[G1] Fortune Favors 03
Sep. 20th, 2018 06:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Fortune Favors
Universe: G1-ish
Characters: Grimlock, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Whirl (ish), Ratchet, Wheeljack
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: When Sideswipe and Sunstreaker adopt a lost sparkling, they find an unexpected admirer in Grimlock.
Commission for Fuzipenguin
Part Three
Whirl doesn’t go back to the cabinet.
In fact, he sticks to them like he’s magnetically attracted to their armor. He prefers to be carried, tucked up against their chestplates or their intakes, or sitting on a shoulder. He goes from silent little growler, to a never-ending chatterbox, though the chatter keeps to the gutter language no one else can understand.
Sideswipe only offers once to plug into Whirl and update his code. The look of terror in the sparkling’s optics, the way he wails and returns to the cabinet for several hours, sets Sideswipe’s spark to aching.
Sunstreaker manages to coax. Sideswipe teases his brother, calls him the sparkling-whisperer. Sunstreaker just rolls his optics and spends the rest of the evening with a bright blue sparkling attached to his chestplate, right over his spark.
It’s pretty adorable.
Sideswipe never asks again.
The base gets used to seeing them with Whirl, either separately or together. They get lots of offers for caretaking, but Whirl doesn’t seem to like anyone. He hisses if others get too close – even Bluestreak, who’s about as dangerous to a sparkling as a rust stick. He tolerates Ratchet and Wheeljack at least, which is a relief because Sideswipe starts to miss that alone time with Sunstreaker.
Honestly, who in their right mind could keep their hands off Sunstreaker for longer than a week? Certainly not Sideswipe. He has the will of gelled energon when it comes to his brother.
Still.
Sparkling fever is a thing, even if no one can get too close to Whirl. Sideswipe’s lost count of the times he’s walked out of their quarters and tripped on a gift. Toys and games and treats. The entire base spoils Whirl like they aren’t a crop of battle-hardened soldiers.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe get more time off, especially together. It’s an unexpected perk, and Sideswipe milks it for all it’s worth. If that means spending more time with Whirl where everyone can see, it’s hardly a trial. Whirl’s adorable, and Sideswipe has to admit, he likes this a lot better.
Whirl’s the sparkling he and Sunstreaker never thought they’d have.
Sunstreaker and Whirl tucked up together on the couch is one of the most adorable sights Sideswipe has ever witnessed. He takes numerous pictures because it’s something he wants to remember forever. Sunstreaker’s got the bit in his lap, and he reads to Whirl, and Whirl follows along with the glyphs with wide optics and full interest.
Sideswipe catches Sunstreaker taking pictures one day, too. When he onlines from his nap on the couch and finds Whirl curled up on his abdomen, sound asleep, and Sunstreaker looming over both of them, his mouth curved in a soft and sweet smile.
That night, after Whirl recharges – in his cabinet because that’s where he likes to sleep when he’s not on top of them, and neither Sideswipe nor Sunstreaker find this an issue – Sunstreaker curls up against Sideswipe and peppers him with kisses.
“Love you,” he murmurs, over and over again, his hands making Sideswipe gasp, a slow throb toward arousal rather than the sharp and fervent joining they usually settle for. “Thank you.”
Sideswipe doesn’t have to poke the bond to know what Sunstreaker means.
He takes Whirl flying, too. The bitlet loves it. He giggles madly and spreads his arms as Sideswipe’s jetpack roars them through the air, not so far above base they are targets, but far enough it’s almost like flying. Whirl keeps saying “again, again!” afterward, and Sideswipe’s weak to his pleas.
They attract a crowd every time they do it. Powerglide shouts up unhelpful opinions. Sideswipe doesn’t need any help with his technique, thank you very much.
Optimus keeps loitering around, casting hopeful optics at Whirl, even if Whirl doesn’t seem to like Optimus too much. Probably can smell the Prime on him, the authority. Guttermechs learn to avoid that kind of thing, if they know what’s good for them.
Sideswipe still chuckles to himself over the memory of Whirl slapping Optimus’ hand away and telling him “bad touch!” in such an offended tone Optimus had reared back and nearly ran over Ironhide in the process.
Ironhide had given Sideswipe a look, like he expected Sideswipe to chastise Whirl for it or something. Instead, Sideswipe had pressed a kiss to Whirl’s forehead.
“Good bit,” he’d cooed. “You tell that mech when you don’t want to be touched.”
Whirl had beamed.
Ironhide had glared.
Optimus had apologized. Profusely.
Less amused had been Tracks the day Whirl clambers out of Sunstreaker’s arms and over the back of the communal couch. He scampers over the cushion and skitters across Tracks’ lap, snatching Tracks’ treat bag all in one swift motion. He then leaps over the arm of the couch and goes pelting across the floor before anyone can really register what happened.
“Hey!” Tracks barks, half-rising as though he isn’t sure he should give chase or not. “That’s mine!”
“Whirl!” Sunstreaker snaps and leaps off the couch, giving Tracks a shove back into it in almost the same motion. “Get back here right now!”
Sideswipe had been on his way back to the couch with an armful of treats for them to share before the movie started. Whirl, per usual, forgets there’s two of them. He isn’t paying attention, and when Sideswipe sticks out a foot, Whirl trips over it and tumbles head over feet.
Tracks’ treat bag flies from his arms and skitters across the floor.
Whirl wails.
Sideswipe, arms laden, lifts both orbital ridges before Sunstreaker scoops Whirl up, scowl firmly in place. He goes from doting caretaker to disapproving guardian in the blink of an optic.
“None of that now.” Sunstreaker pops Whirl on the tip of his nasal ridge. “That was not yours, and you know it wasn’t.”
Whirl hiccups into silence, staring back at Sunstreaker with a look of abject betrayal and consternation. On a full-grown mech, his glare might have been frightening. On Whirl, it it’s adorable.
“Want it!” His hands screw into waving fists, squirming in Sunstreaker’s grip like a wild thing.
Sunstreaker growls and leans into Whirl’s personal space. “Not yours.” He taps Whirl on the nose again. “Behave.”
Whirl sniffles.
Silence descends.
Mechs stare, and Sideswipe feels their judgment like a prickle across his plating. Pah. That little tap doesn’t count as anything. It doesn’t hurt, and it helps Whirl focus on them.
These other mechs, they can’t see the truth. Whirl’s young, but that doesn’t mean he’s not aware of the score. He knows how to twist their sympathies, their perceptions of him. He knows how to play innocent when it suits.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker aren’t fooled by it.
The other Autobots have no clue.
“He can have it,” Tracks offers, his indignation melting in the wake of the wibbly lip and watery optics Whirl tosses at him. Whirl even throws in a theatrical sniffle as he wilts in Sunstreaker’s hand.
Sunstreaker rolls his optics and tucks Whirl under his arm. “Don’t reward his bad behavior, Tracks.”
