Sidesaddle

IMPORTANT NOTE AT END!

{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]

"You know why I called you into my office?" Prowl asked, setting his datapad aside and giving his companion his undivided attention.

Sideswipe leaned against the desk, striking a sultry pose, his engine rumbling in a suggestive manner. "You've been checking out the curves, right?"

"Get off my desk," Prowl deadpanned, waiting for the frontliner to straighten up. As always, it took a few corrections.

Sideswipe slid off the edge of the desk and spun, cocking his hip and flashing a promising grin over his shoulder. He gave his aft a little wiggle.

"And turn around," Prowl muttered, having been through Sideswipe extensive displays of suggestive poses on several occasions. He waited until Sideswipe was facing him before adding, "And if you open your interface panel, I will have Ratchet to weld it shut to prevent further stupidity."

Sideswipe visibly deflated. He crossed his arms over his chassis and rocked to one leg, giving the Second a bored expression.

"It's not like I'm equipped like a minibot," Sideswipe skulked, now giving Prowl a pouty look. "Haven't had any complaints thus far."

"Because they are incoherent with laughter," Prowl said, earning a twinge of pride at the stunned look on the Lamborghini's face.

"Snap my panel and call me a cyberslut," Sideswipe grinned, giving the Second a warmer reception.

Prowl ignored the request.

"Later. The reason you were called in is because the report you filled last week has some errors," Prowl said, giving Sideswipe his customary scowl of disapproval.

Sideswipe frowned, his processor working overtime. He went through his schedule last week and after three crosschecks, he distinctly remembered he didn't file one. There was a chance someone filed a report under his designation. Unlikely but stranger things have happened in the past.

"I didn't file any report," Sideswipe said, wanting to see the datapad that held the false record.

"Precisely," Prowl said, a doorwing twitching. "You were to file a report on the possible Decepticon involvement at the car show two weeks ago."

"It was a false alarm," Sideswipe said, adding a scoffing noise to partner his scathing look. It was a waste of time to report on something that didn't even lead to a gunfight or high speed chase.

"Nevertheless, we must properly catalog all possible Decepticon sightings and activities to calculate their next possible target," Prowl said, pulling a datapad from a stack and handing it to Sideswipe. "I expect your report at the end of the day. No short cuts. No vague descriptions. No slacking. NO excuses."

"But, I have the day off," Sideswipe whined, taking the datapad and giving it a look usually reserved for stepchildren. "I'm not supposed to do any work on my day off."

"Apparently you do not work on the days you are schedule to perform certain tasks, so on the whole, the two scenarios balance each other perfectly," Prowl said, pulling another datapad out for himself and turning on the screen. He waved his servo toward the door and added, "Dismissed."

"Well, if I'm going to work today then I want tomorrow off," Sideswipe said, stating his terms with a puffing of his body.

"Denied. You're scheduled for monitor duty tomorrow morning, which I know you will spend the majority of the time playing a card game," Prowl said, his focus now on two datapads that displayed privileged information. "So get this report finished now and you can fool around tomorrow morning on your regularly scheduled shift. Dismissed. Again."

Sideswipe offered a half hearted salute before opening the door. He was over the threshold when he heard Prowl's soft spoken voice add, "Cyberslut."

When Sideswipe turned back in astonishment, Prowl was typing on two datapads, his head swiveling between the two as he continued with his work. Sideswipe quirked a grin and shut the door.

"Oh, Sunshine of my life!" Sideswipe crowed upon entering the quarters he shared with his brother.

A paintbrush slapped him across the face, scarring it titanium white.

"Slag off, glitch," Sunstreaker snapped, his optics not bothering to look at his brother to assess the damage. He had performed the correction on his twin on many occasions. His aim with a brush was impeccable.

"But, I need some help,' Sideswipe said, waving the datapad. He ignored the white streak across his face.

"I am unqualified to provide mental health evaluations," Sunstreaker said, loading his brush and attacking the canvas with fervor. "Take it up with Smokescreen, but make sure he's medicated first. You already glitched him once."

"I knew that," Sideswipe said, annoyed. "But Prowl wants a report on that car show we went to last week."

"The one where humans believed Decepticons were involved?" Sunstreaker asked, the brush skimming the canvas and dancing a ballet with color. "And it was merely a ploy for one human to have his competition disqualified so he may take the prized trophy?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Sideswipe sighed. "Prowl wants a report on the incident and its up to you because I got distracted with that cute little Ferrari."

