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“Remember to bring me back a souvenir!” Jazz yelled, slapping both Ironhide and Ratchet on their backs and shoving them down the shuttle ramp. He was quick to shut the doors and make for takeoff before his former passengers could protest.It wasn’t that Ironhide or Ratchet couldn’t fly themselves down to the moon’s surface; it was that Jazz didn’t trust them to make it there, ignoring the tickets he had bought them for a week’s stay at the resort. Because Primus forbid the two lovers actually relax and get around to loving.Abandoned, with no method of transportation off the surface, Ratchet and the soldier were momentarily at a loss of what to do. A week stretched before them, seven days, though infinitesimal by Cybertronian standards of time, of no work. No weapons to tinker with or firing systems to recalibrate, the comforting scent of overheated barrels absent. And there was no illness for the medic to treat, no dents to pop out or bodies to find himself wrist deep in.Grudgingly, they eventually chose to honor the tickets instead of finding somewhere to hole up for the next few days.Arrek was the largest of five moons, three of which were inhabited. But it was no one’s permanent home; the entire moon was a resort specializing in couple’s relaxation and revival. If jet skiing and lobbing courts were what one was looking for, they’d need to jump over to the neighboring moon.Couples from all over the galaxy came to Arrek to escape or take classes on repairing their passion. Brochures boasted that of all the couples coming to seek help, 72% stayed together following their sessions.Ironhide and Ratchet didn’t need couple’s therapy. Everyone on the Ark knew, thanks to its thin walls, that theirs was a healthy, rather loud relationship. But they had no concept of how to relax and enjoy downtime. Relaxation to them was finding something to keep busy. It was Jazz’s original idea to purchase tickets and get them off ship.After checking in, the two were escorted to their bungalow. No hotel-like structures existed here; every couple was given bungalow or cabin. With high ceilings there was ample room for the two to move around, and the bed was wide enough for their kind, the king size mattress being switched out ahead of their arrival for a padded recharge slab with heated blankets. A bridge outside connected the structure to the shore, the bungalow residing not far from the center of a constructed oil lake. The resort prided itself on having amenities welcoming to organic and mechanical life alike.“So what are we supposed to do now? Take a nap?” Ironhide was less enthused about the whole ordeal than his mate. At least Ratchet hadn’t sent the whole shuttle ride down arguing with Jazz. “A nap sounds good. Or…y’know.”“Oh, I know but,” as Ironhide leaned in Ratchet maneuvered around him, instead embracing Ironhide from behind and nuzzling the base of his neck. “We do that and we’ll miss our couple’s massage.”--They were one of several pairs that showed up for the massage session. Ironhide was no math whiz and was having trouble understanding why if there were twelve people there were only six massage tables. When he heard the term ‘couple’s massage’, he assumed they would both be massaged simultaneously. But as he listened further to the session’s instructor, they would be massaging each other. It was a trust exercise, but most importantly it was one of building familiarity and learning your partners body in a method that was not of the carnal kind.“You’re first,” Ratchet spoke and nudged Ironhide towards the table. Ironhide went wordlessly, guided to his back by the medic’s hands on his chest.This massage was different than anything Ratchet had performed on him. Usually those hands were probing, seeking out trouble areas after a repair. Fingers would slip beneath armor to reset wires pulled from their housing and minuscule tools would unfurl from Ratchet’s fingertips to pick and scrape at hidden battle debris. But now Ratchet was pressing into him with full palms and sliding across plating. He began at the soldier’s neck and firmly pushed both shoulders down into the table. There was a slight pop but nothing meant to resemble resetting. Ratchet was at the head of the table, leaning over just enough that Ironhide caught the medic’s glance. Or so he thought. Ratchet’s mind was somewhere else, his entire mind seemingly focused on the task at hand. Ironhide’s eyes shut as slender fingers were drawn up over his throat, following the path of cables hidden beneath the thick plating. Then they were at his chin and cheeks and moving up until they brushed the tips of his finials. A soft peck of lips to his scarred eye and then Ratchet was shuffling to the warrior’s side to continue down.Ironhide couldn’t remember when he dozed off. It must have been right after Ratchet finished teasing his hands, tugging at his fingers and drawing intricate little glyphs along the transformation seams of his palm. When Ironhide awoke he was on his stomach. Primus knew the medic could move him as easily as wind carrying paper. Plenty of times he’d been hauled off the battlefield by Ratchet without so much as a grunt of exertion.