Decent Recharge -- Bluestreak
For aradow, who requested some Bluestreak fluff.
Title: Decent Recharge -- Bluestreak
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Prowl was lying on top of one of the few remaining engines when Bluestreak found him. The gunner was in a dark mood, but the way the tactician was sprawled out, limbs bent at odd angles, doorwings fluttering in a manner that screamed “content”, engine rumbling in that purr that most of the base was now familiar with.
“Prowl?” he said tentatively, and one golden optic opened.
“Yes, Bluestreak?” Prowl asked, doorwings arching in a stretch.
“I...” he started, then stopped, mouth closing and opening, vocalizer hissing static.
“What is wrong?” the Second in Command asked as he lifted himself into a sitting position, both bright optics trained on his adopted creation.
“I can't recharge. The... The Twins are gone, and... the... the thunder...”
And Prowl knew, then, what the problem was. Bluestreak's quarters were set against the bulkhead, where the Arc was still exposed. It was raining at the moment. Storming, actually. And the thunder sounded much like explosions, and so many bursts of it in quick succession...
Well, anyone who had lived through what Bluestreak had would understand. Anyone who had lived through an air-strike would.
Prowl had lived through quite a few air-strikes.
“Come, Bluestreak,” he said, smiling sadly.”
“What? Up there? But... that's just...”
“Very comfortable. And we are a long way from the bulkhead. And the thunder. I do not mind having company.”
Slowly, the gunner moved forward, stepping up on a protruding piece of metal and taking his adopted creator's offered hand. A moment later, he was sitting on the edge of the warm, humming engine. Prowl re-curled behind him.
For a minute, Bluestreak just surveyed the room. Then he turned around and slowly lay down on his side, doorwings facing Prowl.
After a moment of simply lying there, he was startled to realize it really was very comfortable... With the warmth radiating from the smooth metal under him, the soft hum of the engine filling the room and buzzing pleasantly across his doorwings.
It did not take long for him to fall into recharge.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Bluestreak.”
“Mmm...”
“Bluestreak, wake up.”
Slowly, the gray Praxian rolled over. His doorwings clacked against the metal of the engine block, and he jerked awake. He wasn't-? Where-? Where was his berth?
Prowl was crouched, smirking, in front of him. “You slept well,” he observed, tilting his helm to the side.
Bluestreak blinked for a moment, then arched in an involuntary stretch. “You chose a good place to recharge,” he replied, smiling and blinking.
“I always do.”
Bluestreak smiled. He hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Prowl in a warm hug. “Thank you, Prowl.”
The tactician blinked, then hesitantly returned the hug. “You are welcome, Bluestreak.”
Title: Decent Recharge -- Bluestreak
Rating: K
Continuity: G1
Prowl was lying on top of one of the few remaining engines when Bluestreak found him. The gunner was in a dark mood, but the way the tactician was sprawled out, limbs bent at odd angles, doorwings fluttering in a manner that screamed “content”, engine rumbling in that purr that most of the base was now familiar with.
“Prowl?” he said tentatively, and one golden optic opened.
“Yes, Bluestreak?” Prowl asked, doorwings arching in a stretch.
“I...” he started, then stopped, mouth closing and opening, vocalizer hissing static.
“What is wrong?” the Second in Command asked as he lifted himself into a sitting position, both bright optics trained on his adopted creation.
“I can't recharge. The... The Twins are gone, and... the... the thunder...”
And Prowl knew, then, what the problem was. Bluestreak's quarters were set against the bulkhead, where the Arc was still exposed. It was raining at the moment. Storming, actually. And the thunder sounded much like explosions, and so many bursts of it in quick succession...
Well, anyone who had lived through what Bluestreak had would understand. Anyone who had lived through an air-strike would.
Prowl had lived through quite a few air-strikes.
“Come, Bluestreak,” he said, smiling sadly.”
“What? Up there? But... that's just...”
“Very comfortable. And we are a long way from the bulkhead. And the thunder. I do not mind having company.”
Slowly, the gunner moved forward, stepping up on a protruding piece of metal and taking his adopted creator's offered hand. A moment later, he was sitting on the edge of the warm, humming engine. Prowl re-curled behind him.
For a minute, Bluestreak just surveyed the room. Then he turned around and slowly lay down on his side, doorwings facing Prowl.
After a moment of simply lying there, he was startled to realize it really was very comfortable... With the warmth radiating from the smooth metal under him, the soft hum of the engine filling the room and buzzing pleasantly across his doorwings.
It did not take long for him to fall into recharge.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.
“Bluestreak.”
“Mmm...”
“Bluestreak, wake up.”
Slowly, the gray Praxian rolled over. His doorwings clacked against the metal of the engine block, and he jerked awake. He wasn't-? Where-? Where was his berth?
Prowl was crouched, smirking, in front of him. “You slept well,” he observed, tilting his helm to the side.
Bluestreak blinked for a moment, then arched in an involuntary stretch. “You chose a good place to recharge,” he replied, smiling and blinking.
“I always do.”
Bluestreak smiled. He hesitated a moment, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Prowl in a warm hug. “Thank you, Prowl.”
The tactician blinked, then hesitantly returned the hug. “You are welcome, Bluestreak.”