There's Always Someone Stronger 4: Repercussions
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Saltem grunted softly as he scrubbed the floor of the mess hall. He'd been in the service of Dai Atlas for two decaorn now. Long enough to have earned an actual berth to recharge on instead of that slagging cage to stand in. It was as small as it could be and still fit him, and the lowest quality available, but the ability to lay down for recharge made it far superior. It also meant that the General did see fit to reward compliant behavior, even if only in small ways. Nothing had been said, just four orns into his stay when he came back from his duties he found the cage gone and a simple field berth in its place. That recharge had been the best he'd had in longer than he cared to think about. Even now that the novelty had worn off, it was still a berth and he wasn't about to forget it.
The best part of his orn was his training. Fortis Bronte was in charge most orns, and it was nice to be around the mech that seemed to take an interest in his future without wanting anything but Saltem's best effort to learn to be a better warrior and soldier in return. He also respected Saltem in a way few had, even before he was sentenced to slavery. And there was something indefinable about his manner that made Saltem want to spend more time with the older warrior.
The worst part was inevitably the night and morning when he was trying to recharge and his master was more interested in 'facing his mate. He could only be grateful that the General hadn't shown any interest in him. He had yet to find a way to successfully block out the noise and vibrations from their activities.
Then there was Prowl. The harmless-looking Praxian always seemed to be there right when he turned around or walked out the door with some instruction or another. He heard the mech greet the Generals in the hallway every time they left their quarters. He'd heard plenty of others comment on the ability of the non-com to move silently and seem to be somewhere the nanoklik he was needed to deliver a message and no earlier. No one could ever remember seeing him wait around.
No one could ever remember him looking the other way over an infraction of the rules either. Saltem quite liked his all-business attitude, even if most of the soldiers didn't. It was a nice change to what he usually had to be around, even here where the General took a dim view of slacking off on duty.
"Saltem," Prowl voice was the same tone as always, though the timing of his appearance was off. "I have questions for you."
"What kind of questions?" Saltem replied as he continued to scrub.
"Personal ones," Prowl said in the same voice. "Why do you find interfacing so objectionable?"
Saltem's movements paused briefly before he returned to his task, scrubbing harder. "Don't want to talk about it," he said roughly.
Prowl paused, then cocked his helm. "I do, however. It is an extremely abnormal opinion to hold. I wish to know your reason."
"I said, I don't want to talk about it," the larger mech snarled, warning clear in his voice.
"And I do," Prowl's tone became a touch more firm. "Answer me."
Saltem snarled again, wordlessly this time, and whirled on the Aide De Camp. The first punch landed solidly on Prowl's chest. Pain ripped through the enslaved mech in response to the attack on someone he was to answer to, but he ignored it as anger welled up inside him.
He felt and saw the Praxian's shock before Prowl went skidding across the room to lay limply for a brief moment.
"I do not want to talk about it!" He walked up to Prowl, punching him again.
"Stop!" The Praxian ordered as he curled into a ball to protect his spark chamber and helm on pure reflex, even using his hyper-sensitive sensor wings to shield the two non-repairable systems.
Saltem let out a roar, now struggling as much against his body as he tried to continue the assault on the Praxian. The roar of engines outside was only distantly noticed, though the thunder of two very large mecha landing hard on their pedes shook the very ground.
"Saltem!" Dei Atlas roared in protective rage as he charged through the door to punch his slave square in the chest, sending him flying across the large space. Axe was directly behind him, along with a medic and several others.
Saltem snarled in pain as he staggered to his pedes. His deepest instincts were screaming for him to attack-attack-attack, for him to assuage his rage-pain in the only way he knew how. The slave coding fought it, tried to halt him as one of the mechs was his master, and the original target was one his master had given control of him to.
That white fist slammed into him again, sending him through the wall that had stopped him the first time to skid to an eventual stop in the dirt.
"Stay down," Dai Atlas growled, standing over him and ready to strike again.
