A/N: Man, I suck at crossposting... Anyway! I don't remember what made me think of this, but the idea stuck in the back of my mind for days before I finally squeaked it out just before Femslash February. Honestly, it was probably only using that as a deadline that I managed to wrestle the right words into the right shape, heh. Still, I enjoyed writing this the whole way through. Now canon-divergent in that there's reference to Rung still practicing but this assumes Skids is not, never was and would not become his patient. Because OTP blinders. Enjoy!
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Relative to their sizes and frame types, Rung and Skids come out of recharge at the same pace. Relative to each other, Rung is the quicker of the two to rise, typically up and moving around by the time Skids is finished coming online.
Something is different this time around. Perhaps Rung was slower than usual to slip into recharge and needed a few extra minutes before his systems booted up, perhaps he was just comfortable. All Skids knows is that Rung is only just sitting up beside him when his optics light up and fall upon him, the ghost sensation of Rung's touch still on his face.
Rung doesn't notice him wake up– too accustomed to his few moments of solitude after waking, maybe– and turns without a word to slip off the slab. Skids jolts, air stutters in his vents and he reaches out to catch Rung by the hip before he can get up. Rung startles and glances back over his shoulder, eyebrows knit.
"Is everything okay, Skids?" he asks.
"Yeah, I– sorry, yeah." Skids gentles the hand on Rung's hip, draws it up and over his side then pauses when the tips of his fingers whisper over the base of Rung's neck. He asks in turn, "This okay?"
Rung nods, looking unsure but not uncomfortable. Skids means to hold eye contact but can't keep his gaze from slipping back to the expanse of Rung's bare back as he walks his fingertips down Rung's spinal strut. Expanse is the wrong word, really. Rung is small, narrow, and his back looks even more so compared to the usual bulk and kibble of his backpack. This isn't nearly the first time Skids has seen it– he's seen Rung use the wheelbarrow function of his pack and of course he's seen Rung remove the pack to make recharging more comfortable– but there's a difference to waking up to it that Skids can't quite explain. Something about the dark, the quiet, the two of them alone; something about the intimacy. Skids wonders if this is what nudity is like for races who regularly wear coverings.
He wonders and his fingers continue to wander, mapping out the smooth curve of Rung's paneling, significant only for its lack of features. He runs his touch over every inch of Rung's back and then starts again from a different point, follows a different path. He waits for familiarity or maybe wakefulness to steal away the novelty but it never does.
Rung, for his part, sits and watches Skids watch himself touch Rung. Skids can feel the weight of his gaze like a touch in and of itself. The urge to press into it as Rung has begun to press into his own touches crawls under Skids's plating like an excess charge.
There's no telling how long Skids could stay sprawled on his side, etching into his processor a shape and feel already committed to memory, if he had nothing else to do. No telling how long Rung would let him if he didn't likewise have a full schedule. As it is, Skids's internal chronometer pings him a reminder a moment before Rung synthesizes a cough and leans just out of reach.
"I'm afraid I have an appointment soon," Rung says.
"Hmm, then I better get up and make sure you consume some real fuel," Skids says back with a grin, finally looking away from Rung's back to meet his eyes. He's slow to pull his hand back; it hangs there between them, fingers curling in on his palm like baby steps. He blows air through his vents as though to clear dust and sits up himself.
Rung shakes his head– ostensibly at Skids's comment, but probably also to clear it– and finally stands. He moves with a sure step to where his backpack rests on his desk, but hesitates a moment before picking it up. Skids can't explain why any more than he can explain his sudden fascination with Rung's back, but he's gratified when Rung casts a glance his way before reaching to snap it into place. Skids can't– doesn't try to– hold himself back from going over to assist. He sneaks in another fondling touch before settling it on and then runs his hands down the seams where it meets Rung's frame, seeking the crannies where he can dip his fingertips in between and memorizing them for later.
"If you're quite through," Rung says as he steps out of reach, firm but smiling. There's an air of bewilderment about him, but it's clear he's open to whatever game Skids is playing.
Skids chuckles and raises his hands as if in surrender before placing one on Rung's shoulder and gesturing him ahead with the other.
"I'm quite through," Skids assures him. Then, leaning to speak directly into his audial as he guides him towards the mess, he adds, "At least for now."