Flash Fiction Fills Take 42 (Second Half)
Jun. 22nd, 2013 11:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Last two flash fics! Enjoy~
For dellessa
Prompt: RatchetxProwl, adventure
Fandom: Transformers G1. No warnings.
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: SideswipexSunstreaker, anniversary, fluff and schmoop
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings for twincest.
a/n: Next Flash Fic Friday will be July 12th.
Work is done on the bigbang fic so now I'm picking up War Without End edits, Skywarp and Sunstreaker who suddenly demanded a say, not to mention Critical Mass, and a sequel to Undisclosed Desires. Busy, busy.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
For dellessa
Prompt: RatchetxProwl, adventure
Fandom: Transformers G1. No warnings.
“Get out of your office, Jazz said.”
“Have some adventure, Wheeljack said.”
“I'm going to kill him,” Ratchet and Prowl snarled in perfect unison, one that was accompanied by two matching bursts of aggravation and fury in their energy fields.
“We could always look on the bright side,” Prowl said in one of his usual and inappropriate bursts of humor. “It's not Decepticons.”
Ratchet gave his lover a sour look. In fact, he probably could have melted slag from the force of his glare. “You call this an improvement?” he demanded, flinging a hand in sharp gesture. Well, he tried to anyway.
It was rather difficult for him to move with all of the glue sticking to his frame, covering him from helm to pede except for a few lucky limbs.
“How does something like this even happen?”
“I don't know, Sherlock,” Ratchet half-snarled, tossing his partner another fierce glare. “You were the one who decided to throw yourself in front of it.”
Prowl's doorwings flicked. Well, one of them did. The other was too immobilized by the flood of glue.
“There were innocent lives at stake,” Prowl argued.
“There are always lives at stake!” Ratchet huffed a ventilation. He was growing hot, over and out, most of his vents blocked by the sticky tide until he was forced to take huge, gulping draughts through his mouth. “So you thought the best option was to make your last stand? Did you even calculate it?”
“Of course I did,” Prowl retorted, but there was an edge to his tone, a glint to his chevron, a muted downturn of his doorwings that hinted he was, quite possibly, fibbing. Ratchet knew his partner far too well for fall for it, even if everyone else thought Prowl would never break any rules.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Any word from the Ark?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Prowl?”
“If by word you mean 'uproarious laughter that has yet to stop' then yes, there's been word,” Prowl said. “Someone forgot to mention that Wheeljack had the comms today.”
And if Wheeljack was giggling his aft off, it was probably because he'd invited Jazz in to chortle over their predicament. The fraggers.
Which meant they'd get around to sending help.
Eventually.
Until then, Ratchet would have to stand here, literally glued in place, while the humans emerged from hiding to gawk.
Ratchet worked his jaw because really, nothing else was moving. This glue dried ridiculously fast, almost as though Wheeljack had designed the formula. “For the record,” he said. “This is your fault.”
Prowl sighed. “It usually is.”
“Have some adventure, Wheeljack said.”
“I'm going to kill him,” Ratchet and Prowl snarled in perfect unison, one that was accompanied by two matching bursts of aggravation and fury in their energy fields.
“We could always look on the bright side,” Prowl said in one of his usual and inappropriate bursts of humor. “It's not Decepticons.”
Ratchet gave his lover a sour look. In fact, he probably could have melted slag from the force of his glare. “You call this an improvement?” he demanded, flinging a hand in sharp gesture. Well, he tried to anyway.
It was rather difficult for him to move with all of the glue sticking to his frame, covering him from helm to pede except for a few lucky limbs.
“How does something like this even happen?”
“I don't know, Sherlock,” Ratchet half-snarled, tossing his partner another fierce glare. “You were the one who decided to throw yourself in front of it.”
Prowl's doorwings flicked. Well, one of them did. The other was too immobilized by the flood of glue.
“There were innocent lives at stake,” Prowl argued.
“There are always lives at stake!” Ratchet huffed a ventilation. He was growing hot, over and out, most of his vents blocked by the sticky tide until he was forced to take huge, gulping draughts through his mouth. “So you thought the best option was to make your last stand? Did you even calculate it?”
“Of course I did,” Prowl retorted, but there was an edge to his tone, a glint to his chevron, a muted downturn of his doorwings that hinted he was, quite possibly, fibbing. Ratchet knew his partner far too well for fall for it, even if everyone else thought Prowl would never break any rules.
Ratchet rolled his optics. “Any word from the Ark?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Prowl?”
“If by word you mean 'uproarious laughter that has yet to stop' then yes, there's been word,” Prowl said. “Someone forgot to mention that Wheeljack had the comms today.”
