[G1] Apple a Day 12 - First Date
a/n: See? I told you I would eventually update this. It's slow-going and I have no idea where it's going, but it's not abandoned. :)
Self-beta'ed. Please excuse possible grammatical errors.
Title: First Date
Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ironhide
Universe: G1, Apple a Day 12
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Ratchet and the twins have their first date. Ironhide supervises.
“There,” Sideswipe hears from behind him, along with a subtle click, though he doesn't feel much of anything thanks to the sensor block. “How does that feel?”
He chuckles and wonders if anyone else is catching the uneasy tremor to his voice. “Numb?” he hazards.
Ratchet's energy field teases at his own, echoing amusement mixed with exasperation. He does something else, there's another click, and then sensation floods through Sideswipe's sensory net. His HUD runs a diagnostic and immediately locates the new hardware, integrating it into his systems.
Sideswipe rolls his shoulders experimentally.
“What about now?” Ratchet asks.
He rolls his neck cables, too. In fact, Sideswipe flexes his entire upper torso, feeling the linkages for his jet pack shift with him. They don't feel as stiff as they used to, and they are definitely lighter. There's not as much of a draw on his power systems either.
It's gotta be twice as efficient now.
“It's great,” Sideswipe says, unable to help his enthusiastic grin. He winks one optic at Sunstreaker, who's standing across from him with arms folded across his chestplate. “Those Seekers aren't gonna know what to do with me.”
Ratchet's palm hits him square in the middle of his backplate. “If you could refrain from riding Seekers for at least two weeks, you won't end up in my medbay.”
But what if that's where Sideswipe wants to be?
He grins cheekily, fluttering the armor across his back. “Whatever ya say, Ratch.”
“And don't call me that.”
Sunstreaker huffs a ventilation. “Good luck with that,” he says, rolling his optics. “I'm still training him to call mechs their proper designations.”
“It's how I show I care,” Sideswipe says.
“No, you just like being a nuisance,” Ironhide says and Sideswipe hunches his shoulders.
He's almost managed to forget that Ironhide is here, watching them, supervising them, for whatever the frag reasons Ratchet's cooked up in that processor of his. Ironhide's been designated their guardian. Again, Sideswipe has no idea why this is necessary. It's part of whatever weird-as-slag game Ratchet is playing.
Ratchet chuckles. “Yes, there is that,” he says, of course agreeing with Ironhide. He pats Sideswipe on the back again. “You're good to go, Sideswipe. Just take it easy. I'm serious.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got ya.” He turns around, stretching his arms above his head, loosening kinked cables and letting a rush of fresh air flow over his plating. “So how about that drive?” Anticipation had been a flutter in his spark all afternoon.
Ironhide chuckles. “Ya might want ta rethink that.”
Sideswipe can all but hear Ratchet bristle. “And why the frag should I do that?”
The old warrior taps his comm unit. “Check the weather.” Which would have to be done by contacting whoever was on duty. The medbay is so deep in the volcano, they can't just look out a window.
Sunstreaker lets loose a horrified gasp. “It's raining,” he says, utterly aghast.
Sideswipe wilts. If it's raining, then nothing short of a direct order from Prowl or Prime will get his brother out those doors. Oh, he'll go outside in the mud and muck if he's ordered to, for patrol or something, but never for a pleasure drive. And risk getting his finish dulled? Perish the thought!
“Like a typhoon,” Ironhide confirms with a nod of his helm, energy field radiating amusement. He's far too entertained for Sideswipe's liking.
“Of course it is,” Ratchet mutters, field flaring with irritation.
“What? You didn't have a backup plan?” Ironhide teases and Sideswipe, sensing danger, wisely moves out from between the two older mechs, taking refuge beside his brother.
Ratchet's optics cycle down. “Of course I don't,” he says in a low tone, a note of warning present that Sideswipe and many other Autobots have learned to beware.
Ironhide, old warrior that he is, seems to have torn out those cautionary protocols a long time ago. Either that or he's a masochist.
“You're pretty bad at this courtin' thing, ain'tcha?” Ironhide says.
Ratchet growls low in his vocalizer.
“We don't have to go for a drive,” Sunstreaker says, over Ratchet's glare and Ironhide's smirk. “The rec room should be pretty deserted.”
“I like lunch,” Sideswipe offers, because he's still pretty slagging curious about what's going on and especially curious about courting.
