Disclaimer: Transformers and all of its characters belongs to Hasbro, this is by no means a work produced for profit.
Warnings: Slash (M/M action), very mild depiction of gore, mild use of swearing.
I don't understand how I manage to be attracted to him. He's just another soldier.
His body is full of various marks from the countless battles he faced, traces of previous dents on his armor, wide rough hands that killed numerous lives, and those broad shoulders that has carried so many weights. His jaw slightly crooked from having too many punches, the dermas of his face has small, almost invisible scratches, with dental plates that are chaffed and unaligned. But yet that bright smile never ceases away.
Just a typical soldier on the frontline.
I snapped my mind out of my daze, forgetting the report I have in my slightly cold hands. The lights are dimmed as the last of the midnight patrollers finished their duty, dawn is rising quickly, and I still haven't finished all the reports in the countless of datapads that are stacked up on my desk, already days old from its due. I offlined my optics and rubbed it slightly, a habit I caught from humans - relaxing, I must admit. I can never get enough sleep if this keeps on going, if my mind keeps on doing this. My body shouts rest, but my head whispers him. And no matter how soft the whisper, it always seems to win my favor. The cold plates of my hands warm faintly.
I don't understand why I am attracted to him. He's just another mech.
His personality is unbearable and his childish jokes caused a great deal of misery to both his comrades and his commanding officers; and sadly I am one of those officers. He doesn't listen, he's definitely not the smartest of mechs, yet somehow he constantly twists the rules in more ways than one I could never have imagined. It's infuriating, and oh so very maddening, dealing with that pesky Lamborghini every day for stellar cycles. Having to keep up with all the things he has wrecked, sacked, shattered and, by Primus' mercy, maimed. And to always let the devil live, almost always unscathed, I just wonder how I'm still online and haven't decapitated myself already.
Just an immature soldier, a very immature soldier.
I slightly wobbled as I made my way past the long corridors of the ark. The oblivious bliss of recharge is slowly taking over by shutting down some of my systems, but my processor is still so active. It annoys me to no end as it manages to find another thing to ponder about. Tonight would not be the first night I've had this particular thought, and it is never really the last either.
His brother is a bit more tamed, a bit more psychotic and narcissistic, but the troubles he caused are not nearly as unpleasant as his. Then again, to a stranger's eyes, they don't seem like twins at all, well not like regular split sparked twins. Their physical differences are further away than a thirty-nine and a half foot pole can measure. But their characters are the ones that make them so similar, almost clone like.
Almost.
Arrogant, temperamental, inconsiderate, and ignorant.
The very existence of them is enough to cause a riot. But yet, as countless memory files proved, we couldn't have succeeded without them. I could recall that most of the Decepticon's raids are almost always stopped by their willingness to sacrifice their life, almost all too eagerly. I found that very stupid yet courageous at the same time.
Idiotic brave mechs – and as both idiotic and brave there must have been several close calls. There was many indeed, both Ratchet and First Aid always has their hands full of metallic limbs and scraps when it comes to them. However none ever disturbs me most than that one time that they almost lost it, almost really lost it to the Allspark. I couldn't have bear having to seen the massacre in front of my own optics. All I remember was the energon fluids that were covering their strangely mangled bodies; might as well make a pond out of it as well.
I scowled at the image and my euphemism to it.
I could remember calling Ratchet in a fit of nausea and faintness before staggering away from the bodies. As horrible as it was to witness such acts, I should have been use to all this, to all this bloodshed and structural horror. Mechs offline each and every other day back in Cybertron, not so much differently here on Earth, yet his brush with death was the one that affects me so much.
I was very sure that they had lost their lives, especially his.
I didn't need a bond to know how slim his chances were. On that fated day his chance of surviving his wounds unscathed was less than 16.2%. Knowing very sure that vandalizing the Ark's main deck would be his last prank. I accepted his fate, and I was so sure of it. I wasn't prepared to see his deep blue optics when it onlined. So positively sure was I of his death, I wasn't prepared for his reply when I asked a useless question. So doubtlessly sure he offlined for good, I wasn't prepared to see his smile again when he saw me. And by Primus did my circuits almost shorted.
I had never been able to look at him in the optics the same again.
Just a lucky soldier.
He actually survived against the 83.8%.
Doors after doors passed as I walked ever so slowly, I can feel the energons under my plates heat up slightly as I remember that moment where his handsome face was so close to mine. That time where I almost kissed him, his supposedly dead body even. There was a shudder that wracked my body, though from distaste or delight I wasn't sure. It was months ago yet the vision is still fresh in my processor, the picture flashed every now and then. I wonder if he forgot about it, if his memory was hazy in rebooting that he hadn't the chance to really understand what happened? Or is he haunted by it the same way I do?