And if Wheeljack was giggling his aft off, it was probably because he'd invited Jazz in to chortle over their predicament. The fraggers.
Which meant they'd get around to sending help.
Eventually.
Until then, Ratchet would have to stand here, literally glued in place, while the humans emerged from hiding to gawk.
Ratchet worked his jaw because really, nothing else was moving. This glue dried ridiculously fast, almost as though Wheeljack had designed the formula. “For the record,” he said. “This is your fault.”
Prowl sighed. “It usually is.”
For fuzipenguin
Prompt: SideswipexSunstreaker, anniversary, fluff and schmoop
Fandom: Transformers G1. Warnings for twincest.
Sunstreaker wakes up from recharge alone, the berth cold and Sideswipe a distant speck in his spark. And he knows, just knows, that today is going to be slag.
And of course, he's right.
First thing, he's out of his special wax and has to borrow from Tracks who demands an arm, a leg, and a drawing in exchange. Fragger.
On his way to get his morning cube, he runs into Slingshot mouthing off about air superiority in the rec room again. Obligated to prove him wrong, Sunstreaker shows the stupid jet just how stupid jets can be.
Ironhide isn't impressed but the brig is full of brawling minibots from the night before and no one wants or is able to cover Sunstreaker's patrol.
He gets two weeks of rust-scrubbing from the Ark's hull instead. Sunstreaker would have preferred the brig.
His patrol partner is Bluestreak, of course. Normally, Sunstreaker doesn't mind Bluestreak's chatter, it's something to fill the silence when he's in a less than charitable mood, but today, every word out of the gunner's mouth rubs his audials raw. He's two steps close to throttling Bluestreak when the sky opens up.
The rain, as the humans would say, is just icing on the cake.
Not just rain either, but a torrential downpour accompanied by hail and lashing winds.
By the end of his shift, Sunstreaker returns to the Ark a mud-encrusted mess with branches stuck in unfortunate places, including his seams, and an even fouler disposition. There hadn't even been a 'Con or two to work his frustration out on.
Sideswipe, the little fragger, is still nowhere to be found.
Running on empty, Sunstreaker is forced to get a cube before he can wash up. The rec room is, once again, crowded to the brim because it would be too simple for him to get a cube unimpeded. Some dumbaft opens his mouth and makes a comment about the state of Sunstreaker's paintjob.
Jazz, peacemaker that he is, slides in before Sunstreaker can do so much as snarl, offering a smile and a cube and pulsing calm into his energy field.
Snatching the cube from Jazz's hand, Sunstreaker whirls around and makes a beeline for the exit. He's dirty and tired and annoyed and his fragging brother has decided to pull a disappearing act and – blech!
Sunstreaker glares down at his cube. Fossil fuels again? It's the worst of them all. Nothing can hide the gritty aftertaste or the oily way it slithers down his intake.
He forces it down because, again, fuel levels treacherously low thanks to the rain and mud and stomps off to the washracks. Only he's still out of wax and someone has swiped his mail-order cleanser and Sunstreaker is left with the option to use nothing or the stock soap. Hardly a choice at all.
He returns to his shared quarters with Sideswipe, finish streaked, gritty energon on his glossa, and woe be unto his twin if he ever shows up. Sunstreaker punches their code into the panel with undisguised ferocity but the door opens before he manages the final number.
“There you are!” Sideswipe says with undisguised glee, a bright smile on his face. “I thought you'd be back by now.”
Sunstreaker twitches. “Do you have any idea what kind of day I've had?” he demands, stomping into their quarters. “Where have you been?”
“You were out of wax.” Sideswipe follows him in, cheerful energy field fizzling flat. “Since I had the day off, I thought I'd get you some more. What happened?”
Sunstreaker throws himself on the berth. “Nothing,” he grunts and turns his helm to look at his twin. “You really bought me some wax?”
“I said it, didn't I?” Sideswipe gives him a strange look. “What the frag's the matter with you?”
Indignation leaves Sunstreaker in a huff. He reaches out a hand. “Come here.”
“Why? So you can pound me? You got that look in your optics.”
“Sideswipe, frag it, come here!”
“Okay. Sheesh.” Sideswipe climbs onto the berth, stretching out beside him, and the rest of the tension in Sunstreaker's frame bleeds away.
“You are in a mood, aren't you?” Sideswipe grumbles, but he doesn't move away, just presses closer until they are plating to plating, his backplate molded against Sunstreaker's chestplate, the steady vibrations of his engine reverberating through Sunstreaker's frame.
