Claimed
Plenoptic
:D
A combo of TF Armada, Energon and Cybertron. I just borrowed Wingsaber from Cybertron and kind of plunked him into the Energon-verse.
Hotshot couldn't help but feel that Jetfire seemed…pissed.
The normally cheery mech was…brooding. Slouched in his chair, arms folded over his chest, golden optics narrowed and an aura radiating from him that very clearly said "Bite me."
"Er…Jet?" Hotshot said cautiously, scooting his chair a little closer to his friend's. "Um…bro, do you need more high grade?"
"Shut up," Jetfire growled, and Hotshot let a puff out of his intakes.
"Jetfire, what's got you so fragged off? What happened to 'I'm-the-greatest-thing-since-life-itself?"
"Who the hell does he think he is?" Jetfire growled, sliding lower in his seat, his expression turning thunderous.
"Who?"
"Wingsaber."
Hotshot lifted his head, optics scanning the rec room to finally land on the newcomer. "What, that guy whose ego is almost as big as yours? Come on, man, what's wrong with him?"
"He's…well…you know!"
"No, I don't," Hotshot countered, horribly confused. "What's wrong with him?"
Jetfire snatched Hotshot's energon cube from his hand and threw it down in one gulp before getting to his feet. "Doesn't know to avoid claimed territory," he growled, and stomped off in Wingsaber's direction.
Hotshot stared after him for a moment before shaking his head. "Crazy fragger." He ordered himself another cube of high grade.
There was one thing Jetfire cherished above all else. An Autobot. A mech, to be specific. One mech that was his, undeniably and unchangingly. There was only mech he wanted, only one mech he'd ever think to allow into his room at night. It was a possessive need that was all-consuming and obsessive, and Jetfire had thought every once in a while that it was possibly unhealthy, but having the mech there wiped all doubts from his processor.
This was the problem with newcomers, of course. Especially cocky newcomers. Just because he had wings and was a great flier and had a history with the mech, Wingsaber thought was the king of the universe…Who does he remind me of? Oh yeah…me.
Wingsaber barely looked up as Jetfire made his way over, deep in conversation with the mech sitting across from him. Optimus Prime was scowling, arms folded over his chest, his optics smoldering above his mask. Jetfire knew that look; it was a look of interest hidden behind a look of annoyance. How many times had he received the same expression? It meant that Optimus was copping an attitude, and it usually got him chained to a recharge berth by his wrists and ankles while Jetfire grinned and asked him if he was done being a whiny little femme.
Tossing himself down on Optimus's other side, Jetfire looked across the table and at Wingsaber. Cocky son of a retrorat… Wingsaber stiffened upon the second in command's arrival, but Optimus visibly relaxed, dropping his arms to prop up an elbow, cradling his chin in his palm. Jetfire grinned, nudging Optimus's knee with his beneath the table. After a moment, Optimus touched Jetfire's hand lightly, reassuringly.
Jetfire beamed, glancing sideways at the mech he so adored. What was I so worried about? Wingsaber was a mech like any other, he didn't mean anything more to Optimus than did Hotshot or Ironhide or Scavenger. He gripped Optimus's hand tightly, spark settling into a more comfortable rhythm now that he knew his claim was safe.
"I'd try for an adjustment in command, personally," Wingsaber was saying, toying with his energon cube, optics locked on Optimus's. "Some mechs see fit to dawdle off around here, you know?"
"I can't imagine who you're talking about," Optimus replied smoothly, optics narrowing infinitesimally. "I believe every Autobot on this base to be hard working and committed, as is expected of them. They have all performed above and beyond the call of duty."
"And if you have a problem with the way Optimus runs the show around here, you're gonna have to be a big boy and suck it up like the rest of us," Jetfire added matter-of-factly, and he was delighted to see Wingsaber smolder a bit before scooting his chair out and moseying over to a possibly friendlier group of mechs.
"That was unnecessary," Optimus murmured, turning his head to blink at his lover. "I wasn't planning on calling him on that one."
"The guy's a jerk, Optimus, no way was I gonna let him get away with talking to you like that," Jetfire replied flatly, scowling. "Now I realize I'm every bit as cocky and arrogant as he is, but I've never once usurped your authority."
"No, you haven't," Optimus agreed, breathing a breath of stale air from his intakes. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it in. "Besides, I like your finicky self."
Jetfire watched him for a moment, smiling faintly when Optimus busied himself with playing with his cube of energon (which, Jetfire noticed, was otherwise untouched). Prime wasn't so good with emotion; he'd learned long ago to hold it in, that his duty to the Autobots came before his emotional needs. As opposed to Jetfire, who could hold nothing in and was accustomed to blurting out whatever he was feeling at any given moment. Optimus had been working hard to open up for the sake of their relationship, and Jetfire couldn't even begin to express how much he appreciated the gesture.
"I'm gonna go beat up Ironhide or something," Jetfire announced, leaning over to nuzzle his mask lightly against Optimus's. "See you later, big bot."
"Have fun," Optimus snorted, pushing away his energon cube. "I think maybe I'll go put Wingsaber in his place."
"Yeah?"
"You've inspired me," Optimus said, and Jetfire knew instinctively that beneath that mask, the Autobot commander was smiling.