The Diego Diaries: Home Again Etc. (446) (A shorty bonus for tonight) edited
-0-Peering out the door and down the corridor of the apartment complex
"Ali."
A momentary pause, then a door opens down the hallway. "What?" a smirking face asks as it peers out.
"Just checking reception," Ratchet said as he leaned on the doorjamb. They weren't in the corridor so technically they were still in their apartments. "How do you suppose Prowl is? He took one for the team."
Alor snickered. "I think he's going to be sore. Good excuse for a back rub."
"What are you making for dinner? I might send one of the younglings over with a bowl."
Alor chuckled. "Do. I might keep them overnight."
"Oh." He glanced at his genitors door, then back at Alor. "I would see what ada is having but I might get paddled."
"Send Ironhide to the market and let him take Sunspot. It would make a good bonding activity and help him with such for the Autobot Scouts."
Ratchet guffawed, then grinned. "Did you know I'm a writer of some small repute?"
Alor leaned against the doorjamb, then grinned. "I bet you are. How small?" Alor asked.
Ratchet chuckled. "That was low. Tell you what. How about we take the next joor and write a sexy story. Then when its over we can read it to each other."
Alor snorted, then crossed his arms over his chassis. "I will have you know that I was a pretty good writer in the orn."
"Good. Make it sexy," Ratchet said. "I'm going to write about a doctor that is so selfless he will mercy frag a mom van."
Alor googled that, then snorted. "A mom van? Really, Ratchet... what about your reputation?" They stared at each other, then guffawed. Ali nodded. "You're on."
"What is your story going to be?" Ratchet asked as he paused before going into the apartment.
"I was thinking about a handsome tactician who has a three way with a Prime and a mini-con."
Ratchet considered that. "You're evil."
Ali nodded. "I am Ironhide's ada. Did you really expect it to be any other way?"
Ratchet grinned. "Nope." He stepped back inside and the door closed. Cracking his knuckles, Ratchet considered what he could write in one joor that was worthy of his talents. Then he sat and began to tip-tap away on his datapad.
-0-Down the corridor
Alor sat down in his chair with another bottle of beer. Taking a sip of its ice cold contents, he grinned. "You are a caution, Ratchet. I think this next four orns are going to be fun." Then he began to write.
-0-Down the corridor at the Loser's Apartment as a voice cries out from the ether
:Loser. You there?:
:What? You need to whine, Prowl?:
:What are you doing, *LOSER*?:
:Alor and I are having a contest. Both of us are writing a sexy story in only one joor. Then we're going to lean out into the corridor and read them to each other: -Ratchet
Pause.
:That's not fair. You're just two doors apart and I'm up here alone: -Prowl
:Well, you have a balcony: -Ratchet
Pause.
:So: -Prowl
Ratchet snorted, then laughed. :Join us and write a sexy story, Prowl. Stop being a whiner and help out here. I can't do all the entertaining. We have four orns not to go nuts and this is only joor one:
Pause.
:You don't think I can write a sexy story: -Prowl
:Nope: -Ratchet, with a giant grin
:I will. I'll show you I have a few tricks up my sleeves, LOSER!:
Ratchet grinned. :Go ahead, whiner. Why don't you write yourself as a sexy virginal Temple priest stationed in Praxus to work among the peasants, who is falling apart from self denial and the *cosmic rust*. You seduce the Prime when he visits to do the servos on to save you as a good messiah would. Then you can show him your gratitude. It would be religious too. Show us your stuff. You know, like when you actually courted the Prime? For about nine million years?:
There was a pause, then a slightly ruffled comment filtered back. :You just won't let me live that down will you. I will show you. I'll write one too. One joor? Piece of pie: -a miffed Prowler
:'Cake', desperado: (Huge grin) -Ratchet
:Whatever: -Prowl, feigning indifference when he really, REALLY actually wants to be one of the Cool kids. History repeats itself all over again.
The nerd.
Ratchet listened a moment, then buzzed Ali. :Alor, guess who has his panties in a twist and is writing a story too?:
:Who?: -Alor grinning around his beer bottle
:Prowler: -Ratchet grinning and thinking about getting a beer
:Oh Primus. If Ironhide hadn't of bonded with you, I would have had to talk Blackjack into a trine: -Mad cackling
Ratchet grinned and kept going.
