Whirl and Fortress Maximus Do The Lost Light. (Wherein the crew of the Lost Light has too much of a good time, leaving Whirl and a confused Fortress Maximus to save them.)
Title: If You Can't Stand The Heat
Warnings: A heat virus is loose on the Lost Light, and thus, here there be heavily implied acts of sexual nature. Don't read if that's going to scandalize you.
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW, set in the middle of Season 1 of MTMTE.
Characters: Fortress Maximus, Whirl, Tailgate, Cyclonus, Trailbreaker, Pipes, Ultra Magnus, Chromedome, Rewind, Siren, Cosmos, Powerglide, Blaster, Rung, Skids, Perceptor.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): I blame Shibara.
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Part One
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Fortress Maximus had been dutifully putting in requests to see Rung for weeks. There wasn't much else he could do, what with being locked in the brig, but he did what he could. Of all the confusion that'd come out of what had happened, one thing he knew for certain was that he owed Rung an apology. He didn't know what exactly he'd say, but that didn't change the fact that he should say it. So he put in the requests.
Just as dutifully, Ultra Magnus denied his requests. Fort Max followed the proper procedures, but the request of an incarcerated, dangerous combatant to see the noncombatant he'd harmed had to be approved by a superior officer and jury of three involved peers. The vote hadn't been kept anonymous. Ultra Magnus and Ratchet had both voted approval under strict stipulations; Whirl and Rodimus had both voted denial with a few expletives attached. Fortress Maximus gritted his teeth on an angry tirade against the denials, swallowed his well-deserved portion of humble pie, and put in another request.
After weeks of denial, the last person he expected to come skidding into the brig shouting, "Request granted, now get your skidplate moving!" was Whirl.
"What the…" He straightened on the berth and stared.
The shorter Autobot rebounded off the empty duty station - no guard had shown up this shift, oddly - careened down the aisle, and flung a pair of statis cuffs through the cell bars. "Here! Take these, and be prepared to use them!" He zipped back up the aisle, faceless head bent over the station console, and pincers went to work typing in the passcodes. "Blah dee blah blah. Yeah, yeah, authorization code this, verify that, I should have just started shooting." He glanced up and did a double-take. "No, not on you! Frag, now I have to - " A pincer slapped down on the console, and Whirl bustled around the station as the bars powered down. "Yo, U.M.!" he called back toward the console's comm. mike. "I need your cuff code!"
Fort Max just held his cuffed wrists out and blinked, wondering when he'd gone mad. "Why give me cuffs if you didn't want me to use them?" He'd thought it was just part of Whirl's endless refusal to comply with regulations that the cuffs had been flung into the cell instead of put on him. Apparently not, if the frustrated huff was anything to go by. Whirl raised the bars and nabbed him by the cuffs to pull him out. Well, not that anybody Whirl's size could actually pull him around, but Fort Max knew prison procedures inside-out and backward. Prisoner compliance was the only thing that garnered leniency on behavioral reports that, in turn, affected parole or requests. He'd comply with Whirl pulling him around until he could pound the annoying glitch into tinfoil.
The Decepticons in the cells around him stared, boredom on their faces. Whirl's behavior was weird but nothing new for, well, Whirl. They were used to it.
The duty station console bleeped as Whirl hauled him over to it. *"Why are you making that inquiry of me?"* Ultra Magnus sounded strangely harried to Fort Max's experienced audios.
"Because Roddy gave me your cuffs, and then dumbaft here put them on instead of holding onto them like he was supposed to." How could one optic glare so effectively? Fortress Maximus gazed back, unimpressed by Whirl's ire.
*"Whirl. You're not making any sense."*
"He claims my request has been passed," Fort Max said, deciding to cut off whatever blathering the rotary mech would spout next. This was sounding more and more like a prank instead of anything official, and he wasn't about to let the idiot get him in trouble by proxy. "He had the codes to open the cell, but he's objecting to me being cuffed. What's going on, Ultra Magnus?"
There was a long pause, and Whirl glared up at him. If this got the bastard into trouble, Fort Max was going to feel very smug.
*"…Whirl."* Ultra Magnus was a mech of few words, but he used those words effectively. He packed castigation and a demand for explanation into one word.