Saltem lashed out with the limb nearest Dai-a pede-hitting his master in a blind attempt to fell the giant. Dai could tell from the intersection of their fields the pure rage-pain of a mech completely bypassing his higher processors.
This was the last straw for the slave coding. With a burst of pain, it sent him into stasis.
Dai Atlas shook his helm and huffed as he reached down to make sure Saltem didn't boot up until he was allowed to. He stood and turned to look towards the hole in the mess room wall. "How's Prowl?"
"He'll be fine," Axe responded as he joined his mate to regard their project's limp frame. "So what's next for this one?"
"I'm going to not only make him do whatever set this off, but make him accept that lashing out was the wrong response," Dai Atlas answered grimly. "I'll need you to manage the army and campaign until I'm done."
Axe's optics brightened briefly as he realized what his mate was thinking of, then nodded. "Prowl asked why he's so against interfacing."
"That's all?" Dai Atlas cycled his optics, then looked down at his project. "We do have some serious work to do on this one."
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Saltem booted up, reluctant and groggy. His first awareness was of his position. Upright, but held with arms and legs spread. An enclosed space. His master was standing behind him.
"That was a reasonable question," Dai Atlas' tone was harsh. "Prowl may not be the most socially skilled of mecha, but it is no excuse to try and deactivate him."
"He doesn't understand 'don't want to talk about it'," Saltem replied, automatically testing the bindings he was in. They were far beyond what was needed to hold him, even in a blind rage.
"No, he does not," Dai Atlas agreed as he placed a hand firmly against Saltem's back just below his neck. "He was within his rights to demand an answer. Now you will tell him."
Before Saltem could respond the door to the small room opened and Prowl stepped in. Ice blue optics took in the scene, then focused on Dai Atlas.
Saltem snarled quietly, but didn't move. He could feel the pain start to build, slowly, as he stayed quiet. Dai Atlas and Prowl waited, calm and watching, as the compliance coding did its work. The bound mech shuddered as the pain from the coding reached near-blinding levels before he snarled, "It's all about pain and forcing control."
Prowl glanced at Dai Atlas, who nodded.
"Was it really worth all that pain just to avoid saying that?" Prowl asked quietly, calmly.
"Don't like to talk about it," Saltem said in answer, a faint tremor in his limbs.
Prowl simply nodded and turn to leave. When the door shut, all focus turned to Dai Atlas and the anger roiling through his field. "Then that is what we are going to begin with," the giant growled. "Prowl may be content with your answer, but all he wanted was to know if your reasons matched his. I'm going to demand details. Starting with why you don't like to talk."
"It is nobody else's business," Saltem snarled, but his field gave a different answer-pain on an emotional level, not from the slave coding. Pain, shame, and humiliation that had nothing to do with the current situation.
"When it affects your performance, it is my business," Dai Atlas rumbled in reply. "Everything is my business. From how much energon you consume to why you punched my ADC instead of using your vocalizer. We both know he's no threat to you physically."
"Words don't get results," Saltem replied, pain feeding into the rage that was on a slow simmer in the back of his processors.
"They get better results than attacking your own side," Dai Atlas replied coldly. "I really would have expected your current status to have drilled that into your processors."
The bound mech snarled wordlessly in reply. Until this time, the questioners had not gotten their answers.
"Now, let's start with Prowl's question in full. Why is interfacing all about pain and control to you?"
Saltem tried, but he could not resist the slave coding. "That's all it's ever been used for, including against me," he replied, trembling faintly in pain that was not physical.
Dai Atlas paused, not so much in surprise at the statement's personal nature, but in how broad it was. "Even between Axe and myself?" he chose an example he knew and knew that Saltem had seen plenty of.
"Yes," Saltem replied. "He's obviously well-trained, but it's always there."
A low chuckle reverberated between them. "If one of us is using interfacing to control the other, he's the one in charge. I need him far more than he needs me, and we both know it. Have you ever touched sparks?"
