Traditional disclaimer: The Transformers don't belong to me, particularly not the coneheads, but they're useless anyway. :P This fic is not to be taken seriously, by any means. Just a bit of fun after a Ramjet plot bunny popped into existence in my lap and whispered "love maulings." Also- yes, Needlenose is Thrust's dealer, and Spinister does not approve. Many thanks to Lunatron for her many, many additions to this thing. Dirge and Thrust playing Magic is her fault.
"I'm bored," Ramjet stated loudly, lying back on one of the berths in the room and staring at the ceiling. Dirge and Thrust exchanged nervous glances over their card game, both becoming increasingly uneasy. A bored Ramjet usually did not bode well for the physical wellbeing of whomever he decided would make a good 'playmate' for the day. He personally enjoyed pain, and often forgot his wingmates didn't share his opinion. Sometimes this misunderstanding equated to overly aggressive displays of affection towards his companions, while other times he'd deliberately be rough in an attempt to force his partner to beat him up in self-defense. His wingmates weren't terribly fond of Ramjet's particular brand of tender loving care, and tried to avoid it whenever possible. The black and white jet sat up, smirking at his companions.
"Neither of us are in any mood to rectify that problem, Ramjet," Dirge said, glowering in return. Thrust nodded quickly, seconding Dirge.
"Go crash a Cessna, or something," Thrust added.
"Cessnas don't fight back," Ramjet pointed out. He rose and crossed the room to his two bondmates. "C'mon, it'll be fun."
"Your definition of 'fun' and mine are two entirely different scenarios, Ramjet, and you know it. No," Dirge said, an air of finality in his tone. Ramjet pouted and stalked off to his berth again, flopping down with a gusty sigh. Dirge and Thrust quietly returned their attention to the game. They had invited Ramjet several times to join them, but he never was much for card games, strategy or otherwise. He'd rather use his time (and head) to cause massive property damage.
"I promise not to break anything," Ramjet added hopefully a few minutes later.
"No!" Thrust and Dirge shouted in tandem.
"You two are hopeless."
"Well, it's a lot safer than the alternative," Thrust grumbled. Ramjet was quiet again for a long while, either brooding or plotting, and neither of his wingmates dared to ask which.
"Ha! I win!" Thrust crowed, tossing down the last of his cards and pointing triumphantly at Dirge. "Hand it over!" Dirge groaned and went to find the 'prize'- a carefully hoarded astroliter of energon resin.
"You cheated," Dirge retorted as he keyed his footlocker.
"I did not."
"You always do, Thrust." Thrust fumed at the accusation while Dirge retrieved Thrust's winnings.
"I do not!" Thrust glowered at Dirge, furious. "Just because you don't know how to play right, you claim I'm cheating! You're just too afraid to admit that I beat you at something!" Dirge sighed, returned to the table, and flipped over Thrust's hand of cards.
"Thrust, look. There are not supposed to be five of those. You cheated."
"New edition of the game. Just released on Cybertron," the red jet said quickly, but his companion wasn't buying the lie. Dirge reached over and whapped Thrust upside the head before he settled himself back in his chair, giving Thrust a level look.
"Don't be a twit. Did you really expect me not to notice? If you'll play fair this time, maybe you'll actually win this resin." Dirge smirked and patted the flagon, setting it beside his chair. Thrust just gaped, astounded that Dirge caught him with a proverbial ace up his sleeve.
"What the pit are you two playing, anyway?" Ramjet wandered over, his curiosity finally winning over his desire to sulk.
"Some game that Needlenose gave me. He called it "Magic," whatever that is," Thrust explained as Dirge sorted the cards on the table back to their rightful owners and silently shuffled his deck. Ramjet nodded, looming ominously over Thrust, which wasn't making the red jet very comfortable whatsoever. "Oh, hey, I just remembered, I need to, um, go do something very important… elsewhere," Thrust said quickly, bolting for the door. Dirge sighed, shaking his head.
