take by The Police);
It only happened once a vorn, and every time First Aid would set it up so he was guaranteed the evening off. Trading shifts, cashing in favours - whatever it took, he’d do it. His colleagues always responded with bemusement, completely perplexed as to why he went to such lengths to secure that slot of free time.
It was quite simple, really. Vortex was around.
The festival was the one time of vorn that he was guaranteed shore leave. He’d explained that it was an ancestral right, that the festival originated in his citystate and it was a requirement that he could attend, if feasible, and he always managed to tip the scales in his favour. Missions far out in the depths of the galaxy miraculously finished ahead of schedule. Chases after adversaries always ended up swinging within spitting distance of Cybertron. That kind of thing. There had been one worrying vorn where he’d almost missed it - Vortex had quite literally sprinted over to him still pockmarked from a fight to not miss the final song.
“I’m off now!” He called out as he tapped his badge on the scanner. “Don’t call me if anything comes up - I won’t answer!”
“Enjoy your date!”
First Aid scoffed at them and quickly left, hoping he didn’t seem too eager to leave. His flat wasn’t far - he’d quickly stop off there and freshen up before heading over to the festival. Vortex had been in touch - he was going to be around earlier than usual. His commander was feeling generous that cycle and had released him early.
Giddiness overtook him as he examined his finish in the mirror. He’d got a new wax recently – would Vortex notice? Would he like it?
The walk to the festival seemed to take forever. There was no point in driving – the streets were so crowded you’d be getting nowhere. He could feel the music pulsing through the floor, he could smell the stalls and the vendors and hear singing and laughter.
Vortex was already there waiting for him. He picked up the pace.
He spotted Vortex before the helicopter had noticed he was there. He was talking to someone, tall and green with turrets on his back. He looked mean. Did they know each other? Suddenly, they were looking at him – they nodded their head towards him, and Vortex turned.
“Aid!” He was waving at him, rotors happily spinning. First Aid waved back, looking for a break in the crowd to make his way over to him.
Vortex was taller and broader and found much less issue in making his way through to him.
“You got a new wax!” Vortex immediately commented, bounding over. “Here, let me take a look at you.” He stepped back and looked him up and down appreciatively, rotors clicking together on his back. Gesturing for First Aid to spin, the medic rolled his optics and obliged. “Very nice.” He purred.
“I’m surprised you even noticed.”
“When it comes to you, I always do.”
“Who’s your friend?” He curiously asked, nodding behind him to where the tall green mech had been.
“Nobody important.” Vortex easily replied, waving him off. “Come on, lets dance.”
It was easy to fall into the routine with him, as practised at it as they were. Hands fell into place on hips, on palms. The movements were second nature, using the beat of the music guide them as they felt it pulse through the floor.
It gave First Aid time to think, for his mind to wander a little. He didn’t want it to, he was trying and he was fighting it – he wanted to spend time with Vortex and enjoy his company, not think about work – but he couldn’t help it. Seeing the soldier in front of him was trigger enough for the thought process and he chewed his bottom lip.
“You’re distracted.” The helicopter lead them into a spin. “Something bothering you?”
It took him a moment to answer.
“What’s going to happen? With the riots, I mean.”
He laughed. “I can’t tell you that. Who knows? Maybe it will die down before it catches and becomes something bigger.”
“I hope so.” He frowned. “The injuries coming from them are awful.”
“Don’t think about that right now, yeah?” Another turn, a calculated spin that took them to the edge of the crowd. “Here, you’ll like this - we’re back in range of Cybertron again in three groons. Why don’t I pay you a visit then?”
“Really?!” First Aid gave an excited bounce. “You never get to come back so soon!”
“I know. Lucky me.”
Usually, if Vortex was coming back to Cybertron it meant either someone was injured or there was something they needed to be on the planet for. Their most frequent rendezvous happened because someone got hurt - usually Vortex, now that he thought about it - and they’d had to seek medical attention. He’d never met the rest of his team, but if it was ever Vortex who was hurt he was always the one treating him. Apparently he just preferred his bedside manner, but First Aid wasn’t entirely convinced.
The night slowly drew to a close. Three groons was both no time at all and an age. The tips of his digits danced up thick armoured plating, up a broad chest and to his shoulder. Vortex watched them dance, rotors twitching in time.