“And don’t let him play you like that either,” Sideswipe adds. “He’s spoiled as it is. He doesn’t need to steal, and he knows it.” He flops down onto the couch next to Tracks and Sunstreaker sits beside him, Whirl tucked into his intake.
Whirl sniffles, laying limp against Sunstreaker’s chest, a wan little lump of punished sparkling. Absolutely pitiful.
Grimlock’s the one who scoops Tracks’ treat bag from the floor, offering it back to him. “Little ones have sticky fingers,” he grunts.
“I noticed,” Tracks says, wry. He slants Whirl a look, and tucks his treat bag firmly in an arm compartment, out of reach.
No one holds it against Whirl. He’s a sparkling. He’s adorable. He gets a pass. But Sideswipe and Sunstreaker get a note from Red Alert in their inbox later, cautioning them to teach Whirl better manners and consider other disciplinary techniques.
Sunstreaker rolls his optics. Sideswipe trashes the note.
No one understands. No one will ever understand. But Whirl’s their sparkling now, and no one can take that away from them.
He’s theirs.
And anyway, at least they aren’t the only ones who are getting cautionary notes about their disciplinary methods. The day Grimlock has to wrestle Slag to the ground and growl at him to submit gets the rumor mill tittering, and Red Alert storming to the training room with outrage crackling over his sensory horns.
Slag, dented and puffing curls of grey smoke, stomps out of the training room, Autobots scattering out of his way like a herd of turbomice. Grimlock brushes off his armor and takes Red Alert’s chastisement with a bored tilt of his head, and says nothing, not even when Ironhide finally shows up and drags Red Alert off.
“Optimus’ll handle it,” he says, hand firm on Red Alert’s shoulder, even as he casts a disapproving look over his shoulder.
“Optimus never handles it properly,” Red Alert sniffs.
The training room clears out quickly after that. It can’t be because Grimlock’s aura is murderous and full of rage, because it isn’t. He’s pretty calm considering he and Slag had just gotten into a tussle and tore strips out of the training mats.
Sideswipe’s not worried. He stays on his side of the mat and keeps going through his routine. It’s a rare moment when he’s sparkling and twin free, and he doesn’t want to lose his edge. He needs to train.
He feels the weight of Grimlock’s gaze on him, however, and he glances at the Dinobot leader curiously. Grimlock’s watching him. Then again, Grimlock always seems to be watching lately. It’s often enough even Sunstreaker’s noticed, and he’s usually oblivious when it comes to social interactions.
“You’re not scared,” Grimlock says.
“You’re observant,” Sideswipe says with a laugh and a wink. “And no, I’m not. Why would I be? I’m not a Dinobot.” He rolls his shoulders and launches into another series of movements before a spin brings him closer to Grimlock.
“You don’t disapprove.” Grimlock tilts his head, arms folding over his chassis, a solid and formidable foe, if Sideswipe were inclined to make him one.
Sideswipe rolls his optics. “Do I look like someone who cares one cube about what everyone else’s ideas are?” He shoves a thumb toward his own chestplate. “Guttermech, yeah? Different strokes for different folks and all that. Besides, pretty sure Slag deserved it. He’s a bit of a troublemaker.”
Grimlock snorts. “A bit,” he echoes, and amusement rumbles in his chassis. Or at least Sideswipe assumes it’s amusement. “He challenges. He loses. It happens.”
“I’ll bet.” Sideswipe slips into another series of motions, and the weight of Grimlock’s gaze lingers.
It’s… appreciative. And not in an offensive way. Sideswipe’s used to being ogled. This feels different. He doesn’t hate it.
“You’re good with him,” Grimlock says, and Sideswipe almost stumbles because the comment is unexpected. “Whirl, I mean. And you don’t let them tell you otherwise.”
Sideswipe looks over his shoulder with a trademark smirk. “I don’t let anyone tell me anything.” He pauses. “Well, except Sunstreaker and only in certain situations.”
Grimlock chuckles. “Obedience can be fun sometimes.” He drops his arms and the tension in his frame vanishes. He tilts his head. “You ever need a sparring partner, drop me a comm.”
Sideswipe’s orbital ridges climb into his forehead. “I think if I’m going to spar with you, I’ll need backup. Sunstreaker will kill me if I don’t get him in on it.”
“Bring him. I never said it had to be only one of you.” Grimlock heads toward the door, a huge, loping stride to match his greater mass. “It could be fun.”
“Fun,” Sideswipe echoes. “I’ll let him know.”
Grimlock tosses a wave over his shoulder, and then Sideswipe’s left alone in the training room, his thoughts swirling and confusion holding court. It’s not the first time Grimlock’s surprised him.
Right now, he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last.
Since he and Sunstreaker adopted Whirl, Grimlock’s been around, always hovering in the periphery. Sideswipe would call it stalking except that there’s never anything threatening about it.
He’s helpful. Seems to always show up when one of them needs an extra pair of hands, and he’s always delivering crates of those energon chews Whirl loves so much.
It’s just weird is all.
Grimlock, or any other Dinobot, has never paid attention to Sideswipe or Sunstreaker before. Suddenly, he’s there everytime they turn around. Not menacing or anything. Just.
There.
Sideswipe’s not sure what to think about it. Sunny tells him not to worry. Maybe Grimlock is just fascinated by Whirl like everyone else. Sunstreaker’s never been that fantastic at social interaction though. He’s not completely off the mark, but he’s not on target either.
There’s something there.
Sideswipe just can’t put a finger on it.
~
Grimlock can pinpoint the very moment he realizes his fascination with the twins is not just because of the so-called ‘sparkling fever’. It’s because he’s attracted to them. Both of them. And, he has to admit, attracted to the family they’ve become, and he aches to become a part of it.
That moment is when he catches Sideswipe and Whirl playing chase in the halls.
Whirl runs past Grimlock, giggling like mad, his small feet going pitter-patter across the floor. In his wake, Sideswipe jogs at a pace that lets the sparkling think he’s getting away, a smile on his face, his field light with affection and amusement. Ahead of them, Sunstreaker pops out of a storage room and snatches Whirl off the ground, tossing him into the air and catching him, to Whirl’s shriek of glee.
“No fair!” Whirl cries as he squirms and dissolves into helpless laughter when Sunstreaker starts tickling him. “No fair, no fair.”
Sideswipe catches up to them and laughs. “There’s two of us, bit. Remember that. Always two.”
Sunstreaker rolls his optics. “I’m just glad he decides to play chase before his bath and not after.”
“Hey, you gotta admit, it’s fun to chase him,” Sideswipe says as he nudges his brother with a shoulder. Whirl reaches for him, and Sideswipe slips Whirl out of his hands, tossing the sparkling into the air as Sunstreaker had done.
The delight in Whirl’s optics is beyond compare.
“Bit wants to fly, I think,” Sideswipe says.
“Of course he does,” Sunstreaker sighs, and they turn down the hallway, back the way they’d come, with Sideswipe having a firm grip on Whirl the entire time. “He’s spending too much time with Blades.”