I snorted.
I don't know what made me so attracted to him. He's unbelievably rude for a mech.
So many times he teased, bully, and annoyed. So many pranks committed to various mechs, and mostly to the mini-bots – poor sweet and defenseless Bumblebee. So many contraptions in this place go wrong because of them; just thinking about all the remaining malfunctions in the Ark and Teletraan-1 brings a migraine to my processors.
He's a hellion, spawn from Unicron himself, the very mech that wrapped taffy on my chess pieces – I couldn't play the bloody thing for days! He's a huge pain in the after burners. He shows no respect, no courtesy, and definitely no attention to orders – especially mines (mutiny! Mutiny I say!). Many times I wonder how he managed to be here, how not many mechs dislike him – even slagging looked up to him actually. How both of my brothers manage to like him. I resisted the urge to scowl, but failed.
But that's how they treat other people, me in particular, how they treat each other is a different story.
To each other, they are more like yin and yang, two distinctive puzzle pieces that fit, different but depend on the other. No one but who is attentive notices this. They won't show it of course, well not often as they would. They'd give small gestures to each other when they think no one saw, small request that seemed nothing, words that only they know, as tight as the sun's gravity putting the universe in its place. The humans say that the strongest of relationships comes from siblings, and I would say it is quite true. For no matter how overbearing they are to each other, they would always love them in their spark.
To say that I'm a little jealous is an understatement, for I completely envy his brother. Not to have a brother – Primus knows how Smokescreen and Bluestreak is enough to get my hands full – but to be in the center of attention, his center of attention.
As I walk along these vast empty halls in the night I can't help but feel a little lonely.
It sounds completely absurd, but feelings are always so illogical.
I am a higher-ranking officer, much, much higher than him. I am a tactician and the second-in-command of the Autobot army. He's just an immature, arrogant, inconsiderate, lucky frontline soldier, another mech in the army who is ready to sacrifice his life for the Autobot cause. My place in this war is by the Prime's side in the war room and offer the most logical and effective plans in eradicating our enemies, his is by Prime's side in the battle field and taking up arms to fight alongside him, to follow him in eradicating our enemies.
There was a slight ping in my processors, alerting me of a window popping up. To my greatest dismay it is a calculation that came up, calculation that I unconsciously did, a calculation of petty relationship possibilities, and it came up with the same answer each and every time I tried. Leaving me always breathless and hurt and mad.
It could never work.
We could never work.
The cold night makes the air so cool and the walls icy to the touch. My doorwings twitch and my optics heavy, I swear my processor glitches more often than usual, so much I'm getting maybe just a tad delusional. Why the blasted artificial intelligence of the Ark did not turn the heat up in this time of the cycle I would never know.
I should have ignored this attraction, to that dastard of a mech. My thoughts are never focused with him and I should have stopped looking at him whenever I have the chance, his strong jaw lines that I wish so much to touch. My pace goes faster as my mind wanders there, to an imagination I could never have. I should have kept my feelings in place, as I have always had to previous mechs. The war is ruthless and unpredictable; many things are bound to be lost, and many things are bound to its place in the hierarchy.
I pressed the security code to the buttons of the pad with rapid succession, internally sighing in relief to finally arrive. To my surprise it beeped in denial of entrance to my quarters. At the sound of it I looked at it quizzically, wrenched away from my thoughts and putting it away for further pondering at another time. The code is pressed unto the buttons again, and again it denied access. This caused more irritation than confusion. I tried again, pressing them harder each time, and again it denied access.
It wasn't until the fifth time I tried that the door suddenly swished open – opened from the other side, the back of my mind thought – and he came to my view, his optics glowing brilliantly in the dark.
As surprised as I am, I can never look away from it, those deep pools of blue.
It drowns me in its depth.
"Prowl? What are you doing here so late?"
Sideswipe asked, his voice crackling in its baritone, obvious that he had been roused in the midst of recharge. The mech in question didn't reply, optics trained at his almost as if to study him, putting him under scrutiny. Sideswipe found it unnerving.
"You do know that your quarters is at the other end of the hall."
It was as if he stabbed him with those words, Prowl jerked himself away from him, awaking himself from his private reverie. Unknown to the Lambo, the invisible tension in the air around pierces Prowl deeper. How could he have been so deep in his thoughts he wandered precisely to Sideswipe's room?
Oh my Primus.