“My flat’s free. If you’ve got time.”
Vortex seemed to be seriously considering it, mulling it through in his head, weighing up the pros and the cons.
“Ah, fuck it. They can miss me for the night.”
------------------------------------------------------------------ The riots had set the flames of war. The last festival they’d managed to attend was tense, and ended early. Not long after, Vortex had started crashing into his flat injured and bleeding and dying more times than he could count, gaining in rapid frequency until he suddenly just stopped. Their comm channel died down too - too dangerous, Vortex had said. Not secure. They couldn’t lay themselves so bare when optics were on them.
Eventually, First Aid only saw him on the skyline, a distant blur that could easily be anyone else but was far more comforting to think of as Vortex. And then, he saw him in reports that wound up in his servos as he stood in the middle of Autobot medical bays.
He hadn’t known he was so violent. How could a mech who’d only ever been so gentle with him be capable of what he was seeing?
Trouble came with an archivist. Unbeknownst to First Aid, they also attended the festival - each and every vorn. And they’d seen them together. They had proof of it. Apparently they’d caught his attention because of how unseeming they were - what was a mercenary doing with a doctor? The helicopter had already been on the radar of law enforcement. The medic was completely unknown to them, his record squeaky clean. In the interests of safety, he’d made some recordings that focused on them. Just in case.
They hadn’t thought about it again until they’d seen him in the medical bay and instantly recognised him – they’d been invited by pure chance to film a thinly veiled propaganda piece, and First Aid just so happened to be on shift when they came to the medical bay.
First Aid awkwardly squirmed under the faint glow of the screen, feeling like his dirty laundry was being aired. He didn’t realise they’d looked that strange together, that Vortex had to stoop that much to kiss him, that he’d gone that red when he picked him up to twirl him. Prowl was very still next to him, arms folded under his chest. Not even his doorwings twitched.
“The last time I saw him was vorns ago, not even a decacycle before I enlisted.” First Aid wanted to turn his armour inside out. Maybe that would help with the feeling that crawled under it. “His spark was guttering.” The truth. “I thought he died.” A lie. He’d stabilised him, he’d begged him to stay, to go to a bigger hospital that had the proper equipment. He’d left, saying something about Brawl, sharp digits leaving holes in the wall as he gripped it for support. His comm link was still active, was still pinging, telling him he was alive. Every cycle, like clockwork.
“I didn’t know he was like this.” The truth. The absolute truth. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, a paragon of virtue; it was obvious he had seen some things and was already slightly jaded. He was possessive in a way that made him feel giddy and had a quick temper, but he’d never done or said anything that made him feel like he was in any danger. He’d always been the first to warn him of any trouble, to keep him out of harms way. It just didn’t make any sense.
Unless it was all just an act, a lie. It twisted awkwardly in his tanks. Had he been played for a fool?
They believed him. His persona as the staunch pacifist had worked in his favour – it was clear that he did not condone the mechs actions, that if he were to be put in front of him now, that he wouldn’t ever engage with him. That he was disgusted and dismayed. He left the room with trembling legs and weak knees.
The next time he saw him, that awkward conversation was a distant memory. They weren’t even on Cybertron any more, the war having moved to foreign galaxies. The planet they found themselves on was red and oxidised, the organic life sparse and clinging on at the edge of the vast single continent. An energon source had been identified; the endless fight for resources continued.
Defensor had been blown apart by something. First Aid didn’t remember what - he just remembered falling into the water and being ripped away by a strong current.
Salt water burned at his sensitive circuitry, and he coughed and choked as he crawled up the slope to dry land. Hauling himself over the ridge the waves had created, he sagged down into the baking hot sand and fought to catch his breath.
God damn it. He hated it when that happened – it was so disorientating and painful, and it just added insult to injury that he’d ended up in the sea after. He’d need to take care to clean himself thoroughly after – he was sure to rust.
He wasn’t alone.
A lone Decepticon slipped down the sand, wheezing as they caught their breath. They cursed and kicked at the sand in annoyance, quietly muttering to themselves as they made a scouting report. First Aid held himself as still as he possibly could, hoping that they couldn’t hear the sound of his plating popping and pinging or the sound of his internals hissing as the last of the water boiled off.