"Nice try," Sunstreaker said, turning to another pallet and mixing paint before grabbing another brush. "But I turned my report in that evening. So it's your report that is due. Not mine."

"Oh, come on, Bro," Sideswipe whined. "I'll do anything you want."

"I'm not getting saddled with your work any more than what I already do," Sunstreaker said, attention still transfixed by the blending of colors to the right degree.

"I'll give you a good polish," Sideswipe promised.

"Go away or I'll throw you bodily from the room," Sunstreaker said, giving Sideswipe a look to match the dark thrum in his spark. When Sunstreaker immersed himself in his art therapy, he didn't like to be interrupted.

"Please?" Sideswipe asked in a timid voice, his bottom lip plate sticking out in a pout.

"Out!" Sunstreaker snapped, jerking his head toward the door.

Sideswipe sighed and went to his berth, plopping down on its surface and falling strutless over the edge. "Fine! If my own brother doesn't want to help me, I can manage."

Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. When Sideswipe didn't provide any further comment, Sunstreaker returned to his painting. Five minutes later, Sideswipe developed a leak.

Sideswipe sighed so many times, Sunstreaker was sure all of his tires were losing their air. When he realized the source of the hiss, he slammed down his brushes and paints. Whirling, he marched to Sideswipe's berth, where he was typing with one digit on the screen, each letter being punctuated by a sigh.

Sunstreaker grabbed the datapad, opened Sideswipe's subspace pocket, shoved the pad inside, then physically lifted his twin from the berth. One servo clutched his scruff bar, the other slid into the transformation seam at Sideswipe's lower back. Deft fingers curled around sensitive wires and a sensor, making the ruby Lamborghini hitch up on the tips of his pedes to alleviate the tugging pressure jerking in his lower regions. Walking on pede tips he was escorted to the door and thrown through it, where he landed face first against the bulkhead. The door shut behind him.

Sideswipe groaned, rubbing his face where he had impacted the wall. He glared at the door and ventured toward the rec room. To his disappointment, there were only minibots occupying the room. Sighing in resignation, Sideswipe went to the dispenser, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Hey Sides! What's wrong?" Bumblebee called.

"Report for Prowl," was Sideswipe's sullen answer.

Several looks were exchanged but Sideswipe didn't notice.

"He's not looking for anything detailed," Windcharger put in, not liking the downtrodden look on the resident prankster. "Just make an effort and Prowl won't care."

Sideswipe offered a partial wave, looking like a mech going to his doom.

"Make it under fifty words," Bumblebee supplied. "Just put the highlights in there. That's it."

Sideswipe mulled over their advice, sequestering himself in the corner. He pulled the datapad from his subspace and frowned at it. Within a few minutes, inspiration struck and he set to typing, the minibots giving him distance and peace to get his work done. Two hours later, Sideswipe knocked on Prowl's door. Without waiting for an invitation he entered, planted the finished report in front of the stunned SIC and took his leave.

Not thinking the childish frontliner had taken his task to spark, Prowl activated the screen and read the report. It started out as any normal report on possible Decepticon sighting, but then it ventured into the realm of fast cars and a particularly nice little Ferrari that was the showcase. Sideswipe detailed every line and curve and mentioned the throttling of the engine and the power behind the pistons and what it must have felt like to feel such a thing under and around and by Primus, if Prowl didn't have to make an unscheduled visit to the washracks.

As Prowl stood beneath the spray he made a mental note that Sideswipe would be filling out a great many reports in the future.

{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]{{_}} [[-]]

Yes, another short one and before I get more PMs saying, "Where's the rest of it? It could have been better if it was longer! I want an F'ing novel!" Please bear in mind, I get out what I can with time and stress willing. I won't be posting at all next week because as some of you are aware, my mother has a brain lesion caused by the flu shot and will have to go in for emergency brain surgery soon. She has doctor's appointments on the 11th and 16th to do the preliminary tests and scans before they schedule the surgery.

And a couple weeks ago when I whacked my hand on the door jamb I have inadvertently cracked the bone (middle knuckle of my right forefinger) so its painful to type for any length of time as the pain starts lacing up my hand from the break.

So, understandably, the chapters are a little shorter.

Thanks, and prayers for my momma would be appreciated.

Love to all,

PJ