It was a slim bit of plastic and metal. About five inches long, three wide; glowing dimly from its trimming. It was barely enough light to penetrate the rest of the darkness. Then its face flared into life as the little object trembled along the sheets, demanding in its silence for absolute attention.
The watcher quickly covered it with a servo, drowning out its faint light, glancing towards the doorway of his room. He could see through the darkness the far-away glow of the lamps out in the hallway, shining around the lone silhouette of his midnight guard. No sound and no motion came from that direction, and so he knew that he was safe. For now.
Slowly, the mech raised his servo, flipping the cell over and studying its glowing screen. A message had been sent to him, late, like usual. But the sender never minded the time he sent these messages... As if he knew the receiver was always waiting on the other side, lying in his berth, restless. Deliberating only for a moment longer, the pomeranian shifted an inch on his berth, sliding the phone further out of sight; opening the message and reading quickly through the text.
Today, the cook made pasta for dinner. He served it with a ruby wine. It's colour reminded me so much of you, that for the longest time I did not drink it; only stared at it. I'm sorry... You're probably tired of compliments, but I'm afraid they're the only things I can offer when I miss you.
The cell buzzed again. A new message.
There is a play later in the week. And there is a gala the day after. A gallery is showcasing it's new collection of crystal treasures. Your optics always did glimmer the brightest when you saw something so beautiful carved in vivid colours and light. I thought you might like to go...
He never answered.
Never.
Again, the phone buzzed.
It's late. I must go to bed... Sweet dreams, Tracks.
Another long night... filled with pointless messages
But did that stop the persian from sending them? No... Always, the messages came: short reports of how the kittycon's orn went, what he did, how much he missed the pomeranian, compliments of his beauty, offers for dates...
He should have been angry. Truthfully, Tracks had every right to be pissed. Soundwave had first ruined his life by signing that contract, but now he was forcing the autodog into secrecy through this hidden cell and its late-night messages. If the security guards found out, if Flare-up discovered, there would be trouble, Tracks knew. He could only break so many more rules before he lost everything. Yet...
The cell vibrated one last time.
Every night, without fail, the kittycon sent one last message to him. And with it, took away all of Tracks' anger, and spite, and bitterness and tears, until barely nothing remained and the pomeranian was coddled within a cocoon of indistinguishable emotions and apathy.
I'm sorry.
No matter how long he stared, or how much longer he waited, no other message came. It was the last one for the night; sometimes, the last one he heard for a couple orns. Shuttering his optics slowly, the autodog slid the cellphone under his pillow and out of sight. But though he couldn't see it and even though he rolled over in a poor attempt to finally sleep, the words remained vibrant in his processor.
Haunting him as he fell into the blackness of sleep.
xxXxXxx
He was in the middle of making photocopies when he felt two brazen servos grab him by the hips. "Sentinel...," Optimus sighed, swinging his elbow back and catching his ex-friend in the chestplates before his servos could wander any lower.
The rottweiler backed up at the jab, coughing, giving the secretary plenty of time to grab his papers and turn around. Rubbing his chestplates irritably, the blue mech fixed the other autodog with a look, scowling deeply. "Come on...," Sentinel practically whined, "Slaggit, you said you liked me! Why are you resisting?"
The german shepherd frowned in return. "I did not say that I-"
"Well, you kissed me! What, you kiss every 'bot you meet?," the other demanded, crossing his arms over his chestplates jealously.
Optimus didn't know whether to sigh or smile, but eventually settled for an exasperated vent. So, perhaps he had been dancing around the situation since a week ago in this very room, when he had tricked Sentinel into confessing and ended up kissing him in return. It wasn't as if he didn't have a good reason. Unlike Sentinel, the secretary still had a lot of work to take care, especially since Ultra Magnus had returned, and truthfully, he was still trying to sort out where the two of them stood in their relationship.
A part of him believed he might actually love his old friend back... but the other half of him, his logical self, wondered if he really felt that way about Sentinel, or if it was a misconstrued perception, due to the amount of stress that his life had been put under recently.
Either way, Optimus was trying to be careful. Love the security guard, he might not entirely be sure of, but that didn't mean he didn't care about Sentinel. Hurting his ex-friend was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
Yet, there was no point explaining all of this to the security guard, he knew. Sentinel wasn't one to listen to others when he was angry and considering how selfish he'd been acting recently, there was even less of a chance that Optimus would get a word in edgewise before his comments were twisted around and used against him. "No, I don't," he eventually answered, unable to excuse the fact that once again his ex-friend was accusing him of false crimes. He frowned up at the taller mech. "But that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with you grabbing me at work."
