AN: This piece is complete. It was inspired by prompts from the Livejournal Community 1_Sentence. I was originally going to do all 50 prompts (properly - 1 sentence each), but life happened and this piece remained partially unfinished and rambling around my flash drive. So I chucked the rules...

Arrivals

~Hands~

When the Ark team made planet fall, Wheeljack was among the first to descend from the ship. And Ratchet, stepping apart from the others to greet him, was not prepared for his lover to grasp both of his hands and slowly—so slowly—run his forefingers over the fine seams and sensitive plating that was common to medics, sending a shudder through Ratchet's frame and spurring a low, curious murmur among the humans present.

~Completion~

Ratchet was a shaking mess by the time they made it to his quarters, dermal plating hot to the touch, spark crying out for a connection that had gone one hundred vorns without being made. When it came, with Wheeljack above him, facial structures twisting in a mix of pain or pleasure, Ratchet welcomed the rush of his lover's energy through his systems.

~Comfort~

He couldn't pinpoint what he felt, holding Wheeljack to him. It was thick, spiced energon, the smoothing of a newly welded seam on an injured comrade, homemade oil cakes, watching the dawn break over this new planet and light the horizon with colors in a combination he'd not seen anywhere else, staying online to ridiculous hours and finding every reason to stay late in the recharge berth the next morning. It was peace, it was safety, it was home.

~Name~

In those first cycles after their original meeting on Iacon, Wheeljack had repeated Ratchet's name so often, at the end of so many questions and statements, that Ratchet had wondered if it wasn't some kind of nervous glitch. Hundreds of years later, on Earth, Wheeljack would confess that he'd just liked the feel of it in his mouth, rolling out of his vocalizer.