Ironhide looks pleased with himself. “Seems like the ball's in yer court, medic.”
Gathering dignity about himself like one might a gold-encrusted cloth, Ratchet draws himself to his full height. “It just so happens that I am in need of a refuel myself,” he says, and makes a pointed effort not to look at anyone. “Whether or not any of you join me is your decision.”
He makes for the door.
Sideswipe gives Ironhide an askance look. “Is that an invitation?”
Ironhide roars with laughter. “Ratchet's idea of one, yeah.” He gives both twins a long, steady look. “I'm tellin' ya now. If ya have any reservations, now's the time to turn around and walk away.”
Sunstreaker throws his hands into the air before Sideswipe can twitch. “Reservations? We still don’t know what the slag is going on!”
Ironhide jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, yer answers are stalkin' out that door as we speak. I'm just the guardian.”
“What does that even mean?” Sideswipe demands, exasperation coloring his vocals.
Ironhide grins, the sort of smirk a mech gets when he knows something everyone else doesn't. “I get to make sure Ratchet doesn't do anything inappropriate.”
Sideswipe boggles; Sunstreaker stares. “What?” Sideswipe demands.
The warrior mech dissolves into boisterous laughter. “Protecting your virtue is all part of my job description now.”
Ironhide couldn't have flabbergasted Sideswipe anymore if he'd tried. Both of them, actually. Sunstreaker is struck speechless and Sideswipe splutters. Words, he can't form them!
“That doesn't... I don't... why would...?” Sideswipe's face contorts, his processor aching in an attempt to process the new information.
Sunstreaker hooks an elbow around his arm, dragging him out of the medbay. “Come on, bro,” he says as Sideswipe stumbles along with him. “We'll ask Ratchet ourselves.”
“But...” Words fail him yet again.
Ironhide follows, still radiating amusement. He's enjoying himself far too much for Sideswipe's comfort.
They find Ratchet in the rec room, a noisily and boisterously occupied rec room as a matter of fact. Is there even anyone on shift? Primus.
He immediately picks out all of the Aerialbots, the Protectobots, and the Dinobots. There's a gaggle of minibots in the center of the room, a cluster of Spec Ops in the nearest corner, and off to himself like a great, looming shadow, is Skyfire, frowning over his energon cube.
They work their way through the crowd, Sunstreaker still clinging to him like an octopus. Ratchet's tucked himself away in the corner, at a table that seats four with three energon cubes waiting.
“Where's mine?” Ironhide demands as the twins take a seat on either side of Ratchet, sharing glances over the table.
Answers. Answers must be had.
“You get your own, slagger,” Ratchet retorts.
“Ungrateful aft,” Ironhide grumbles, crossing his arms. “And here I am, helpin' ya out of the kindness of mah spark.”
“Oh, you selfless angel,” Ratchet says in a mocking tone. “How will I ever repay you?”
Ironhide's smirk turns lecherous and a shudder races down Sideswipe's backstrut at the sight. “Come to think of it, I've got a kink in my--”
“Questions!” Sideswipe all but yelps, waving one hand in the air if only to cut off that line of conversation that should never, ever see the light of day. “We have questions!”
“And maybe I have answers,” Ratchet grunts, staring long and hard at Ironhide before sliding his optics back toward the twins.
Throwing his hands into the air, Ironhide turns around. “I'm gonna go get that cube now,” he says, and pushes back into the noisy crowd.
Sideswipe grins, more than a little relieved that the disturbing near-flirtation between Ironhide and Ratchet has come to an end. “Are we allowed to be unsupervised?”
Ratchet snorts, pushing his own cube around the table and not drinking it. “You don't even know what that means.”
“Then explain,” Sunstreaker insists with an oddly serious look to his faceplate.
Ratchet performs a heavy in-vent, like he's gearing himself up for something difficult. “I thought it would be obvious by now,” he says, toying with his energon.
Sunstreaker's optics cycle down. “Well, it's not.”
Sideswipe winces, trying to send calming waves across their bond. Sunstreaker's getting a bit testy which is never a good thing, especially when it comes to Ratchet, who responds to belligerence in kind.
Ratchet seems to slump in his chair, though he does give Sunstreaker a warning look. “It's simple,” he says. “Courting is how I show you two I'm serious.”
