Ironhide x Beachcomber fic
May. 18th, 2011 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thecrazyalaskanIronhide gently nipped at a wire in Beachcomber's neck, making the geologist arch into him slightly. Beachcomber leaned back slightly on his perch, the edge of his workstation in the lab. His fingertips brushed against the work that needed to be done, but he just couldn't focus on it… not with Ironhide nipping at his neck and running an assured hand down his arm.
The minibot's legs wound around Ironhide's waist as he tipped his head back slightly. "We're gonna get caught," he breathed, his visual field tilted at an angle where he could count the room's ceiling tiles.
Ironhide chuckled into Beachcomber's neck. "Not if Ah can help it," he rumbled into his partner's shoulders.
Beachcomber pulled back slightly, turning the weapons specialist's face toward his. "You locked the doors?" he asked.
A devilish grin colored Ironhide's features. "Maybe Ah did, maybe Ah didn't," he replied vaguely.
A similar, cheeky grin shaped Beachcomber's features as he pressed his lips to Ironhide's. The warrior moaned softly against his lips, running his hands down Beachcomber's sides; he lightly nuzzled the geologist's face as he teasingly kneaded his knuckles into his hips.
The touch set Beachcomber's neural pathways on fire. His legs tightened around Ironhide's waist, and tipped his head back further to allow his partner better access to his neck. His soft whines of approvals grew louder, more urgent, until his pleasure finally found a voice: "I-I-I-Ironhide…!"
Ironhide chuckled. "Musta been good if Ah set ya to stutterin'..."
Beachcomber stiffened in Ironhide's hold. "L-L-Let me go," he stammered, half writhing to escape. "Pl-pl-please let m-me go, Ironh-h-hide."
Ironhide loosened his grip on the geologist, but didn't release him. "Whassa matter?" he asked.
Beachcomber pushed against Ironhide's arms. "P-p-p-p-please let me g-g-go," he pleaded, struggling to get out every syllable. "If you l-l-l-l-l—ugh! L-love me, y-you'll let me go."
Ironhide had little choice but to comply with his distraught partner's request, and let his arms fall to his sides. The red mech took a few staggering steps back when Beachcomber pushed him away and all but jumped off of the desk.
Beachcomber kept his visored optics down as he blindly rushed to the door. When it failed to slide open in his presence, he realized (with more than a little horror) that Ironhide <I>had</I> locked the door—from the inside using his personal codes, ones only he could override. Beachcomber was trapped.
Ironhide took a few steps closer, watching with concern as Beachcomber frantically tried to override the locks with his own, lesser-ranked passcodes. "Was it sumpm Ah said?" he asked gently. "What has ya in a tizzy, 'Comber?"
"N-nothing!" Beachcomber replied quickly, still trying to unlock the door. "J-j-j-j-jus gotta—"
Ironhide caught Beachcomber by the wrist, which stilled the panicked geologist's hands. "What's wrong with ya, 'Comber?" he whispered.
"It's n-n-n-nothin'!" Beachcomber snapped, uncharacteristically aggressive, as he tried to wrench his arm from Ironhide's hold.
The warrior kept a gentle grip on Beachcomber's hand as he lightly kissed his fingers. "C'mon," he breathed. "Who went an' put a bee in yer bonnet?"
"It's n… n… <I>nothing</I>!" he snapped after struggling to get the words out.
"Ain't nothin' if yer getting this upset over it," Ironhide gently observed. "Ya can talk to me, 'Comber, you know that."
The white and blue mech seemed to wilt, his fighting spirit gone. "You m-m-made m-me st-st-st-st-st—"
"Stutter?" Ironhide softly finished. Beachcomber nodded slowly in reply. The red mech chuckled and brushed his lips against his partner's forehead. "Aw, nothin' to worry 'bout—we all get a little tongue tied."
"It's not l-l-l-l-like that, 'H-Hide," Beachcomber protested. "I've always b-b-been a st-st-st-stutterer."
