Twisting in the Wind
"Commander Cyclonus," heavy pregnant pause, "…we need to talk."
His spark thumps extra hard. The time has come, and he's still not ready. He should be, but this is the final move. After this, there is no turning back.
"Yes, General, on my way." He closes the line and turns. She's still asleep. Does he wake her or does he just leave for this fateful meeting? If he leaves, one he will never forgive himself, and second, with a rueful smile, he will wish he had been killed in battle rather than by her own hand for breaking his promise to her.
Curling over her, he whispers in her audio, "Babe, it's time."
She rolls into his sunset chest and buries her face. "Couldn't they have given us a few more moments before they march us into the Pit?"
Cupping her well muscled aft, tightens his own thickly corded thigh over her hip. Locking her to his own body. "You don't have to go with me. You can -"
Her finger tips pinch his lips shut even though she doesn't move her face from his throat. The conversation has been sealed off. So he leans in and presses the pinched lips to her forehelm.
"Are you scared?" She asks releasing him.
"Terrified. Not for me or you, but where this is going. It's going to be ugly. A lot of lives are going to be lost. We could… loose it all."
"Primus will guide us."
The dark helm shakes, "I really hope he knows what he is doing because I can not see this ending well."
The alarm goes off. It's time to face the music. She reaches up and kisses the under side of his chin, "Do we have time for one last shower together before we face the firing squad?"
Rolling and lifting her, he beams, "I will make time. Death can wait for you." With that, her silent tears bury into his neck, legs latched around his trim waist, claws digging into is shoulder blades aching to hold onto every last moment with her mate.
No big surprise that the shower turns into a romantic last love making. Slow, painfully needed, and beautiful. He always did find her form beautiful in the sleek and yet toned Lear Jet form. But here in her soft powder white protoform, more stunning. Her natural form. His spark mate.
Likewise, her hands can not get enough of feeling his pulsing spark under her palms. The tight abs, the thick thighs, even his light and agile pedes in a deep sunset orange. The calming soothing color. Much like the soft warmth of a wood-fire's dying embers. It calls you home. It keeps you warm and … "Cyclonus," her voice whispers out his name as they huddle together in the rapidly cooling water.
"I know Babe, I know." He tries to protect her with his own arms, but they too are trembling. As is his whole body. "We must face them. We can not hide like petro rats. After all, we do have our pride. We have our honor. We have our obligations to Cybertron."
Nodding her head she looks up into his soft red embers, "Of course. You're right." She beams her smile at him reminding them of their dignity and rank. "I stand by your side."
"And I by yours." He cups her face and kisses her warmly.
~~00~~
Striding down the halls of Fortress Maximus they make quite the pair. One deep dark with vibrant but thin glowing orange highlights. While the other is pure white light with sky-blue trim.
Commander Cyclonus is so dark, you would think his color is black. That is until he IS standing next to a black bot and then you notice, it's actually deep purple. His orange accents bleed into the darkness, almost like they are diluting black into it's purple spectrum. It works well for his duty assignment.
Skyfire and Starscream may lead the Elite Seeker's Guard just as General Ultra Magnus leads the Cybertronian Army. But just as Commander Springer handles the Black Ops of the Wrecker's Division that the General washes his hands of (or sweeps under the rug) Starscream shoves missions to Cyclonus that need to be done without his own name being tarnished.
Cyclonus doesn't care. He doesn't want recognition. Is he paid well? Will he always have a home (with out energy bars holding him in)? Will he have a bottle of high grade on his desk? Can he choose his teams? Then so what. He doesn't care. All for the protection of his home: Cybertron. He will do anything to protect her.
Anything….anything. Including turn his back on her recognized military in order to serve the uprising that seems to have a better plan to protect his home.
A hand squeezes his. He turns to his spark mate. Her nervous smile reminds him he is not walking this alone. It still fries his processor the incredible moment they met.
~~….
He and his team of three have slipped in under the cover of night. The target, sound asleep in his hovel of hideout, never saw it coming. Nor did he.
No one steals weapons from the Elite Guard and brags about it…twice. Once is all you get and then you are made an example of….twice.
The plan had been simple enough. These punk-aft thieves will never learn. So arrogant and cocky. So full of themselves. Thinking they are so…
Shwack.
The Black Ops Commander whips his helm around in time to see Dirge thrown off trajectory and spin in crashing to the ground unceremoniously. Okay, he can still do this with two.
Shwack.
Thrust, standing on the lookout post across the street, crumples. That's not good.
