Peace between the Autobots and the Decepticons didn't mean an end to all fighting. The galaxy remained largely a lawless place, despite the Autobots' best efforts to export civilization and the rule of law; piracy was a huge problem, and doubly so those pirates who participated in the interplanetary slave trade.
"Attention, crew of the Violator." Hot Rod stood on the deck of his flagship, hands clasped behind him (lest the pirates see his shackles and get the wrong idea). "This is Hot Rod, co-leader of the Autobots. You are in our territory, depriving sapients of their freedom in defiance of Article Three of the Galactic Accords. Power down your engines and weapons and prepare to be boarded, or we will fire."
The pirate on the screen sneered, displaying sharp metal teeth. "Don't make me laugh, flamer. You won't fire on us - you might hurt our cargo."
Hot Rod rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. "Oh, gee," he pronounced, "you're right." He let the pirate be smug a moment before adding, "I guess I'll just have to let my boyfriend take care of you."
The pirate blinked. "Your wh-"
The video link stuttered and dissolved into abrupt static. The other Autobots on deck laughed and cheered, but Hot Rod remained silent, watching out the viewport as the slaver ship rocked and shudder and die a death of a hundred violet-lit cuts.
The video link blipped on again; Galvatron's grin threatened to break the confines of the screen. "The Violator is ours!" he declared.
"And the prisoners?" Hot Rod asked pointedly.
Galvatron grumped. "As promised, they are unharmed."
Hot Rod grinned and let his hands fall to his sides, displaying the cuffs to full view. "Good. Then I guess I won't make you recharge on the couch tonight."
"As if you could!" Galvatron snorted with a proud toss of his head. "Galvatron out!"
The connection was cut; Hot Rod relaxed. At the weapons station, Springer shook his head and chuckled. "Are you two ever going to get enough of each other?"
Out of hearing range of his dangerous lover, Hot Rod let his pleasure and admiration show in his voice. "Primus, I hope not."
"You want me to haul *what*?" Long Haul glared at Scavenger and his large collection of broken machinery. There weren't many people Long Haul could intimidate, but usually Scavenger was on that very short list. Which was a mercy, or he'd always be hauling junk around.
Scavenger wasn't particularly intimidated today. He stood his ground and gave Long Haul his best cutely plaintive expression. Which, you would think, Long Haul would be immune to after five million years. "It's for First Aid! He likes fixing them. Pleeeeeeeease, Long Haul! Help me carry! You want to make him happy too, right?"
Long Haul crossed his arms at him. The shovel had a point, but it wasn't as though he was going to be giving in anytime soon. "Doesn't he have enough junk of his own to fix without hauling it all the way from Charr?"
Scavenger's tail drooped. "It's not junk, Long Haul. First Aid--appreciates it." And appreciates me, was the unspoken implication. Long Haul was kind of envious: he could only dream of having Scavenger's passive-aggressive pouting skills. He'd tried, but when it was him the others just told him to stop his belly-aching already.
Well. First Aid never did. First Aid had investigated the aches and pains in his shovel and wheels and back struts that the others had long sense determined were entirely imaginary, and even when he didn't find anything physically wrong with him, he'd somehow made Long Haul feel so much better that he'd spent all afternoon hauling patients around and enjoyed it.
So, yes, he was definitely going to haul First Aid whatever Scavenger wanted him to haul. He allowed himself a long-suffering sigh--an mode of expression which was, as far as Long Haul was concerned, the best thing the humans ever invented--and transformed. "Pile 'em on."
"Thank you, Long Haul!" Scavenger pet Long Haul affectionately on the cab and then started carefully loading him with...Long Haul didn't even want to know what, but hopefully none of it was liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous. Or explosive. Scavenger had that advantage over his other teammates: his collections generally weren't dangerous on purpose.
"You do know, Scavenger," Long Haul said, not letting himself look entirely on the bright side, "He's not like Grapple and Hoist. He already has brothers, and he's not going to leave them for us."
Scavenger stopped loading for a second. "Well, then. Clearly we'll just have to recruit all of them. Which do you want to go for?"