"Coward," he muttered as the door slid shut. He glanced up at Ramjet, who was leering at him, grinning like a madman. "Oh no you don't," Dirge protested, scrambling to his feet. "I said no! You are not going to touch me!" Ramjet just smirked.
"Oh, c'mon, it's not so bad," Ramjet crooned, making sure he was between Dirge and the door. Dirge frowned as he tried to devise a method of escape that kept the table between himself and Ramjet.
"Not so bad for you! I don't want to spend who knows how long at the Constructicons' mercy!"
"I'll be gentle."
"Define 'gentle,'" Dirge growled, unsure of how to get to the door while simultaneously keeping an obstacle between them.
"Relatively few vital components missing."
"Oh, how comforting. I think I'll pass." Abandoning the table idea, Dirge scooped up a chair, holding it out lion-tamer style as he tried to bypass the obnoxious jet and escape. Ramjet snickered, grabbing the leg of the chair and wrenching it from Dirge's grip. Panicked now, Dirge hurled himself towards the door, slamming a fist down on the control. Repeatedly. As hard as he could.
"Ack! Why won't it open?!" Dirge cried, pounding on it in the vain hope that perhaps using just a mite wee bit more force would persuade the nice door to open so poor, trapped Dirge could get away.
"Oh, Thrust locked it from the outside," Ramjet replied calmly, once again stalking over to Dirge.
"I'll tell you where Thrust keeps his aviation magazines!" Dirge begged, retreating to another corner of the room in his quest to Keep As Much Space Between Himself And Ramjet As Possible. The cardinal rule of Avoiding Ramjet's Advances was to absolutely, under pain of death, never ever touch him. It only made him worse. Ramjet liked pain. He thrived on it. Unfortunately, he often forgot that his wingmates simply didn't share his sentiments. He also tended to forget his own strength, and the tiny, niggling detail that neither Dirge nor Thrust were built for high-speed collisions, and thus their armor was not quite up to par for violent snuggling.
"He showed me last week, right after he got them from Needlenose," Ramjet retorted, sounding bored. "Oh, come on, cooperate, just this once!"
"Will it result in less maiming?"
"Probably not, no."
"Then why would I even contemplate cooperating?"
"Because you love me?"
"Love doesn't begin to make amends for your masochistic tendencies. Go away, Ramjet!" Dirge gave him a hearty shove and ran for it, knowing right away that touching him was the wrong thing to do. Both Dirge and Thrust had learned years ago that a creature like Ramjet could not be dealt with in a normal manner. Fending him off usually involved heavy doses of high grade, bribery, or running away until he finally gave up. Dirge had unthinkingly violated the cardinal rule. He was doomed. He'd almost resigned himself to his fate, while still attempting to run away, when Ramjet pounced.
Yes, Dirge was doomed.
~~~
The first thing Dirge saw when he regained consciousness was Ramjet's smug, pleased-with-himself look, which seemed remarkably out of place on a face currently sporting one busted optic, which was slowly oozing energon in a pink rivulet down Ramjet's dented cheek.
The second, third, fourth and fifth thing Dirge noticed were the bits of what looked suspiciously like blue fuselage embedded in the ceiling.
"…I'm not even going to ask how pieces of me got stuck up there," Dirge growled, standing and flinching away from Ramjet's silent attempt to coax him back to the berth. "Don't touch me. I'm going to the repair bay." He felt like he'd been used as a substitute ball in an impromptu game of Gestalt Mecha-Soccer… and actually looked worse. Ramjet was in a similar state, but he wasn't about to complain. Dirge fought back a snarl. His loopy bondmate was absolutely infuriating when he was in an amorous mood, and now was no exception.
Dirge took two steps and a wing fell off; Ramjet only smiled sheepishly at him when he turned to glare and retrieve his appendage. "You," Dirge hissed, pointing at Ramjet with his fallen wing, "Are going to suffer for this, you pest. Do you hear me? Suffer."
Ramjet smirked, energon still dribbling down his face. "What are you gonna do- beat me up?"
Dirge let out a wordless cry of frustration, tucked his wing under one arm, and limped off towards the repair bay as quickly as he could hobble.