Slinking back into the darkened hollow, he uses his deep colors to blend into the shadows. And there, he sees it. A wisp of streaking moonlight right over Thrust's position. Near silent, he watches. She lands in the light letting it hide her. Light as moonlight. Dark as night. He sees her, does she see him? Her head turns, she searching for him. She knows he is here someplace.
Taking her time scans the area. Hidden where he is, his energy signature is masked, with his upgraded scrambler.
She backs again and he gets a good look at her. He may not be a player of sparks, but he is also no recluse either. Well, a little. But he knows a fine set of femalely attributes when he sees them. On top of that, he knows a skilled espionage expert too when he sees one. Wrapped up in one bot, he knew he was slag on a stick now. She riled things in him that makes him furious with himself!
Get your head together, Commander. Finish the mission. That's part of her charm, distraction.
By the time he is done resetting his optics and processor, she's gone. He takes a few more moments to gather his wits and then moves. Slipping through the open window, searches the hovel. It's not very big but the mech is smart enough not to sleep in his berth. No, that's were all the weapons are stashed. So where is the mech?
Sh-
Curl. He heard the beginning sound that had taken out his teammates and curled flat to the floor. The dart embedded in the wall just above his helm. There on the floor, he sees the drips of Energon before his nose. Still wet, still dripping. He rests his right cheek to the floor and trains his optic up to the ceiling. Yep, there it is, the hammock dripping of life fluids. Someone beat him to it.
Ooofff!
The lighter, but muscled frame of a femme lands on his back, pinning his wrists to the floor with her knees. She says nothing. He feels the blow dart pressed up against his neck. She can't miss.
She inhales and he jerks his helm. He had nothing to loose. Hiking his aft off the floor, sliding his knees under him, bucks her. She rolls to the side and he takes the upper hand in pinning her hands to the floor and looking into her sky blue optics.
She's not mad. She hasn't given up either. Planting her pedes, jerks her own hips up. His technique, reversed. Even his heavier weight is not a problem. He's not that much heavier than her, after all. He rides the buck.
She only tries twice then figures this won't work. So she relaxes completely. He's not fooled. The limp routine will not work either. Nor is she giving up.
Rolling her helm back, latches onto his angry red optics. Who is going to make the next move?
"Sorry to cut in on your action, but I do get paid well for doing my job. You will not rob me of my credits for his head."
He ponders this for a moment. "All you want is his head?"
"Why, what do you want?"
"Answer my question." he grinds her wrist into the dirty floor.
She may grimace, but she doesn't cry out. She is no weakling. Good gosh if she wasn't a hired hit-bot, he could really go for her! He mentally shakes his processor to get it to come back in alignment.
For her, she is no fool either. She knows this well skilled mech as well. Bot's don't normally duck out of her blow dart. She smiles. She could really go for him if he isn't going steal her prize. He'll have to die before she will let that happen.
"I just need his head. You can have the rest."
"Why?" He carefully releases and then thrusts his weight back down. A move to let her know, he still has her pinned by his weight. And not just his physical weight, but weight of duty to a task. Honor.
Honor? Oh my! This mech is something else.
Neither asks the blasé questions of name, designation or affiliations. No, just to their mission. Who's mission overrides the other's?
"What do you want?" She asks.
"I need his servos and spinal support rod."
She grins, "So what do we do with the rest of him?
"I don't want it."
"I don't either," she can't help but giggle a little making her chest thump up and down against the filthy floor.
He releases her wrists and crosses his hands over his chest. A rare smile crosses his face. He can't help but give a soft chuckle. It's to funny. They both came to kill the same mech, and yet only need a small portion of him. The rest is… garbage?
She sticks out her Energon clean servo, "Leara."
He sticks his out but gives her the name he gives at the bars, not his real one. "Twist."
She frowns. She knows that cocky look on his face.
He cocks his helm to the side, "Oh please, that's not your real name either."
She squirms and hitches, "Could you move just a little to the right. You're digging into a transformation seam."
Spreading his legs wider, leans down bringing his fists to the side of her helm. He isn't going to let his prey up, but nor is he going to harm the femme any more than need be by placing his full weight on her light pelvic plates.
"Thank you," a relieved sigh escapes.
They both continue to stare at each other. How can this be happening? They are both just so calm that his mission got blown by her and she is trapped by him now. And no one is too concerned about trying to kill the other. This is just… surreal.
"Your team will come round before daybreak with one Pit of a headache."
"Um-hum," he takes in the fact without moving.
She cants her helm the other way, "So, Cyclonus, going to let me up or not?"