Long Haul stared at Scavenger blankly, as much as a dump truck could stare blankly. "Just don't make me carry them all home, Scrounge."
Scavenger gave a delighted laugh and rubbed his shovel against the side of Long Haul's bed. "'Course not, Warrior. Now do you think I can fit on another damaged radio?"
"Stubborn, aft-headed, violent, ugly spawn of the Unmaker!" Hot Rod stomped past Optimus in one Pit of a temper, burning so brightly that he didn't even register the senior Prime's presence.
"Cyclonus! The war is back on!" At the same time, Galvatron stormed past Ultra Magnus in much the same mood, and with the same regard for other mechs in his presence. Magnus blinked, opened a comm line to Optimus, and received a busy signal in reply - only, he discovered a few seconds later, because his superior had been trying to contact him.
//Galvatron?// Optimus guessed.
//Yes,// Magnus confirmed. //Hot Rod?//
//Yes.// The mech sounded weary even over the comm line. //This is... an unfortunate development.//
//For the truce?// Magnus asked, then regretted the question as soon as he heard himself ask it.
//And for them,// Optimus responded, confirming Magnus's instinct. //Normally I am not an advocate of getting in the middle of a lovers' quarrel, but...//
//Consider the lovers,// Magnus finished dryly when his leader trailed off. //I... am unsure of my ability to handle Galvatron. Perhaps I should take Hot Rod?//
//Yes.// There was a smile in Optimus's 'voice.' //I will take care of Galvatron. Meet us at the usual place?//
//Understood, Prime. Ultra Magnus out.//
***
Hot Rod was clearly still angry, but he was keeping it ruthlessly under control in Ultra Magnus's presence. Magnus approved of the show of restraint, and almost regretted that he was about to decisively shatter it.
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Hot Rod asked, nothing but professional curiosity in his voice.
"It's not something we can speak of in the open hallway. Wait until we're somewhere more secure."
Hot Rod lifted an optic ridge. "The residential sector is secure?"
Magnus allowed a flicker of a smile. "Keep getting smarter, Hot Rod, and soon none of us will be able to hold you." So saying, he took a firm grip on Hot Rod's shoulders and steered him the last few steps: into a room with no assigned dweller, well-stocked with various toys and lubricants and the highest-grade energon they could afford to keep stocked, euphemistically called the Boudoir.
Optimus Prime was already there. And with him, pacing restlessly, was Galvatron.
Hot Rod stiffened, understanding all at once. "Magnus, let me go," he rapped out, sounding so much like Rodimus Prime for a moment that it was a struggle not to obey.
Fortunately, it was Optimus Prime who answered. "You don't really want to leave, do you, Hot Rod?"
Galvatron whirled on the elder Prime, furious. "Optimus! You deceived me!"
"I told you I had something of great import to discuss with you," Optimus answered, as calm as if Galvatron didn't have that particle cannon aimed at his head, "and I do. Shut the door, Magnus. Hot Rod won't run."
It was true. Hot Rod was staring at Galvatron, transfixed, his fans whirring softly. Galvatron's cannon was lowering, slowly, and though he wasn't looking at his young Prime, it was clear where all his attention was. Whatever had passed between them, it was clear they still desired each other.
//We'll log this as 'truce maintenance,'// Magnus told Optimus silently, and received an amused ping in reply. Smiling, Magnus let go of Hot Rod's shoulders and shut the door.
Cyclonus grabbed the Sweep's beard and hauled him toward him. "Scourge!"
Sweep #3 gave Cyclonus a scared look. If Cyclonus couldn't tell the Sweeps from their leader, he was probably in the sort of mood where he'd pull one of them apart for fun. And if he was in that mood, it was safer to be the one he thought was Scourge. At least until he realized you weren't. "Y-yes, Cyclonus?"
"Truce is back on. Just got the comm From Magnus. And Lord Galvatron."
The Sweep stared at Cyclonus in confusion. "Um, Cyclonus, sir. Is this a bad thing?"