"I changed my vote, alright?" Whirl snapped, pincers still clamped on the cuffs. "I got Roddy to change his, too, so we're all agreed that Fort DumbMax here can go visit the guy who's head he blew off, and I need the slagging cuff codes!"
*"Rodimus hasn't spoken to me about - "*
"Then go ask him!"
The harried note in the Executive Officer's voice became more pronounced. *"That is not possible at this time. If I might ask, what did you say to convince him to change his mind? He seemed rather set on his vote upon the last request."
"Yeah, I bet it's not possible," Whirl muttered. "I told him it was a good fragging reason. He agreed." His tone turned snide. "You gonna tell me you disagree?"
The pause this time was odd. Then again, Whirl's bizarrely pointed swearing at the ship's Executive Officer was odd as well. Fortress Maximus was staring at the rotary mech as if he'd grown a sense of responsibility. Not only had Whirl outright sworn at Ultra Magnus, he's actually gone out of his way to emphasize the word. What was going on here?
*"I…see. Yes. I can see the logic in that reason."* There was a strange sound in the background of the transmission. Fort Max's frown transferred to the console. That sounded like an engine revving. And what reason were they talking about?! *"Bring Fortress Maximus to me immediately."* There was a short pause, and another deep grumble of overworked engines. *"Leave the cuffs on. I will take them off myself."*
"Yeah, I just bet you will," Whirl muttered as the transmission cut. "Rust my life. Didn't need any more complications." After sucking in a huge in-vent as if to calm himself, he blew it out in a supremely rude sound. "Fraggit! You!" He pointed a pincer up at Fort Max aggressively. Considering the ex-Wrecker's gangly build compared to the prison warden's, it was like watching a construct made of toothpicks face off with a brick. "You come with me, and no funny business! We've got to get from here," he pointed at the floor at their feet, "to nerd-bot's lab," he pointed to the left and downward, "and then all the way up to the bridge." The pincer swung upward and to the right. "At least, I think that's where Roddy was last." That single-optic head cocked to the side. "Huh. He's not answering comm.-calls. This's gonna be…huh. Well, whatever. We'll deal with finding him when we get around to it."
Typical Wrecker thinking. Planning ahead was for lesser mechs, in their logic. Fortress Maximus continued to be completely unimpressed by Whirl's gesticulations and yammering. "Ultra Magnus did just tell you to bring me," he sneered the words, because despite Whirl being far tougher than his build appeared, they both knew the warden was letting himself be pulled toward the door, "to him. We should be reporting directly to him, not detouring to visit…" His optics flickered as he tried to narrow down exactly who qualified as a nerd in Whirl's very large book of inane appendages to mechs' proper designations.
"Perceptor," the rotary mech said curtly, still determinedly towing the bigger Autobot toward the door. "We need to grab Perceptor. Rodimus' orders," he snidely countered Fort Max's sneer. "The captain of a ship is ranked higher than X.O., last I checked. We need to bring Perceptor to the walking sharp object," the warden thought that meant Drift, "pry Roddy off his aft," wait, off his own aft or off of Drift's aft? Whirl didn't elaborate as he continued, "bring Roddy to Ultra Fragnus, and get the slagging cuffs unlocked before they get too busy so we can actually do something."
That had been entirely too confusing. Busy doing what? "What?" Not that he wanted to feed Whirl's lunacy, but seriously. What?
Whirl smacked the door open, and Trailbreaker and Pipes fell through to land on the floor in a tangled, writhing bundle of limbs stuck in entirely too private areas for a public setting. "Is there a brig cell free?" Trailbreaker gasped from the bottom, middle, and at least one foot on top.
"Sure," Whirl said blandly, not ruffled in the slightest. "Since, y'know, he's out, now." He jerked his head at Fortress Maximus, who was trying not to gape at the pornographic display, and Pipes glanced up.
And screamed.
"Hey - oof! Ow." Trailbreaker flopped back to the floor as Pipes disappeared out the door. "Well, so much for that."
Fort Max stared at the empty doorway. "Did I..?"
"Shoot him, up close and personal? Yep." Whirl abandoned his handcuffed prisoner in favor of hauling Trailbreaker upright and briskly prodding him. "What're your fuel levels?"