"No," Saltem snarled. "No one gets that close."
"Then you have no grasp just how little can be kept secret during one, much less from a strong bond," Dai Atlas sounded sorry for the young mech and his field backed the impression up. "You might find existence more agreeable if you got all that frustrated energy out with a willing companion."
Saltem had no reply to that as he stood there, waiting for what Dai would say or do next.
"Or do you prefer unwilling ones, like you were?"
"Don't want to interface," Saltem said, stubborn.
"Not even when it feels good?" Dai Atlas pressed.
"That doesn't happen," the younger mech replied.
"What makes you think you are different from every other mech in existence?" Dai Atlas asked calmly. "Even Prowl admits that it's fun and to the possibility that someone will eventually make it worth it for him. He just doesn't consider it worth the energy expenditure."
"How can something that hurts be fun?" Saltem replied hotly.
"It only hurts when it's forced, and the one on the receiving end isn't prepped," Dai Atlas corrected. "Do you genuinely believe that all interfacing causes pain?"
"Yes." The answer was prompt and short.
"Have you ever overloaded?" Dai Atlas asked quietly.
"No!" Was the instant reply, but the intense wave of shame and humiliation in his field told a different story.
"Someone was skilled enough to force you to overload," Dai Atlas countered. "Tell me about that time."
"Don't want to!" Saltem snarled, pain rising again.
"He just wanted a body... didn't care if it was willing or not," the younger mech started haltingly. "...He forced... Wouldn't stop touching," he snarled as he trembled from the pain of the memory. "I got him back once he was in recharge."
"Many mecha don't care if their berthmate is willing or not. Far fewer try to make their berthmate enjoy it," Dai Atlas murmured, not moving from where his hand was spread across Saltem's upper back. "Was that the end of it?"
"The rest is in my file," Saltem snarled.
"Why have you never taken charge of an interface, overloaded because you wanted to?" Dai Atlas demanded calmly.
"I don't want to play those power games," didn't want to take pleasure in another's pain.
"What if it's not a game?" Dai Atlas asked softly. "What could prove to you that mutual pleasure is possible, and common between lovers?"
Saltem had no answer for the General. The idea was so foreign to him that he couldn't even contemplate it.
"Think about it," he instructed. "I will ask for an answer again, and I expect to get it."
Saltem growled softly at the order, but didn't actively fight it.
"Good," Dai Atlas accepted the response. "Now. Just what should I do about a mech that assaulted my ADC over a question?"
"Make sure he does not do it again," was the reply.
The giant hummed. "What would accomplish that the most effectively?"
"Disable the rage response," Saltem replied evenly, as if they were talking about someone else.
Dai Atlas cocked his helm. "How should I do that?"
Saltem paused, thinking, but could not come up with anything. "I don't know."
"Then I will break it the only way I know how," Dai Atlas said evenly.
He walked around Saltem to open an equipment box on a table the mech hadn't bothered registering until now. Instead of a normal box, this box unrolled to cover the table and display tools and objects of all kinds. Many were items that Saltem recognized from medical or as small versions of weapons, but the purpose of a good half were beyond his experience.
He stayed quiet, waiting, watching, as his master ghosted his hand over the impressive selection before picking up a handful of long, thin needles. He continued to watch silently as Dai Atlas came back to him and began to insert the long mental needles into joints. There was very little pain, until he twitched.
Then his neural net was on fire.
Saltem gasped, then gritted his denta against the sensation. This was barely the beginning, he knew that much.
Soon there were needles in every joint and articulation point of any consequence, locking Saltem in place at the price of intense pain if he failed. Then the needles found a sensor node cluster directly over his spark chamber where his armor parted.
Saltem growled softly to himself as he held as still as he could. This was just pain. He would not let himself succumb to pain alone.
Another found a cluster in his throat.
"Are you sorry for breaking the rules?" Dai Atlas asked calmly as he circled his victim.