Cyclonus looked at the Sweep more closely. "You're not Scourge."
"N-no, sir, do you want me to call Scourge for you?" the Sweep asked, hopefully. That way Cyclonus would let go of his beard. Maybe.
"I can call him myself." Cyclonus, unfortunately, didn't let go. "Magnus and Galvatron are in the Boudoir together. With Optimus Prime. And Hot Rod."
The Sweep gave him a confused look. "Ahh--how terrible!"
"No, no, not terrible!" Cyclonus made a visible effort to pull himself together. "It's a very good thing. Galvatron and Hot Rod get back together, the truce stays together, all of us get more energon, less injuries, more resources to battle the Quintessons and space pirates."
"Ahh--how wonderful, then!" Sweep #3 would declare it whatever Cyclonus wanted it to be. Just as long as Cyclonus would let go of the beard. Or--wait. Another good thing about the truce: respect for Autobot morality, at least when they're on their territory. "Cyclonus, sir--would it be possible for you to maybe let go of my beard?"
"What?" Cyclonus stared. "Oh, yes." He let go.
"Will that be all then?" He asked, hopefully, and prepared to run away, fast, as soon as Cyclonus gave the go-ahead.
Cyclonus gave him a contemptuous look, and was--probably, hopefully--about to give him permission to leave, when Scourge came around the corner. The real Scourge: Sweeps could always tell the difference, even when Cyclonus couldn't.
"Why are you terrorizing that Sweep?" Scourge stopped before he got anywhere near beard-grabbing distance--even before the truce, Cyclonus didn't have these moods very often, but often enough that he could know and fear the signs.
Cyclonus gave him a frustrated look--his 'I'm angry about something I don't want to admit being angry about' look. Sweep #3 discreetly backed down the hallway to hide behind Scourge. Who, in turn, grabbed his wing and hid behind him. Why couldn't they have a leader who was less cowardly than they were?
(Oh right, they did: Cyclonus. And Galvatron, for that matter. Being at the bottom of the Unicronian pecking order sucked slag.)
"The truce is back on, Scourge." Cyclonus advanced on the two of them--clearly he would not be content without a beard to pull. Or something like that. Sweep #3 instinctively pressed back against Scourge, who, for once, held his ground, but was quite insistent on the point of his Sweep staying between him and Cyclonus just now. Cyclonus gave them an exasperated look. "Oh, stop, you two, I'm not going to hurt you."
Scourge and his Sweep gave Cyclonus identical doubtful looks. Scourge cleared his throat--not that his vocalizer needed clearing, but it seemed like an appropriate sound to make. "Don't you--want it to be back on?" It wasn't impossible that he didn't; Cyclonus had dealt remarkably well with Galvatron's relationship with Hot Rod, presumably because of all the time he spent in the (usually metaphorical) berth with the two of them, but Scourge and the Sweeps had had to deal with Cyclonus' jealousy over the relationship before.
Cyclonus shook his head. He was very much within beard-grabbing (or wing-grabbing, or any-number-of-vulnerable-areas–grabbing) distance, but he refrained from grabbing anything at the moment. "No, I have no problem with the truce continuing. However. The truce is continuing because Magnus and Optimus Prime hauled Galvatron and Hot Rod into the Boudoir together. And they're all still in there."
This didn't make any more sense to Sweep #3 than it did the last time Cyclonus had said it. Scourge, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what Cyclonus was getting at. "Ohhh. And you are not."
"Yes." Cyclonus took hold of Scourge's wings. The Sweep made an extremely undignified squeaking sound as he was pressed between them, but Cyclonus didn't seem to notice. "All this time I've been trying to get Magnus and Galvatron in the berth together, and somehow they manage to pull it off without me."
"Um." Scourge's body was heating up from the wing-grab. He peeked at Cyclonus over Scourge #3's shoulder "You could comm and ask to join in?"
Cyclonus shook his head forcefully enough to shake Scourge's wings a bit, too. "It's make-up sex. I can't just intrude on them."