The warden's staring transferred to the two smaller Autobots as Trailbreaker leaned into Whirl, purring his motor. "Not low enough to not be still interested in using that brig cell," the black truck leered suggestively. His hands wandered down toward slender hips Fort Max could have done without noticing. Augh, Primus, why was anyone looking at Whirl's hips?!
That 'fragging' reason Whirl had given Rodimus and Ultra Magnus was starting to take on an ominously literal meaning.
"Has the whole ship gone mad?" the cuffed mech asked loudly, taking a step back.
"Got it in one," Whirl snapped back. "You! Hands off the goods, and drink this." He popped his cockpit and took out a small cube of energon, shoving it into Trailbreaker's grabby hands. "Ratchet's orders. Come on," that was addressed at Fort Max, "let's get out of here before he's done!"
The bigger mech let himself be led hurriedly past Trailbreaker, who seemed preoccupied chugging the cube. Preoccupied, that was, until he evidently spotted opportunity and grabbed it with his free hand.
"Yipe!"
Whirl paused in the hallway after the door closed to tilt his head and give Fortress Maximus a quizzical look. "Did you really just…?"
"He pinched my aft," the warden defended himself, trying not to show exactly how flustered he suddenly was. He was allowed to be startled by that! "What is going on here?!"
The demand was met with a resigned shrug. "Walk and talk, come on." The pull on the cuffs was lackluster, and Whirl dropped his hold on the cuffs to trot ahead of the larger Autobot. His head swung from side to side. He looked like a reconnaissance scout in unknown territory. Which was ridiculous, because Whirl had been onboard this ship longer than Fortress Maximus had. "So, you know all the fluffy feel-good stuff Drift spouts? Peace, love, getting along with other races, all that slag. Well, yeah, could'a called this one, but that came around to bite us." They came to an intersection, and the ex-Wrecker crept up the wall like the intersecting corridor was full of rabid sparkeaters waiting to tear him apart. Bemused, Fort Max just stood there with his cuffed hands in front of himself, watching. Whirl ducked out to quickly check both ways before waving them onward. "Some kind of virus. Got into the ship's comm. suite, and suddenly everyone's interface drives are overclocked. Nobody can think straight, nobody can walk straight." He chuckled cruelly, apparently at some perverse memory. "I've seen things in the last two days that'll get me free drinks for years in any bar I care to walk in to."
"That doesn't make any sense," the warden said, unconsciously lowering his voice to match Whirl's low tone. "Ratchet could counter any virus. He's famous for his ability to manufacture cures for the impossible." After watching Ratchet synthesize a cure for the Red Rust from a tiny vial of countervirus while the medic's optics bled rust and his hands fell apart, Fortress Maximus sort of believed every rumor about the doctor's miraculous abilities. "If nothing else, just shutting down the communication suite - "
"In order: he's fragged up, too, and it was too late by the time anybody figured out how everyone got infected." Whirl's optic had tremendous emotional expression range. It gave him the impression of grimacing as the rotary mech crept up on another intersection. "Look, you aren't my first choice. Not even in the top ten. Frag, I'd have taken the Decepticon-wannabe over you. Buuuuuut," he peered around the corner, "I've been pulling emergency medical duty for a day and half. Ratchet's just barely got it together enough to give me orders about, y'know, savin' lives." He popped his cockpit again and reached in to take out two small, potent energon cubes. Fort Max started to step forward, eyeing them and wondering what was around the corner, but Whirl tick-tocked his free pincer at the cuffed mech. "Don't. You don't want to see these two like this." He glanced around the corner and took out another cube. "Whoa. Three."
That just increased curiosity all around, but the warden was still playing a good prisoner. He stopped obediently. Whirl put the cubes on the floor and scooted them around the corner with his foot. "Fuel up!"
"Come join us!"
"No!" Whirl took another peek and stiffened in alarm right before whipping around and sprinting past Fortress Maximus, hauling the big Autobot after him by the cuffs. "Run for it!"
His sense of urgency was real enough. The warden humored him for two more hallways. "Who was that?" he asked when they finally slowed back down to Whirl's long-legged lope. "I don't know many mechs by their voices alone on this ship."
Whirl looked back. "You sure you want to know?"
Fortress Maximus scowled. "Why would I ask otherwise?"
"It was Steeljaw and Sunstreaker." The ex-Wrecker hesitated oddly. "And Bob."