The rottweiler shuttered his optics slowly. "...What about outside of work?"
"Oh for the love of-" The multi-coloured autodog turned on his heel, shaking his helm and walking briskly for the door. Optimus didn't get very far before he was being yanked back into the copier room, a squeak escaping his vocalizer unwittingly as he stumbled back into a firm frame.
"S-sentinel!," he yelped. He tried to twist his helm to face the rottweiler but a mouth latching itself around his throat kept him from doing so; a servo slithering up his shirt and another boldly cupping his codpiece. "S-sentinel! S-stop!"
Fangs pressed into his neck cables, sharp but not puncturing, as the security guard gave a good suck, drawing a small moan out of his captive. Optimus dropped his work in a panic, servos grabbing Sentinel's wrists and trying to push him off, but was forced to stop when the other autodog began to paw fervently at his codpiece. Moaning, Optimus let his helm tip to the side; processor in a whirl as Sentinel continued his groping, warming the secretary's circuits up and rapidly building up a charge within him.
Clarity hit though when he felt his tail nudged aside, heated plating grinding slowly up against his aft.
"S-sentinel -G-get OFF!" The german shepherd writhed hard, lifting a pede and stomping hard on the other's in-step. His ex-friend gave a yelp, ripping his mouth free and taking a step back, just enough for Optimus to wrestle himself free the rest of the way and to whirl on the other angrily. "Slaggit! Sentinel, what is your problem?!"
Sentinel leaned against the photocopier, nursing his poor pede, scowling at the other autodog. "What the frag is your problem?!," he snapped back. "Frag -you came onto me first! What the slag is wrong with us 'facing, huh?! You know how I feel and you fragging like me too, so why are you still avoiding me?"
Optimus hurried to straighten out his clothes, blushing brightly, both in embarrassment and indignation. "Because I don't want to! I already told you I didn't like you grabbing me whenever you wanted, Sentinel!"
"Yeah, because you said you weren't comfortable with it. So, I'm trying to get you comfortable!," the rottweiler argued back. "Jeez, you act like such a fragging virgin sometimes!"
The german shepherd gaped in disbelief at everything his ex-friend had just spouted, but before he could growl back his own response, the door was opening; a friendly face poking in curiously. "Oh, hey!," Jazz beamed, "I thought I heard ya two. Arguing like usual, huh?"
The secretary flushed further at the hinting tone in the dalmatian's vocalizer, bending quickly and scooping up his forgotten papers. Sentinel watched him for a moment, silently enjoying the show, before he turned his attention back to the other autodog, pouting in annoyance at the interruption. "What the frag do you want now, Jazz?," he grumbled in demand.
Jazz's grin grew a couple more inches as he pushed the door open more, leaning casually against the doorframe. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the bulky arms crossed over the rottweiler's chestplates and the dark scowl on his face meant that he would be royally harassed later for butting in on the other's poor attempts to woo Optimus, but the smaller mech didn't care. Not like Sentinel could really do much to him anyways. "Well, I just wanted to inform ya that my shift's almost over, so I'll be heading to lunch shortly. Ya were late coming back to the front desk so I thought I should probably come find ya, since even your radio's been turned off."
"I hope I... wasn't interrupting anything important," Jazz teased subtly.
"N-not at all!"
"Yes!"
Optimus straightened up, frowning at Sentinel in displeasure; getting a pout and a quick raspberry from the security guard in return. Rolling his optical sensors in exasperation, the secretary shuffled his papers together neatly, heading for the door. "I suppose that means the twins won't be coming today," he commented, with a touch of sadness. "They've been missing a lot of classes recently... I hope there's nothing wrong."
Immediately, Jazz sombered up. "Well, life's been a bit of a whirlwind for them," he said, "But I'm sure they're fine. They're tough kids; sure to go big places some day. Besides, Wheeljack called ahead of time to ensure us that everything was fine. Look's like Jetfire and Jetstorm just got a nasty bout of the flu, is all."
Optimus vented in relief, but Sentinel only frowned, grumbling something under his intakes to himself. Beaming brightly, Jazz took a step back out of the room. "Jeez, Sentinel what's with the- woah!"
The dalmatian, not looking where he was going, tripped into another mech that was passing by the copier room that very moment. They collided, one falling over the next, folders crashing to the floor and spilling their contents. "R-rodimus, sir, I-i'm sorry!," Jazz apologized quickly, trying to smile as he picked himself up. "I wasn't watching where I was walking. Silly of me, I know. Let me help ya."