Sunstreaker curves an arm over Sideswipe, keeping him pinned. “Thank you.”
His twin's energy field stirs with relief and exasperation and affection all rolled into one. “You are one crazy glitch,” he mutters, but folds his hand over Sunstreaker's anyway. “Love you, too, bro.”
And of course, he's right.
First thing, he's out of his special wax and has to borrow from Tracks who demands an arm, a leg, and a drawing in exchange. Fragger.
On his way to get his morning cube, he runs into Slingshot mouthing off about air superiority in the rec room again. Obligated to prove him wrong, Sunstreaker shows the stupid jet just how stupid jets can be.
Ironhide isn't impressed but the brig is full of brawling minibots from the night before and no one wants or is able to cover Sunstreaker's patrol.
He gets two weeks of rust-scrubbing from the Ark's hull instead. Sunstreaker would have preferred the brig.
His patrol partner is Bluestreak, of course. Normally, Sunstreaker doesn't mind Bluestreak's chatter, it's something to fill the silence when he's in a less than charitable mood, but today, every word out of the gunner's mouth rubs his audials raw. He's two steps close to throttling Bluestreak when the sky opens up.
The rain, as the humans would say, is just icing on the cake.
Not just rain either, but a torrential downpour accompanied by hail and lashing winds.
By the end of his shift, Sunstreaker returns to the Ark a mud-encrusted mess with branches stuck in unfortunate places, including his seams, and an even fouler disposition. There hadn't even been a 'Con or two to work his frustration out on.
Sideswipe, the little fragger, is still nowhere to be found.
Running on empty, Sunstreaker is forced to get a cube before he can wash up. The rec room is, once again, crowded to the brim because it would be too simple for him to get a cube unimpeded. Some dumbaft opens his mouth and makes a comment about the state of Sunstreaker's paintjob.
Jazz, peacemaker that he is, slides in before Sunstreaker can do so much as snarl, offering a smile and a cube and pulsing calm into his energy field.
Snatching the cube from Jazz's hand, Sunstreaker whirls around and makes a beeline for the exit. He's dirty and tired and annoyed and his fragging brother has decided to pull a disappearing act and – blech!
Sunstreaker glares down at his cube. Fossil fuels again? It's the worst of them all. Nothing can hide the gritty aftertaste or the oily way it slithers down his intake.
He forces it down because, again, fuel levels treacherously low thanks to the rain and mud and stomps off to the washracks. Only he's still out of wax and someone has swiped his mail-order cleanser and Sunstreaker is left with the option to use nothing or the stock soap. Hardly a choice at all.
He returns to his shared quarters with Sideswipe, finish streaked, gritty energon on his glossa, and woe be unto his twin if he ever shows up. Sunstreaker punches their code into the panel with undisguised ferocity but the door opens before he manages the final number.
“There you are!” Sideswipe says with undisguised glee, a bright smile on his face. “I thought you'd be back by now.”
Sunstreaker twitches. “Do you have any idea what kind of day I've had?” he demands, stomping into their quarters. “Where have you been?”
“You were out of wax.” Sideswipe follows him in, cheerful energy field fizzling flat. “Since I had the day off, I thought I'd get you some more. What happened?”
Sunstreaker throws himself on the berth. “Nothing,” he grunts and turns his helm to look at his twin. “You really bought me some wax?”
“I said it, didn't I?” Sideswipe gives him a strange look. “What the frag's the matter with you?”
Indignation leaves Sunstreaker in a huff. He reaches out a hand. “Come here.”
“Why? So you can pound me? You got that look in your optics.”
“Sideswipe, frag it, come here!”
“Okay. Sheesh.” Sideswipe climbs onto the berth, stretching out beside him, and the rest of the tension in Sunstreaker's frame bleeds away.
“You are in a mood, aren't you?” Sideswipe grumbles, but he doesn't move away, just presses closer until they are plating to plating, his backplate molded against Sunstreaker's chestplate, the steady vibrations of his engine reverberating through Sunstreaker's frame.
Sunstreaker curves an arm over Sideswipe, keeping him pinned. “Thank you.”
His twin's energy field stirs with relief and exasperation and affection all rolled into one. “You are one crazy glitch,” he mutters, but folds his hand over Sunstreaker's anyway. “Love you, too, bro.”
a/n: Next Flash Fic Friday will be July 12th.
Work is done on the bigbang fic so now I'm picking up War Without End edits, Skywarp and Sunstreaker who suddenly demanded a say, not to mention Critical Mass, and a sequel to Undisclosed Desires. Busy, busy.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
