Banging
They'd decided that the whole thing was Starscream's fault.
Not that Starscream had had anything to do with it, or even knew it was going on. But whenever something went wrong or painful or just plain confusing, it was usually Starscream's fault.
Their rough, inexperienced hands climbed all over each other, feeling, exploring, trying desperately to pretend that they did, in fact, have a clue. Periods of loud clangs and scraping metal were interspersed with tense silences as both waited, thinking that someone had to have heard them that time. After no one arrived to stare in shock and ask what in the Pit they'd been doing, they carried on, shifting positions as they looked for some way of fitting their admittedly oddly shaped bodies together.
"Ow! Owowow, get off!"
"What?" Demolisher quickly sat up and moved back until he was kneeling over Cyclonus's legs on the storage room floor.
Cyclonus winced and pushed himself up to remove pressure from his back. "Ngh. Rotors. You're on my rotors. I told you, you're too heavy."
"Oh, shut up, you're no lightweight either." Demolisher rolled over, sitting on the floor with his hands behind him. Cyclonus looked over his shoulder at where his rotors had been attempting to conform themselves to the shape of his back.
"Well, that's going to be a slagger to explain."
There were rumors, of course. Rumors that Starscream fancied Megatron. That Thrust was spending his evenings in Tidal Wave's room for purposes other then the discussion of strategy. That Leader-1 had a special, secret reason for helping those humans escape (although this last one was mostly Crumplezone's idea and he had been very drunk when he thought it up).
It was quite possible that there were rumors about them that no one was kind enough to let them in on. Hopefully not, but it was always too much to hope these days.
Cyclonus moved onto his knees. "That's it, you have to be the one underneath."
Demolisher reluctantly lay back, disliking the lack of control but conceding to Cyclonus' point about his weight. "Can't we just be sitting up or something? Why does there have to be a top and a bottom anyway?"
Cyclonus looked at him as if he'd asked why Autobots wore red. "Because there's always someone on top, dummy. Everyone knows that." He awkwardly clambered on top of the tank, searching out his sensitive powerlink ports that were there a moment ago, he was sure of it. And, in their muddled fashion, they were off again.
Around thirty minutes later, Cyclonus rolled over in his back, panting. Demolisher half-sat up, resting on his elbow.
"You've got no stamina." His dizzy half-grin divulged the fact that he was a bit weary himself.
"Mrfle," Cyclonus replied, dimming his optics.
Someone banged loudly on the storage room door. Both Decepticons froze, wondering whether they should stay put or dive behind the nearest crate. "I know you two are in there," called Thrust as he pounded on the door again. "And I've had just about enough of your banging."
Cyclonus cowered. "Why him? Why now? Why me?" Demolisher just covered his face with his hand and cringed.
"If you want to have your little sparring sessions, and Primus knows you need them, take it outside. My room is next door and you are disturbing my planning!" The tactician's hit the door one more time and then walked away, oblivious to two loud groans of relief and the sound of face meeting floor.