The gold, vain frontliner and, er, Blaster's technimal Cassette? Awkward physical compatibility at best. The last mech's name, however, he didn't recognize. "Who?"
"Uh…find out later. Mission first." Suddenly all business, Whirl trotted faster. Fortress Maximus frowned and strode after him. "So, right, where was I…oh. Okay, so everyone's so busy 'facing each other into the floors and walls that they're not remembering to refuel. I've been molested so many times trying to save these ungrateful smelt-waste gearsticks' lives," the smaller Autobot muttered as he trotted along. "I can't keep doing this. You're gonna help me put a stop to it."
The warden squinted suspiciously at Whirl. This sounded far too insane to be real life. An interfacing virus? Whirl forcibly fueling everyone? Whirl trying to save the day?
They came up on another intersection. Whirl didn't slow this time. He just hopped over the entwined pair snogging in the middle, stopping just long enough to nudge a couple of cubes into otherwise-occupied hands. Fortress Maximus uncomfortably looked away as Rewind and Chromedome immediately began feeding each other, still cooing and affectionately staring visor-to-visor. The hardline links were a bit hard to miss since Chromedome was stroking Rewind's cables with his long injector-needles and Rewind was actually wrapped in Chromedome's main cable.
One or the other of them managed to free a hand to stroke Fort Max's ankle as he carefully stepped over them. His stride hitched for just a second.
"They're probably the least pushy couple onboard," Whirl grumped, still loping forward. "Beware of threesome or moresomes. They're grabby, and they've got far too many hands to get you with."
…right. Probably good advice.
Good advice from Whirl. The world had gone mad.
"Two questions," Fort Max grunted, lengthening his stride to catch up. "One, why me? And two, what am I supposed to help you with?"
"Two answers," the ex-Wrecker snarked back. "One, duh. You're the one who's supposed to be the prison warden. What's the first thing disabled after weapons' systems when a mech's thrown into a cell?"
Ah. No wonder the Decepticons in the brig had been bored instead of frenzied. "Interface drive."
"Whole piece of hardware gets shut off," Whirl agreed. "You're just as infected as everyone else, but the virus is dormant."
"But why aren't you - "
"Not that it's any of your business," the ex-Wrecker's voice sizzled acid bite, "but I never bothered to get my interface drive switched back on after Garrus-1."
It was such a non-surprise that Whirl had been incarcerated on Garrus-1 that Fort Max only snorted contempt. Then the rest of the statement caught up with him, and the warden stopped short. "You what? That's insane!" Short term, deactivating an interface drive prevented a shipload of prisoner problems. On a longer-term scale for longer sentences, there were steps that had to be taken to prevent psychological damage. Interface drives weren't just for sex. They were physical pressure valves and social interaction on an intimate level that every Cybertronian needed, even the only release a mech got was self-service. It was still an integral part of a living being that couldn't just be cut out. Choosing not to use an active array was one thing, but to leave it deactivated for millions of years?!
Of all the things to leap to mind, the first thing out of the warden's mouth was, "Does Rung know?"
The ex-Wrecker reached back and yanked on the cuffs impatiently. "Not your business."
"This explains so slagging much about you." He reluctantly started walking again. So much. No wonder the ex-Wrecker was a walking nutjob.
"Still not your business." Whirl shook his head and started jogging. "It's not like I miss it, anyway. You want insane? You'll see insane, trust me." He laughed bitterly. "Never seen mechs go so crazy as they do when they're desperate for a frag. It's killing them, now, and they're still so busy gettin' it on that they can't care. So you're gonna help me by holding down mechs while I figure out how to shut off their hardware, too."
That almost made sense. Something was definitely wrong. "You don't know how to do it?"
"Not a clue." Whirl shrugged and skittered across an intersection quickly. Fortress Maximus looked down the hallway and wished he hadn't. That looked like a Minibot pileup on top of someone who seemed very happy. The sounds kind of echoed down the corridor, but yeah. That sounded happy. "Thing is, I lost Ratchet about a joor ago, and Ambulon was ordering First Aid, Swerve, and Brainstorm around before I got the slag out of there."