“At least he doesn’t bite Blades.”
“Small favor.” Sunstreaker’s lips twitch with amusement.
His gaze skitters to Grimlock as they pass, but he says nothing. If Sideswipe notices Grimlock watching, he doesn’t comment either. Instead, the small family pass Grimlock by without a word, chattering to each other as Whirl happily leaps from one pair of arms to the other, perfectly comfortable in their presence, though he still fights like a wildcat when most of the rest of the base tries to hold him.
Grimlock’s spark throbs so hard in his chest, he staggers for a second. That’s when he realizes that he’s in trouble. He’s yearning for something so far out of reach, it might as well be on another planet. He doesn’t even know where to start.
His brothers continue to be no help in the matter. Grimlock doesn’t bother to ask Snarl, Sludge, or Slag. Swoop crows delight at him, glad Grimlock’s finally admitting he has interest in the twins. He points Grimlock toward Ratchet and Wheeljack. If he wants advice, that’s the best place to start.
“You want to what?” Wheeljack asks from behind a few bubbling decanters of a liquid that’s probably volatile.
“Get closer to the twins,” Grimlock says, because he hasn’t figured out a better way to phrase it. Date them? Sounds trite. Court them? Sounds too formal. Befriend them? It’s a little bit more than that, he’s sure.
Friends don’t want to nibble down one another’s intake. Friends don’t want to map the planes of armor with their fingertips. Friends don’t want to taste each other’s lips.
Friendship is definitely not what Grimlock’s after. At least, not by itself. Though, granted, if that’s all they’ll offer him, he’ll take it and be grateful.
Wheeljack hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried talking to them?”
“Of course,” Grimlock says with a sigh. “It’s just they’re so busy with Whirl.”
“They don’t notice you,” Wheeljack finishes. “Sounds like what you need is a caretaker.”
“I have two.” Grimlock tilts his head.
Wheeljack laughs and turns down the burner so his liquids bubble at a gentler rate. “Not for you, my silly bit. For Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. For Whirl.”
Grimlock folds his arms. “Not a bit,” he grumbles, embarrassment pulling heat to his cheeks.
“You’ll always be a bit no matter how big you get,” Wheeljack reaches up and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll be my little bit. But that’s beside the point.” He waves and goes back to the table, picking up a datapad with his free hand. “Get the twins a caretaker so they can have a night without Whirl, and you’ll have your opportunity to talk to them.”
It makes sense.
Grimlock hums thoughtfully. “Whirl doesn’t like most mechs.”
Wheeljack’s indicators flash an amused yellow. “Oh, he likes some just fine. But he prefers Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, so he pretends otherwise.” He taps his blast mask with one finger. “Tell you what, me and Ratch will offer to take Whirl for a few hours. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for it, and you can make your move.”
“My move?” Grimlock echoes. He laughs, shaking his head.
“I know you have some.” Wheeljack winks playfully. “You learned them from me.”
Grimlock is swept up in such a surge of affection for his pseudo-creator that he pulls Wheeljack into a hug, causing the engineer to squawk and awkwardly pat him on the back. “You are ridiculous, but I appreciate you anyway,” Grimlock rumbles as he sets Wheeljack back down on wobbly feet.
Wheeljack coughs and thumps his chestplate. “I appreciate you, too, Grim.” His indicators flush a warm pink. “Now shoo. I have to convince Ratch to caretake for a night, and you have to go plan a very seductive ambush.”
“It’s not a battle!” Grimlock retorts.
Wheeljack shakes his head and raps his fingers over the desk. “Oh, bitlet. You have so much to learn.” He tilts his head, optics bright with amusement. “Love is a battlefield.”
~
“Nice of Ratchet and Wheeljack to take Whirl for the night,” Sideswipe says as Sunstreaker finishes polishing up the last of the armor on his back. Sideswipe can’t remember the last time he was so shiny.
Sunstreaker grunts. “Yeah. Nice.”
“What? You don’t think it is?”
Sunstreaker’s silence speaks volumes. Maybe not to other mechs, but Sideswipe can read every hitched ventilation, every careful sweep of his fingers, every creak of his armor.
“Or you’re just worried about Whirl,” Sideswipe states. It’s not a question. “Which, I gotta admit, is super adorable.”
“Shut up.”
Sunstreaker whirls away from him and tosses the cloth into the bin for cleaning. His field retracts, pulling inward, but embarrassment still radiates from the bond.
“Aww.” Sideswipe embraces his brother from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “It’s okay. I’m going to worry about him, too. But we gotta have a break every now and again, or we’ll go crazy. Well, crazier anyway.”
Sunstreaker snorts a laugh. He leans back into Sideswipe’s arms. “You’re right.”
“Oh, what did I do to deserve that little treat?” Sideswipe nibbles into Sunstreaker’s intake, rocking against Sunstreaker’s aft. “Are you angling to get spoiled tonight?”
“I was actually thinking about pinning you facedown on the berth, but we can arrange terms if you want,” Sunstreaker replies with a purr of his engine.
A thrill runs through Sideswipe’s circuits, heat pulsing in the wake of it. “Is that so? Well--”
He breaks off as someone chimes their door. They both pause.
“Are you expecting someone?” Sideswipe asks.
Sunstreaker eases out of his arms, a frown marring the tease that had been in his field earlier. “No.”
They exchange a glance.
Sideswipe answers the door while Sunstreaker stands tensely behind him. They don’t get visitors, especially ones that come unannounced. What friends they do have know better than to drop by unannounced.
The door opens. Grimlock stands on the other side of it, clutching a neatly wrapped package, his shoulders hunched a little as though in a vain attempt to make himself appear smaller.
Sideswipe blinks. “Can we… help you?” he asks, head tilted.
“This is for you,” Grimlock says, as clear as a bell, without a trace of processor damage in his vocals. Something he’s been doing around them as of late, but not around anyone else, Sideswipe’s noticed.
He thrusts the crate their direction.
Sideswipe stares at it and makes no move to grab it. He doesn’t think Grimlock would give them a bomb, but stranger things have happened. It wouldn’t be the first time the Decepticons – or one of their many enemies – used a friendly face to get close to them.
There’s a reason they aren’t friends with Crosscut anymore.
“Why?” Sunstreaker asks.
Grimlock, of all things, fidgets. “I’m told it’s customary to bring a gift before you ask someone to join you.”
“Join you?” Sideswipe’s orbital ridges draw down. “For what? A revolution? Are you planning a mutiny, Grim? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think it’s going to go as well as you think it is.”
Grimlock stares at him for a long moment before he chuckles, low and rumbling. “No, Sideswipe. I’m not planning a revolution, but it’s good to know where you stand on that front.” He shifts his grip on the package. “I meant on a date.”
“A date,” Sunstreaker echoes flatly. “With Sideswipe.” Tension radiates through the bond, and Sideswipe feels the hot jealousy rise up in his brother before Sunstreaker adds, “You do realize he’s mine, right? That we’re bonded?”