-0-At the armory
Ironhide who had carried Prowler everywhere he went this orn, even inadvertantly into the riot in the courtroom entered his office. Pulling the recharging infant out of his carry hold, he hung him on the hook by the door from his Seeker infant carry bag. Peering inside, noting the baby sweetly recharging in a little ball at the bottom, he grinned. Walking to his desk, he looked at the stack of work. :Ratchet:
:What?: -R
:What are you doing?: -I
:Writing a sexy story: -R
Pause. :I suppose I'm in it: Ironhide (Preens like a preening thing)
:You are. Ali, Prowl and I are having a contest to see who can write the best sexy story in a single joor: -R, preening himself from a sitting position, beer in servo
:What?: (intense surprise goes out over the bond link) I- surprising
:Yeah. Bug out for a joor and I'll let you listen in when they read them: (Link is cut) -R
Ironhide sat a moment mulling the strangeness, then got on the party line. :Optimus, are you busy? Where are you?:
:In the office doing data work: Prime sat back unsettled still but dogged about getting things done which was not as easy without Prowl. Prowl was essential and he had screwed himself for the next four orns.
Sometimes being Prime was fragged.
:I just buzzed Ratchet. Get this. He has MY ADA and PROWL writing a sexy story in just one joor. Then they're going to read them to each other to see who writes the best one. I think:
:What?: A grin filtered over the link to Ironhide as Prime assimilated the strangeness. He knew Prowl better than anyone and was clear that the uptight prim all business dignified professionalism that Prowl brought to the job was not who he was in private.
Especially in private.
Prime got lost in the highlight reel he kept for those moments when a hose nozzle and alcohol weren't enough, then jolted back to reality.
Prowl was writing porn.
:Do they know I know?: Prime asked.
:No. I don't think the others know about me. I will link you when they read them to each other. Ratchet said he would let me listen in:
:Link me too. Don't forget. I want to listen short of nuclear attack: Prime said with a huge grin.
:I will. This is going to be the longest joor of my life: Ironhide said with his own huge grin.
:This is going to be the longest four ORNS of my life: Prime said before signing off.
They both hit the datapads with one optic on the chronometer. It would tick past slowly.
-0-Ratchet
TIP-TAP! TIPPITY-TAP! (Grin) "Oh yeah." TIP! TAP!
-0-Alor
"Slag. Dictation beats typing. Thank goodness this spell checks," Alor said to his datapad. Then he continued. "Hello, handsome. Do you have a library card because I'm checking you out..." Alor paused the recording long enough to laugh out loud.
-0-Prowl
He paced back and forth, datapad in servo as he wracked his processor. Pausing, he considered merely transcribing one of his many memories of fragging the bond but he knew his ada would spank him good if he did something that sacrilegious. /... slag … this is harder than it looks … my ada would slag me good for saying slag …/ He grinned. "Slag."
It echoed in the room, the big empty room. He grinned, then frowned. "This is harder than it looks. I think I already said that. They'll think I'm a prig if I don't write something good." He considered that, then walked to the computer nearby linked to databases all over the solar system including Earth and typed in code words for sexy stories. Feeling almost as if Primus himself was going to reach down and slap his aft for surfing for a porno, he sat uncomfortably until data from Earth began to flood in. He checked the matches, then downloaded a seemingly highly rated novel if hits could be counted as high ratings. Reading it in about 0.0000010 seconds, he paused a full moment for the willies to subside.
Rising with datapad in servo, Prowl grinned. "Frag you, Ratchet." He paused and looked around. No one heard him. Especially his ada. Grinning, Prowl began to plageriz- … that is paraphrase, summarize and documantize the novel. He wrote in something pertaining to himself as the 'heroine'. Then he looked up the many meanings of heroine …
/... slag that … I'm a mech! …/
He changed that part.
He would be the love interest and an Optimus-like figure would be the sexy mech frag object of his many and various fantasies. How hard could it be to change Lady Chatterley's Lover into a short sexy story for this half wit competition? He sat down and began to work.
Ten minutes later …
He paced up and down trying to work out the kinks. It apparently was harder than it looked.
-0-Mr. Terradive's classroom
Ravel sat with Sunspot helping him compose a letter to Mike in London. He had volunteered to help the youngling when it was clear that his own son was a slagger, goof off, rowdy goober and all around grounded for four orns.
He sat patiently working through the letter helping Sunspot find things to say. By the time they were done, three pages would be filled with family, football, dogs, camping, dinner at grandgenitors, upcoming ideas for Halloween, the movies, Uncle Optimus, Uncle Flint who was AWESOME! and his friends and school.
Pictures would be next. Ravel would help him with that too. It would be the longest most content stuffed letter of any that would be going out to a lucky kid on Earth in electronic form in the two schools.
-0-Prowl
"To be or not to be … that is the question ..." Right now, he wasn't being and it didn't look good that he would anytime in the next nine million years. He considered the next novel he would try to adapt for the short story. Hamlet was offered. It wasn't a love story but it was a fragging good read. "What the frag IS the question?" He grinned.
/... frag …/
He snickered a moment, then collected himself.
He sat and began to write a short ditty that might not make sense but had enough nudity to meet the criteria, such as it was.
"Frag you, Ratchet. Loser," Prowl whispered under his breath. "We'll see ..."
-0-TBC September 23, 2013
Note: I think I found my new favorite line: 'Prowl was writing porn.' :D