"But - "
"Not those kind of orders. Those kind of orders. I had to short out some restraints of my own to get loose." The ex-Wrecker's stabilizers shivered. "Mech's got organizational skills comin' out his ports, and now he's got other things, too." Another shiver, and then Whirl visibly dismissed the memory. "See, I can knock out mechs left and right, but whenever I think I'm safe, somebody finds me and starts feeling me up. They've got numbers on their side. Nobody's around to repair anybody I crack upside the head too hard. And I'm still trying to keep everybody fueled up, which is the most thankless job I've ever had. That includes the time - "
"I'll take your word for it," Fort Max interrupted rudely, too shaken up to care much about the obnoxious twit's ramblings. The information he was pulling from Whirl's scrambled mess of a debriefing was disturbing, to say the least. "You want me to hold down mechs so you can shut down their interface drives."
"And guard my back, and deliver cubes, and oh shove Primus in the Pit, you are the randiest one of the bunch!" Whirl came to a dead stop, glaring down the hall at…really?
There was a tiny Minibot was kneeling in the middle of the corridor. Fort Max stopped behind his, er, escort and blinked. The little 'bot was white and blue and curvy in places the warden was used to seeing sharp edges and blocky altmode kibble. It was an usual sight, maybe even an exotic one. The mech was, dare he say it, rather adorable. Perhaps especially because of the way he was on his knees, hands demurely folded together on those luxuriously rounded thighs. They just didn't make models with class like that anymore.
He was in a vulnerable, submissive position only enhanced by the way he blinked that wide blue visor up at the two Autobots looming over him. "Who, me?"
"Yes, you!" Whirl edged backward, putting Fortress Maximus between him and the plushly curved Minibot. "You can't fool me!" His voice dropped to a resentful mutter. "More than once, anyway."
A small engine hummed softly, and the kneeling Autobot looked all the way up at Fort Max. "Oh. Hello. Have I met you?"
"Only in passing," the warden answered roughly, taking a cautious step forward. As much as he knew better than to believe appearances, this little mech was far too harmlessly cute to inspire fear in him. For pity's sake, Fortress Maximus could likely pick him up and hold him in his cupped hands. It was kind of tempting, honestly. He sort of wanted to pick the innocent Minibot up, cuddle him, and protect him against the rest of the clearly insane ship's crew. There was just something about the way that visor sparkled and…and the way those smooth thighs were parting, and those teensy hands were sliding down to dip into gaps and do obscene things to the wires and cables lewdly exposed underneath…
"I'm - uh. I'm Fortress Maximus. You're Tailgate, correct?" he finished somewhat weaker than he'd started.
Whirl poked him in the tread. "Keep walking!"
"Yes," Tailgate said breathily, fingers twisting deftly as he rocked into his own hands. "Oh, yes. I'm Tailgate, and you're just the right size for what I'm thinking a name like Fortress Maximus implies about a mech. Come here and show me what you're the maximum of." He rose up on his knees, hands dragging up the inside of his thighs to come up and fondle his chest. "I'll show you what my name means."
One of Fort Max's optics twitched wider than the other. What.
"Ack!"
The warden stumbled forward and turned, suddenly shoved from behind. Whirl flailed again, but Cyclonus had him well and truly pinned.
In a hug. "Whirl," the Decepticon rasped, biting at the rotary mech's antenna hard enough to scrape peels of metal off. "Hate sex appeals to me. If I happen to kill you, it would be a better fate than what I originally planned for you."
Whirl's expressive optic conveyed horror deeper than mere words could say. "Do. Not. Want!"
"Do not care," Cyclonus snarled back, claws scraping across his enemy's body to violate sensitive areas in most unwelcome ways.
Fort Max jumped, startled by an unwelcome touch on his own body. Slightly wild-opticked, he looked down to see Tailgate all but plastered against his leg, molesting as best he could considering their height difference. The Minibot looked ready to start climbing him, however. "Ah. Tailgate? I would prefer that you not…your attentions are flattering but not something I'm interested in."
"Reason doesn't work with a virus!" Whirl barked, struggling with all four limbs and not getting anywhere. His rotary assemblies whirred at top speed, creating enough of a windstorm to send Cyclonus staggering back against the wall for balance. Tailgate might have been in trouble if he hadn't been vacuum-sealed to Fortress Maximus' lower leg. "Leggo! Do not want! Help! Rape!...fraggin' Primus, I can't believe I have to say this slag…"
"That's a - no! Please don't touch that!" Fort Max hesitated warily before bending down and plucking Tailgate from his leg with his cuffed hands. It was the obvious solution. The Minibot let go easily, which should have been a warning sign.