"Aw, that's an <I>easy</I>fix," Ironhide dismissed. "We'll jist set ya up with Ratchet an'—"
"R-Ratchet c-can't fix it!" Beachcomber wailed. "No m-m-m-m-medic c-c-can! I've always b-b-b-b-b-b-b—<I>frag</i>!" Ironhide quirked an eyeridge at his partner's callous swear. "B-<I>Been</I> d-d-d-defective l-l-like this!"
Ironhide laid a finger on Beachcomber's lips. "Shhh…" he soothed. "Jist calm down an' breathe, okay?"
"N-n-n-no!" Beachcomber growled. "Th-that's what e-e-everyone t-told me a-as a k-k-k-k-kid! I'm t-tired of c-c-c-c-calming down! It d-doesn't h-h-help!"
"Okay, 'Comber," Ironhide replied softly. "I'm sorry I got ya all riled up."
The geologist hid his face in his hands. "I'm s-s-sorry, I-I-I-Ironhiiiide."
"What're ya sorry fer?" Ironhide asked. "Ah was the one who got you ups—"
"I-I'm processor gl-gl-glitched," Beachcomber muttered.
"Naw…" Ironhide gently intoned, amazed at Beachcomber's sudden self-depreciating tone.
"S-S-S-Something w-wired itself wr-wrong," Beachcomber shot back, "when I was a k-k-kid." His tone grew soft. "I've always been br-broken and defective. I-I-I-If you want to b-b-back away, I w-w-won't blame you."
Before the distraught mech could protest, Ironhide caught him in a tight embrace. "Ah ain't leavin' ya over sumpm as silly as a stutter," he whispered.
Beachcomber stiffened in his hold. "It's n-n-not s-s-s… s… silly to me, 'H-H-Hide," he whimpered. "It's emb-b-b-barrassing."
"Ah'm sorry, 'Comber," Ironhide said sincerely. "Ain't gonna make any fun of it."
"W-Wish other mechs w-w-wouldn't," the geologist muttered.
Ironhide pulled back slightly to lay a hand on his partner's cheek. "Someone been sayin' sumpm?" he asked meaningfully.
"N-Not recently," Beachcomber replied softly.
"Back when you were a little'un?" Ironhide guessed.
Shame tinted Beachcomber's face as he nodded. "E-Everyone t-told me, 'C-Calm down,' and "Th-th-think about what you want to say." I-I-I tried to, 'H-H-Hide…"A small rivulet of mech fluid trickled down his cheek. "It n-n-never helped. A-A-And the other y-younglings…"
"Ya got teased a lot, huh?" the warrior gently asked, thumbing away the mech fluid on his partner's cheek.
Beachcomber leaned against Ironhide's strong frame. "They c-c-called me st-st-stupid and w-w-w-worthless a-a-a-and a-always tr-tr-tried to m-m-m-make m-m-me—"
Ironhide laid a finger on Beachcomber's lips. "Y'wanna write it down?" he offered. "You must be gittin' awful upset to be stutterin' so much." He mentally congratulated himself on not using any variant of the word "bad" in reference to Beachcomber's stutter.
The blue and white mech's optics widened behind his visor at Ironhide's suggestion; after a moment, he nodded gratefully.
With an affectionate smile, Ironhide handed him a pad and writing stylus. Beachcomber accepted both with a second nod of gratitude before he started to write.
After a few moments, he held the pad up, allowing Ironhide to read his rounded, block-like glyphs. His hands had been shaking slightly, making the characters a little tricky to decipher:
<blockquote ><I>Everyone called me stupid and worthless and tried to get me to talk. A lot. </I></blockquote>
Ironhide nodded his understanding. "Ya prob'ly hated readin' out loud, huh?"
Beachcomber wrote two simple words—
<blockquote><I>Hated it. </I></blockquote>
Ironhide reached over and gently stroked the smaller mech's helm. "I would never do that to ya, 'Comber…"
Beachcomber bit his lower lip before scrawling:
<blockquote><I>I know that, 'Hide, but I'm still shy about it. I don't want pity when everyone hears me—I hate that… </I></blockquote>
Ironhide gently cupped Beachcomber's face in his hands, searching his eyes. "Anybody 'sides me know?" he asked softly.