"Um, well--Optimus and Magnus are already there. Clearly it's not a private party?" Scourge was getting off on being shaken substantially more than Sweep #3 thought was reasonable. For that matter, Sweep #3 was starting to get off on being pressed between the two of them--he didn't know whether to curse or give thanks for his Unicronian programming and conditioning.
Cyclonus growled. "But I can't just--!" And now he was tugging on the wings. Sweep #3 tucked his own wings further around himself as the space available between him and the other two suddenly became zero on all sides.
"Cyc--I've got a camera in there. Have our own orgy while we watch?"
Cyclonus considered this for a second. "Acceptable." He then looked at the Sweep between the two of them. "If it is not acceptable to you, we can always get some of the others."
Sweep #3 gave Cyc a slightly shocked look.
"I mean it, Sweep," Cyclonus growled. "You may go if you like."
"Um. If I stay--no beard grabs? It's already sore!" For all that he was terrifying, Cyclonus was good in the berth, and with what all else that had been going on lately, opportunities for the Sweeps to 'face with him were few and far between. But he was not kidding about the beard.
"No beard grabs." Cyclonus leaned in--not very far, really, considering how closely they were pressed together--to purr into his ear, "Unless you ask for them."
"Yes! Definitely yes!" Sweep #3 realized a second after that he'd actually said that out loud. "Um, on joining you in the orgy. Not on the beard grabbing."
Cyclonus laughed, just for a second, and the vibrations rippled through all three of them. "Understood. Now. To Scourge's room. Before they finish." He released one of Scourge's wings, turned around, and headed off.
"Ow, hang on!" It took Scourge and his Sweep an astrosecond or two to get out of each others' way sufficiently to follow Cyclonus at the right angle to keep Scourge's wing from being pulled off. "It does record, you know."
"Watching live is better." But Cyclonus waited.
"Also better when I have two wings," Scourge grumbled, but he was already keeping pace, not protesting the hand on his wing.
Sweep #3 followed behind them, as he was designed to do, summoning his brothers to join in the entertainment. Or, if necessary, split the pain.
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raisedbymoogles) wrote2010-05-06 10:27 pm
Re: :D
"Attention, crew of the Violator." Hot Rod stood on the deck of his flagship, hands clasped behind him (lest the pirates see his shackles and get the wrong idea). "This is Hot Rod, co-leader of the Autobots. You are in our territory, depriving sapients of their freedom in defiance of Article Three of the Galactic Accords. Power down your engines and weapons and prepare to be boarded, or we will fire."
The pirate on the screen sneered, displaying sharp metal teeth. "Don't make me laugh, flamer. You won't fire on us - you might hurt our cargo."
Hot Rod rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. "Oh, gee," he pronounced, "you're right." He let the pirate be smug a moment before adding, "I guess I'll just have to let my boyfriend take care of you."
The pirate blinked. "Your wh-"
The video link stuttered and dissolved into abrupt static. The other Autobots on deck laughed and cheered, but Hot Rod remained silent, watching out the viewport as the slaver ship rocked and shudder and die a death of a hundred violet-lit cuts.
The video link blipped on again; Galvatron's grin threatened to break the confines of the screen. "The Violator is ours!" he declared.
"And the prisoners?" Hot Rod asked pointedly.
Galvatron grumped. "As promised, they are unharmed."
Hot Rod grinned and let his hands fall to his sides, displaying the cuffs to full view. "Good. Then I guess I won't make you recharge on the couch tonight."
"As if you could!" Galvatron snorted with a proud toss of his head. "Galvatron out!"
The connection was cut; Hot Rod relaxed. At the weapons station, Springer shook his head and chuckled. "Are you two ever going to get enough of each other?"
Out of hearing range of his dangerous lover, Hot Rod let his pleasure and admiration show in his voice. "Primus, I hope not."
Re: :D
Scavenger wasn't particularly intimidated today. He stood his ground and gave Long Haul his best cutely plaintive expression. Which, you would think, Long Haul would be immune to after five million years. "It's for First Aid! He likes fixing them. Pleeeeeeeease, Long Haul! Help me carry! You want to make him happy too, right?"