"Off! Off off off off ack no off! Not the cockpit! Claws off the glass!" Screeching, scratchy noises indicated that Cyclonus was not listening to Whirl's protests at all.
The warden had his own problems to deal with. Suddenly, where he'd had a cute tiny harmless Miniobot, he now had a ball of richly, almost erotically curved Autobot absolutely wrapped around his hands, writhing through his palms like he'd been greased. Those sleek curves gave no purchase for a good grip. The mech's whole frame shimmied as he rubbed and wriggled, burring that small engine in rampant arousal. Tiny white hands manipulated one of Fort Max's much larger fingers into a hot, electricity-spitting gap that just dripped charge. Tailgate revved harder and worked that finger in and out, visor bright as he reveled in the sensation.
"Whirl!" Well, that was a thoroughly undignified bleat for help.
But what else was he supposed to do? Throw the Minibot down? Whirl had already said the medics were indisposed. Tailgate clearly wasn't in control of his own actions. Anything more than self-defense would get put down on his record and count toward his brig sentence. Fortress Maximus couldn't do more than try to push the determined little mech away, but with his hands cuffed like this, it was stupidly ineffectual. It also made Tailgate cry out loudly and arch in ways that would usually grab the intense interest of a certain piece of every mech's anatomy. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Tailgate's target didn't currently have that piece activated.
Right, no more pushing.
"Hold gah!" Whirl yelped. "Hold on. If this doesn't work, I'm going to have no leverage whatsoever, so I hope you're prepared for how loud I can shriek in disgust." There were clanks and grunts, and out of nowhere a kicking mass of blue and purple tumbled across the floor. "Cyc! Look at the pretty Minibot! Hot 'bot alert! Look at him! He's ready to go and everything!"
Fort Max felt like a dirty slagger for helpfully holding out his double handful of Tailgate, but it did catch the deep red pits of Cyclonus' optics. The snarling purple warrior looked up like a hunter catching the scent of willing prey. It probably helped that Tailgate's present position was showing off a quite delectable tiny aft that bobbed and weaved as the warden kept trying to free his finger. Cyclonus' attention visibly fixated on the Minibot. Twin flares of red light reflected off that shiny white aft.
"Here, have him!" the warden urged, voice high-pitched and funny as his captured fingertip brushed against something he was going to have trouble forgetting.
"Yesssss," Cyclonus growled. "Tailgate."
Miracle of miracles, the lusty little Autobot actually paused and looked up. He reset his visor, and Fortress Maximus was surprised when the giddy brightness dimmed to a downright sultry glow. "Cyclonus." Letting go with one hand, the small mech leaned toward his habitation suitemate and made a come hither curl with his fingers. "Come here, Cyclonus."
Whirl surged up from the floor, grabbed Tailgate in one pincer and Cyclonus' remaining helm-horn with the other, and shoved them together. "Psycho Decepticony glitch, meet tiny ancient guy. Tiny ancient guy, frag him until he's sane again. I am holding this over your head forever," he informed his assailant.
Cyclonus had dismissed him from his world the moment a better interface came into it, it seemed. Whirl was ignored in favor of a far more enthusiastic playmate. Tailgate got thrown down to the floor and explored with wide palms and sharp claws.
Right up until Tailgate planted his feet against the Decepticon's midriff and flipped him up over his head to land with a terrible clatter. Quick as Blurr, the randy Minibot rolled upright and pounced the larger mech. There was a brief struggle, but it seemed Tailgate could hold his own at hand-to-hand, at least when his opponent was completely distracted by what exactly those hands were holding. After a flurry of moves and counter-moves, they just moved together.
Fort Max gaped, backing away. It wasn't so much that Tailgate was topping a notorious fighter. It was just the cumulative strangeness kicking him in the cortex all at once.
"See why I wanted the cuffs free?" Whirl spat, pulling at the warden's arm as he slid down the wall past the enthusiastic interface happening right then and there. Foreplay was a thing of the past. "Come on, before they decide we should join them."
Red optics and a blue visor flared and looked up.
Fortress Maximus and Whirl exchanged a panicked look and ran for it.
[* * * * *]
