Mini Fic - Reports are no fun, but my berthmate is
Title: Reports Are No Fun, But My Berthmate Is
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Hound/Mirage
Warnings: implied sparkmerging
Summary: Hound really needs to finish his report. Mirage is Not Helping.
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related stuff still doesn't belong to me :(
Notes: Written for tfanonkink, originally posted here
Thanks to mmouse15 for a brilliant title.
:The woodland to the east will provide good cover to approach and slide my hand across: Hound snorted as he removed the last couple of words and started again, :good cover to approach the outpost without taking casualties although if you stretch out like that then we could all just walk in. Slag.:
Hound swore as his processor decided to take another detour from the scouting report he was meant to be writing. Jazz might be forgiving but even he wouldn’t appreciate half the report referring to the mech currently sprawled out across Hounds berth like a cybercat.
Unhooking the datapad from his processor Hound resolved to write it the slow way. At least then comments about the noble wouldn’t keep appearing whenever he thought about them.
Looking up he froze, stylus poised above the pad as Mirage rolled over, arm draping over the edge of the berth as he propped his helm up with his other arm.
“I have to finish this.”
“Mmmmmm.” The noise was noncommittal as Mirage rolled back, loosening his armour as he stretched, showing a tantalising glimpse of bare protoform and wiring before the noble curled up.
Hound sighed, vents gusting out warm air as he turned his attention back to his report, ignoring the finely arched back currently on show as Mirage repositioned himself yet again, plating shifting as he moved.
Four sentences later and he realised that it was already a lost battle as what was meant to be the start of a list of enemy mechs confirmed in the outpost had turned into doodling Mirage’s designation.
The noble had uncurled and was somehow managing to take up the entirety of a two mech berth as Hound put the datapad down on a shelf.
Mirage smirked as he approached, the sprawl turning into an artful stretch as he made room for his lover, his chestplates sliding apart with barely a sound.
Continuity: G1
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Hound/Mirage
Warnings: implied sparkmerging
Summary: Hound really needs to finish his report. Mirage is Not Helping.
Disclaimer: Transformers and all related stuff still doesn't belong to me :(
Notes: Written for tfanonkink, originally posted here
Thanks to mmouse15 for a brilliant title.
:The woodland to the east will provide good cover to approach and slide my hand across: Hound snorted as he removed the last couple of words and started again, :good cover to approach the outpost without taking casualties although if you stretch out like that then we could all just walk in. Slag.:
Hound swore as his processor decided to take another detour from the scouting report he was meant to be writing. Jazz might be forgiving but even he wouldn’t appreciate half the report referring to the mech currently sprawled out across Hounds berth like a cybercat.
Unhooking the datapad from his processor Hound resolved to write it the slow way. At least then comments about the noble wouldn’t keep appearing whenever he thought about them.
Looking up he froze, stylus poised above the pad as Mirage rolled over, arm draping over the edge of the berth as he propped his helm up with his other arm.
“I have to finish this.”
“Mmmmmm.” The noise was noncommittal as Mirage rolled back, loosening his armour as he stretched, showing a tantalising glimpse of bare protoform and wiring before the noble curled up.
Hound sighed, vents gusting out warm air as he turned his attention back to his report, ignoring the finely arched back currently on show as Mirage repositioned himself yet again, plating shifting as he moved.
Four sentences later and he realised that it was already a lost battle as what was meant to be the start of a list of enemy mechs confirmed in the outpost had turned into doodling Mirage’s designation.
The noble had uncurled and was somehow managing to take up the entirety of a two mech berth as Hound put the datapad down on a shelf.
Mirage smirked as he approached, the sprawl turning into an artful stretch as he made room for his lover, his chestplates sliding apart with barely a sound.