"No," Saltem growled out. He focused his attention inward, counting sparkbeats. It helped block out the pain, at least until Dai Atlas gave him a shove to the center of his back that made every joint in his frame move on reflex to try and regain his balance.
Saltem couldn't help the reflexive cry of pain that burst from his vocalizer at the movements. Once he was still again, he gritted his denta and tried to ride out the lingering pain.
More needles slid into place, each one a constant current of pain. Then Dai Atlas' hand was on Saltem's spike cover. "Open and extend."
The bound mech resisted a moment, but then the cover slid open and the spike extended by command rather than arousal. He growled lowly, a response to the pain he was in more than to what Dai Atlas was doing at the moment.
The large white hand gripped the spike, holding it as needles were carefully threaded along the sensor-rich skin. Then a longer, thicker one with a dull tip was inserted carefully into the tube at the tip.
He hissed in pain as they were inserted, trying to focus to keep from flinching and causing himself even more pain.
He was allowed to be still and settle for a moment as Dai Atlas turned to the table to pick up an energy cell.
"Are you sorry for breaking the rules?" the giant asked calmly.
"No," Saltem managed to grit out passed clenched denta.
A lead was connected to the needle in his transfluid tube, then connected to the energy cell. A huge jolt of electricity slammed through Saltem's systems, concentrated on the intense clustering of sensors of his spike.
Saltem cried out, but managed to brace himself and avoid jolting his frame from the shock. It cut off as abruptly as it began, leaving the mech venting harshly as he tried to recover his equilibrium.
Then Saltem felt large hands on his lower legs, working the armor until it came loose. He didn't offer resistance, simply trying to keep as still as he could. Piece by piece, Dai Atlas stripped him of his armor, taking him down to bare protoform.
Saltem growled aggressively, trembling as he was stripped down. His field snapped with an instinctive fear-loathing for being so vulnerable, especially since he was unable to defend himself.
"Good," Dai Atlas rumbled as his hands moved over a protoform that hadn't been exposed like this during Saltem's entire functioning. His gaze met his slave's. "You will genuinely regret crossing me, or I will destroy you and find a better use for your frame," he promised, pressing a needle in deeper to scratch against a circuit board.
The bound mech cried out in pain, the volume increasing. He began to tremble from the effort of holding still against the General's onslaught.
"You will understand that you are part of this army," Dai Atlas continued, his rumble low and demanding as his hands continued to move, driving needles in deeper to sensitive places. "You are part of my army. I do not care how much you hurt. I do not care how angry you are. You will obey the rules like everyone else or I will punish you. This is only the beginning of what I know how to inflict upon a mecha."
Saltem cried out with each new pulse of pain, having no time to recenter himself between them.
"Do you understand?" Dai Atlas demanded without stilling his efforts.
"Yes," the slave hissed, trying not to writhe in agony and generate even more. He could feel his pain reflected from his tormentor as Dai Atlas stood inside Saltem's field, but the giant didn't seem to care.
"Do you regret breaking the rules?"
"No," came the reply once more.
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Saltem groaned softly as he came to in the medical bay. He still ached horribly, even though all of the damage reports had been cleared. Dai Atlas had managed to damage nearly every part of the enslaved mech's frame by the time he was done. Impressive, considering Saltem had never been in danger of actually losing his life.
He did not want to be subject to such treatment again.
"You're going to ache for orns from the look of you when you came in," Fortis Bronte's voice was low and even.
"Feels like I will," Saltem agreed, voice rough. He powered up his optics, looking over at the older warrior. Fortis Bronte was relaxed against a nearby wall, regarding him critically.
"It's been a long time since I've seen him work over anyone that much. You really ticked him off. I don't expect the punishment is over."
"What else is he likely to do?" Saltem asked.
"An educated guess? You're going to be trailing Prowl around all orn taking notes and running errands for him," Fortis Bronte snorted. "The General likes punishments like that, making you serve the mecha you wronged."
