Author's Notes: This chapter contains a minimal amount of slash. It is nothing explicit, and there is absolutely no romantic interaction whatsoever, it is simply contemplated briefly in a short conversation between Jazz and Hot Rod.
Emm…More Author's Notes: Thanks so much to everyone who dropped a review, faved and added this to their alerts! It's you guys who keep me going!
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Prompt: 025. Strangers
They strode into the rec room radiating confidence, their movements feline and deceptively graceful as they took their places at a table with Bluestreak and Blaster. Indigo optics gleaming in stark contrast to their paintjobs, they sat and listened to Bluestreak's prattle while they sipped their energon and glowed.
Hot Rod's optics widened as he caught sight of their faces, ethereal in this light and so perfect that it was impossible to not stare. The one on the left was scowling into his energon, and even with his brow creased as it was, he was beautiful.
Something Bluestreak said must have been funny, because the other one burst out in a laughter that lit up his entire face, and Hot Rod sucked in a tiny gasp.
"Who are they?"
Beside him, Jazz followed his optics and caught sight of the flame colored twins.
"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, toughest guys on the front line. Don't get to close to Sunstreaker, he's great to have with ya in a fight, but out of battle he's an antisocial ass."
Hot Rod's optics widened even more as he continued to stare at the pair. "But they're so…"
"Gorgeous? Yeah." Jazz turned to look at the twins, who were now being dealt cards for a hand of poker.
A soft sigh escaped Hot Rod's lips as Sunstreaker shifted slightly and the light glinted off his gleaming armor.
"Don't bother man, they ain't available."
Startled, Hot Rod turned his startled face towards Jazz with a jump. "But I, I don't, I didn't-"
Jazz laughed, and it only served to embarrass Hot Rod even more. He sunk down a bit in his chair and turned his optics away, turning his attention to his empty cube of energon.
"Hey, relax kid! Half the crew's had a thing for 'em at some point or another. They're just not interested."
"Oh. Are they together?"
Jazz snickered once, using a hand to muffle the sound before giving up and bursting into a fit of laughter.
"Those two? No way!"
Hot Rod shrunk even further into his seat, faceplates heating up in embarrassment as Jazz fought to control himself.
"But I thought, I mean, they're so…"
Jazz struggled to contain one last giggle before getting a handle on his mirth. "I gotcha, kinda seems that way, don't it? Naw, they're not together, they're twins."
As if he'd heard the word, Sunstreaker's optics shot up and locked onto Hot Rod's shocked gaze. He fixed the newcomer with a withering stare, and Hot Rod dropped his optics back to his cube.
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Over the next few weeks, Hot Rod watched the twins from afar, though cautious to keep himself from being seen again. Sideswipe had tried to strike up a casual conversation with him, and he'd babbled uselessly about being late for patrol and tripped over his own feet rushing away. Neither twin approached him after that, and he wasn't sure if he should be disappointed or grateful. They continued to dazzle him with their tall, elegant frames and their strange, graceful demeanor. He'd been told by more than one mech that they were the best to have beside you in a fight, and he found himself hoping the decepticons would attack so he could witness it firsthand. He was finally rewarded a few weeks later when Mirage came back to the Ark with news of Megatron's latest super-weapon.
He followed the rush of mechs through the desert, driving in silence between Trailbreaker and Cliffjumper. They'd barely been driving for twenty minutes when Prime gave the order to attack, and he threw himself into the fight.
He held his own for a while, grappling with a few casseticons before catching a missile with his knee and collapsing near the edge of the brawl. He shuffled backwards as best he could, managing the find cover behind a boulder and watch the fight while he waited for the comms to come online.
From behind his cover, Hot Rod managed to find the twins in the center of the fight, spinning and wheeling in a strange, graceful dance. They were fighting a pair constructicons, and were rapidly gaining the upper hand. They dodged every hit easily and struck back with frightening accuracy. Their hands dripped with their enemies' energon, staining them a shimmering blue.