His brow arches. But then again, he shouldn't be that surprised. Lucayana the Huntress' blow dart is quite well known. As well as her severed head service. He just never thought she was this beautiful or charming. This was not in her files. No picture is known for her. For her near silent flight abilities and blow dart does it's job before anyone notices.
The only reason her name is known is because of a few senators who have hired her services. Heh, a few have even been the other end of her services as well. Not that he minded, they were corrupt or else she wouldn't have been hired to get past the Seeker Elite Guard.
"Hungry? I'm ravenous." And her empty tank grumbles beneath his body. This time he does visibly shake his head. The truth? She just laid out the truth several times for him.
"I know this place is a dump, but he has to have something and seeing how he won't be using it anytime soon… well I'd hate for it to go to waste."
He lifts one leg and reaches over to grab her blow gun, "Think I'll hold onto this, if you don't mind."
She rolls to her side and curls her neck down and back. Blinking those innocent looking baby blues at him, "I don't mind. I have more where that came from."
He lashes out to catch her arm, but she rolls quickly kicking his arm away, "Tisk tisk, Commander. Truce, I'm hungry."
"For what?"
Now her optics are mean and hard, "I'm NOT that kind of femme. And I will kill you if you try!"
He flashes his palms up making it clear he has no plans to attack her that way.
She sighs in relief. She know he is known for his honor. A mech of his word, even if he is Black Ops.
Curling to a stand, she flicks to the dead body dripping on the floor, "You skin him, I'll grill em."
He just gapes. Is she serious?
"Oh holy Primus, NO!" She shakes her own head back at him, "How did you ever make it to commander?"
Narrowing his optics, he makes it clear not to question his honor or intelligence. "Sorry."
Once again his mouth gapes. That was a very sincere apology.
"You're going to catch a fly in that trap if you don't close it." And sashes away towards the cabinets.
"Primus help me," he thumps himself in the forehelm with the heel of his palm. 'Yana laughs.
Leaping on top of the cabinets shows how she had already decapitated the mech in his hammock when Cyclonus had interrupted her. With a slice-slice, the hammock falls to the floor at his feet making the puddle of spilled Energon splatter up, tainting his armor.
"Hey! Geez!" Flicking his fingers down to his spoiled appearance, snarks, "I do have a reputation as well, you know."
"Oh I do know of your reputation. Two drinks, three hands, and no femme in …umm…" taps her chin digging through her files on him.
Once again his gaze darkens this time while he pulls the blade from his boot cuff. He waggles the tip in her direction, "Careful there."
Leaping down, she scoops up the severed head, "Oh really? What's a stake? Your spi-"
The reference to his personal appendage quickly is swiftly silenced by a hand to her mouth, not her throat. The head falls from her open palm, "Look, I really don't care who you are or what you want. Just leave me out of your little game. Just because some of us don't choose to whore ourselves out, doesn't give you the right to chastise rest of us." He waits until her optics go dark. He presses his hip against hers, not to make an offer, but to keep her from making her strike.
"Now if you don't mind, I shan't be dining with you. I do have a mission to finish." With an extra shove to her mouth, reminding her to keep it shut. He heads back to the kill and takes the servos in nothing flat. Flipping the dead body over, swiftly makes his cuts (like boning a fish) and yanks the spinal rod loose. He tosses his prizes down onto the weapons cache. As he turns, she is already gone with her head. Wrapping up the supplies, tosses it over his shoulder like a dead body.
Carefully checking around, makes his way into the night back to his cloaked shuttle. He cusses Now to go back and extract his two fallen teammates and drag them back to the shuttle. This mission has become complicated and exasperating.
Landing back at Moon Base 1, the medics are waiting as he had requested. Starscream as well. His optics go wide at his most careful and even keeled soldier looking frazzled, exhausted and Energon splattered. Not at all his standard operating procedure. "Cyclonus, care to explain?"
Slapping his boxed parcel into his CO's hands, he snaps, "No, I do not." Starscream blinks as the midnight mech moves past. "I'm hitting the showers if anyone cares."
"Uh I need your debriefing, Commander."
Cyclonus points to his incriminatingly stained peded, "I thought my job was to keep your servos clean? Do you really want footsteps leading straight to your office?" He cants his helm waiting for an answer.
"Right, I can wait."
"The weapons are on board too along with his spine, be careful."
"Understood. I'll get the shuttle scrubbed down."
Cyclonus passes a hand through the air, "No, I've got it. My shuttle, my job. I want no one touching her."
Starscream laughs lightly over his shoulder, "Make her sound like a lover."
Cyclonus can't help but smirk, "She is sometimes my soft place of peace to rest at times." With that shrugs and heads to the officer's wash racks.