The sound of a rumbling engine block was the only sound in the room. For a moment, Rodimus tried not to look up, focusing intently on the doodles he was carving into his desk, but the rumbling got louder. "Rodimus." Here we go.
"Magnus," The younger mech uttered, looking up, and none-too-politely slapping his carving tool down. Magnus hardly seemed to care. The commander bit the inside of his cheek as his second began prattling off a series of reports.
On and on and on the mech went. About all the problems and the issues and theregulations. The former Prime pulled himself to stand, rather violently at that, shoving his chair back to clatter to the floor. Ultra Magnus faltered for only a moment, his large optics getting wider. Rodimus stood there, looming, his own optics dark. Magnus opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as Rodimus pounced him.
The red and orange mech was smaller than he, but with the momentum and the expert positioning of the mech, the larger of the two was toppled backwards. He cursed loudly, his datapads going flying and clattering to the floor. He let out a grunt as his back hit the floor, a sneer forming across his mouth.
"Fraggit, Rodimus, what the slag do you—" He started on a full-fledged rant, but was silences as his commander pressed his mouth against his. "Mmnph—?" He lifted his hands to stop him, but they only came up half way, before freezing. Rodimus' own hands lifted to cup Magnus' face between them, pulling him closer and shuttering his optics.
His large hands moved, finally, wrapping them firmly around the narrow waist of the mech on top of him. "You talk too fragging much," Rodimus muttered against his lips, earning a low chuckle from Magnus. He pushed his lips against him again, firmer this time, tracing his tongue along his lips.