Slender digits trail along the overlapping plating on Dreadwing's forearm. It startles the bulky Seeker at first, but he calms at the brush of a familiar field against his own. Turning his helm, he meets the red optics of his own reflection in the side of the dark visor. Those same digits bring him to reality as they rasp along his plating, and he watches as the Decepticon spymaster walks past him in the hallway.
He thinks for a moment the other mech has simply offered him a greeting in passing. A moment later, however, Soundwave glances back at him over his shoulder. He meets the Seeker's gaze for a klik. The stoic third-in-command cants his faceplate down and then up again.
Dreadwing realizes he is being asked to follow.
Their path leads them to the flight deck. The azurite skies are clear above them, a sight the lot of them have grown accustomed to in their time on this backwater planet. A strong but fair wind buffets against and slips beneath their plating. It tickles at protoforms and tugs at wings. A fine day for a flight - and an even better day for a chase.
When the dark mech moves, it is a blur. One moment he is poised on the deck, so still that it seems the world stops just a moment in awe of his quiet beauty. The next he is leaping into the open air and shifting and taking off all the in space of a sparkbeat. Heatwaves from the jet's boosters blast his faceplates and something instinctively clicks in his processor.
One, two, three strides and he transforms and follows Soundwave's lead. And indeed, the other mech seems to be leading him, playing the second-in-command as easily as one might play an Iaconian lyre. Yet there is no ill-intent there, only the playfulness and mischief that was the birthright of all flight frames.
As conspicuous as his playmate's altmode is against the midday sky, spotting him in the cloud banks below the Nemesis proves to be something of a challenge. Following Soundwave's thermal trails only gets him so far. The spymaster makes sure that is not very far at all, and the Seeker soon loses the jet amidst the white.
Dreadwing's engines rattle in what is most certainly not the Cybertronian equivalent of a pout. He barrel rolls more than once to clear away the offending clouds, dives sharply this way and that. He even executes an expert loop-de-loop, but none of his maneuvers serve to flush out or entice or otherwise coax his partner from hiding.
A sonic boom nearly offlines his audials as Soundwave shoots like an arrow from below. Dreadwing is on his heels in an instant, and he has no intention of losing track of him this time. His engines work overtime as he struggles to match the spymaster's pace and finally catch up with him. His frame is overheating and the larger mech feels as if he might combust at any moment, but it is worth it when he comes abreast with his wingmate.
Higher and higher they climb into the sky, leaving cloud and ship and even the atmosphere far behind. Yet as blue fades to black around them and as stars bloom in the dark, he has optics only for the mech flying beside him. Close as they are, he can feel Soundwave's field again. The Seeker's spark spins a little faster to find his breathless excitement mirrored in his partner.
At the height of their ascent, just as frost begins to nip at their alerions, they shift as one. Dreadwing's servos stretch out, and the jet's digits are there to slide between his own. The bulkier mech pulls the other against his chassis. Their ex-vents turn to so many floating ice crystals at this altitude, mingling and innumerable as the stars. Arms folding tightly around the slight frame in his arms as Soundwave does the same.
And then they fall.
Winds shriek past them and block out all other noise. Even as they plummet back towards the planet below, he feels curiously weightless. His ex-vents are stolen by their speed and their descent, and it is all he can do to hold his companion tightly against him. There is no room for doubts or fear or anything else in this moment, save themselves simply living in it.
Dreadwing presses his faceplate against the spymaster's visor, pressing small kisses to other's finials and nuzzling every inch of that beautiful helm he can reach. Soundwave's thighs locks around his hips, pedes tucking behind Dreadwing's knees. The large Seeker moans softly against his neck as those digits dip into transformation seams and stroke along hidden cabling. And, for a few sparkbeats, they can pretend that nothing else matter as they fall, that nothing else exists.
Too soon comes the moment they must part, and Dreadwing is not too proud to whimper his loss as the dark mech gently pushes their frames away from one another. Once Soundwave has enough room, he transforms and flies away once more. And once more the Seeker follows his lead, shifting bare yards from the earth below and sending dust flying as he banked and charted a course for the Nemesis.
Their time together is far from done, however, if the suddenly sultry flair in Soundwave's field as he passes overhead is anything to go by. Dreadwing's smiles to himself, engines roaring heartily. Long after they have found a place to let their passions run free, his spark is still spinning from the sweet thrill of it all.