DRABBLE: in which ambulon and flatline get drunk WARNINGS: alcohol, angst lmao, fake smoking ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENN THIS IS FOR U
“Come on, just try one.”
“No.”
“One won't hurt--”
“It will, because I'll have one and you'll say, 'See, Ambulon, that wasn't so bad, how about one more?' and before I know it I'll be fendered and embarrassing videos of me will be shared around the ship tomorrow.”
Flatline chuckled. “It sounds like you're speaking from experience.”
Ambulon crossed his arms and looked away, making a face. “Because I am.”
They sat at one of the tables in the mess, off to the left of the makeshift bar counter Octane and Sandstorm had set up a few weeks ago. The whole crew – all fourteen of them, plus Raoul – were there, taking a break from their usual duties. The Alpha Bravo was in orbit around an uninhabited satellite of some rocky volcanic planet, so they didn't need anyone watching the bridge or manning the controls for the time being. Ambulon hadn't wanted to come to this – he had plenty of work to do in the medibay – but Flatline had, after a day of casually commenting on how fun Octane and Sandstorm's “party” would be, eventually annoyed him into agreeing.
His other reason for not wanting to come was sitting several tables over. Now that they'd been outed (by Jetfire, of all bots) Silverbolt didn't try to hide how he hung all over Thundercracker, gently stroking his co-captain's servo with a thumb or brushing against his shoulder as they talked or smiling whenever Thundercracker said something, smiling like his whole world brightened just because the 'Con had spoken to him. It was a smile Ambulon had craved for years.
And there Silverbolt sat, giving that admiration to someone else.
Ambulon's scowl deepened and he made a decision. “You know what? Perhaps I will have that drink.”
“Ambulon...” Flatline had seen exactly who he'd been staring at. “That might not be the best reason to drink--”
“What are you talking about? Just an astro-second ago you were practically begging me to have one. Why the change of spark?” Ambulon pushed himself up from the table.
“I'm just saying--”
“Well don't.” He walked off toward the bar, purposefully ignoring Flatline calling after him. They had been working together for a while now and they got along well enough, but he didn't think it was Flatline's place to comment on that particular trouble of his. Besides, he hadn't even talked to the 'Con about it; Flatline had somehow figured it out on his own, and would now occasionally try to get Ambulon to open up. He found it irritating. If he wanted to talk about it, he would – and he didn't, so he didn't.
He wasn't going to worry about that now, though. That's what the alcohol was for. He didn't even have to say a word when he approached the bar; Sandstorm took one look at him and slid a glass of engex his way, before going back to laughing at whatever it was Octane had just said. Ambulon irritably grabbed his drink. It seemed like everyone on this blasted ship was pairing off these days. Everyone but him.
He threw back half of what he'd gotten before he even made it back to the table. As he sat down, he ignored the flash of concern in Flatline's optics. It was easy, because the other medic immediately covered it up with a chuckle.
“Careful, at that rate you really will be fendered before you know it.”
“I'll be fine,” Ambulon said tightly. He glanced from the e-cigarette in Flatline's mouth to his empty servo. “Where's yours?”
“Hm?”
“You spend all that time convincing me to come here and drink, and you aren't even joining me?” Ambulon shook his helm. “I'm disappointed.”
Flatline, to his credit, barely hesitated. “You're right,” he said, standing up. “Be right back.”
It took three drinks (to Flatline's two) for Ambulon to begin to loosen up. As he sat there with his fourth he could feel the engex sizzling through his circuits, pulsing through his energon lines to his internal systems and back. It tingled, and though they'd been silent for a bit he laughed suddenly.
Flatline glanced at him. “What?”
“Nothing, I'm just – I'm just thinking.” That's right. Flatline was still here. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Flatline repeated. “I'm – sitting. Drinking. Talking, now.”
“I mean, why are you here? Talking to me. Why are you always so nice to me. I'm an Autobot now, you know.”
Flatline's optic ridges rose. “You're asking that now? After this long?”
“Well, yes.”
“Hmm.” Flatline's optics fell on Ambulon's half-empty drink. “Maybe you should slow down a little.” He reached for the glass but the latter huffed and slid it out of his reach. Flatline put his servos up.