“You're always serious,” Sideswipe says, trying to lighten the mood with a cheesy grin.
It falls flat.
“About partnering with you, idiot,” Ratchet snaps, then clamps his mouth shut, radiating guilt. He snatches up his cube and drains half of it in one gulp.
Sideswipe looks at his brother, who returns the glance with equal surprise. They turn, in tandem, and stare at Ratchet. He can't seriously mean...?
“You mean...?” Sideswipe trails off.
“I must be out of my processor,” Ratchet mumbles and rubs his faceplate with one hand. “Yes, I intend to try a relationship with you. Both of you.”
Sideswipe gapes. Oh, sure. They've both thought about wanting it. But neither him nor Sunstreaker thought it would actually happen.
They're a pair of twin frontliners with a few thoughts to rub together and an aptitude for breaking the rules. Ratchet's frothed at the mouth for as many times as he he's had to put them together, pulling miracles out of thin air.
Well, it's certainly an explanation for Ratchet's behavior lately. The gifts and such. But it's still a shock.
“So,” Ratchet continues, when the silence stretches long enough that awkward is no longer avoidable, “since this is our first, official date, you have the option of rejecting my courtship.”
Rejecting? Why on Earth would they do that?
Sideswipe makes a grab for his cube to give his hands something to do. “Um, okay,” he says. “But if you wanted us, why go through all of this?”
“It's not like we're hard to get in the berth or anything,” Sunstreaker adds.
Sideswipe winces again. Though it is true. They like to interface, whether it be each other or a willing partner. Pleasure is much better than pain and with this war, pain is what they get a majority of the time.
Anger and something else makes Ratchet's faceplate flush, his field warbling. “I don't want another empty frag, you glitches,” he hisses and looks away, fingers rapping a nonsense rhythm on the tabletop. “That's my point.”
Oh.
Sideswipe's optics cycle wider.
Oh. Well, that certainly changes things.
The sound of a mech loudly resetting his vocalizer breaks the startled silence. Sideswipe doesn't even have to look to know it's Ironhide.
“Did I miss something?” Ironhide asks.
“No,” Ratchet says and scrambles to his pedes, managing to look both guilty and embarrassed all at once. “So that's my offer,” he adds, louder and with a pointed look at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. “Take it or leave it.”
He then pulls something from his subspace and sets it on the table. Two somethings, actually, pushing one of each to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.
“Spoons?” Sideswipe asks, more than a little confused.
“Wooden spoons?” Sunstreaker clarifies, equally baffled as he picks up one of the utensils and twirls it with his thumb and forefinger.
“You're smart mechs,” Ratchet says. “You'll figure it out.”
Ratchet leaves, vanishing into the crowd of Autobots as though he has some training in Spec Ops or something. Sideswipe is left staring at his wooden spoon, wondering what the frag he's supposed to do with it.
“And here's my gift,” Ironhide says, vocals trembling as though he's trying to hold back his laughter. “For good luck.” He tosses a datapad onto the table between them.
“What is it?” Sideswipe asks, giving the datapad a wary look. It never hurts to be too careful when it comes to Ironhides bearing gifts. Kind of like Ratchets, actually.
“Something you'll be needing. Trust me.” Ironhide's grin widens, optics sparkling at them. “I'm rootin' for ya, brats.”
Ironhide turns and leaves, too.
The datapad sits on the table between them. Sideswipe stares at it. Sunstreaker wibbles and finally snatches it, powering it up.
“Seriously,” Sideswipe says, turning his spoon over and over. He scans it for good measure but there's nothing special about it. “What's up with the spoon?”
“It's a manual,” Sunstreaker replies.
“The spoon?” Sideswipe frowns.
Exasperation flashes across their bond, Sunstreaker following it up with a blat of static to his personal comm. “Not the spoon, you glitch. The datapad.” He holds up said datapad, waving it through the air. “It's the Idiot's Guide to Courting.”
Sideswipe launches himself over the table, snatching it from his brother's hand. Sunstreaker scowls, but gives up the datapad.
This, Sideswipe decides as he powers it on, is really going to come in handy. Ratchet's not going to be the only one with the upperhand anymore.
The game is on.
***
a/n: There's more to come. I've got the next piece mapped out (some JazzxPerceptor and another hint of Skyfire) and I'm brainstorming what will come after. Suggestions are always welcome. So is feedback. I hope you enjoyed!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/216200.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Self-beta'ed. Please excuse possible grammatical errors.