The younger mech made a non-committal noise at that.
"...How much of what happened is known around the base?" Saltem asked, hesitant and worried at what the answer would be.
"Officially, that you beat the ADC within a micron of life, attacked the General and the General dealt with you personally," Fortis Bronte told him. "Unofficially, what you looked like when you were hauled into medical four orns ago, and that the General worked you over for three orns solid. Prowl won't say what set you off, but I expect most of the base has guessed it has to do with your mutual distaste of interfacing."
Saltem groaned softly, his optics shutting off and his helm hitting the medberth with a thump. "So they will probably not shut up about it, especially to me."
"Maybe, maybe not," the older warrior shrugged. "I don't think many want to tick you off that blatantly. You'd get punished, but they'll get a beating from you, then punished by the General. He doesn't approve of baiting mecha like that."
"Hopefully that will be enough," Saltem replied.
"If not, you are going to want to work on controlling your temper," Fortis Bronte said before glancing at the door. "He's fit to move, Sir."
"Good," Dai Atlas responded, nodding to dismiss his senior sergeant and focusing on his slave. "Still planning to think before you swing at someone?"
"Yes, sir," Saltem replied, slowly sitting up.
Dai atlas nodded his acceptance. "You will find Prowl in his office. You will be his assistant until further notice," he instructed. "You will also teach him to fight. I expect no less than two joors per orn dedicated to his combat training. He is aware of this."
"Yes, sir." Hopefully this wouldn't be too bad. From all he had heard and seen, Prowl was dedicated to his work. And combat training would be a relief.
"Go now," Dai Atlas instructed before he turned and left the freshly rebuilt mech to his new duties.
Saltem reluctantly stood up, slow from the aches still present. Before leaving to his new duties, he approached Fortis Bronte, reaching out to touch the other mech's arm, his field full of the thanks he could not give voice to.
Fortis Bronte nodded and gave him an encouraging smile before they parted company and Saltem made his way to the small, cramped office of the General's aid-de-camp.
"Were you briefed on your duties?" Prowl asked without looking up from the datapad he was making rapid notations on.
"Yes," Saltem rumbled. "I am to work as your assistant. Also, there is supposed to be two joors an orn dedicated to combat training."
"I would assume from your file that you are literate. Would I be correct?" Prowl asked.
"Yes," Saltem replied.
"Small miracles happen," Prowl muttered. "That pile needs to be filed by report type and date. The boxes are labeled."
Saltem suppressed a sigh and picked up the first datapad and checked for what it was. This was going to be a long orn...
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Saltem had been both horrified and amazed when Prowl had informed him that he had no combat knowledge. He wasn't even sure how that was possible.
So he had started off with the absolute basics. Prowl had been quick to learn the correct ways to take a fall, and they had moved on to basic blocks. Once Prowl could perform the defensive moves correctly, then they would move on to offense.
When Prowl was starting to get close, the large warrior upped the challenge by distracting him. "How did you even get in the military without any combat training?"
"I'm an enlisted non-com," Prowl responded calmly as he performed the block he'd just been shown flawlessly. "Tactical. I was not expected to fight, so the resources were not put to training me to. There were more important things to instruct me in."
"Why did you choose to join?"
Prowl faltered as the memories cued up and had to be manually shunted back into long term storage. "Because no law enforcement agency accepts mecha that have had full compliance programming. This is as close to my intended function as I can get."
Saltem hesitated with his next question as he continued to test Prowl's blocks. He knew he had an extreme dislike of others digging into parts of his past that he'd rather not be brought up. On the other hand, Prowl hadn't asked him to stop...
"What happened?"
"I was kidnapped, proclaimed deactivated," Prowl's sensor wings trembled before he got them under control. His field told another story. Hate, the kind that Saltem knew all too well, had completely consumed Prowl's field. Yet the mech remained in control, performing as he was directed. "Ended up in an underworld sub-boss' berth until he grew bored of a mech who he couldn't make scream or moan. I got away when I broke the code enough it could no longer prevent me from escaping."