“Alright, nevermind.”
“Answer the question,” Ambulon pressed. Flatline cycled air through his vents.
“I don't really understand your question, honestly. You're an Autobot; so what? We agreed to work together way back when this all started, right? Wouldn't do any good not to try and actually do that. I'm more surprised you don't want to know how that happened.” He nodded his helm at Rotorstorm, Dirge and Swindle, who were sitting together a few tables away, just as closely and familiarly as Silverbolt and Thundercracker.
“Hm. Good point. Do you know how that happened?”
“Not a fraggin' clue.”
While Ambulon was distracted Flatline leaned over and grabbed the glass from his servos, sticking his curly straw in and slurping down the rest in one gulp. Ambulon stared at him, aghast.
“Hey!”
“I gotta catch up with you somehow,” Flatline said, and even with the faceplate Ambulon could tell he was grinning. Ambulon rolled his optics and looked away, but he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Remember, this was your idea,” Ambulon admonished as Flatline got up for more. “Bring me one too!”
Another drink and a half and Ambulon had Flatline's servo in his, experimentally pressing different knuckle joints to see what medical tools Flatline had loaded in his digits. The general atmosphere of the mess had gotten louder, and rowdier; a klik or two ago Sandstorm and Octane had sprinted, laughing, from the room as a very angry and now half-pink Runamuck chased after them. Ambulon wondered fuzzily who would be serving drinks now.
“See, this way's a lot easier,” Flatline was saying. “Half my tools are on me all the time; I don't have to worry about forgettin' something important.”
“But you don't have much variety in size or use,” Ambulon observed. “It's also impractical. You can't use them on highly contagious patients, when you'd have to wear protection against getting infected yourself. So you'd need a second set of everything anyway.”
Flatline shrugged. “On the frontlines that's not really an issue. I barely have time to scrub up before sticking my servos in the nearest mech, let alone worry about that.”
Ambulon frowned, releasing Flatline's servo. “You ought to be more careful. What will those same mechs do if you yourself get infected and can't help them?”
“Sounds like you're worried about me, a big bad Decepticon.” There was that pseudo-grin again. Ambulon snorted.
“I worry about everyone.” He looked up and noticed that the others were beginning to file out; with Sandstorm and Octane gone, it seemed that there really were no more drinks to be had. The only group that didn't appear to be going anywhere soon was Thundercracker and Silverbolt. Ambulon made a very uncharacteristically humorous pout face. He didn't want to be here alone with them.
“We should go,” he said abruptly, standing up. It then hit him just how much he'd had to drink when his pedes didn't work quite correctly and he stumbled against his chair.
“Whoa, hold on there!” Flatline stood too, not much more steadily than Ambulon, and threw an arm over the Autobot's shoulders. “Let me help you out.”
“I don't need your help,” Ambulon scoffed, even as he put an arm around Flatline's mid back and didn't try to pull away as they walked out of the mess. They definitely looked odd, he thought, supporting each other like this, but it was much less embarrassing than the last time he'd drank. And he was grateful, honestly, for Flatline's help; the mech was sturdier on his pedes than Ambulon was at the moment.
Especially when he turned his helm and for some reason his optics zeroed in on that thing Flatline always had sticking out of his faceplate, which distracted Ambulon from walking. He caused them to wobble when he reached over and snatched the e-cigarette.
Flatline's optics stuttered in surprise. “What're you--”
“Why do you always have this?” Ambulon asked, turning it over in his free servo. Every few kliks it let out a puff of energon smoke. “It's not real. You can't actually smoke it. What's the point?”
“The point,” Flatline said, slurring a little, “The point is that – is that – it looks cool. That's the point.”
“It 'looks cool'?” Ambulon's helm spun and he put a servo against the wall for extra support as they laboriously made their way down the hall. “Your definition of 'cool' may need work.”
“Please, like you know what 'cool' is,” Flatline teased, not unkindly. He gently (as gently as he could, anyway, with his motor skills being what they were right now) took Ambulon's servo and guided it toward his mouth. They had to stop for an astro-second for him to push the e-cigarette against Ambulon's tightly-closed lips.
“Come on, try it. Trust me.”