Title: First Date
Characters: Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ironhide
Universe: G1, Apple a Day 12
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: Ratchet and the twins have their first date. Ironhide supervises.
“There,” Sideswipe hears from behind him, along with a subtle click, though he doesn't feel much of anything thanks to the sensor block. “How does that feel?”
He chuckles and wonders if anyone else is catching the uneasy tremor to his voice. “Numb?” he hazards.
Ratchet's energy field teases at his own, echoing amusement mixed with exasperation. He does something else, there's another click, and then sensation floods through Sideswipe's sensory net. His HUD runs a diagnostic and immediately locates the new hardware, integrating it into his systems.
Sideswipe rolls his shoulders experimentally.
“What about now?” Ratchet asks.
He rolls his neck cables, too. In fact, Sideswipe flexes his entire upper torso, feeling the linkages for his jet pack shift with him. They don't feel as stiff as they used to, and they are definitely lighter. There's not as much of a draw on his power systems either.
It's gotta be twice as efficient now.
“It's great,” Sideswipe says, unable to help his enthusiastic grin. He winks one optic at Sunstreaker, who's standing across from him with arms folded across his chestplate. “Those Seekers aren't gonna know what to do with me.”
Ratchet's palm hits him square in the middle of his backplate. “If you could refrain from riding Seekers for at least two weeks, you won't end up in my medbay.”
But what if that's where Sideswipe wants to be?
He grins cheekily, fluttering the armor across his back. “Whatever ya say, Ratch.”
“And don't call me that.”
Sunstreaker huffs a ventilation. “Good luck with that,” he says, rolling his optics. “I'm still training him to call mechs their proper designations.”
“It's how I show I care,” Sideswipe says.
“No, you just like being a nuisance,” Ironhide says and Sideswipe hunches his shoulders.
He's almost managed to forget that Ironhide is here, watching them, supervising them, for whatever the frag reasons Ratchet's cooked up in that processor of his. Ironhide's been designated their guardian. Again, Sideswipe has no idea why this is necessary. It's part of whatever weird-as-slag game Ratchet is playing.
Ratchet chuckles. “Yes, there is that,” he says, of course agreeing with Ironhide. He pats Sideswipe on the back again. “You're good to go, Sideswipe. Just take it easy. I'm serious.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got ya.” He turns around, stretching his arms above his head, loosening kinked cables and letting a rush of fresh air flow over his plating. “So how about that drive?” Anticipation had been a flutter in his spark all afternoon.
Ironhide chuckles. “Ya might want ta rethink that.”
Sideswipe can all but hear Ratchet bristle. “And why the frag should I do that?”
The old warrior taps his comm unit. “Check the weather.” Which would have to be done by contacting whoever was on duty. The medbay is so deep in the volcano, they can't just look out a window.
Sunstreaker lets loose a horrified gasp. “It's raining,” he says, utterly aghast.
Sideswipe wilts. If it's raining, then nothing short of a direct order from Prowl or Prime will get his brother out those doors. Oh, he'll go outside in the mud and muck if he's ordered to, for patrol or something, but never for a pleasure drive. And risk getting his finish dulled? Perish the thought!
“Like a typhoon,” Ironhide confirms with a nod of his helm, energy field radiating amusement. He's far too entertained for Sideswipe's liking.
“Of course it is,” Ratchet mutters, field flaring with irritation.
“What? You didn't have a backup plan?” Ironhide teases and Sideswipe, sensing danger, wisely moves out from between the two older mechs, taking refuge beside his brother.
Ratchet's optics cycle down. “Of course I don't,” he says in a low tone, a note of warning present that Sideswipe and many other Autobots have learned to beware.
Ironhide, old warrior that he is, seems to have torn out those cautionary protocols a long time ago. Either that or he's a masochist.
“You're pretty bad at this courtin' thing, ain'tcha?” Ironhide says.
Ratchet growls low in his vocalizer.
“We don't have to go for a drive,” Sunstreaker says, over Ratchet's glare and Ironhide's smirk. “The rec room should be pretty deserted.”
“I like lunch,” Sideswipe offers, because he's still pretty slagging curious about what's going on and especially curious about courting.
