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Ficlet Name
Uncertain Certainty PART 1
Summary
Short sweet & fluffy story of Cyclonus & Tailgate as a pairing. 99% non-smutty, this time.
Pairing
Cyclonus & Tailgate (w/ mild-mentioned Chromedome & Rewind)
Warnings
Eensy bitty bit of spike; nothing terribly graphic. No smut this time, sorry!
972 Words
Tailgate figured it out.
He was positive he'd figured out why Cyclonus even looked at him, let alone taught him to sing, taught him Old Cybertronian, carried him to their quarters when his legs wouldn't transform back, even helped him pick up the pieces of the vial of innermost energon he had made him (admittedly Cyclonus was the one that broke it, but still.)
Primus.
Primus was why.
Primus stuck him in that godforsaken hole in the Mitteus Plateau, and Primus was rewarding him his patience and perseverance the 6 million years he was stuck down there with Cyclonus' attentions.
...No, no that's not it either. Cyclonus, fearsome warrior Cyclonus is not some cog in Primus's plans with Tailgate's life. Psh.
Frag, this was hard.
Especially when Tailgate was, admittedly, a little overcharged, sitting in Swerve's bar, staring across the room at Cyclonus. When he saw Cyclonus, everything else seemed to melt away as if to give Tailgate time alone with the warrior that the warrior wouldn't give on his own. When Cyclonus spoke to him, even when he yelled and Tailgate was sure he'd be at least missing a limb in the next few seconds, his spark pulsed erratically in his chest. Not with fear, at least not for the most part, but with something he couldn't quite place any amount of digits on at all. The whole thing was starting to look like the most ridiculous riddle.
"-ailgate, what about that?"
Someone speaking Tailgate's name finally brought him back to reality in the Lost Light as he reset his optics a few times and looked around the table to see who exactly had spoken to him, which didn't help as the entire table was staring straight at him.
"Sorry, what was that? uh.."
Whirl spoke up, Primus-god-forsaken Whirl, swirling his at least 26th cube of Engex before he drank it all in one go. Just how large of a tank does Whirl have, anyway?
"I said, what about your whole...obsession with one-horn-short-of-a-full-set, anyway?"
The table laughed at Whirl's joke -it was obvious he wasn't on about the horns on Cyclonus's head- and Tailgate reset his audials a few times and played it back in his head to make sure he heard right. Obsession? He wasn't obsessed...
"Obse-obsession? No! There's no obsession! Who said anything about an obsession!?"
"Riiight, and you weren't just staring at Cyclonus from across the room the entire time it took Swerve to finish a sentence."
Swerve snapped his head over to Skids and began quite loudly and drunkenly shouting something, a lot of somethings, about how he does not in fact run his mouth, causing the entire table to break into more loud "discussions", thankfully none of which had to do with Tailgate or Cyclonus. Tailgate stayed a few more moments, turning his audials down as so they don't shatter with the sound of Skids' grappling hook plowing straight into Whirl's single optic'd face, as was the usual, to look around and see who was left in the bar. Virtually no-one, except Rodimus trying to seduce pretty much anyone at all, which meant Cyclonus had taken his leave.
With no more real reason to remain, the minibot took the loud opportunity to slip away undetected, heading straight for his and Cyclonus's shared quarters, only to walk right into what felt like the surface of the sun.
Cyclonus was sitting on his berth, his back to the door, all his engines going full blast. As a flier model, his engines burned much hotter and much louder than most other mechs - meaning in a small, contained area like their living quarters, they would easily heat the room up from room temperature to blistering. Tailgate tried to shout over Cyclonus's engines to see if he was alright, only to find he couldn't even hear himself over them. Clambering onto the berth proved ineffective, as the entire thing was about as hot as molten lead. He considered calling Ratchet for a moment until he heard something he thought he would never, ever hear from Cyclonus - a needy groan. Tailgate ran to the side to try and see if Cyclonus was in pain at all, his comm-link set to emergency frequency, pre-prepared incase Cyclonus did need medical assistance, but instead of a gaping wound or a pained expression, he saw a sort of pleasure he thought he'd never see on Cyclonus's face, optics closed and teeth clenched in hisses of pleasure, his first rough, war-scarred clawed hand wrapped around his thick, leaking spike and squeezing it with about as much pressure as he could manage without making the thing fall off, and his other gently scraping at the first set of doors to his spark chamber.
In his shock upon seeing his roommate and...interest in such a private, intimate state, Tailgate did not notice the searing heat beginning to build in his own panel, nor did he notice Cyclonus's optics snap open the second the minibot turned tail and ran out of there as fast and far as possible.
His first thought was to return to the bar, but everyone had been sent back to quarters or brig (Whirl, as was the norm) by Magnus, and all he could hear was the sounds of Swerve cleaning up the bar to prepare for tomorrow. All sounds stopped when the barkeep no doubt heard Tailgate's pedes outside the door, but the minibot instead chose to not bother his admittedly rather open-mouthed friend with his issue and instead went to the only other place he ever seemed to go - Rewind's.