“How can I? I've seen how you work in the medibay.” But Ambulon allowed the end into his mouth, and as they resumed walking he turned to Flatline.
“So do I look 'cool' now?”
“Hmm. Almost.” Flatline shifted the e-cigarette to the corner of Ambulon's frown. “Don't hold it so firmly. You gotta let it dangle. Makes you look laid-back and chill.”
“You have spent too much time around humans,” Ambulon said, and tried to do as he was instructed but the thin rod ended up tumbling out of his mouth. Both scrambled to catch it and though Flatline succeeded they knocked helms in the process. Ambulon stumbled and had to catch himself on the wall.
“Are we almost there yet?” he complained, helm throbbing where it had hit Flatline's, and Flatline laughed and pulled him upright.
“I think so. Where were we going?”
“Um...” Ambulon tried to think. “I'm...not sure?”
“We could just go in here,” Flatline suggested, disentangling himself from Ambulon to go over and squint at the sign beside the door closest to them. “This is the...oh. It's the medibay.”
“Perfect!” Ambulon forced himself to walk as steadily as he could to the door, barely wavering as it slid open and he stepped inside. Unfortunately, that took a lot of concentration so he also managed to nick his hip strut on the door frame, and grunted irritably while he went further into the room, aiming for his desk.
“Careful,” Flatline said unhelpfully from behind him as he followed.
“It's pointless to say that after I've already hurt myself, don't you think?” Ambulon finally reached his desk and leaned gratefully against it, both servos clutching the edge to support himself. His processor was nowhere near peak operating capacity, and he temporarily offlined his optics, taking a klik to collect his thoughts. The engex was supposed to take his mind off of things, but now that they'd stopped moving he found it instead kept replaying the images of Silverbolt and Thundercracker sitting together and casually touching each other like long-time lovers.
“You okay?” Ambulon onlined his optics to see Flatline standing beside him, almost touching but not quite as he copied Ambulon's posture in leaning against the desk. Ambulon realized he was grimacing.
“Oh, yes, I'm fine.” For some reason (most likely the engex) he began looking at Flatline, really looking at him, for the first time. His fellow medic was attractive, in a sharp way...where Silverbolt was broad and strong, Flatline was more streamlined, edgier. It wasn't a bad thing, he thought. In fact, he found that right now it was very appealing.
Flatline tilted his helm. “What?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.” Somehow it all kept circling back around to Silverbolt. He felt incredibly lonely.
“You're staring at me like you want to dissect me,” Flatline said. Ambulon blinked.
“Sorry. I was just – do you have a mouth?” he asked bluntly. He should have been more subtle, probably – for some mechs it was a sore subject – but he didn't really have the ability for subtlety at the moment.
Flatline, thankfully, laughed in surprise. “Do I have a – why?”
“Just curious.” Ambulon shifted a little closer. “Sometimes I think you're smiling but I can't be sure. Do you?”
“I – yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Can I see it?”
Flatline shook his helm, but said, “Sure, I guess. But why the sudden interest?”
“I told you, I'm just curious.” He didn't know why himself, if he were being completely honest. He just had a very strong sense of show me, mixed worryingly with a little touch me but he wasn't yet ready to act on that one. Flatline eyed him, somewhat suspiciously, then reached up to unhook his faceplate. He worked something along the sides until it came off, then placed it on the desk. Ambulon's mouth formed a little 'o'.
“What?” Flatline asked again, almost self-consciously. Ambulon gave a wobbly chuckle.
“Why do you wear a faceplate when you have a face like that?” he said flirtatiously. Flatline's optic ridges rose but his lips still curled in a grin, exposing fangs.
“Now you're just trying to butter me up.” The grin broadened. “It's a nice change from the grumpy act you usually give me.”
“Grumpy! Me?” Ambulon shook his helm, wavering a bit. “No way.”
“If you say so.” Flatline wouldn't stop smiling and right now Ambulon found that very attractive, along with those teeth and that sharp nose and the smooth lines of his cheeks where they met the rest of his helm. Before he could stop himself (if he could stop himself at this point) Ambulon reached out and brushed his thumb over Flatline's lips, letting his digit tips rest on the other medic's cheek.