Sunstreaker spun and ducked down, and suddenly he was behind Long Haul, attacking him fiercely form behind while the poor decepticon struggled to orient himself. For one short second, Hot Rod caught sight of his optics, and he instinctively recoiled back a bit. They glowed a pale, icy lilac and even from a distance, Hot Rod could see that they were as hard as any decepticon's.
A sudden shock of pain and surprise interrupted his musings, and Hot Rod found himself sprawled on the hot ground, dazedly staring up at the sky. He had barely registered this when he caught sight of a fast approaching missile, whizzing towards him at an alarming speed. A quick movement from his peripheral vision, and something huge was slamming into him with enough force to knock him out.
When Hot Rod regained consciousness, he was still on the battlefield, and, apart from his leg wound, was relatively undamaged. He sat up shakily and was surprised to see Sunstreaker beside him, motionless and sporting a gruesome chest wound larger than his head. Sideswipe was beside him, frantically trying to staunch the energon flow and muttering nonsense in some strange language that Hot Rod had never heard. His addled circuits managed to put two and two together, and he came to a startling conclusion.
He took the missile for me.
Hot Rod sat in a stunned silence as Ratchet came to sliding stop beside him and knelt next the wounded warrior, pushing Sideswipe away and plunging his hands into Sunstreaker's innards. The red twin shuffled out of the medic's way and sat to pull his brother's head into his lap, still muttering the strange words.
Once Sunstreaker was stabilized and sent back to the Ark with Ratchet aboard Skyfire, Hot Rod found himself being directed into Prime's trailer were he sat in a daze on the way home. He and Sideswipe were the only mechs hitching the free ride, though Hot Rod could see no major injuries on the red mech. He simply stared blankly at the gray trailer wall, optics wide and breathing softly the entire time. Hot Rod didn't say anything, choosing to watch his own feet instead.
--
Three days later, Sunstreaker was resting in his room per Ratchet's strict orders. Hot Rod stood outside the door, staring at it and anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot, his fingers drumming on the side of his leg.
"Are you gonna come in or not?"
Startled out of his thoughts by Sunstreaker's voice, Hot Rod leapt three feet in the air before calming his racing fuel pump.
"Uh…can I come in?"
"Sure."
Taking a deep breath, Hot Rod palmed the door control pad and stepped into the dimly lit room. Sunstreaker was on the bottom bunk, resting on top of his blankets, a datapad laying forgotten at his side. He regarded Hot Rod with cool indifference. A long strip of black flexi-seal was wrapped around his upper torso, concealing the gash underneath while Sunstreaker's own armor regenerated beneath it.
"So, um, how long 'till your back on duty?"
The yellow twin offered a half-shrug. "Dunno. Probably sometime next week."
Hot Rod nodded and scratched at his forearm. His optics dropped to the floor, which he studied carefully as if it were etched with a great masterpiece. "So, um, I wanted to tha-"
"I don't want your thanks."
Hot Rod sputtered and blinked, looking back up at the yellow warrior with wide optics and a confused expression. "But you…" The young mech gestured vaguely towards Sunstreaker's injured chest, still staring at him like a deer caught in headlights.
"I didn't do anything." Sunstreaker's cold expression was enough to keep Hot Rod frozen for a good minute while he continued to blink.
"You saved me."
Sunstreaker snorted and rolled his optics. "I didn't save you. I just kept another Autobot from being smeared from here to Cybertron. There's a diffrence."
Hot Rod blinked, his expression now one of shocked disbelief. "You saved my life, you have to let me thank you!"
"No. I don't."
"But-"
"Look, do people thank you for having a pit ugly paintjob?"
Hot Rod's jaw dropped and he began to stutter out an answer when Sunstreaker cut him off.
"No, they don't. So don't thank me for doing my damn job."
And that was the end of that. Sunstreaker shooed Hot Rod from his room, refusing to hear another word from him and keeping his distance until Hot Rod was sent back up Cybertron the next week. It was months later, during a particularly boring patrol that Hot Rod came to a realization.
He didn't know my name. He took a damn missile for me, and he didn't even know my name.
Word Count: 1509
Author's Notes: Woot! Finally something of a decent length! Like it? Hate it? Please, drop me a review and tell me what you think!