“When…” Ironhide began, but silenced himself as he raised his head to look around. The room was empty save for the two of them.“My apologies, Ironhide. I, uh, may have spent a little extra time on your massage. You were disturbingly tight.”“Ratchet, you-”“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say.”The medic was right. He had heard that prepared speech too many times. That he was once again neglecting himself for the sake of others. Ironhide never wanted to hear his rebuttal, that this was just his nature to help others before he helped himself. Helping Ironhide off the table, Ratchet attempted to take the attention off of himself.“Did you have any activities you wanted to try?”--The cooking class was a bust. Of course the two learned a few new recipes and tips and tricks to bake the perfect cake. But that was just it: nothing they made could be consumed. Energon recipes weren’t on the menu. Ironhide would have loved to present Ratchet with handcrafted oil cake. Titanium shavings were the medic’s favorite. The top would be littered with the smallest, finest shavings while long, curled shavings circled the top edge and around the body. It wasn’t the easiest to craft, meaning the soldier only made it once or twice a year, but it was a wonderful surprise every time.Despite the resort welcoming any and all species, the number of activities suitable for Cybertronians was lamentably limited. In this corner of the galaxy, metallic species were few and far between. They too had only been passing through.Visiting a few more classes that provided no benefits usable to them, the pair ended up back at their bungalow. A shower together, then to bed, then six more days of finding relevant couple’s fun.“There is a spot of your back you missed. Want me to get it?”Ratchet hummed and passed the sponge over his shoulder. Scalding water cascaded over the two of them, falling like burning rain from the ceiling. Ironhide was at his back, pressed all up and down the length of him, a thick arm hooked securely around his waist. When he dropped his head back it fell to the soldier’s shoulder.But Ironhide instead shelved the sponge and slowly sank to his knees. Ratchet barely noticed the lack of support against his back until something hot and slick slid over his valve cover.‘That certainly got his attention,’ Ironhide thought, feeling Ratchet jerk in his hold, rocking against the warrior’s greedy mouth. His tongue played along the central seam, feeling the building heat behind the plating. Very gradually the interlocking plates retracted. But Ratchet wasn’t one to give it all up so easily. Ironhide always had to work for his reward.The faintest trace of lubricant trickled through the parting seam. Ironhide eyed it hungrily and plunged back between those quivering thighs. He sucked hard, savoring the taste like he hadn’t eaten in months and wanted more. Primus did Ratchet get wet fast.Lubricant smeared lips and cheeks and it was Ironhide’s favorite kind of facial. He would paint Ratchet’s thighs pink with his own fluids, pressing lubricant stained kisses as Ratchet bucked wildly.“To w-what do I owe this, hah, pleasure?” Ratchet’s voice hitched up an octave when that little bundle of nerves was probed, tongue rubbing torturously slow circles against it.Ironhide didn’t answer in words, his mouth full. But he palmed Ratchet’s thigh and hoisted it up and against the wall. Those swollen, soaked lips were more bared to him and he attacked them again with vigor. But he took to massaging the raised thigh with rough, battle-scarred fingers. It wasn’t absentminded stroking like he did to distract himself from his building climax. This was intentional. And Ratchet understood.What Ratchet sacrificed to care for others Ironhide gave back tenfold.Ironhide’s tongue made one more pass and Ratchet lost control. He came with another gush of fluids and spasmed hard, punching the shower wall in the heat of the moment. Ironhide’s lips were still planted to his valve, sucking and rubbing through his climax until he felt Ratchet grew weak and slump forward.The soldier lowered Ratchet’s leg to the floor and then eased his whole body down and into his waiting lap. His knees hurt. He was getting too old for this. But fuck it if making love to Ratchet didn’t make him feel a bit younger.Cradling the medic, he passed soothing strokes over arms and legs and curled his hand to cup Ratchet’s cheek. The gaze in those owlish eyes was soft and warm.“We could stay here, or I hear there’s a firework display tonight. We could watch from the deck.”Ratchet contemplated his choices and snugged up closer to his mate.“I wouldn’t mind catching the fireworks after you clean me off. But, do you mind if we watch like this?” He gestured to their current position.“I would prefer it.”