glossa - (n.) A Greek word meaning "tongue" or "language"
"So then I shot out its optic, ya know, because I had that straight shot lined up - "
"Yeah, you keep telling us about that." Moonracer teased.
"And bam!" Firestar's shout was loud enough to make the small company of femmes jump, then freeze as they strained their audio receptors to listen for followers. After an intense raid the motley group was now drudging through one of Cybertron's underground tunnels. Usually the Femme Contingent preferred the tunnels built only thirty or forty levels down - the ones deep enough to protect against sensor sweeps from the surface but mappable and manageable. A snag in their latest raid however found Shockwave and his drones pursuing them farther than usual. So far that the only tunnel opening available to them was the sixty-eighth: one of the levels that hadn't been tended since the early vorns of the war, which now meant it was filled with unidentifiable goo, scraps of metal, narrow portions, probably a few corpses, and all the things that made it near impossible to navigate. But presently all was quiet, so all was good.
"Primus, Star," Greenlight scolded from the back of the group as the four of them began walking again. "Just comm Shockwave our position, won't you? Make sure to tell me before though. I wouldn't want to be there when he invaded the base and killed us all and stuck our helms above his monitor like some kind of sicko."
"Calm down and stop exaggerating, Greenie." Moonracer smiled back at her. They all knew Greenlight had a habit of hyperbole. Sort of like Red Alert, but without the psychotic paranoia glitch.
"Anyway. Bam!" Firestar whispered the sound effect this time and instead used a hand gesture to make it more dramatic. The others rolled their optics. "Instead of using the straight shot that I had so painstakingly lined up to take out one drone, I took out not one, not two, but three of 'em! At the same time. With one shot. Practice makes perfect, ladies." There were scoffs and good-natured jibes lobbed down the tunnel.
Without warning, Chromia's pede caught on a piece of debris stuck under the sludge. She flailed (that detail was ignored by three femmes who preferred their helms right where they were) and performed one of the most spectacular face plants this side of Cybertron - at least in Firestar's opinion.
"Ten out of ten!" She declared although she offered no servo. Chromia wasn't like that.
"'Mia? Did you break a strut?" Greenlight's cautious voice piped up from the back of the line.
Chromia, with all the grace she could muster with a mouthful of green mire, lifted herself onto her forearms and knees. The femmes watched with great interest as she slowly, tenderly, rose from the floor, drawing conversational slurps from the strange substance. Only when she was standing fully upright and had checked her plasma cannon did she spit.
"That's disgusting!" Greenlight squealed and squirmed in revulsion. Moonracer silently handed Chromia a clean rag, one that had been in her hand since the moment she fell.
Chromia took the rag and wiped her faceplates while kicking some muck at the floundering Greenlight. The three older femmes shushed a particularly loud shriek of distaste when it connected.
"Come on girls, let's go home."
"Highgrade?" Elita One gave a small smile at the question, the one that commanders usually give to their subordinates when they ask silly questions.
"I heard you had a bad orn, and since the raid was successful, I saw no problem in such a luxury. We rarely indulge, after all."
Chromia almost snorted her drink, but that would have been a waste. "Yeah, that's a fancy way of saying you just don't have the spark to tell Vibes to shut down her still." Elita smiled again.
"Not when morale is so high and there's enough energon, no."
The two femmes were lounging on the couch in Elita's quarters, mostly because she was the only one who had her own. It was slightly smaller for that reason, but it was still large enough to hold a standard size berth, a small couch, and a low table - the latter two were found in the remnants of a domicile and were some of the only comforts Elita afforded herself. The two femmes sat together in silence for a breem, savoring their rare taste of highgrade.
In general, Cybertronians didn't have a very developed sense of taste simply because it wasn't necessary for survival. Luckily, there were particular metals or combinations of them that game them a pleasurable, or nasty, quality. Unluckily, many of these combinations were entirely flammable and highly combustible, resulting in some death due to inexperienced experimentation.
"There's a rumor going around 'bout you, 'Mia." Elita grinned, but this time it was looser. Chromia would have liked to think it was because of her, but it was probably because of that drunken boost of energy racing through her systems.
Chromia smirked back and rolled her optics. "Please. Is the the one where I have Megatron's designation on my aft or the one where I actually fragged him?"
"You tripped."
Now this sentence for any other bot would have been inconsequential. Equilibrium chips fritz and bots take tumbles down loading ramps in front of Heads of Cybertronian Journalism Associations. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Chromia was however an entirely different story. Raised in the Crystal City towers, no one knew finer etiquette. Tripping was a ghastly offense and Elita exploited it.