Sunstreaker moves closer, and Sideswipe feels him bump against his side, one hand flattening against Sideswipe’s lower back. It’s a blatant claim if Sideswipe ever saw one.
Grimlock’s vents sputter. “The invitation is for both of you,” he says hastily. “I would never presume to take one bonded from another. But I had heard you occasionally sought out a third…?” His voice cants upward at the end, a question, not a statement.
“Sometimes, yeah. If we’re interested enough,” Sideswipe says. He pointedly looks Grimlock up and down while slipping one hand back, patting Sunstreaker to calm him down. “But we don’t do one night lays anymore. And we’re not for sale.”
Now it’s Sunstreaker who’s patting him, his field reaching out, wrapping around Sideswipe, offering comfort. It’s Sunstreaker murmuring in his audial, urging calm, and only then does Sideswipe realize how aggressive he sounds, how his engine is revving.
“I would like more than a single night,” Grimlock says. He doesn’t flinch in the face of Sideswipe’s aggression. Doesn’t back down. Doesn’t get angry. “If you’re interested, I mean. It’s up to you. I’ll leave now, if you want that. Or I can stay and we can go on a date and see where the future takes us.”
Sunstreaker curls a hand around Sideswipe’s nearest elbow, squeezing gently. “Why?”
And that’s the most important question of all, isn’t it?
The package dips a little as Grimlock shifts out of his almost military-grade stance. He cycles an audible ventilation, and the glow of his visor turns warm, softening.
“I could tell you the obvious,” Grimlock says. “That I find you both beautiful. Intelligent. Charming. Fascinating. It would even be true.” He pauses, his voice taking on a silkier, rhythmic cadence. “I am intrigued by you. I find your strength and your skill something to admire. But what captured my attention most is the way you care for Whirl.”
Sideswipe sways a little, and Sunstreaker’s grip keeps him upright. There’s something in the way Grimlock looks at them, the way he says those things so frankly, that reeks of honesty. He’s not being complimentary because it’s the quickest way to get under their plating. He’s saying such things because he honestly believes them to be true.
“Other mechs would probably say different,” Sideswipe says, his will crumpling in the wake of Grimlock’s earnestness.
“All I see is a happy sparkling, one who adores his adoptive caretakers, and is learning to trust again. I see results.” Grimlock rolls his shoulders, though there’s nothing dismissive in the motion. “Others may be blind, but I’m not. I see you for who you are.”
Sunstreaker’s hands tightens on Sideswipe’s arm. “And who do you think we are?”
“Two mechs who love each other to the ends of the universe,” Grimlock says. “Who try to do the right thing, and who took in a sparkling no one else understood so he wouldn’t feel the same loneliness you did.” He pauses, shifts a little, and his field reaches for theirs, tentative but warm. “I see two mechs I’d really like to get to know better, if they’ll let me.”
He offers the gift again.
This time Sideswipe takes it.
The box fits easily in his hands. The wrapping crinkles under his fingers. It’s light to the touch – too light to be a bomb. He imagines Grimlock carefully wrapping it with over-large fingers. Or perhaps he had help.
“A date,” Sunstreaker says, his tone somewhere between confused and concession.
Sideswipe peels away the wrapping and peers into the box. He huffs a laugh as the wrapping flutters to the floor, and he takes stock of the contents.
A new game for Whirl. A set of very nice paintbrushes Sunstreaker had been eying on the intranet but hadn’t allowed himself to buy. A stack of datapads bound with a ribbon. And a smaller wrapped box, the label on the outside enough to make Sideswipe’s mouth lubricate.
A lot of thought had gone into this gift.
Sideswipe looks up at his brother. He pokes the bond as Sunstreaker’s optics meet his, and an entire conversation passes between them in the space of a few sparkbeats.
‘Let’s do it.’
Sideswipe hands the box to Sunstreaker, who takes it into their quarters to find somewhere to stash it. Whirl will want the box later, to play with, but for now, best to keep it away from tiny, thieving fingers.
“All right,” Sideswipe says, and reboots his vocalizer to clear away the unexpected rattle of static in it.
“We’ll do it,” Sunstreaker says as he returns to Sideswipe’s side, presenting a united front. Not that Sideswipe thinks Grimlock is going to attack.
It’s the principle of the thing.
“Tonight?” Grimlock asks, and the delight in his field makes Sideswipe’s armor tingle with anticipation.
It rattles along the bond, too. Sunstreaker presses harder against his side. Always did have a taste for the big ones, Sunny does. Likes those who can hold their own, who can pick him up and hold him down.
Sideswipe tilts his head. “Hmm. You asked Ratchet and Wheeljack to caretake for us tonight, didn’t you?”
A low rumble of laughter rises in Grimlock’s intake. “Guilty as charged.” He leans a bit closer, the rough baritone rolling through their audials. “Does that put me out of the running?”
Sideswipe’s glossa flicks over his lips.
Sunny might like the big ones. But Sideswipe has always favored the sneaky and the crafty.
Sunstreaker huffs a laugh. “If anything, it put you at the top of the list.” He moves forward, out of the doorway, and tugs Sideswipe with him, so their door can close. “I hope you have something good in mind. We’re not that easy to entertain.”
“Especially since we planned to catch a quick drink before we spent the rest of the night fragging ourselves silly,” Sideswipe says with a lazy grin. He pointedly looks Grimlock up and down. “So, you know, top that.”
Grimlock’s visor brightens with heat. There’s no mistaking the look he gives them. “Oh, I intend to,” he purrs, and oh Primus, the deep rumble of it goes straight to Sideswipe’s array. “As many times as you’ll let me.”
Sideswipe absolutely does not swoon. But there’s a surge of charge racing through his lines, and Sunstreaker’s grip on his arm spells heat.
“Then the plan stays the same,” Sideswipe declares with tons of bravado pulled from the depths of his tank. “We grab some drinks, we briefly mingle, and then we come back to the suite.” His glossa sweeps over his lips. “Fair?”
Grimlock’s field slides against his, dizzying and full of charge. “Fair.”
Oh, Primus.
Sideswipe exchanges a glance with Sunstreaker, and the heat in his brother’s optics is all the answer Sideswipe needs to know Sunstreaker is on board with this.
Sideswipe’s lips slide into a smirk and he sidles up to Grimlock’s side, threading his arm through the Dinobot’s. “Well then,” he purrs as he slides his field along Grimlock’s with a purposeful surge of heat. “Shall we?”
“Yeah.” Sunstreaker doesn’t so much as sidle as he snatches Grimlock’s other arm and gives it a tug. “We going?”
No seduction in that one sometimes. Tsk, tsk. Honestly, if they didn’t share a spark, Sideswipe would swear they aren’t related.
The press of Grimlock’s field turns sly and accommodating. “Every which way we can,” he boasts.
Sideswipe laughs.