"Did you do anything to him on your way out?" Saltem was intrigued, and wondered at the mech's control.
"No," Prowl growled before that too was gotten in check. "I'd set the explosives and traps over vorns to go off when I was out of the city."
Saltem nodded, then changed the subject. "Those are good. Now, how to throw a punch."
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"You're distracted," Fortis Bronte commented as he threw Saltem for the third time in a row three orns later.
The younger mech growled subvocally, rising to his pedes once more. "I am having trouble coming up with an appropriate training regimen for Prowl," he admitted as he and the other mech circled once more.
"Ever trained a flier?" Fortis Bronte asked with an easy nod of understanding.
"No. I've only worked with other larger grounders," Saltem replied, moving in to wrestle the smaller mech.
Fortis Bronte hummed as he used skill against his opponent's greater height and mass. "You focus on dodging, parries, and precise strikes. They don't have the armor to take a hard hit, nor the strength to do much damage. Look up the methods used for light scouts for the moves and flyers for tips on using those wings. As I understand it more of their sensory input is from the wings than the rest of their frame combined."
"Will you help me look it up? I am still excluded from the networks," Saltem asked.
"Sure," Fortis Bronte agreed easily before shifting his weight and dropping Saltem with a roll that left the smaller mech on top, trying to pin Saltem's arms.
The larger mech grunted as he tried to fend off the other mech, but eventually was pinned down. Like when he fought his master, skill won out over his tenacity.
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Saltem gave himself a quick shake before returning his focus to his work. The current base was complete and enough of the new staff present for the expeditionary force to once move on to another planet. Prowl had dragged him around to take inventory in preparation for the move first thing in the orn. It was dull work, and the larger mech was having trouble staying awake for it.
The fact that he hadn't been getting a proper amount of recharge was not helping at all. He was on duty whenever Prowl was, and Prowl needed an almost freakishly small amount of recharge. He didn't know how more of this he could take. Dai Atlas was not going to release him from being Prowl's assistant until he was satisfied with Prowl's progress in combat training.
The General had not said what his benchmark was for Prowl's combat training. So while the Praxian was learning quickly and could already hold his own against a rookie scout, Saltem could be his assistant for another decaorn, or for a vorn.
He wasn't entirely sure his systems could handle a vorn of next to no recharge. Prowl may have been built for it, but he wasn't.
Yet as dull as the work was, it was reasonably pleasant working with Prowl. The mech was as dedicated to his job as he'd appeared and everyone tended to quiet down and shape up when the ADC was in the area, which made it much nicer for Saltem. No one talked smack in audio range of the Praxian. Prowl couldn't fight, but in many ways he held more power than the General when it came to orn to orn operations.
Despite the relentless boredom, Saltem picked up the General's heavy pedefalls only a fraction of a klik after Prowl stiffened and began to turn to greet him.
"We are on schedule to depart in sixteen orns, Sir," Prowl said crisply.
"Good," Dai Atlas nodded, then focused on Saltem. "How is he progressing?"
"Well," the enslave mech replied, respect in his voice. "He is a quick study."
The giant nodded. "I heard he managed to pin Trackwise the other orn."
"Yes, in four breems." Saltem confirmed.
They were both aware of Prowl's tension at being the subject of the conversation, but the mech held still and silent as Dai Atlas considered him. "Think he'd survive a battle as well as a scout?"
"Yes," Saltem replied instantly, confident in the abilities he had instilled in Prowl.
Dai Atlas nodded and turned his focus to Prowl. "Do you believe you could hold your own?"
"As well as a new scout," Prowl said, his sensor wings twitching. He didn't feel ready to fight for real, but that wasn't what he'd been asked. He knew he wasn't for the front line, or even the secondary lines. He was a data shifter, supply manager and if he survived long enough, eventually he'd be a tactical advisor. He was a flawless shot with a blaster, even under duress and with both sides moving. Most considered that good enough.