"R-Ratchet and Pr-Pr-Priiime," Beachcomber answered, neglecting his pad and stylus.
"Then slag the rest of 'em," Ironhide announced, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture of dismissal. "They don't count for nothin'. Only thing that matters to me—" He paused to brush his lips against Beachcomber's forehead—"is that you're safe and happy."
A grateful smile shaped Beachcomber's features as he tightly hugged Ironhide. The tears that slid down his cheeks were now ones of gratitude. "Th-thank you," he whispered.
~*~*~*~
"'S nothin', 'Comber," Ironhide replied, gently stroking his partner's helm. He chuckled lightly. "Gotta give you credit for being able to hide it for so long."
"I l-learned little tr-tricks," Beachcomber replied softly. "H-how to spit i-it all out at o-once, av-v-void certain words on my bad days…"
Ironhide brushed his thumb over Beachcomber's lower lip. "Ya ain't gotta do that with me, 'Comber," he softly reassured. "If it happens, it happens." He lightly kissed the smaller mech. "'Sides… makes ya even sweeter."
A lopsided grin, on he reserved strictly for Ironhide, stretched across Beachcomber's features as he tightly hugged him. "It's g-g-gonna be okay now…" Whether the words were a promise to Ironhide or to himself was unclear, but they were a promise nonetheless.
~*~*~*~
I love the idea of Beachcomber stuttering. I fudged my way through it for a brief appearance by his TFA counterpart in The Invictus, but then it worked its way over to G1 and there it was and damnit I love it. it’s charming and sweet. *wannahugBeachcomberplz*
As to Ironhide and Beachcomber as a pairing? Simply this:
“Ah’m gonna brave the cold an’ wind an’ fire an’ Megatron an’ the entire Decepticon army to save Optimus Prime!”
“D-D-D-Don’t forget your j-j-jacket.”
Don’t lie. You found that cute as shit.
Seriously, the contrast is sweet: Beachcomber is a card-carrying pacifist, and then you have Ironhide, who’s rather like an M&M—hard and red on the outside, and soft and sweet on the inside. :3
The minibot's legs wound around Ironhide's waist as he tipped his head back slightly. "We're gonna get caught," he breathed, his visual field tilted at an angle where he could count the room's ceiling tiles.
Ironhide chuckled into Beachcomber's neck. "Not if Ah can help it," he rumbled into his partner's shoulders.
Beachcomber pulled back slightly, turning the weapons specialist's face toward his. "You locked the doors?" he asked.
A devilish grin colored Ironhide's features. "Maybe Ah did, maybe Ah didn't," he replied vaguely.
A similar, cheeky grin shaped Beachcomber's features as he pressed his lips to Ironhide's. The warrior moaned softly against his lips, running his hands down Beachcomber's sides; he lightly nuzzled the geologist's face as he teasingly kneaded his knuckles into his hips.
The touch set Beachcomber's neural pathways on fire. His legs tightened around Ironhide's waist, and tipped his head back further to allow his partner better access to his neck. His soft whines of approvals grew louder, more urgent, until his pleasure finally found a voice: "I-I-I-Ironhide…!"
Ironhide chuckled. "Musta been good if Ah set ya to stutterin'..."
Beachcomber stiffened in Ironhide's hold. "L-L-Let me go," he stammered, half writhing to escape. "Pl-pl-please let m-me go, Ironh-h-hide."
Ironhide loosened his grip on the geologist, but didn't release him. "Whassa matter?" he asked.
Beachcomber pushed against Ironhide's arms. "P-p-p-p-please let me g-g-go," he pleaded, struggling to get out every syllable. "If you l-l-l-l-l—ugh! L-love me, y-you'll let me go."
Ironhide had little choice but to comply with his distraught partner's request, and let his arms fall to his sides. The red mech took a few staggering steps back when Beachcomber pushed him away and all but jumped off of the desk.