This is going to be great.
***
Universe: G1-ish
Characters: Grimlock, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Whirl (ish), Ratchet, Wheeljack
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Description: When Sideswipe and Sunstreaker adopt a lost sparkling, they find an unexpected admirer in Grimlock.
Commission for Fuzipenguin
Whirl doesn’t go back to the cabinet.
In fact, he sticks to them like he’s magnetically attracted to their armor. He prefers to be carried, tucked up against their chestplates or their intakes, or sitting on a shoulder. He goes from silent little growler, to a never-ending chatterbox, though the chatter keeps to the gutter language no one else can understand.
Sideswipe only offers once to plug into Whirl and update his code. The look of terror in the sparkling’s optics, the way he wails and returns to the cabinet for several hours, sets Sideswipe’s spark to aching.
Sunstreaker manages to coax. Sideswipe teases his brother, calls him the sparkling-whisperer. Sunstreaker just rolls his optics and spends the rest of the evening with a bright blue sparkling attached to his chestplate, right over his spark.
It’s pretty adorable.
Sideswipe never asks again.
The base gets used to seeing them with Whirl, either separately or together. They get lots of offers for caretaking, but Whirl doesn’t seem to like anyone. He hisses if others get too close – even Bluestreak, who’s about as dangerous to a sparkling as a rust stick. He tolerates Ratchet and Wheeljack at least, which is a relief because Sideswipe starts to miss that alone time with Sunstreaker.
Honestly, who in their right mind could keep their hands off Sunstreaker for longer than a week? Certainly not Sideswipe. He has the will of gelled energon when it comes to his brother.
Still.
Sparkling fever is a thing, even if no one can get too close to Whirl. Sideswipe’s lost count of the times he’s walked out of their quarters and tripped on a gift. Toys and games and treats. The entire base spoils Whirl like they aren’t a crop of battle-hardened soldiers.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe get more time off, especially together. It’s an unexpected perk, and Sideswipe milks it for all it’s worth. If that means spending more time with Whirl where everyone can see, it’s hardly a trial. Whirl’s adorable, and Sideswipe has to admit, he likes this a lot better.
Whirl’s the sparkling he and Sunstreaker never thought they’d have.
Sunstreaker and Whirl tucked up together on the couch is one of the most adorable sights Sideswipe has ever witnessed. He takes numerous pictures because it’s something he wants to remember forever. Sunstreaker’s got the bit in his lap, and he reads to Whirl, and Whirl follows along with the glyphs with wide optics and full interest.
Sideswipe catches Sunstreaker taking pictures one day, too. When he onlines from his nap on the couch and finds Whirl curled up on his abdomen, sound asleep, and Sunstreaker looming over both of them, his mouth curved in a soft and sweet smile.
That night, after Whirl recharges – in his cabinet because that’s where he likes to sleep when he’s not on top of them, and neither Sideswipe nor Sunstreaker find this an issue – Sunstreaker curls up against Sideswipe and peppers him with kisses.
“Love you,” he murmurs, over and over again, his hands making Sideswipe gasp, a slow throb toward arousal rather than the sharp and fervent joining they usually settle for. “Thank you.”
Sideswipe doesn’t have to poke the bond to know what Sunstreaker means.
He takes Whirl flying, too. The bitlet loves it. He giggles madly and spreads his arms as Sideswipe’s jetpack roars them through the air, not so far above base they are targets, but far enough it’s almost like flying. Whirl keeps saying “again, again!” afterward, and Sideswipe’s weak to his pleas.
They attract a crowd every time they do it. Powerglide shouts up unhelpful opinions. Sideswipe doesn’t need any help with his technique, thank you very much.
Optimus keeps loitering around, casting hopeful optics at Whirl, even if Whirl doesn’t seem to like Optimus too much. Probably can smell the Prime on him, the authority. Guttermechs learn to avoid that kind of thing, if they know what’s good for them.
Sideswipe still chuckles to himself over the memory of Whirl slapping Optimus’ hand away and telling him “bad touch!” in such an offended tone Optimus had reared back and nearly ran over Ironhide in the process.
Ironhide had given Sideswipe a look, like he expected Sideswipe to chastise Whirl for it or something. Instead, Sideswipe had pressed a kiss to Whirl’s forehead.
“Good bit,” he’d cooed. “You tell that mech when you don’t want to be touched.”
Whirl had beamed.
Ironhide had glared.
Optimus had apologized. Profusely.
Less amused had been Tracks the day Whirl clambers out of Sunstreaker’s arms and over the back of the communal couch. He scampers over the cushion and skitters across Tracks’ lap, snatching Tracks’ treat bag all in one swift motion. He then leaps over the arm of the couch and goes pelting across the floor before anyone can really register what happened.
“Hey!” Tracks barks, half-rising as though he isn’t sure he should give chase or not. “That’s mine!”
“Whirl!” Sunstreaker snaps and leaps off the couch, giving Tracks a shove back into it in almost the same motion. “Get back here right now!”
Sideswipe had been on his way back to the couch with an armful of treats for them to share before the movie started. Whirl, per usual, forgets there’s two of them. He isn’t paying attention, and when Sideswipe sticks out a foot, Whirl trips over it and tumbles head over feet.
Tracks’ treat bag flies from his arms and skitters across the floor.
Whirl wails.
Sideswipe, arms laden, lifts both orbital ridges before Sunstreaker scoops Whirl up, scowl firmly in place. He goes from doting caretaker to disapproving guardian in the blink of an optic.
“None of that now.” Sunstreaker pops Whirl on the tip of his nasal ridge. “That was not yours, and you know it wasn’t.”
Whirl hiccups into silence, staring back at Sunstreaker with a look of abject betrayal and consternation. On a full-grown mech, his glare might have been frightening. On Whirl, it it’s adorable.
“Want it!” His hands screw into waving fists, squirming in Sunstreaker’s grip like a wild thing.
Sunstreaker growls and leans into Whirl’s personal space. “Not yours.” He taps Whirl on the nose again. “Behave.”
Whirl sniffles.
Silence descends.
Mechs stare, and Sideswipe feels their judgment like a prickle across his plating. Pah. That little tap doesn’t count as anything. It doesn’t hurt, and it helps Whirl focus on them.
These other mechs, they can’t see the truth. Whirl’s young, but that doesn’t mean he’s not aware of the score. He knows how to twist their sympathies, their perceptions of him. He knows how to play innocent when it suits.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker aren’t fooled by it.
The other Autobots have no clue.
“He can have it,” Tracks offers, his indignation melting in the wake of the wibbly lip and watery optics Whirl tosses at him. Whirl even throws in a theatrical sniffle as he wilts in Sunstreaker’s hand.
Sunstreaker rolls his optics and tucks Whirl under his arm. “Don’t reward his bad behavior, Tracks.”
“And don’t let him play you like that either,” Sideswipe adds. “He’s spoiled as it is. He doesn’t need to steal, and he knows it.” He flops down onto the couch next to Tracks and Sunstreaker sits beside him, Whirl tucked into his intake.
