Fic - Distinguished-looking mechs
Title: Distinguished-looking mechs
Continuity: G1, season 3
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: crack, flirtation
Characters: SG!Rodimus/Scourge
Summary: Scourge isn't used to people treating him this way
Notes: Written for macboris, during the tf_g1_season3 comment fic and art challenge.
"Well, hello there." The new mech gave Scourge the dirtiest grin he'd seen since the last time he'd watched Galvatron watching Cyclonus. Certainly the dirtiest grin that had ever been levelled at him.
"Hello indeed," Scourge sniffed, raising his Disintegrator Ray. "Put your hands in the air and face the wall, Autoscum."
"Sure thing," the new mech stroked his moustache. It was black, like a good deal of his plating. What wasn't black was purple; a really strange colour scheme for an Autobot. "On one condition. I want you between the wall and me."
"Huh?"
"Come one now," the newcomer said. "Don't be shy. Distinguished lookin' mech like yourself should know a come on when he hears one."
A come what? Scourge had no idea. Well, he had a small idea, but he didn't want to entertain it. So what if this guy wore a nice paintjob; and so what if he had a tache that Scourge really wouldn't mind getting his fingers around? He was an Autobot, and Autobots weren't for... dilly dallying with.
Unless you were a Combaticon interrogator, apparently. But Scourge had issues with that, and it didn't compromise his internal logic. Oh no, not one - "Hey! What are you-"
In complete disregard of the Disintegrator Ray, the Autobot shoved him back against a stub of Charr's ruined senate house. "I’m facing the wall,” he said. “What does it look like?”
“You’re an impertinent-” But Scourge didn’t get any further, because the Autobot chose that moment to run his fingers very gently the length of Scourge’s moustache, and the only thing to emerge from his vocaliser was a choked whimper.
“Facin’ the wall’s fun and all,” the Autobot said. “But I’d far rather ‘face you.”
“That...” Scourge managed, suppressing a shiver and an urgent desire to drop his gun. “...is a very bad pun. Oh!”
“Yeah,” the Autobot said. “You’re getting’ into it. You can touch mine, I saw you looking at it.”
Scourge performed a quick scan of the surrounding terrain. Two Sweeps, a turbo-rat, and a great big pile of absolutely nothing at all. No Cyclonus, no Galvatron, and he wasn’t expected anywhere for a good three joors.
He reached up, trailing his fingertips over the finely-painted metal. The Autobot’s engine purred. Maybe a little dilly dallying...
Continuity: G1, season 3
Rating: PG-13
Content advice: crack, flirtation
Characters: SG!Rodimus/Scourge
Summary: Scourge isn't used to people treating him this way
Notes: Written for macboris, during the tf_g1_season3 comment fic and art challenge.
"Well, hello there." The new mech gave Scourge the dirtiest grin he'd seen since the last time he'd watched Galvatron watching Cyclonus. Certainly the dirtiest grin that had ever been levelled at him.
"Hello indeed," Scourge sniffed, raising his Disintegrator Ray. "Put your hands in the air and face the wall, Autoscum."
"Sure thing," the new mech stroked his moustache. It was black, like a good deal of his plating. What wasn't black was purple; a really strange colour scheme for an Autobot. "On one condition. I want you between the wall and me."
"Huh?"
"Come one now," the newcomer said. "Don't be shy. Distinguished lookin' mech like yourself should know a come on when he hears one."
A come what? Scourge had no idea. Well, he had a small idea, but he didn't want to entertain it. So what if this guy wore a nice paintjob; and so what if he had a tache that Scourge really wouldn't mind getting his fingers around? He was an Autobot, and Autobots weren't for... dilly dallying with.
Unless you were a Combaticon interrogator, apparently. But Scourge had issues with that, and it didn't compromise his internal logic. Oh no, not one - "Hey! What are you-"
In complete disregard of the Disintegrator Ray, the Autobot shoved him back against a stub of Charr's ruined senate house. "I’m facing the wall,” he said. “What does it look like?”
“You’re an impertinent-” But Scourge didn’t get any further, because the Autobot chose that moment to run his fingers very gently the length of Scourge’s moustache, and the only thing to emerge from his vocaliser was a choked whimper.
“Facin’ the wall’s fun and all,” the Autobot said. “But I’d far rather ‘face you.”
“That...” Scourge managed, suppressing a shiver and an urgent desire to drop his gun. “...is a very bad pun. Oh!”
“Yeah,” the Autobot said. “You’re getting’ into it. You can touch mine, I saw you looking at it.”
Scourge performed a quick scan of the surrounding terrain. Two Sweeps, a turbo-rat, and a great big pile of absolutely nothing at all. No Cyclonus, no Galvatron, and he wasn’t expected anywhere for a good three joors.
He reached up, trailing his fingertips over the finely-painted metal. The Autobot’s engine purred. Maybe a little dilly dallying...