Beachcomber kept his visored optics down as he blindly rushed to the door. When it failed to slide open in his presence, he realized (with more than a little horror) that Ironhide <I>had</I> locked the door—from the inside using his personal codes, ones only he could override. Beachcomber was trapped.
Ironhide took a few steps closer, watching with concern as Beachcomber frantically tried to override the locks with his own, lesser-ranked passcodes. "Was it sumpm Ah said?" he asked gently. "What has ya in a tizzy, 'Comber?"
"N-nothing!" Beachcomber replied quickly, still trying to unlock the door. "J-j-j-j-jus gotta—"
Ironhide caught Beachcomber by the wrist, which stilled the panicked geologist's hands. "What's wrong with ya, 'Comber?" he whispered.
"It's n-n-n-nothin'!" Beachcomber snapped, uncharacteristically aggressive, as he tried to wrench his arm from Ironhide's hold.
The warrior kept a gentle grip on Beachcomber's hand as he lightly kissed his fingers. "C'mon," he breathed. "Who went an' put a bee in yer bonnet?"
"It's n… n… <I>nothing</I>!" he snapped after struggling to get the words out.
"Ain't nothin' if yer getting this upset over it," Ironhide gently observed. "Ya can talk to me, 'Comber, you know that."
The white and blue mech seemed to wilt, his fighting spirit gone. "You m-m-made m-me st-st-st-st-st—"
"Stutter?" Ironhide softly finished. Beachcomber nodded slowly in reply. The red mech chuckled and brushed his lips against his partner's forehead. "Aw, nothin' to worry 'bout—we all get a little tongue tied."
"It's not l-l-l-l-like that, 'H-Hide," Beachcomber protested. "I've always b-b-been a st-st-st-stutterer."
"Aw, that's an <I>easy</I>fix," Ironhide dismissed. "We'll jist set ya up with Ratchet an'—"
"R-Ratchet c-can't fix it!" Beachcomber wailed. "No m-m-m-m-medic c-c-can! I've always b-b-b-b-b-b-b—<I>frag</i>!" Ironhide quirked an eyeridge at his partner's callous swear. "B-<I>Been</I> d-d-d-defective l-l-like this!"
Ironhide laid a finger on Beachcomber's lips. "Shhh…" he soothed. "Jist calm down an' breathe, okay?"
"N-n-n-no!" Beachcomber growled. "Th-that's what e-e-everyone t-told me a-as a k-k-k-k-kid! I'm t-tired of c-c-c-c-calming down! It d-doesn't h-h-help!"
"Okay, 'Comber," Ironhide replied softly. "I'm sorry I got ya all riled up."
The geologist hid his face in his hands. "I'm s-s-sorry, I-I-I-Ironhiiiide."
"What're ya sorry fer?" Ironhide asked. "Ah was the one who got you ups—"
"I-I'm processor gl-gl-glitched," Beachcomber muttered.
"Naw…" Ironhide gently intoned, amazed at Beachcomber's sudden self-depreciating tone.
"S-S-S-Something w-wired itself wr-wrong," Beachcomber shot back, "when I was a k-k-kid." His tone grew soft. "I've always been br-broken and defective. I-I-I-If you want to b-b-back away, I w-w-won't blame you."
Before the distraught mech could protest, Ironhide caught him in a tight embrace. "Ah ain't leavin' ya over sumpm as silly as a stutter," he whispered.
Beachcomber stiffened in his hold. "It's n-n-not s-s-s… s… silly to me, 'H-H-Hide," he whimpered. "It's emb-b-b-barrassing."
"Ah'm sorry, 'Comber," Ironhide said sincerely. "Ain't gonna make any fun of it."
"W-Wish other mechs w-w-wouldn't," the geologist muttered.
Ironhide pulled back slightly to lay a hand on his partner's cheek. "Someone been sayin' sumpm?" he asked meaningfully.
"N-Not recently," Beachcomber replied softly.
"Back when you were a little'un?" Ironhide guessed.