Whirl sniffles, laying limp against Sunstreaker’s chest, a wan little lump of punished sparkling. Absolutely pitiful.
Grimlock’s the one who scoops Tracks’ treat bag from the floor, offering it back to him. “Little ones have sticky fingers,” he grunts.
“I noticed,” Tracks says, wry. He slants Whirl a look, and tucks his treat bag firmly in an arm compartment, out of reach.
No one holds it against Whirl. He’s a sparkling. He’s adorable. He gets a pass. But Sideswipe and Sunstreaker get a note from Red Alert in their inbox later, cautioning them to teach Whirl better manners and consider other disciplinary techniques.
Sunstreaker rolls his optics. Sideswipe trashes the note.
No one understands. No one will ever understand. But Whirl’s their sparkling now, and no one can take that away from them.
He’s theirs.
And anyway, at least they aren’t the only ones who are getting cautionary notes about their disciplinary methods. The day Grimlock has to wrestle Slag to the ground and growl at him to submit gets the rumor mill tittering, and Red Alert storming to the training room with outrage crackling over his sensory horns.
Slag, dented and puffing curls of grey smoke, stomps out of the training room, Autobots scattering out of his way like a herd of turbomice. Grimlock brushes off his armor and takes Red Alert’s chastisement with a bored tilt of his head, and says nothing, not even when Ironhide finally shows up and drags Red Alert off.
“Optimus’ll handle it,” he says, hand firm on Red Alert’s shoulder, even as he casts a disapproving look over his shoulder.
“Optimus never handles it properly,” Red Alert sniffs.
The training room clears out quickly after that. It can’t be because Grimlock’s aura is murderous and full of rage, because it isn’t. He’s pretty calm considering he and Slag had just gotten into a tussle and tore strips out of the training mats.
Sideswipe’s not worried. He stays on his side of the mat and keeps going through his routine. It’s a rare moment when he’s sparkling and twin free, and he doesn’t want to lose his edge. He needs to train.
He feels the weight of Grimlock’s gaze on him, however, and he glances at the Dinobot leader curiously. Grimlock’s watching him. Then again, Grimlock always seems to be watching lately. It’s often enough even Sunstreaker’s noticed, and he’s usually oblivious when it comes to social interactions.
“You’re not scared,” Grimlock says.
“You’re observant,” Sideswipe says with a laugh and a wink. “And no, I’m not. Why would I be? I’m not a Dinobot.” He rolls his shoulders and launches into another series of movements before a spin brings him closer to Grimlock.
“You don’t disapprove.” Grimlock tilts his head, arms folding over his chassis, a solid and formidable foe, if Sideswipe were inclined to make him one.
Sideswipe rolls his optics. “Do I look like someone who cares one cube about what everyone else’s ideas are?” He shoves a thumb toward his own chestplate. “Guttermech, yeah? Different strokes for different folks and all that. Besides, pretty sure Slag deserved it. He’s a bit of a troublemaker.”
Grimlock snorts. “A bit,” he echoes, and amusement rumbles in his chassis. Or at least Sideswipe assumes it’s amusement. “He challenges. He loses. It happens.”
“I’ll bet.” Sideswipe slips into another series of motions, and the weight of Grimlock’s gaze lingers.
It’s… appreciative. And not in an offensive way. Sideswipe’s used to being ogled. This feels different. He doesn’t hate it.
“You’re good with him,” Grimlock says, and Sideswipe almost stumbles because the comment is unexpected. “Whirl, I mean. And you don’t let them tell you otherwise.”
Sideswipe looks over his shoulder with a trademark smirk. “I don’t let anyone tell me anything.” He pauses. “Well, except Sunstreaker and only in certain situations.”
Grimlock chuckles. “Obedience can be fun sometimes.” He drops his arms and the tension in his frame vanishes. He tilts his head. “You ever need a sparring partner, drop me a comm.”
Sideswipe’s orbital ridges climb into his forehead. “I think if I’m going to spar with you, I’ll need backup. Sunstreaker will kill me if I don’t get him in on it.”
“Bring him. I never said it had to be only one of you.” Grimlock heads toward the door, a huge, loping stride to match his greater mass. “It could be fun.”
“Fun,” Sideswipe echoes. “I’ll let him know.”
Grimlock tosses a wave over his shoulder, and then Sideswipe’s left alone in the training room, his thoughts swirling and confusion holding court. It’s not the first time Grimlock’s surprised him.
Right now, he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last.
Since he and Sunstreaker adopted Whirl, Grimlock’s been around, always hovering in the periphery. Sideswipe would call it stalking except that there’s never anything threatening about it.
He’s helpful. Seems to always show up when one of them needs an extra pair of hands, and he’s always delivering crates of those energon chews Whirl loves so much.
It’s just weird is all.
Grimlock, or any other Dinobot, has never paid attention to Sideswipe or Sunstreaker before. Suddenly, he’s there everytime they turn around. Not menacing or anything. Just.
There.
Sideswipe’s not sure what to think about it. Sunny tells him not to worry. Maybe Grimlock is just fascinated by Whirl like everyone else. Sunstreaker’s never been that fantastic at social interaction though. He’s not completely off the mark, but he’s not on target either.
There’s something there.
Sideswipe just can’t put a finger on it.
Grimlock can pinpoint the very moment he realizes his fascination with the twins is not just because of the so-called ‘sparkling fever’. It’s because he’s attracted to them. Both of them. And, he has to admit, attracted to the family they’ve become, and he aches to become a part of it.
That moment is when he catches Sideswipe and Whirl playing chase in the halls.
Whirl runs past Grimlock, giggling like mad, his small feet going pitter-patter across the floor. In his wake, Sideswipe jogs at a pace that lets the sparkling think he’s getting away, a smile on his face, his field light with affection and amusement. Ahead of them, Sunstreaker pops out of a storage room and snatches Whirl off the ground, tossing him into the air and catching him, to Whirl’s shriek of glee.
“No fair!” Whirl cries as he squirms and dissolves into helpless laughter when Sunstreaker starts tickling him. “No fair, no fair.”
Sideswipe catches up to them and laughs. “There’s two of us, bit. Remember that. Always two.”
Sunstreaker rolls his optics. “I’m just glad he decides to play chase before his bath and not after.”
“Hey, you gotta admit, it’s fun to chase him,” Sideswipe says as he nudges his brother with a shoulder. Whirl reaches for him, and Sideswipe slips Whirl out of his hands, tossing the sparkling into the air as Sunstreaker had done.
The delight in Whirl’s optics is beyond compare.
“Bit wants to fly, I think,” Sideswipe says.
“Of course he does,” Sunstreaker sighs, and they turn down the hallway, back the way they’d come, with Sideswipe having a firm grip on Whirl the entire time. “He’s spending too much time with Blades.”
“At least he doesn’t bite Blades.”