He didn’t have his gun. He’d lost it when they had formed Defensor - he didn’t have anything to defend himself with.
The scout turned and they locked optics. A grin slowly spread on their face as they saw the Autobot symbol on his chest.
“I’m a medic!” First Aid quickly shouted. Their laws still applied on foreign soil. Medics weren’t to be considered combatants, they weren’t to be harmed. Their skills were precious and in demand, and easy to exploit, their spark-deep coding to protect and save a boon to an army without any of their own.
“And?” The Decepticon replied. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Uh oh.
“Y-you’re not supposed to hurt me?”
“I can hurt you just a little bit.”
No, you can’t! First Aid tried to push himself up, back slamming into a red sandstone block. He gasped, his spark thudding in his chest sounding suspiciously like the whirring of helicopter blades.
Something big and grey hit the sand. First Aid winced as granules scratched over his plating. He dared to take his optics from the Decepticon to see who the newcomer was, his spark leaping in his chest when he recognised them. Vortex. He suddenly felt breathless, everything he’d felt for the past vorns threatening to spill out at once. He cast a dark shadow, stalking towards them. His visor was bright and narrowed in on the other Decepticon, rotors trembling as he aimed a gun directly at their shocked face.
“I don’t think so, sweet cheeks.” He squeezed the trigger, and First Aid flinched as he was splattered with the internal workings of the mech’s head.
Vents working hard, he slowly turned to watch them slump down, a gap where their head used to be. His processor couldn’t make sense of it. It should be there. Vortex wouldn’t shoot one of his own. Would he? He wouldn’t. What kind of maniac engaged in friendly fire to save the enemy?
He jumped when he realised Vortex was knelt down next to him, far too close for comfort. Oh, no. When did he start thinking about him like this? That wasn’t right. Hesitantly, he reached forwards to wipe energon from his faceplate. He ended up smearing it around instead, but Vortex didn’t seem to mind - he leaned into his hand, visor dimming and engine purring. Was this allowed? Was this okay? Were they going to get into trouble for this?
“You’ve gotten taller.” Was all he could think to say.
“You’ve gotten shorter.” The war frame looked him up and down. “Or maybe it just looks that way.”
“What-“ he swallowed and tried again, not trusting his vocal cords to comply. “What’re you doing here?”
A distant deep rumble from an explosion reached them, and even through the visor his raised brow was obvious.
“Uh. Fighting?” He tapped his chest. “Soldier. Remember?”
First Aid swatted his shoulder. “You know what I meant!”
“Careful.” His facemask snapped back, revealing sharp teeth and heavy scars. The hand that wasn’t tightly holding his gun reached up to hold his jaw, pressing his thumb into First Aid’s mask where his chin would be. “I’m not as nice as I used to be.”
“Me neither.” He retracted his own mask, ignoring the scrape of metal fragments inside the mechanism. He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing the bright purple insignia on his chest. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”
“Depends how nicely you ask me to.”
“I won’t be doing that.” First Aid frowned. “I don’t like being in pain.”
“Shame. Your face looks good when you’re screaming.” Vortex pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, gently rubbing it along it, mapping out its surface. His helm was tilted, his visor dim. “Real shame, that.”
“How do you even-“ he gasped in realisation, pushing Vortex’s hand away from his face. “You’ve been watching me! And you didn’t come and say hi?! Vortex!” He whined. “Do you have any idea how much I missed you? You’re so cruel!”
His laugh was loud and frame rattling.
“Babe, it’s not like I can just drop down next to you!” He cupped his cheeks in his hands, visor glistening. “Fuck, you’re so cute. You missed me? Really? Truthfully?”
“Don’t tease me.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, but First Aid was willing to overlook it. Just this once.
“What made you decide to make yourself known?” He leaned into his hands. They were rough but warm, strong and steady. His visor dimmed in comfort.
“Little mister dead over there got too close, and there’s nobody around for miles. Couldn’t have anyone getting their hands on you, could I?”
“You’re too kind.” First Aid reached up to knot his fingers together with Vortex’s. “Any injuries you want me to take a look at?”
“Nah. Got better at dodging strays.”
“Guess you don’t need me anymore, huh?”
