#tfp wheelratch

Ratchet couldn’t believe the gall of that mech, pulling something like that on him. It made him angry. It made him flustered. It made him huff and growl and stomp a pede and raise his chin to the sky as he cursed Wheeljack’s name to Unicron and back.

It was bad enough how badly Wheeljack clouded his thoughts already. The mech got under his plating and crawled under his skin, burrowed deep and settled there to live. Ratchet couldn’t shake him, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He couldn’t help but mutter aloud throughout the day about how foolish Wheeljack was and what a pain in his neck cables Wheeljack had been and oh, how sweet this petty little taste of payback would be when he finally, finally got him back for once.

There was plenty of opportunity to stage the trick, but very little time to prepare the concoction that he needed in order to make it happen. It was like Wheeljack knew what was coming, like he knew what Ratchet was planning and hoping to accomplish.

He should know, to a point, Ratchet thought. It was his own fault for being such an aft in the first place. He would know soon enough, too, when Ratchet finally prepared just the right mixture with just enough added flair to make it pop.

As always, Wheeljack was lingering in Ratchet’s workspace as the old medic prepared his tools for the day and planned out his projects for what little free time he would be granted. There was plenty to do before the sun went down that day, and with no word from the ‘Con’s lately, Ratchet had a feeling things could be getting busy at any given moment. However, there was still time for some well-needed payback, and while most of the team was either out on patrol or retrieving the children from the school pickup lines, Ratchet poured out a hefty dose of his most successful mixture for Wheeljack to take.

The energon was tinged dark red and had a rich, sweet smell wafting from the open top, the artificial cherry flavoring heavy in its mixture. Ratchet knew better than to copy old tricks, and while it would be clear what would happen from drinking this after merely a sip, a sip was really all that he would ever need. One taste of this on Wheeljack’s tongue and he would be hooked, either for the sake of pleasing Ratchet or for the joy of trying something no one else had ever gotten to taste before.

Today, Wheeljack was Ratchet’s guinea pig, and Ratchet couldn’t wait to see it all come together.

“Don’t tell me you plan on standing there all day,” he said over his shoulder as he wiped down his workstation and set the fresh cube aside. “You’ve barely moved since I started on this new project. Not much of an assistant like that, are you?”

“Not much left for me to do, is there, doc?” Wheeljack replied in that sweet, silky tone. “‘Sides… I kinda like the view from over here.”

Ratchet could practically feel the smirk Wheeljack wore boring into him from behind, but he stayed focus on the task at hand. He scooped up his energon cube and turned back to Wheeljack, making his way across the room in a few slow, steady strides before he pushed it into Wheeljack’s chest.

“Very slick,” he said, his face straight. “If you’re going to be sticking around, you’re going to have to help, so… here. Drink up and tell me what you think.”

Wheeljack’s sly little smirk never wavered as he took the cube and lifted it to his face. He frowned at the sharp, sweet smell, though, and while Ratchet stood there watching with his servos on his hips, he gave it a sniff.

“Huh,” he said with a shrug. “It’s an awfully sweet batch you cooked up. Making it extra special for me, are you?”

Ratchet tried his hardest to scowl, but the flush that crept up his face soiled it.

“Just drink,” he snapped instead, hiding his flustered embarrassment with a grouchy exterior. “Drink it and tell me what you think. It’s not pure energon, mind you, so it will take some tweaking before we get to the final formula…”

He trailed off, his smile returning as he watched Wheeljack tip the cube back and chug it down.

“…but I think,” he said as he crossed his arms, “you’ll find it still packs plenty a strong punch.”

Oh, that slagger. He could see it on Wheeljack’s face, the confused look turning into a mild disgust as he ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth and hummed his disapproval at the lingering taste.

“It’s awfully strong for a replica,” he said, his free servo absently rubbing at his belly. Primus, Ratchet could already see the plating beginning to warp. “If you’re open to suggestions, I’d…”

Suddenly he paused, his optics going wide as he stared down at his belly. The ominous gurgles it emitted were noisy enough for even Ratchet to hear, and despite dropping the empty cube to clutch it with both servos, Wheeljack couldn’t stop the slow, steady expansion that had begun.

“Uh… doc?” he said, looking up at Ratchet before glancing down at his belly. The swollen mesh turned as dark as the energon he’d drank as it swelled up, ballooning outward more and more with every second that passed. “You—mmph—you don’t think there might’ve been, ah… something—“ he winced, gasping as his plating popped and his belly protruded forward— “ah! Something wrong? With the energon?”

“Something wrong with my energon?” Ratchet didn’t try hard to sound surprised. “Wheeljack, what could you possibly mean?”

As Wheeljack’s belly expanded, his arms were forced outwards at his sides, the swell of his frame swallowing them in the fat and pudge. He tried to speak, his face twisted between a look of shock and confusion, but the only sounds that made it past the bright red of his puffy cheeks and even chubbier chin was nothing more than muffled noise.

“It’s nothing permanent, as I’ve learned for myself,” Ratchet said as he watched Wheeljack wobble, then fall, his frame growing too big and heavy for him to hold up. “It’s not harmful, either… but it oughta leave some pudge on that old frame of yours, Wheeljack.”

His payback was perfect. There Wheeljack lay, struggling, swelling, and bright red like a fresh cherry picked off of a cherry tree. Ratchet moved forward with the same smug energy Wheeljack had been oozing before, and he bent down low, his servos squishing into Wheeljack’s belly as he leaned his face down to Wheeljack’s helm.

“I know that blueberry trick was you,” he said with a scoff. “Really, Wheeljack? It was ridiculous. It was pathetic! It was—“

Ratchet didn’t even have a chance to get into the nitty gritty before he heard the sound of engines rumbling through the entrance and echoing into the ceiling. As Bumblebee, Optimus, and Bulkhead came pulling up inside, he knew it had to be an absolutely ridiculous sight to see. Here he was, leaning over his so-called frenemy with his face bent low and his servos all up in Wheeljack’s belly, while Wheeljack lay plumped up and squirming beneath him, clearly confused but in no real danger.

Ratchet whipped his helm around like lightning, his optics wide and his mouth babbling a hundred words a second, but it was too late. As the three transformed and the children all piled out of them, looking equally confused and hiding snickers behind their hands, Bulkhead scratched the back of his helm with an awkward chuckle.

“Uh… hey, you two,” he said, gesturing to Ratchet and Wheeljack, who had managed to lift his helm up just enough to sneak a smile at his fellow Wrecker friend. “We, uh… we aren’t interrupting something here, are we?”

No!

Ratchet wanted to panic, to shout, and to demand they leave, but he didn’t. Beneath him, Wheeljack had nearly recovered, his frame puffed up but his face free of the pudge Ratchet had fought during his experience. It was the worst time to be caught in such a compromising position, yet of course—of course—Wheeljack only found it humorous.

“Not anymore,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by the fat. “Sunshine and I here were just getting a little more… acquainted.”