“Small favor.” Sunstreaker’s lips twitch with amusement.
His gaze skitters to Grimlock as they pass, but he says nothing. If Sideswipe notices Grimlock watching, he doesn’t comment either. Instead, the small family pass Grimlock by without a word, chattering to each other as Whirl happily leaps from one pair of arms to the other, perfectly comfortable in their presence, though he still fights like a wildcat when most of the rest of the base tries to hold him.
Grimlock’s spark throbs so hard in his chest, he staggers for a second. That’s when he realizes that he’s in trouble. He’s yearning for something so far out of reach, it might as well be on another planet. He doesn’t even know where to start.
His brothers continue to be no help in the matter. Grimlock doesn’t bother to ask Snarl, Sludge, or Slag. Swoop crows delight at him, glad Grimlock’s finally admitting he has interest in the twins. He points Grimlock toward Ratchet and Wheeljack. If he wants advice, that’s the best place to start.
“You want to what?” Wheeljack asks from behind a few bubbling decanters of a liquid that’s probably volatile.
“Get closer to the twins,” Grimlock says, because he hasn’t figured out a better way to phrase it. Date them? Sounds trite. Court them? Sounds too formal. Befriend them? It’s a little bit more than that, he’s sure.
Friends don’t want to nibble down one another’s intake. Friends don’t want to map the planes of armor with their fingertips. Friends don’t want to taste each other’s lips.
Friendship is definitely not what Grimlock’s after. At least, not by itself. Though, granted, if that’s all they’ll offer him, he’ll take it and be grateful.
Wheeljack hums thoughtfully. “Have you tried talking to them?”
“Of course,” Grimlock says with a sigh. “It’s just they’re so busy with Whirl.”
“They don’t notice you,” Wheeljack finishes. “Sounds like what you need is a caretaker.”
“I have two.” Grimlock tilts his head.
Wheeljack laughs and turns down the burner so his liquids bubble at a gentler rate. “Not for you, my silly bit. For Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. For Whirl.”
Grimlock folds his arms. “Not a bit,” he grumbles, embarrassment pulling heat to his cheeks.
“You’ll always be a bit no matter how big you get,” Wheeljack reaches up and pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll be my little bit. But that’s beside the point.” He waves and goes back to the table, picking up a datapad with his free hand. “Get the twins a caretaker so they can have a night without Whirl, and you’ll have your opportunity to talk to them.”
It makes sense.
Grimlock hums thoughtfully. “Whirl doesn’t like most mechs.”
Wheeljack’s indicators flash an amused yellow. “Oh, he likes some just fine. But he prefers Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, so he pretends otherwise.” He taps his blast mask with one finger. “Tell you what, me and Ratch will offer to take Whirl for a few hours. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for it, and you can make your move.”
“My move?” Grimlock echoes. He laughs, shaking his head.
“I know you have some.” Wheeljack winks playfully. “You learned them from me.”
Grimlock is swept up in such a surge of affection for his pseudo-creator that he pulls Wheeljack into a hug, causing the engineer to squawk and awkwardly pat him on the back. “You are ridiculous, but I appreciate you anyway,” Grimlock rumbles as he sets Wheeljack back down on wobbly feet.
Wheeljack coughs and thumps his chestplate. “I appreciate you, too, Grim.” His indicators flush a warm pink. “Now shoo. I have to convince Ratch to caretake for a night, and you have to go plan a very seductive ambush.”
“It’s not a battle!” Grimlock retorts.
Wheeljack shakes his head and raps his fingers over the desk. “Oh, bitlet. You have so much to learn.” He tilts his head, optics bright with amusement. “Love is a battlefield.”
“Nice of Ratchet and Wheeljack to take Whirl for the night,” Sideswipe says as Sunstreaker finishes polishing up the last of the armor on his back. Sideswipe can’t remember the last time he was so shiny.
Sunstreaker grunts. “Yeah. Nice.”
“What? You don’t think it is?”
Sunstreaker’s silence speaks volumes. Maybe not to other mechs, but Sideswipe can read every hitched ventilation, every careful sweep of his fingers, every creak of his armor.
“Or you’re just worried about Whirl,” Sideswipe states. It’s not a question. “Which, I gotta admit, is super adorable.”
“Shut up.”
Sunstreaker whirls away from him and tosses the cloth into the bin for cleaning. His field retracts, pulling inward, but embarrassment still radiates from the bond.
“Aww.” Sideswipe embraces his brother from behind, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “It’s okay. I’m going to worry about him, too. But we gotta have a break every now and again, or we’ll go crazy. Well, crazier anyway.”
Sunstreaker snorts a laugh. He leans back into Sideswipe’s arms. “You’re right.”
“Oh, what did I do to deserve that little treat?” Sideswipe nibbles into Sunstreaker’s intake, rocking against Sunstreaker’s aft. “Are you angling to get spoiled tonight?”
“I was actually thinking about pinning you facedown on the berth, but we can arrange terms if you want,” Sunstreaker replies with a purr of his engine.
A thrill runs through Sideswipe’s circuits, heat pulsing in the wake of it. “Is that so? Well--”
He breaks off as someone chimes their door. They both pause.
“Are you expecting someone?” Sideswipe asks.
Sunstreaker eases out of his arms, a frown marring the tease that had been in his field earlier. “No.”
They exchange a glance.
Sideswipe answers the door while Sunstreaker stands tensely behind him. They don’t get visitors, especially ones that come unannounced. What friends they do have know better than to drop by unannounced.
The door opens. Grimlock stands on the other side of it, clutching a neatly wrapped package, his shoulders hunched a little as though in a vain attempt to make himself appear smaller.
Sideswipe blinks. “Can we… help you?” he asks, head tilted.
“This is for you,” Grimlock says, as clear as a bell, without a trace of processor damage in his vocals. Something he’s been doing around them as of late, but not around anyone else, Sideswipe’s noticed.
He thrusts the crate their direction.
Sideswipe stares at it and makes no move to grab it. He doesn’t think Grimlock would give them a bomb, but stranger things have happened. It wouldn’t be the first time the Decepticons – or one of their many enemies – used a friendly face to get close to them.
There’s a reason they aren’t friends with Crosscut anymore.
“Why?” Sunstreaker asks.
Grimlock, of all things, fidgets. “I’m told it’s customary to bring a gift before you ask someone to join you.”
“Join you?” Sideswipe’s orbital ridges draw down. “For what? A revolution? Are you planning a mutiny, Grim? Because I gotta tell you, I don’t think it’s going to go as well as you think it is.”
Grimlock stares at him for a long moment before he chuckles, low and rumbling. “No, Sideswipe. I’m not planning a revolution, but it’s good to know where you stand on that front.” He shifts his grip on the package. “I meant on a date.”
“A date,” Sunstreaker echoes flatly. “With Sideswipe.” Tension radiates through the bond, and Sideswipe feels the hot jealousy rise up in his brother before Sunstreaker adds, “You do realize he’s mine, right? That we’re bonded?”