She hmphed, "So I fragged up. Tell me if I give a slag." Elita smiled into her mostly empty cube, and if it weren't for the blasphemy of wasting good energon, Chromia would've thrown her own cube at her. When Elita didn't comment, she continued,
"So I was having an off day." No response. "Firestar tripped me." Was Elita ignoring her? "I - " Well, the truth always did work better with Elita One. "My spark did the szzpt-krllt-zz-putt thing… I got… I was startled." She gulped down the rest of her highgrade. Unbeknownst to her, Elita grinned in understanding and set her cube down, immediately reaching out for Chromia's. She set her's down too and slid closer.
"I am sorry to hear that," Elita One whispered, leaning in.
Their foreheads clinked as they touched, and Chromia saw her pain reflected. Their closeness was a familiarity, one that they hadn't indulged in in far too long. Chromia was revolted by the hideousness of the mistake.
"You're thinking hard," Elita's digits traced Chromia's jaw as she smoothly vented, then smiled. "That's my job!"
"It's been so long - I," Frag, it was the highgrade. Here Chromia was, sifting through the melted goo of her emotions, with an equally overcharged Elita. "I miss him, I miss Ironhide. I miss Optimus and Prowl's stare and maybe even the Twins. Here we are Elita, a little ten bot unit as the last of us? How could they do that? Frag. Them."
She had been shaking her head for the duration of her rant rubbing the paint off of Elita's crest and crushing her arms.
"What are you going to do then, 'Mia? Give up?" And inside her processor, something snapped. Her vents burning, she mounted her friend and kissed her savagely. Their glossae slid together like puzzle pieces that almost fit, lips touching in such a way that made Chromia yearn for something keenly different.
"How could you say that! How dare you say that!" Her sentences were emphasized with abrasive bites down Elita's neck. To Elita's credit, she only began twirling wires in Chromia's hips, laid flush against her own. It drew a rough moan and apologetic licks to the offended areas.
"Please, 'Lita?" she whispered, voice hoarse with want.
The berth was easier than a cramped couch, and smooth kisses given by Elita made Chromia forget they had moved at all. And if her touches were any lighter, they'd tickle. Elita's intimacy was such a stark contrast to Ironhide her spark almost didn't hurt at all. She was content to let Elita drive.
Elita's fingers signed glyphs down her frame as Chromia panted. "Feels good, 'Lita, feels good." Her equipment began to heat in anticipation, and it became more pronounced as the other femme's fingers traced her interface cover. Chromia snapped it open eagerly, patience be damned.
"You never could wait." Elita whispered fondly as she pushed two fingers into an already lubricated valve, Chromia arching off the berth with a moan as she thrusted. She wrapped her arms around Elita's neck and bucked her hips as she pulled Elita in for a searing kiss, the type only she could provide. In return, Elita added a third digit and increased her speed.
When Chromia gasped and perched at the edge, tilting toward oblivion a few kliks later, Elita withdrew her digits.
Chromia switched on her optics and sat up so quickly she almost dented her partner's helm. "Why'd you stop?" she growled, reaching for Elita's hand to try to get her to continue. But she only gave Chromia a coy smirk and began tracing transformation seams with her glossa, paying particular attention to the center of her chest.
"Oh," she groaned, "never mind… just, ah, do that."
Elita lightly drew glyphs into Chromia's armor as she worked her way down, dipping into her hips and toying with her thighs. Idly, Chromia wondered who topped in Elita and Prime's relationship. The way tonight was going, she'd put all her creds on the femme whose glossa was mapping the rim of her valve. She panted as her anterior node was suddenly taken hold of and suckled on.
"Elita! Frag you, Elita!" Chromia threatened as Elita maintained a slow, luxurious pace as she tasted and traced her frame. As the pressure built in Chromia, she slammed her servos onto Elita's helm in an attempt to force her to suck faster. She could feel her bell of a laugh and it set energy coursing through her frame, but not enough to get the desired effect. She groaned again, and perhaps it was the sincere desperation in the sound that convinced Elita to slip in a few digits into the dripping valve. After that, it took almost no time at all for Chromia to find nothing.
When her optics reset, Elita was beside her, clean and idly stroking whatever part of Chromia's frame she could reach as she stared at the ceiling. They said nothing, mostly because they didn't need to.