Long Haul crossed his arms at him. The shovel had a point, but it wasn't as though he was going to be giving in anytime soon. "Doesn't he have enough junk of his own to fix without hauling it all the way from Charr?"
Scavenger's tail drooped. "It's not junk, Long Haul. First Aid--appreciates it." And appreciates me, was the unspoken implication. Long Haul was kind of envious: he could only dream of having Scavenger's passive-aggressive pouting skills. He'd tried, but when it was him the others just told him to stop his belly-aching already.
Well. First Aid never did. First Aid had investigated the aches and pains in his shovel and wheels and back struts that the others had long sense determined were entirely imaginary, and even when he didn't find anything physically wrong with him, he'd somehow made Long Haul feel so much better that he'd spent all afternoon hauling patients around and enjoyed it.
So, yes, he was definitely going to haul First Aid whatever Scavenger wanted him to haul. He allowed himself a long-suffering sigh--an mode of expression which was, as far as Long Haul was concerned, the best thing the humans ever invented--and transformed. "Pile 'em on."
"Thank you, Long Haul!" Scavenger pet Long Haul affectionately on the cab and then started carefully loading him with...Long Haul didn't even want to know what, but hopefully none of it was liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous. Or explosive. Scavenger had that advantage over his other teammates: his collections generally weren't dangerous on purpose.
"You do know, Scavenger," Long Haul said, not letting himself look entirely on the bright side, "He's not like Grapple and Hoist. He already has brothers, and he's not going to leave them for us."
Scavenger stopped loading for a second. "Well, then. Clearly we'll just have to recruit all of them. Which do you want to go for?"
Long Haul stared at Scavenger blankly, as much as a dump truck could stare blankly. "Just don't make me carry them all home, Scrounge."
Scavenger gave a delighted laugh and rubbed his shovel against the side of Long Haul's bed. "'Course not, Warrior. Now do you think I can fit on another damaged radio?"
Re: :D
"Cyclonus! The war is back on!" At the same time, Galvatron stormed past Ultra Magnus in much the same mood, and with the same regard for other mechs in his presence. Magnus blinked, opened a comm line to Optimus, and received a busy signal in reply - only, he discovered a few seconds later, because his superior had been trying to contact him.
//Galvatron?// Optimus guessed.
//Yes,// Magnus confirmed. //Hot Rod?//
//Yes.// The mech sounded weary even over the comm line. //This is... an unfortunate development.//
//For the truce?// Magnus asked, then regretted the question as soon as he heard himself ask it.
//And for them,// Optimus responded, confirming Magnus's instinct. //Normally I am not an advocate of getting in the middle of a lovers' quarrel, but...//
//Consider the lovers,// Magnus finished dryly when his leader trailed off. //I... am unsure of my ability to handle Galvatron. Perhaps I should take Hot Rod?//
//Yes.// There was a smile in Optimus's 'voice.' //I will take care of Galvatron. Meet us at the usual place?//
//Understood, Prime. Ultra Magnus out.//
***
Hot Rod was clearly still angry, but he was keeping it ruthlessly under control in Ultra Magnus's presence. Magnus approved of the show of restraint, and almost regretted that he was about to decisively shatter it.
"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Hot Rod asked, nothing but professional curiosity in his voice.
"It's not something we can speak of in the open hallway. Wait until we're somewhere more secure."
Hot Rod lifted an optic ridge. "The residential sector is secure?"
Magnus allowed a flicker of a smile. "Keep getting smarter, Hot Rod, and soon none of us will be able to hold you." So saying, he took a firm grip on Hot Rod's shoulders and steered him the last few steps: into a room with no assigned dweller, well-stocked with various toys and lubricants and the highest-grade energon they could afford to keep stocked, euphemistically called the Boudoir.
Optimus Prime was already there. And with him, pacing restlessly, was Galvatron.
Hot Rod stiffened, understanding all at once. "Magnus, let me go," he rapped out, sounding so much like Rodimus Prime for a moment that it was a struggle not to obey.