If the golden retriever was listening, he certainly didn't show it. With his helm lowered, Rodimus pushed himself up, not even taking the time to wipe the dust off his pants, before he started hastily scooping everything up into one big, messy pile. He didn't even allow Jazz to help like the security guard had offered; smacking away his servo passively as he grabbed the last of his paperwork, leaping to his pedes and hurrying down the hall in long, quick strides.
Both Optimus and Sentinel stood in the copier room's doorway, watching in respective amounts of confusion and concern. "Rodimus has...," the secretary started quietly, "He's been really quiet lately, hasn't he?"
Sentinel snorted. "He's always been quiet. He's Ultra Magnus' lackey; that mech barely talks himself."
Optimus scowled up at the rottweiler and received an affronted pout for the look.
"Nah... He's not just been quiet..." Jazz stood where he'd gotten up, his optics watching as Rodimus turned the corner up ahead, and even then, after he'd gone, still lingering. "If...," he said softly, "If there's anyone we should be worried about now, it's that kiddo there. Something's up, I can tell... and I'm afraid that nothing good will come out of it this time..."
Optimus clasped the bundle in his arms closer, feeling the knot of worry tighten in his fuel tanks.
xxXxXxx
The door creaked a bit as he eased it open, peering through the crack made with one optic; assessing the situation. Still, Jetfire and Jetstorm laid in their berth, coddled under a heap of blankets, flushed and cycling heavy, rattling intakes. Seeing them like this, unwell and out of reach of his help, caused the border collie's ears to flatten slightly against his helm; his grip going tight around the doorknob. "Perceptor...," a soft voice whispered behind him. "Perceptor, come away from the door... please?"
Slowly, the scientist turned his helm to the bulldog, expressionless optics staring at his friend flatly. A little hurt by the look, Wheeljack tried to smile; gently reaching forward and pulling the door closed again. "C'mon... I know you're worried -and I am too- but, you got that meeting with Megatron in an hour. You can't miss it."
Perceptor just stared at the wood of the closed door, before turning around briskly and shoving out from around the engineer. "I am not going," he replied quietly. "I am needed here. I will call and inform the secretary that I-"
"Perceptor..." A firm servo grabbed him by the shoulder just as he started walking into the kitchen. Forced to face the other, the border collie just stood there, refusing to be the one to first speak. Wheeljack vented softly at the smaller autodog's passive stubbornness, releasing him and folding his arms over his chestplates awkwardly.
"Listen, Percy, I... If you're afraid of leaving the boys like this, I understand, but I'm here too. I care for Jetstorm and Jetfire, just as much as you. Which is why I called Ratchet and begged him to come over and take a look at them," the bulldog explained. He turned his helm up then, looking imploringly into the other's optics. "I'll do anything to make sure they're alright, and always put them first. They trust me like that... Don't you?"
The barest flinch came from Perceptor and immediately Wheeljack hated himself for asking the question. Scratching his ear anxiously, he took a step back from the scientist; optics fixed to the floor meekly. "I...um... So-sorry, I... I didn't mean it that way. I-i..."
Perceptor turned and walked away.
Cursing himself, Wheeljack vented heavily, before heading for the door. It was probably a good time for him to leave. He was grabbing his coat, when a small frame slipped before him unexpectedly, one servo resting on his chestplates. "P...percy?!," the engineer swallowed sharply, taking a step back in shock.
The other said nothing, swapping Wheeljack's coat for the portfolio in his servos. The bulldog was mute as Perceptor hung his jacket back up into the closet, slinging on his own as he faced his larger friend again. "I will go to the meeting," he said, before Wheeljack could even reset his vocalizer, "You are correct -I have a duty to fulfill. My responsibility lies in presenting the final results to the client, who trusts in my work and respects my preference for formal finishes to a contract. To cancel or do otherwise after so long, would be both disrespectful to both my client and myself. Henceforth, I will go..."
"...thank you... for staying and helping...," Perceptor added softly, taking the portfolio out of Wheeljack's servos. "For the record: I trust you implicitly."
The bulldog couldn't help it -he grabbed the scientist up, squeezing him tightly in his arms, little tail turning up a whirlwind in joy. Perceptor himself was perplexed. His thin servos gripped at the sleeves of Wheeljack's sweater, cheekplates starting to oddly burn the longer he was held against the other mech; the engineer, in his bliss, subconsciously nuzzling a little into his friend's neck.