Sunstreaker moves closer, and Sideswipe feels him bump against his side, one hand flattening against Sideswipe’s lower back. It’s a blatant claim if Sideswipe ever saw one.
Grimlock’s vents sputter. “The invitation is for both of you,” he says hastily. “I would never presume to take one bonded from another. But I had heard you occasionally sought out a third…?” His voice cants upward at the end, a question, not a statement.
“Sometimes, yeah. If we’re interested enough,” Sideswipe says. He pointedly looks Grimlock up and down while slipping one hand back, patting Sunstreaker to calm him down. “But we don’t do one night lays anymore. And we’re not for sale.”
Now it’s Sunstreaker who’s patting him, his field reaching out, wrapping around Sideswipe, offering comfort. It’s Sunstreaker murmuring in his audial, urging calm, and only then does Sideswipe realize how aggressive he sounds, how his engine is revving.
“I would like more than a single night,” Grimlock says. He doesn’t flinch in the face of Sideswipe’s aggression. Doesn’t back down. Doesn’t get angry. “If you’re interested, I mean. It’s up to you. I’ll leave now, if you want that. Or I can stay and we can go on a date and see where the future takes us.”
Sunstreaker curls a hand around Sideswipe’s nearest elbow, squeezing gently. “Why?”
And that’s the most important question of all, isn’t it?
The package dips a little as Grimlock shifts out of his almost military-grade stance. He cycles an audible ventilation, and the glow of his visor turns warm, softening.
“I could tell you the obvious,” Grimlock says. “That I find you both beautiful. Intelligent. Charming. Fascinating. It would even be true.” He pauses, his voice taking on a silkier, rhythmic cadence. “I am intrigued by you. I find your strength and your skill something to admire. But what captured my attention most is the way you care for Whirl.”
Sideswipe sways a little, and Sunstreaker’s grip keeps him upright. There’s something in the way Grimlock looks at them, the way he says those things so frankly, that reeks of honesty. He’s not being complimentary because it’s the quickest way to get under their plating. He’s saying such things because he honestly believes them to be true.
“Other mechs would probably say different,” Sideswipe says, his will crumpling in the wake of Grimlock’s earnestness.
“All I see is a happy sparkling, one who adores his adoptive caretakers, and is learning to trust again. I see results.” Grimlock rolls his shoulders, though there’s nothing dismissive in the motion. “Others may be blind, but I’m not. I see you for who you are.”
Sunstreaker’s hands tightens on Sideswipe’s arm. “And who do you think we are?”
“Two mechs who love each other to the ends of the universe,” Grimlock says. “Who try to do the right thing, and who took in a sparkling no one else understood so he wouldn’t feel the same loneliness you did.” He pauses, shifts a little, and his field reaches for theirs, tentative but warm. “I see two mechs I’d really like to get to know better, if they’ll let me.”
He offers the gift again.
This time Sideswipe takes it.
The box fits easily in his hands. The wrapping crinkles under his fingers. It’s light to the touch – too light to be a bomb. He imagines Grimlock carefully wrapping it with over-large fingers. Or perhaps he had help.
“A date,” Sunstreaker says, his tone somewhere between confused and concession.
Sideswipe peels away the wrapping and peers into the box. He huffs a laugh as the wrapping flutters to the floor, and he takes stock of the contents.
A new game for Whirl. A set of very nice paintbrushes Sunstreaker had been eying on the intranet but hadn’t allowed himself to buy. A stack of datapads bound with a ribbon. And a smaller wrapped box, the label on the outside enough to make Sideswipe’s mouth lubricate.
A lot of thought had gone into this gift.
Sideswipe looks up at his brother. He pokes the bond as Sunstreaker’s optics meet his, and an entire conversation passes between them in the space of a few sparkbeats.
‘Let’s do it.’
Sideswipe hands the box to Sunstreaker, who takes it into their quarters to find somewhere to stash it. Whirl will want the box later, to play with, but for now, best to keep it away from tiny, thieving fingers.
“All right,” Sideswipe says, and reboots his vocalizer to clear away the unexpected rattle of static in it.
“We’ll do it,” Sunstreaker says as he returns to Sideswipe’s side, presenting a united front. Not that Sideswipe thinks Grimlock is going to attack.
It’s the principle of the thing.
“Tonight?” Grimlock asks, and the delight in his field makes Sideswipe’s armor tingle with anticipation.
It rattles along the bond, too. Sunstreaker presses harder against his side. Always did have a taste for the big ones, Sunny does. Likes those who can hold their own, who can pick him up and hold him down.
Sideswipe tilts his head. “Hmm. You asked Ratchet and Wheeljack to caretake for us tonight, didn’t you?”
A low rumble of laughter rises in Grimlock’s intake. “Guilty as charged.” He leans a bit closer, the rough baritone rolling through their audials. “Does that put me out of the running?”
Sideswipe’s glossa flicks over his lips.
Sunny might like the big ones. But Sideswipe has always favored the sneaky and the crafty.
Sunstreaker huffs a laugh. “If anything, it put you at the top of the list.” He moves forward, out of the doorway, and tugs Sideswipe with him, so their door can close. “I hope you have something good in mind. We’re not that easy to entertain.”
“Especially since we planned to catch a quick drink before we spent the rest of the night fragging ourselves silly,” Sideswipe says with a lazy grin. He pointedly looks Grimlock up and down. “So, you know, top that.”
Grimlock’s visor brightens with heat. There’s no mistaking the look he gives them. “Oh, I intend to,” he purrs, and oh Primus, the deep rumble of it goes straight to Sideswipe’s array. “As many times as you’ll let me.”
Sideswipe absolutely does not swoon. But there’s a surge of charge racing through his lines, and Sunstreaker’s grip on his arm spells heat.
“Then the plan stays the same,” Sideswipe declares with tons of bravado pulled from the depths of his tank. “We grab some drinks, we briefly mingle, and then we come back to the suite.” His glossa sweeps over his lips. “Fair?”
Grimlock’s field slides against his, dizzying and full of charge. “Fair.”
Oh, Primus.
Sideswipe exchanges a glance with Sunstreaker, and the heat in his brother’s optics is all the answer Sideswipe needs to know Sunstreaker is on board with this.
Sideswipe’s lips slide into a smirk and he sidles up to Grimlock’s side, threading his arm through the Dinobot’s. “Well then,” he purrs as he slides his field along Grimlock’s with a purposeful surge of heat. “Shall we?”
“Yeah.” Sunstreaker doesn’t so much as sidle as he snatches Grimlock’s other arm and gives it a tug. “We going?”
No seduction in that one sometimes. Tsk, tsk. Honestly, if they didn’t share a spark, Sideswipe would swear they aren’t related.
The press of Grimlock’s field turns sly and accommodating. “Every which way we can,” he boasts.
Sideswipe laughs.
This is going to be great.