~~~
Along the way to Constructicons' lair, several more pieces of armor had fallen off, he'd run into Skywarp and suffered the indignity of the other Seeker pointing and laughing, and then he acquired a following of annoying and incessantly hungry Insecticons, following his trail of leaking energon and pieces of armor while loudly hoping more bits would fall off.
"Maybe you should carry janitorial supplies, supplies," Shrapnel suggested, which only incited more giggles from the other two. "Mop up after yourself, yourself."
Dirge paused, seething, as he tried to get himself under control before he turned around and killed the Insecticons. He spun around to yell at them… and found himself facing a hallway devoid of life, though he was nearly positive he heard muffled snickering from somewhere above him. Dirge sighed and gave up, returning to his trek, in a more foul mood than ever before. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get worse, they did. Bonecrusher and Long Haul were the only two Constructicons to be found when Dirge finally arrived at his destination. He almost whimpered. It really, really wasn't his day.
"What the pit happened to you?" Bonecrusher demanded, glaring at him. Long Haul was quietly snickering behind him.
"I fell," Dirge deadpanned, hoping fervently that they'd just accept his explanation and leave it be. He clearly had forgotten that he was dealing with Constructicons, and two of the worst jokers in the lot, at that.
"You fell," Long Haul repeated crossly. Couldn't you have broken your fall on something and not made more work for me?"
"Oh, he got broken all right. With help from someone's fist," Bonecrusher added derisively. "I dunno, the white paint marks make me think that you and Ramjet were playing awful rough. How'd you fall, Dirge? Did he knock you out of the sky?"
"I fell," Dirge grated out in a hiss, "And that is all that happened. Repair me and get it over with." The two Constructicons exchanged knowing glances and went to work, sniggering and passing offensive comments about the snogging practices of the jets and the triad in general back and forth.
"Well, the real fix is to weld Ramjet to a wall and keep him there, I'd say," Bonecrusher suggested.
"I FELL."
"Sure you did." The room was silent a moment. Dirge gave Bonecrusher his darkest Glare of Doom and Bonecrusher just smirked at him before both Constructicons cracked up. Dirge, furious, bit back a retort and seethed in silence, not about to attack a Constructicon, especially not in his present condition. Maybe I'll 'accidentally' shoot him in the head during the next battle, Dirge thought, and fantasizing about the accidental assassination of the mech appeased him for the time being. He knew better than to actually give it real thought; not only would Megatron have his head for taking out part of a combiner, the other Constructicons would make certain he was maimed far, far worse than anything Ramjet would ever dream of. Scrapper would probably use me to make a building, Dirge thought uneasily. I think I'll pass on that one.
He ignored the derogatory comments from the two, letting his mind wander as it would while they repaired him. He was inordinately pleased to have his wing reattached, along with the other bits of armor he'd lost. A few had to be replaced entirely, because they'd been snitched by the Insecticons before he realized they'd fallen off, and others were crumpled beyond repair. I don't mind Ramjet being …overzealous at times, but this is ridiculous, Dirge fumed internally. Masochist, doesn't he realize that I'm not terribly fond of pain? Idiot… Dirge continued to think angry thoughts in Ramjet's general direction until he was finally pieced back together again and summarily kicked out.
Dirge wandered the halls, not terribly interested in returning to the triad's quarters, as that would mean facing Ramjet again, and a smug, satiated Ramjet was almost worse than a bored one. He noticed a familiar red and black form out of the corner of one optic and turned, a slow smirk creeping across his lip components. He sidled up to Thrust, wrapping an arm around his wingmate's air intakes and in general making the jet very, very nervous.
"Um… Hi, Dirge," Thrust said shakily, not daring to look his companion in the optic. "What brings you here?"
"Thrust, do you remember that time back at the Academy, when I tried to rip out your fuel line?"
"Um… What if I say I don't?" Thrust asked, amber optics wide.
"I'll have to remind you." With that, Dirge pounced.
Yes, Thrust was doomed.