He didn't know how to respond; what to say. His friend had never acted so... so... Words escaped Perceptor. In fact, his entire processor seemed to lag and his body stiffened uncertainly as any course of action was made impossible. Confused, almost perturbed, the border collie was gently set back down on his pedes while the embarrassed visage of his companion fell into his line of sight. "S...s-sorry, Percy," Wheeljack said, and even though his mouth was currently covered, there was the tell-tale signs of a shy smile spread across his lip components, "G-got a bit excitable. You, uh, you g-go and do your board meeting thing. Wow them away. I'll be here when you get back."
It took a klik, but Perceptor slowly nodded, securing his files in his briefcase and leaving the apartment to a happily waving bulldog behind him. He paused the moment he heard the door click shut behind him; small, blue optics turning and staring at the wood and its brass number nailed to the door.
Processor starting its slow, analytic calculating, the scientist faced forwards again, continuing down the hall.
xxXxXxx
They waited as best as they could, squirming and venting weakly under their covers, until Wheeljack had finished checking in on them, promising to pop off downstairs quickly for something light to eat and then disappearing. As soon as they heard the front door close again, Jetstorm threw the sheets off, turning and rolling onto Jetfire; limbs flailing as each youngling tried to grab and touch the other, mouths locked into a sloppily kiss and hips gyrating against whatever they could.
"B...b-brother! Brother! Brother, brother, brother!," Jetfire wailed, jerking hard under the other's frame. It took barely kliks before the youngling overloaded with a wheezing sob, causing Jetstorm to topple into his own overload shortly after.
Still, the blistering inferno remained and their systems begged for release.
"B...b-brother, w-want..." Jetstorm whimpered, clambering onto Jetfire's lap, hips twisting, "H-hurts... Is a-ache of s-so bad! M-make stop... p-please, b-brother..."
The other twin nodded in understanding, grabbing the blue hybrid's hips. Sitting up awkwardly, Jetfire latched his fangs onto his brother's neck, wriggling and thrusting up into the whining youngling as much as he could. There was no time for sweetness or gentleness that they usually shared in these intimate moments -the ache was too strong, and the heat too great. All it demanded right now, was closeness. Action. Immediate pleasure. Release.
It took merely astroseconds before they overloaded again, frames trembling as they hung suspended in the moment.
Panting softly, the two younglings stayed where they were, twined around each other as they tried to catch their intakes. For a moment, they felt relieved, even tired... but the heat started to stoke again from the embers they had worked it down into and both hybrids whimpered in dismay. "W-why...," Jetstorm cried, twisting out from under his brother, grabbing his pillow and clutching it to his frame, "Why i-it s-stop not? I-it done should b-be!"
Jetfire didn't know what to offer the other youngling. Already he was sliding his servos between his thighs, tempted to ease the ache growing, but holding off for as long as possible.
He turned away the moment he heard his brother sob though, hugging him tightly as he petted him in partial comfort. "I-it... it s-soon p-pass, brother," he soothed, "H-heat e-ever not s-stay long. K-knowing that y-you."
"B-but, hurts!," Jetstorm protested. His frame was already heating up again, burning hot under Jetfire's own fingers. He couldn't say that his state was any different though. "I n-not want th-them finding out... N-not want k-know to..."
Jetfire could understand that. Heat cycles were common for them, but never like this. Never this long; never this painful. Trying to keep it secret, to protect their carrier from discovering and to spare them the embarrassment (and possible shame as well), was getting harder the longer that this cycle went on. Even though things had worked for the best from their last incident, it was still too early to risk stirring up anymore trouble.
And this could very well invoke more of it...
Shifting a bit more, Jetfire mouthed the back of his twin's neck, servos sliding down the other's chestplates; skimming the condensation-slicked metal and wiring, teasing.
Jetstorm was just turning to face him, to continue their activities, when they heard the lock for the front door turn. Not wasting a moment, they grabbed the sheets, yanking them back over their frames; smoothing them down, trying to clear away any evidence of the incriminating actions they had just partaken in. It meant they were cocooned in a nest of unbearable warmth, but it hid away their mess and dampened the smell. Costly steps, but necessary all the same.
They could hear voices coming down the hall now, and the presence of two, startled them. One was Wheeljack's for certain... but the other's was...
Jetfire snapped his helm to Jetstorm in alarm, his optics flared brightly.
Ratchet.
There was nothing to do though. They had nowhere to hide and nothing for them to do. The vet would see past their silly tricks, and well...
Their heat spiked, processor running rampant with lust-induced thoughts as their heightened senses picked up the familiar, worn and ammonia-rich scent of the vet heading their way. Suddenly calm, the younglings relaxed under the sheets, trying to contain the excitement that ran across their neural nets.