Ironhide looks pleased with himself. “Seems like the ball's in yer court, medic.”
Gathering dignity about himself like one might a gold-encrusted cloth, Ratchet draws himself to his full height. “It just so happens that I am in need of a refuel myself,” he says, and makes a pointed effort not to look at anyone. “Whether or not any of you join me is your decision.”
He makes for the door.
Sideswipe gives Ironhide an askance look. “Is that an invitation?”
Ironhide roars with laughter. “Ratchet's idea of one, yeah.” He gives both twins a long, steady look. “I'm tellin' ya now. If ya have any reservations, now's the time to turn around and walk away.”
Sunstreaker throws his hands into the air before Sideswipe can twitch. “Reservations? We still don’t know what the slag is going on!”
Ironhide jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Well, yer answers are stalkin' out that door as we speak. I'm just the guardian.”
“What does that even mean?” Sideswipe demands, exasperation coloring his vocals.
Ironhide grins, the sort of smirk a mech gets when he knows something everyone else doesn't. “I get to make sure Ratchet doesn't do anything inappropriate.”
Sideswipe boggles; Sunstreaker stares. “What?” Sideswipe demands.
The warrior mech dissolves into boisterous laughter. “Protecting your virtue is all part of my job description now.”
Ironhide couldn't have flabbergasted Sideswipe anymore if he'd tried. Both of them, actually. Sunstreaker is struck speechless and Sideswipe splutters. Words, he can't form them!
“That doesn't... I don't... why would...?” Sideswipe's face contorts, his processor aching in an attempt to process the new information.
Sunstreaker hooks an elbow around his arm, dragging him out of the medbay. “Come on, bro,” he says as Sideswipe stumbles along with him. “We'll ask Ratchet ourselves.”
“But...” Words fail him yet again.
Ironhide follows, still radiating amusement. He's enjoying himself far too much for Sideswipe's comfort.
They find Ratchet in the rec room, a noisily and boisterously occupied rec room as a matter of fact. Is there even anyone on shift? Primus.
He immediately picks out all of the Aerialbots, the Protectobots, and the Dinobots. There's a gaggle of minibots in the center of the room, a cluster of Spec Ops in the nearest corner, and off to himself like a great, looming shadow, is Skyfire, frowning over his energon cube.
They work their way through the crowd, Sunstreaker still clinging to him like an octopus. Ratchet's tucked himself away in the corner, at a table that seats four with three energon cubes waiting.
“Where's mine?” Ironhide demands as the twins take a seat on either side of Ratchet, sharing glances over the table.
Answers. Answers must be had.
“You get your own, slagger,” Ratchet retorts.
“Ungrateful aft,” Ironhide grumbles, crossing his arms. “And here I am, helpin' ya out of the kindness of mah spark.”
“Oh, you selfless angel,” Ratchet says in a mocking tone. “How will I ever repay you?”
Ironhide's smirk turns lecherous and a shudder races down Sideswipe's backstrut at the sight. “Come to think of it, I've got a kink in my--”
“Questions!” Sideswipe all but yelps, waving one hand in the air if only to cut off that line of conversation that should never, ever see the light of day. “We have questions!”
“And maybe I have answers,” Ratchet grunts, staring long and hard at Ironhide before sliding his optics back toward the twins.
Throwing his hands into the air, Ironhide turns around. “I'm gonna go get that cube now,” he says, and pushes back into the noisy crowd.
Sideswipe grins, more than a little relieved that the disturbing near-flirtation between Ironhide and Ratchet has come to an end. “Are we allowed to be unsupervised?”
Ratchet snorts, pushing his own cube around the table and not drinking it. “You don't even know what that means.”
“Then explain,” Sunstreaker insists with an oddly serious look to his faceplate.
Ratchet performs a heavy in-vent, like he's gearing himself up for something difficult. “I thought it would be obvious by now,” he says, toying with his energon.
Sunstreaker's optics cycle down. “Well, it's not.”
Sideswipe winces, trying to send calming waves across their bond. Sunstreaker's getting a bit testy which is never a good thing, especially when it comes to Ratchet, who responds to belligerence in kind.
Ratchet seems to slump in his chair, though he does give Sunstreaker a warning look. “It's simple,” he says. “Courting is how I show you two I'm serious.”
“You're always serious,” Sideswipe says, trying to lighten the mood with a cheesy grin.