This General wasn't like most.
Dai Atlas gave a faint nod. "Then I'm returning Saltem to the general labor pool."
Saltem held in the relief he felt. Hopefully now he'd get enough rest.
Prowl simply inclined his helm in acceptance. "Yes, Sir."
"I expect you to continue your training with Saltem," Dai Atlas continued. "It's good for both of you," he added before turning to leave.
"Are the General's quarters packed?" Prowl asked, though Saltem suspected he already knew.
"Not yet," Saltem replied. He'd barely been able to keep them clean with how much time he'd been spending with Prowl.
"Then that should be your next actively," Prowl suggested with a general dismissal that meant he had no specific duties for Saltem at the moment.
"Yes, sir," Saltem said before he left. Perhaps once he was done packing, he could spend some time in the washracks before a long recharge cycle to get him back to feeling normal.
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Saltem groaned as he stood under the cleanser, luxuriating in the feel of being able to take the time to get truly clean, rather than a quick job to keep up appearances. It felt almost as good as recharge at this point. He heard another mecha enter but didn't bother checking out who. He wanted to be clean and he didn't care who was there.
"Wash your back?" A familiar, and welcome, voice broke into his thoughts of clean and recharge.
"Yes, please," Saltem replied, glancing over at Fortis Bronte. Somehow the other mech seemed to know exactly when he would be most welcome.
"Congratulations on passing your first serious test," the brown mech said as he picked up a cloth and added soap to it. "There was some betting that one of you wasn't going to make it."
"That was a test?" Saltem asked in half-sparked curiosity as he continued to work on cleaning off his front.
"Creative punishments always are," Fortis Bronte chuckled. "That he said you're done means he thinks you learned whatever he wanted you to learn."
"Not entirely sure what that would be." The younger mech made a noise of pleasure as the other worked on cleaning his back.
"He learned that you can teach, you can take instruction from a weaker mecha, you didn't snap at the most annoying mecha in the entire unit," Fortis Bronte told him. "What you learned ... I'm not sure, but you wouldn't be out unless you understand what he wanted you to."
"I've met mechs far more annoying than him," Saltem replied. "Maybe he wanted to see how much shorter my temper would be with a lack of recharge."
"Really?" Fortis Bronte was genuinely surprised. "How does anyone get more annoying than Prowl?"
"It depends on what traits you find most annoying, and what's more forgivable," the younger mech said simply. "He has a respectable work ethic and he didn't fill the hours with annoying meaningless chatter and gossip."
"True enough," he agreed. "I think most dislike his talent for being exactly where he is needed without being called every time. Most of the unit's still glitchy about telepaths and low-emotion types after our last comm officer. You weren't here to meet him, but if you cross paths with Soundwave, try not to think angry thoughts. They put him in a bad mood."
"I'll keep that in mind," Saltem replied, leaning back into Fortis Bronte's touch slightly.
The smaller mech's field was warm, supportive, friendly without being demanding. It was everything Saltem had always hoped for when another mech got close to him. His touch was pleasant, doing what had been offered without making any advanced.
This moment was as close to bliss as Saltem could contemplate.
He made a soft noise and relaxed into Fortis Bronte's touch as it changed from washing to rubbing out points of tension from the younger mech's frame. It was soon all Saltem could do to keep the moans to himself and his frame steady. That touch felt so good.
He didn't want it to stop.
It wasn't long before he was nearly in recharge on his feet, just from the older mech's touch.
Eventually the shower was turned off and the touch turned to guiding. "Come on Saltem. Time for you to find a berth."
Saltem mumbled a reply that had lost much of its definition, easily going where he was led. He didn't process anything as he was settled on a berth, then the warm and welcome field laced with his as a warm frame settled next to his.
He pressed close to that frame with a quiet sigh, nuzzling up against armor as he slipped into recharge.