Just A Smile

Some simple pleasures can be rare to come by.

That perfect skipping rock, smooth but grainy against your skin, thinner than a slice of bread, shaped in a loose but passing circle.

That one undamaged sand dollar that managed to make it to the sand without being crushed or cracked, it's edges still in tact, the lovely flower symmetrical and still prominent as it had ever been.

That dry, hollow crunch of a fall leaf, it's veins drained of color and blood, it's tattered edges turned inwards and crumpled tight with dehydration.

And the sincere, true smile on Optimus' face, the one that traveled all the way up to his optics, making them sparkle like the dusk sky above the vacant desert. The one that made his cheeks crinkle ever so slightly, the one that made the soft metal of his handsome face warm to the touch.
It was so, so hard to come by, that smile.

Ratchet supposed he hadn't seen it since Orion Pax. Maybe that was why it caused an explosion of heat in his cheeks, and a bloom of absolute adoration in his spark and groin. It surprised him, how much that smile fired him up, how his knees felt weak all the sudden, how his engines rumbled in a telltale song of affection. The desire was building up, fast and hot. Ratchet thought of those underwater volcanoes, bubbles floating to the surface, disturbing the swaying border between sea and sky. He felt as if those bubbles were swelling through him, his energon no longer his blood, but the lava spitting up from the core, rising and pushing upward for the sky. . .

He loved Optimus.

The Prime was holding Miko up to the ceiling tenderly, his servos cupped in the most cautious manner, so she could string blinking Christmas lights along. She was laughing heartily, beaming so bright it was as if Optimus held the Earth's sun in his gentle servos.

Ratchet was annoyed, to say the least, when the children expressed the need to decorate the base for their holiday. He didn't care much for human traditions, especially when they distracted the Autobots from their duties. But now, he couldn't seem to find a reason to be upset that everyone was distracted. For a brief moment, they weren't in a war. Their lives weren't on the crickety table. They were all smiling and laughing, helping each other decorate, engaging emotionally in a way that Ratchet hadn't seen for eons.

He was suddenly so grateful for the distraction. He was grateful that the humans gave Optimus a reason to smile like that.

Optimus knelt down to let Miko run off, the ghost of that wonderful expression still dancing in his features. His gaze met Ratchet's, and excitement was a field of pink flowers blooming like wildfire in spring.
A small gesture of the servo told Optimus to follow his medic. They padded off into the hallway, the sounds of their comrades' laughter growing more distant.

"Ratchet, did you need something?" Optimus asked.

Deft servos took him by the collar and jerked him down; he moved with the action willingly, following the servos until they led his mouth to Ratchet's. The kiss was needy and very emotionally charged. He could feel Ratchet's lustful and passionate energy through his warm lips, and he pressed to that warmth longingly.

"Optimus," Ratchet barely parted their lips, their faces centimeters apart, "I love you so fragging much, you don't even know."

Large black servos took him by the hips, thumbs brushing his waist. "You are mistaken, Old Friend. I do know." He pecked Ratchet to feel that sweet warmth again. "I'll follow your lead, now. I do like where this is going."

Ratchet smiled. He took Optimus by the arm and pulled him into his berthroom, where Optimus let him push him back against the soft berth, Ratchet taking his place above him. His vents hitched when he tried to speak as Ratchet sucked a cable along his neck, those talented medic's servos running down his frame in a way that made him crazy, "Merry Christmas, Ratchet."