Flatline's optics widened but he didn't pull away. “What are you doing?”
“Exploring.” Ambulon brought his other servo to Flatline's face, cupping the 'Con's helm and ghosting his thumbs along the surface beneath those fiery red optics. His own were focused on Flatline's mouth.
“May I?”
There was no question about what he meant. Flatline's venting was slightly heavier as he said, “This might not be a good idea.”
“You're right,” Ambulon replied, smiling. “It's a great idea.” And then he didn't have to wait for an answer because Flatline stuttered out a huff of air and leaned in, bringing their lips together. It started out slow, experimental, with Flatline moving so he was in front of Ambulon instead of beside him, servos settling hesitantly on Ambulon's hip struts. Helms shifted as they worked to find the best angle for their mouths to meet. Ambulon carefully pulled Flatline closer, sliding his glossa along Flatline's lower lip and the Decepticon gave a little shudder that had Ambulon smiling. Flatline returned the favor by nipping at his lip and it surprised him so much he actually moaned and then Flatline pressed him harder against the desk, growling while he took advantage of Ambulon's open mouth to slip his glossa inside it. Ambulon clung to him, the desk digging uncomfortably into his back but he didn't care, and it didn't matter anyway an astro-second later when Flatline lifted him and set him on the desk. He instinctively wrapped his legs around Flatline's waist section.
Ambulon met Flatline's glossa with his own, running the tip over those glorious fangs and he could feel Flatline's frame heating up beneath his digits as he ran them down the 'Con's broad back. He brought them to Flatline's aft, and, on a whim, cupped it with his servos and gave it a firm squeeze. This earned him a pleased chuckle from his fellow medic that turned into a staticky groan when nimble digit tips dug beneath the plating, expertly plucking and stroking the wires and protoform beneath. He liked the way Flatline reacted, the little noises he made as Ambulon worked his way up his back and sides, the way he kissed hotter and harder with each thing Ambulon touched. By the time he came near Flatline's shoulders the Decepticon was arching against him, servos gripping his hip struts so tightly he might leave dents and that made Ambulon moan again.
And then Flatline murmured, “Ambulon,” and he shuddered, legs tightening, and his servos slid to Flatline's chassis, tracing transformation seams, searching for specific hinges and clasps hidden between the plating. When he found them he pressed with his digits, wanting them to open, to reveal the pulsing spark beneath so he could touch and please and be touched in return--
Flatline went still, pulling back. Ambulon gave a little noise of disappointment at the loss of those lips but when he onlined his optics he found Flatline staring at him, studying him as intensely as he had been studied by Ambulon earlier.
“Why'd you stop?” Ambulon asked, voice full of static. He reset his vocalizer. Flatline watched him for another klik.
“As much as I'd like to,” Flatline began finally, running a digit tip down Ambulon's spinal strut that had him shivering again, “...We can't.” He pulled away completely then, carefully unhooking Ambulon's legs from around his waist and taking a step back. Ambulon stared at him, systems still hot and circuits sizzling, now without an outlet for the extra charge.
“We can't? Why not?” He sounded whinier than he'd meant, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't figure out what he'd done to make something so wonderful stop. “Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no, you're fine, it's just--” Flatline vented a sigh, dragging a servo down his face. It stopped over his mouth for an astro-second before he dropped it completely and said, “You're not doing this for me, are you?”
“What?” Ambulon stared at him, affronted. “What does that mean? Of course I am!”
“No, you're not.” Flatline put his servos on Ambulon's shoulders, voice gentle but firm. “You're doing it because you're drunk, and lonely, and the bot you really want is with someone else right now instead of you.”
Ambulon was so stunned that it took him a moment to remember how to speak. The nerve of this mech, to bring that up now! “That's – that's ridiculous! I'm not – I wouldn't--”
“Hey, it's okay.” Flatline smiled sadly, and Ambulon felt a jolt of anger at how kind he was being, not condescendingly so but it felt like it anyway. “We all do it. I'm not mad or anything.”
“Well I am!” Ambulon pushed his servos away as he spluttered, “That you would accuse me of such a thing is – it's – it's absolutely ludicrous--” He jerked when he felt something wet hit his leg, and he looked down to discover a drop of thinned energon on his plating. As he stared at it more appeared, and he clenched his servos on his thighs while the tears started coming even faster.