It falls flat.
“About partnering with you, idiot,” Ratchet snaps, then clamps his mouth shut, radiating guilt. He snatches up his cube and drains half of it in one gulp.
Sideswipe looks at his brother, who returns the glance with equal surprise. They turn, in tandem, and stare at Ratchet. He can't seriously mean...?
“You mean...?” Sideswipe trails off.
“I must be out of my processor,” Ratchet mumbles and rubs his faceplate with one hand. “Yes, I intend to try a relationship with you. Both of you.”
Sideswipe gapes. Oh, sure. They've both thought about wanting it. But neither him nor Sunstreaker thought it would actually happen.
They're a pair of twin frontliners with a few thoughts to rub together and an aptitude for breaking the rules. Ratchet's frothed at the mouth for as many times as he he's had to put them together, pulling miracles out of thin air.
Well, it's certainly an explanation for Ratchet's behavior lately. The gifts and such. But it's still a shock.
“So,” Ratchet continues, when the silence stretches long enough that awkward is no longer avoidable, “since this is our first, official date, you have the option of rejecting my courtship.”
Rejecting? Why on Earth would they do that?
Sideswipe makes a grab for his cube to give his hands something to do. “Um, okay,” he says. “But if you wanted us, why go through all of this?”
“It's not like we're hard to get in the berth or anything,” Sunstreaker adds.
Sideswipe winces again. Though it is true. They like to interface, whether it be each other or a willing partner. Pleasure is much better than pain and with this war, pain is what they get a majority of the time.
Anger and something else makes Ratchet's faceplate flush, his field warbling. “I don't want another empty frag, you glitches,” he hisses and looks away, fingers rapping a nonsense rhythm on the tabletop. “That's my point.”
Oh.
Sideswipe's optics cycle wider.
Oh. Well, that certainly changes things.
The sound of a mech loudly resetting his vocalizer breaks the startled silence. Sideswipe doesn't even have to look to know it's Ironhide.
“Did I miss something?” Ironhide asks.
“No,” Ratchet says and scrambles to his pedes, managing to look both guilty and embarrassed all at once. “So that's my offer,” he adds, louder and with a pointed look at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. “Take it or leave it.”
He then pulls something from his subspace and sets it on the table. Two somethings, actually, pushing one of each to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.
“Spoons?” Sideswipe asks, more than a little confused.
“Wooden spoons?” Sunstreaker clarifies, equally baffled as he picks up one of the utensils and twirls it with his thumb and forefinger.
“You're smart mechs,” Ratchet says. “You'll figure it out.”
Ratchet leaves, vanishing into the crowd of Autobots as though he has some training in Spec Ops or something. Sideswipe is left staring at his wooden spoon, wondering what the frag he's supposed to do with it.
“And here's my gift,” Ironhide says, vocals trembling as though he's trying to hold back his laughter. “For good luck.” He tosses a datapad onto the table between them.
“What is it?” Sideswipe asks, giving the datapad a wary look. It never hurts to be too careful when it comes to Ironhides bearing gifts. Kind of like Ratchets, actually.
“Something you'll be needing. Trust me.” Ironhide's grin widens, optics sparkling at them. “I'm rootin' for ya, brats.”
Ironhide turns and leaves, too.
The datapad sits on the table between them. Sideswipe stares at it. Sunstreaker wibbles and finally snatches it, powering it up.
“Seriously,” Sideswipe says, turning his spoon over and over. He scans it for good measure but there's nothing special about it. “What's up with the spoon?”
“It's a manual,” Sunstreaker replies.
“The spoon?” Sideswipe frowns.
Exasperation flashes across their bond, Sunstreaker following it up with a blat of static to his personal comm. “Not the spoon, you glitch. The datapad.” He holds up said datapad, waving it through the air. “It's the Idiot's Guide to Courting.”
Sideswipe launches himself over the table, snatching it from his brother's hand. Sunstreaker scowls, but gives up the datapad.
This, Sideswipe decides as he powers it on, is really going to come in handy. Ratchet's not going to be the only one with the upperhand anymore.
The game is on.
***
a/n: There's more to come. I've got the next piece mapped out (some JazzxPerceptor and another hint of Skyfire) and I'm brainstorming what will come after. Suggestions are always welcome. So is feedback. I hope you enjoyed!
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/216200.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.