Shame tinted Beachcomber's face as he nodded. "E-Everyone t-told me, 'C-Calm down,' and "Th-th-think about what you want to say." I-I-I tried to, 'H-H-Hide…"A small rivulet of mech fluid trickled down his cheek. "It n-n-never helped. A-A-And the other y-younglings…"
"Ya got teased a lot, huh?" the warrior gently asked, thumbing away the mech fluid on his partner's cheek.
Beachcomber leaned against Ironhide's strong frame. "They c-c-called me st-st-stupid and w-w-w-worthless a-a-a-and a-always tr-tr-tried to m-m-m-make m-m-me—"
Ironhide laid a finger on Beachcomber's lips. "Y'wanna write it down?" he offered. "You must be gittin' awful upset to be stutterin' so much." He mentally congratulated himself on not using any variant of the word "bad" in reference to Beachcomber's stutter.
The blue and white mech's optics widened behind his visor at Ironhide's suggestion; after a moment, he nodded gratefully.
With an affectionate smile, Ironhide handed him a pad and writing stylus. Beachcomber accepted both with a second nod of gratitude before he started to write.
After a few moments, he held the pad up, allowing Ironhide to read his rounded, block-like glyphs. His hands had been shaking slightly, making the characters a little tricky to decipher:
<blockquote ><I>Everyone called me stupid and worthless and tried to get me to talk. A lot. </I></blockquote>
Ironhide nodded his understanding. "Ya prob'ly hated readin' out loud, huh?"
Beachcomber wrote two simple words—
<blockquote><I>Hated it. </I></blockquote>
Ironhide reached over and gently stroked the smaller mech's helm. "I would never do that to ya, 'Comber…"
Beachcomber bit his lower lip before scrawling:
<blockquote><I>I know that, 'Hide, but I'm still shy about it. I don't want pity when everyone hears me—I hate that… </I></blockquote>
Ironhide gently cupped Beachcomber's face in his hands, searching his eyes. "Anybody 'sides me know?" he asked softly.
"R-Ratchet and Pr-Pr-Priiime," Beachcomber answered, neglecting his pad and stylus.
"Then slag the rest of 'em," Ironhide announced, waving his hand in a sweeping gesture of dismissal. "They don't count for nothin'. Only thing that matters to me—" He paused to brush his lips against Beachcomber's forehead—"is that you're safe and happy."
A grateful smile shaped Beachcomber's features as he tightly hugged Ironhide. The tears that slid down his cheeks were now ones of gratitude. "Th-thank you," he whispered.
~*~*~*~
"'S nothin', 'Comber," Ironhide replied, gently stroking his partner's helm. He chuckled lightly. "Gotta give you credit for being able to hide it for so long."
"I l-learned little tr-tricks," Beachcomber replied softly. "H-how to spit i-it all out at o-once, av-v-void certain words on my bad days…"
Ironhide brushed his thumb over Beachcomber's lower lip. "Ya ain't gotta do that with me, 'Comber," he softly reassured. "If it happens, it happens." He lightly kissed the smaller mech. "'Sides… makes ya even sweeter."
A lopsided grin, on he reserved strictly for Ironhide, stretched across Beachcomber's features as he tightly hugged him. "It's g-g-gonna be okay now…" Whether the words were a promise to Ironhide or to himself was unclear, but they were a promise nonetheless.
~*~*~*~
I love the idea of Beachcomber stuttering. I fudged my way through it for a brief appearance by his TFA counterpart in The Invictus, but then it worked its way over to G1 and there it was and damnit I love it. it’s charming and sweet. *wannahugBeachcomberplz*
As to Ironhide and Beachcomber as a pairing? Simply this:
“Ah’m gonna brave the cold an’ wind an’ fire an’ Megatron an’ the entire Decepticon army to save Optimus Prime!”
“D-D-D-Don’t forget your j-j-jacket.”
Don’t lie. You found that cute as shit.
Seriously, the contrast is sweet: Beachcomber is a card-carrying pacifist, and then you have Ironhide, who’s rather like an M&M—hard and red on the outside, and soft and sweet on the inside. :3