“It's okay,” Flatline said soothingly. “Let it out.” Ambulon grit his dentals, trying to regain control, but when Flatline's arms came around him and his forehelm ended up resting gently against Flatline's chassis the dam broke. Ambulon choked on a sob, servos coming up to clutch at Flatline's shoulders like they were a lifeline that could save him from drowning in the sorrow welling up from his spark.
He clung to Flatline for Primus knew how long, the sobs racking his frame, causing him to shake with the force of it. He knew he was embarrassing himself but he couldn't stop; all he could do was cry and cry, tears staining Flatline's black chassis a washed-out pink, until the sobs began to calm and the tears wouldn't come anymore, and he was left weakly resting against Flatline's embrace. The pain was still there, an ache in his spark, and on top of that he felt drained and empty. His helm throbbed.
“I'm – I'm sorry for that, I just--” he said eventually, voice thick and hoarse, like he hadn't used it in centuries. He didn't have the energy to reset it. “I wanted to feel...wanted.”
“I know, and it's fine. I told you I wasn't mad.” Flatline stroked his helm and neck cabling, but Ambulon shook him off.
“I'm a disaster, and a mess.” He let his servos slide off of Flatline's shoulders. “And I've ruined your night.”
“That doesn't sound like the Ambulon I know,” Flatline teased gently. “Where's the grump who knows better than me about everything?” That got a hollow chuckle out of Ambulon, which surprised him. He hadn't thought he could laugh right now; but that had always been a talent of Flatline's, getting him to laugh when he didn't want to.
“He'll be back tomorrow, after I've slept.” And he was, Ambulon realized, absolutely exhausted. His medical protocols were kicking in, telling him he needed rest and some rehydration with non-alcoholic energon. Ah, that was right. He'd been drinking. No wonder his processor was beginning to hurt.
“I'll get you back to your quarters.”
“No, that's fine. I'll recharge on one of the medical berths.” Ambulon carefully pulled himself out of Flatline's arms, shakily standing with one servo on the desk for support.
Flatline frowned. “You don't have to do that. Your quarters aren't that far away--”
“I'll be fine. I've done it often enough.”
“Yeah, I thought as much,” Flatline said, and Ambulon shot him a look. He was rewarded with a lazy grin.
“Ah, there he is.”
“Can it.” Ambulon chewed his lower lip, then looked away. “Though...I have to thank you. For what you did. Just now.” He cleared his intake.
“And I'm sorry for...touching you. And everything.”
“Sorry? You kidding? That was great.” Ambulon snorted, but Flatline was still grinning. “Seriously, don't apologize. We were drunk, we made out a bit, it happens. I think we can maintain our professional relationship of you telling me what to do and yelling at me all of the time.” The grin broadened and Ambulon slanted a look at him, but found he wasn't actually angry in the slightest. It was rather amazing, how Flatline could say something insulting or upsetting and make it sound almost like a compliment. It was a gift that made his bedside manner much better than Ambulon's (though he'd never admit it).
“Yes, we'll be just fine,” Ambulon said dryly. He pushed away from the desk and carefully walked across the medibay to the nearest medical berth. He heard Flatline following, and when he had pulled himself up on the berth and sat down he looked over to see that Flatline had reattached his faceplate.
“Do you want me to stay?” Flatline asked. The joking manner was gone, for now; worry took its place. Ambulon shook his helm.
“No, I'll be alright.”
“You sure...?”
Ambulon vented a sigh. “I'm not newly forged, Flatline. I promise I can take care of myself. Now you go get some rest; I expect you back in here and ready for work at first shift.”
Flatline laughed, servos on his hip struts. “Glad to see you're recovering so quickly. You get some rest too, big guy. And....comm me if you need anything.” As Ambulon laid down on the berth Flatline left, stopping once by the door to look back, but Ambulon had turned on his side facing away by that point. He waited to hear the sound of the door sliding shut behind Flatline before he allowed himself to curl up on the cold medical berth, silent, dry sobs rattling through him until he finally fell into a fitful recharge.