Vortex’s hand twisted around, pushing First Aid down into the sand with his frame as he pinned his hand above his helm. “I want you for the rest of my life, First Aid. Of course I’ll always need you.”
His engine loudly stalled as Vortex leaned down.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Coincidence or not, after the encounter on the prehistoric beach Vortex wasn’t shy about making himself known. Every available opportunity, he was there, like his shadow. If First Aid ever found himself captured, Vortex was miraculously tasked with his interrogation. It was almost like the Decepticons were turning a blind optic to it – that they were accepting it as a quirk of Vortex. That he’d found a fun toy to play with and they were happy to let him indulge so long as it got him out of their hair. Other Autobots were starting to notice, and rumours were spreading. First Aid had clamped his hands down over his audials, not wanting to hear any of it.
What would he even say? Could he even deny any of it? He didn’t think that he could, he’d lied enough about it already.
It had been a groon after he’d last seen him – he’d managed to corner him on the battlefield and steal five kliks alone with him before Hot Spot noticed First Aid was gone – when First Aid saw him again. Only this time, he was going to him. He’d seen a helicopter get shot down from the sky, and with a sinking feeling in his tanks and a tightness in his throat, he realised that he recognised the helicopter.
Vortex wasn’t moving. He was smoking, his visor flickering as he tried to stay online. His engine was misfiring, and the ground around them was slowly being stained by leaking fuel, coolant, and oil.
First Aid panicked, quickly breaking into a sprint.
“Well, well.” Vortex coughed, energon wetly bubbling in his throat. “We just can’t help but bump into each other, can we?”
“Jesus Christ – don-don’t talk, okay? Please?” First Aid skidded to his knees next to him, hands hovering over him as he remotely scanned and assessed the damage. Everything was leaking and coming back red on his scans and screaming at him for attention now now now- he swallowed and mentally triaged.
Bleeding. He was haemorrhaging energon from a cable in his midsection. He needed to stop that in the next thirty seconds, or he’d lose enough pressure that his pump wouldn’t work anymore. The cable had been clamped before he’d finished the thought, hands coated and glowing a faint pink.
“What did you do?!” First Aid demanded. “Why- why aren’t you with your gestalt?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Vortex’s voice was staticky. “They’re somewhere.” He gestured vaguely in the direction First Aid assumed he could feel them in. “They’re fine though. Thanks for asking.”
There was a thick fragment of metal sticking out of his midsection that was keeping a lot of energon inside. He’d leave it for now – wait until they were in a brick and mortar medical bay with the proper equipment and more than just his two pairs of hands to remove it. It wasn’t causing him any harm.
“Did you get blown up again?”
“I did! How wonderful you noticed.”
“I am begging you to take care of yourself.” His hands shook a little as he tried to soak up the energon that had pooled in the gaping wound in his chest. He could hear his spark, could see faint whisps of light from the cracked casing. This was where his scans had indicated the most damage – and he couldn’t repair it. Not here, not without the help of Ratchet or the proper tools. His were too big, too clumsy – sparks needed refined, specialist care. Delicate instruments for delicate parts. If he went in gung-ho with his tools now, he’d kill him, he was sure of it.
But his spark was failing. Again. He was always having to keep his spark going, it was if its owner didn’t want it to, as if Vortex were always trying to find new and interesting ways to snuff himself out. It had been okay when he had his place on Cybertron. It wasn’t okay when they were on a planet 70 million lightyears away.
He needed to think of something before his spark gave out. What would keep it going? Could he jump start it? He’d done it before. He needed something to act like a battery, he needed jumper cables. He didn’t have either, and he felt dizzy when he realised what he could use instead.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” First Aid’s fingers gently traced over the gaping wound in his chest, dragging the tips of them over shorn and twisted metal. “I’m a pacifist, so I’m going to do something much worse.”
His visor flashed in excitement. “Oh? Watch as my spark splutters out? Oh, Aid, you tease. You should have shown me this side of you earlier.” He sighed and his visor briefly flickered offline. “Such a shame. All the things we could have done together.”
“Don’t be too eager to die, you’ll take me with you.”
“Wh-?”
