(no subject)
Quick drabblet - inspiration drawn from IM musings with Q. Who completely trashes Bay in the 'awesome' department.
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When one thought long and hard about it, it wasn't such an odd occurance; each mech had little quirks in their work methods. Smokescreen's and Bluestreak's 'wings both flickered in some silent means of communication. Blaster, Jazz, and Bumblebee loved to have music on, and worked best in lazy sprawls; preferably on a horizontal surface that did not include chairs, started with 'f', ended with 'r', and had five letters. Ironhide tended to slouch, while Trailbreaker, Ratchet, and First Aid all sat or stood ramrod straight - one could almost calibrate a spirit level by them. Both Lambo frontliners did their best work in avoiding work.
Prowl, now... Prowl tended to toy with the nearest object at hand. An emptied cube of energon, his stylus, a blank datapad, a crystal, datachips - and last, but not least, Optimus Prime's tyres.
Which was why, now that they were seated side by side at the conference table, Prime was having trouble concentrating on the reports before him; Prowl's slim white hand was happily tap-tap-tapping at one of the wheels along his thigh, spinning it much like a mischievous kitten intent on uncoiling several kilometres of toilet paper. An index finger would slide along the grooves splitting the simulated rubber, trace idly into the spokes, circle the hubcap and then push the wheel into motion with a deft little flick of his wrist. Then it would repeat, over and over again, with random variations. The semi's engine coughed low, fighting the little jump of servos as the friction shifted from assumed sensor ghost, to a light touch, to a definite touch that seemed to awaken sensor nodes in the area and was entirely too pleasurable to remain innocent for long. Unless...
Vents hissing quietly in a sigh, Prime snuck another glance over at the tactician, his gaze moving over the smaller mech. Prowl's head was down, attention buried in the data on the 'pad, frame and 'wings relaxed despite his erect posture. It only confirmed what he already knew; the Nissan was completely oblivious to the fact that he was toying with his CO's tyres.
As he studied the black-and-white, he began to note the light hum he'd come to associate with a happily content Prowl, and the pleased cant of the dual-pair 'wings. Sighing again, clamping down on the shivers wending their way through his hip and lower back, Optimus decided to indulge his tactician a little longer, before gently drawing the mech's attention to a discrepancy he'd noted in one of the official texts he had been reading. Prowl's hand left the tyre to rest on the table as he leant over for a better look; before long, it was back again, fingertips tap-tap-tapping along the wheel in a rhythm that was fast becoming familiar.
Optimus couldn't help but smile.
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When one thought long and hard about it, it wasn't such an odd occurance; each mech had little quirks in their work methods. Smokescreen's and Bluestreak's 'wings both flickered in some silent means of communication. Blaster, Jazz, and Bumblebee loved to have music on, and worked best in lazy sprawls; preferably on a horizontal surface that did not include chairs, started with 'f', ended with 'r', and had five letters. Ironhide tended to slouch, while Trailbreaker, Ratchet, and First Aid all sat or stood ramrod straight - one could almost calibrate a spirit level by them. Both Lambo frontliners did their best work in avoiding work.
Prowl, now... Prowl tended to toy with the nearest object at hand. An emptied cube of energon, his stylus, a blank datapad, a crystal, datachips - and last, but not least, Optimus Prime's tyres.
Which was why, now that they were seated side by side at the conference table, Prime was having trouble concentrating on the reports before him; Prowl's slim white hand was happily tap-tap-tapping at one of the wheels along his thigh, spinning it much like a mischievous kitten intent on uncoiling several kilometres of toilet paper. An index finger would slide along the grooves splitting the simulated rubber, trace idly into the spokes, circle the hubcap and then push the wheel into motion with a deft little flick of his wrist. Then it would repeat, over and over again, with random variations. The semi's engine coughed low, fighting the little jump of servos as the friction shifted from assumed sensor ghost, to a light touch, to a definite touch that seemed to awaken sensor nodes in the area and was entirely too pleasurable to remain innocent for long. Unless...
Vents hissing quietly in a sigh, Prime snuck another glance over at the tactician, his gaze moving over the smaller mech. Prowl's head was down, attention buried in the data on the 'pad, frame and 'wings relaxed despite his erect posture. It only confirmed what he already knew; the Nissan was completely oblivious to the fact that he was toying with his CO's tyres.
As he studied the black-and-white, he began to note the light hum he'd come to associate with a happily content Prowl, and the pleased cant of the dual-pair 'wings. Sighing again, clamping down on the shivers wending their way through his hip and lower back, Optimus decided to indulge his tactician a little longer, before gently drawing the mech's attention to a discrepancy he'd noted in one of the official texts he had been reading. Prowl's hand left the tyre to rest on the table as he leant over for a better look; before long, it was back again, fingertips tap-tap-tapping along the wheel in a rhythm that was fast becoming familiar.
Optimus couldn't help but smile.