The Datsun was silently panicking; air ventilation hitching the slightest bit but he never spoke a word. The silence gave Sideswipe no answer and further confusion at Prowl's reaction to him, he came over to his superior and held at his shoulder.
He could've sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath.
"What's wrong? Are you feeling okay? Why aren't you saying anything?"
Troubled, he drew closer to Prowl, optics scrunched under malleable metal. If he noticed the heat coming from the Datsun he didn't voice it.
"Prowl?"
The light blue of his eyes flickered, blinking, and its stare maneuvered away from Sideswipe's face. "Yes I'm – I'm quite fine, Sideswipe. Thank you for your concern. I think I was just under the effect of fatigue." Prowl said, more like whispered out, and lightly shrugged the black hand that held his shoulder. "I apologise for the disturbance, I'll be on my way now."
He planned on transforming and just speed away as quietly as a rumbling car can be but that same black hand held his arm before he could get far enough. Prowl struggled to look him in the eye, afraid his mind will take him again, but steeled himself into reality. "Is there something the matter, Sideswipe?" He said steadily, emotions barely devoid in his voice.
"The last time I saw you face to face you're faceplate looked like it wanted to grind on mine." The Lambo said while inching a little closer. "Then I'd never really saw you again. Receiving orders through comm, returning reports to an empty office, assigned to shifts in the diminutive hours of daybreak. Now after many weeks of this bullshit you're just suddenly here, out in front of my quarter, on the instance that you technically sleep walked? Is it just me, or is this suppose to mean something, Prowl."
The said mech frowned, growing defensive. "I have no clue what you are on about, Sideswipe." His fingers twitch but nonetheless Sideswipe continued.
"It's a simple question really; were you, Prowl, master enforcer of rules beyond rules, high and almighty only second to the Prime, and my supposed rival for eternity, was having your processor full thinking of me, the one and only Sideswipe, master pranker with unimaginably erotic body structure of a god and the red hot hellion of the universe?"
Prowl gaped at Sideswipe's suggestive waggling of his optics, and then he started fuming, if anything it's out of embarrassment at getting figured out.
"I – why I would–" The waggling persisted. "No – of course, not! I would never have thought to even imagine your pretty little–" That damn smirk of his appeared. "J-just – frag you! You swine-headed dirty handsome twit, I am aghast by your mere presence at a 30 foot radius, I hope your creators are proud by that achievement."
The Lambo laughed mirthfully, his mouth widely curved upwards and that is the only warning Prowl got before he was pulled roughly into a kiss – one of victorious in nature, as Sideswipe might describe.
However the humor between them vanishes and came the feeling of satisfied pleasure. It was passionate, almost searing even, a release both of them had needed but always avoided. Their lips mashing against each other hungrily and Prowl found himself gripping unto the larger mech while nipping his lower lip. He heard him give off a low rumble, and had his mouth open in a second. Glossas entwine, licking each other in fervor and then they were lost in each other; lost in their feelings for each other. Prowl was at the mercy of one very trained mouth.
His gasp was swallowed in the kiss as Sideswipe sucked his glossa. It felt good, it felt really, really, good. He moaned then, the vibration rocked between them and into their plates. Those black hands that pulled him were suddenly at his waist, pulling him even closer. Doorwings fluttered at the feeling and he in turn wrapped his arm around Sideswipe's neck. He can't remember the time when he was held like this, how could he have almost let this slip away? Before he could give it any more thought Sideswipe pulled back and broke the kiss, almost reluctantly so.
But he was grinning, and instead of annoying him, the Datsun felt that it looked very endearing on the mech.
"So are you even more aghast by my presence that is closer than a 30 foot radius?" Sideswipe murmured cheekily.
Prowl pouted, then that bottom lip was nipped.
"Oh! Sideswipe! Can't you keep your mouth off me to make a coherent verbal reply first?"
Sideswipe's optics waggled again.
"And if I say that those pair of soft almost flesh-like things you possess are too damn irresistible for me to stay away?"
Sideswipe's cheek was slapped.
"Shut up and kiss me again, you ghastly creature."
Tonight, Prowl would forget all the complicated thoughts he put so much time into; the thoughts of a potentially hazardous romance, the thoughts of difficulties on the way, and the thoughts of being so emotionally involved in anything. Tonight, he will let go of his doubts, his worries and his frustrations. He has his logic program shut, and his dormant feelings opened. In the arms of the red hellion that he had despised, he feels peace, if only for this night.
Yeah I think I'll stick to the art of illustration than the art of literature.
Thanks for reading.