He was cut off by First Aid roughly forcing open his chest plates. He gasped and choked on the energon gathering in his intake, fresh glowing energon splashing down his cheek as his ankles dug into the ground and his sharp digits left deep grooves in their wake. They had one shot at this, one chance, and First Aid wasn’t leaving any of it up to fate. Ignoring the voices in his head screaming at him – the ones telling him this was an awful idea, the ones insisting that there had to be another way, the ones decrying his unsanitised hands, he reached in and manually overrode the lock on Vortex’s spark case whilst he sent the command for his own to open, and leaned down to press their chests together. Sharp metal scratched against the delicate inner workings of his chest, energon beading along the surface, the pain sharp but a background sensation in the face of the pure panic that was bubbling underneath the surface.
Vortex could die. He was going to die if this didn’t work, and he couldn’t let that happen. What was he supposed to do if he died? It felt unnatural to consider a world that he did not exist in, he couldn’t even remember what his had been like before they first met. Dark, lonely, not worth remembering.
“Woah, woah, woah-” Vortex was in a state of conflict, fighting against two sides of himself that First Aid could see quite clearly as their sparks reached out towards each other and tangled together, his stronger one supporting Vortex’s weakened one. One side of him was rejecting it, wanting to shove him away and bury him in the dirt, to kill him for even thinking of doing something so stupid, so dangerous, so Autobot. The other side of him was on cloud 9, eager to get under his skin and have their sparks nestle against each other forever, whatever it took. To make First Aid carry a piece of him forever, just as much as he would be forced to do the same – the kind of agony that you never got used to, that you would constantly feel scratching against your very being – that a claim had been staked, and there was no going back now. That he had just as much claim over him as his gestalt did, that his commanding officers did, if not more, for when they were gone he’d be all that he had left.
First Aid leaned into the side that was trying to cling onto him, feeling their sparks latch onto each other firmly.
“Careful, you’re still bleeding a lot.” First Aid’s hand reached up to cup his cheek. “If you die whilst we’re connected, I’ll die too.”
He was essentially an oversized life support machine in that moment. He could feel the strain on his systems, the dull ache in his chest and the awkward pull in his spark. Vortex was mentally leaning heavily on him, piggybacking off of him. His legs started to go numb, his arms weak – or was that Vortex? He didn’t know any more, their psyches were mashing together, wires were crossing and-
Chest plates suddenly snapped shut, and First Aid fell back with a gasp. Vents working overtime, his frame suddenly exhausted, he reached up and placed a hand over still-warm metal.
His spark whirred aggressively. It felt heavier.
“Wooooooow~.” Vortex drawled. “Aid. You’ve got something sinister in you.”
“Does it hurt?” First Aid fretted. He could feel pain that wasn’t his radiating from his spark, tingling down his limbs.
“Just where I got blown up.”
“Oh, thank Primus.” He sagged down in relief. “I didn’t know what I’d do if I caused more damage. Okay, okay, stay still.”
“You should have taken the chance to kill me whilst you had it.”
“That’s nonsense and you know it.” First Aid was fast at work, hands flying over his frame to finish up the rest of the damage. Critical fuel lines were sealed, the clamps removed and adjusted. Exposed circuits and cables were covered over and hastily welded – he’d have better materials on base, so he just had to make sure he was stable enough to make it. Vortex watched him silently, hands twitching. He felt the fresh bond ache with each movement.
“Bonds are permanent, you know.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because.” First Aid patiently began. “You said that you wanted me for the rest of your life, didn’t you? Well, I’m the same. So it’s obscene to even consider letting you die. Because you would have otherwise – you know that, right? So don’t go doing anything else stupid.”
A bubbling sense of pride and affection came through the bond. Vortex obediently stayed very, very still while First aid finished, waiting for his command to move again. The moment First Aid sat back to wipe his hands, he glanced up on the ridge and a smirk pulled on the corner of his lips. The medic blinked as he was suddenly slammed onto his back, arms pinned above his head whilst another hand ran sharp claws across his chest plates.
“Thank you, honey. My turn.”
Rotors twitched on his back, flicking towards the ridge. First Aid followed them and saw the outlines of figures stood there and felt his tanks drop. They had an audience.
“Make it look like it wasn’t me?”
“I’ll get off so much lighter than you will if they knew otherwise. I couldn’t have my sweet, sweet little medic kept away from me, could I?”
“Together forever?”
“Together forever.” His engine purred, and his hands forced their way into his chest.