Fortunately, it was Optimus Prime who answered. "You don't really want to leave, do you, Hot Rod?"
Galvatron whirled on the elder Prime, furious. "Optimus! You deceived me!"
"I told you I had something of great import to discuss with you," Optimus answered, as calm as if Galvatron didn't have that particle cannon aimed at his head, "and I do. Shut the door, Magnus. Hot Rod won't run."
It was true. Hot Rod was staring at Galvatron, transfixed, his fans whirring softly. Galvatron's cannon was lowering, slowly, and though he wasn't looking at his young Prime, it was clear where all his attention was. Whatever had passed between them, it was clear they still desired each other.
//We'll log this as 'truce maintenance,'// Magnus told Optimus silently, and received an amused ping in reply. Smiling, Magnus let go of Hot Rod's shoulders and shut the door.
Re: :D
Sweep #3 gave Cyclonus a scared look. If Cyclonus couldn't tell the Sweeps from their leader, he was probably in the sort of mood where he'd pull one of them apart for fun. And if he was in that mood, it was safer to be the one he thought was Scourge. At least until he realized you weren't. "Y-yes, Cyclonus?"
"Truce is back on. Just got the comm From Magnus. And Lord Galvatron."
The Sweep stared at Cyclonus in confusion. "Um, Cyclonus, sir. Is this a bad thing?"
Cyclonus looked at the Sweep more closely. "You're not Scourge."
"N-no, sir, do you want me to call Scourge for you?" the Sweep asked, hopefully. That way Cyclonus would let go of his beard. Maybe.
"I can call him myself." Cyclonus, unfortunately, didn't let go. "Magnus and Galvatron are in the Boudoir together. With Optimus Prime. And Hot Rod."
The Sweep gave him a confused look. "Ahh--how terrible!"
"No, no, not terrible!" Cyclonus made a visible effort to pull himself together. "It's a very good thing. Galvatron and Hot Rod get back together, the truce stays together, all of us get more energon, less injuries, more resources to battle the Quintessons and space pirates."
"Ahh--how wonderful, then!" Sweep #3 would declare it whatever Cyclonus wanted it to be. Just as long as Cyclonus would let go of the beard. Or--wait. Another good thing about the truce: respect for Autobot morality, at least when they're on their territory. "Cyclonus, sir--would it be possible for you to maybe let go of my beard?"
"What?" Cyclonus stared. "Oh, yes." He let go.
"Will that be all then?" He asked, hopefully, and prepared to run away, fast, as soon as Cyclonus gave the go-ahead.
Cyclonus gave him a contemptuous look, and was--probably, hopefully--about to give him permission to leave, when Scourge came around the corner. The real Scourge: Sweeps could always tell the difference, even when Cyclonus couldn't.
"Why are you terrorizing that Sweep?" Scourge stopped before he got anywhere near beard-grabbing distance--even before the truce, Cyclonus didn't have these moods very often, but often enough that he could know and fear the signs.
Cyclonus gave him a frustrated look--his 'I'm angry about something I don't want to admit being angry about' look. Sweep #3 discreetly backed down the hallway to hide behind Scourge. Who, in turn, grabbed his wing and hid behind him. Why couldn't they have a leader who was less cowardly than they were?
(Oh right, they did: Cyclonus. And Galvatron, for that matter. Being at the bottom of the Unicronian pecking order sucked slag.)
"The truce is back on, Scourge." Cyclonus advanced on the two of them--clearly he would not be content without a beard to pull. Or something like that. Sweep #3 instinctively pressed back against Scourge, who, for once, held his ground, but was quite insistent on the point of his Sweep staying between him and Cyclonus just now. Cyclonus gave them an exasperated look. "Oh, stop, you two, I'm not going to hurt you."
Scourge and his Sweep gave Cyclonus identical doubtful looks. Scourge cleared his throat--not that his vocalizer needed clearing, but it seemed like an appropriate sound to make. "Don't you--want it to be back on?" It wasn't impossible that he didn't; Cyclonus had dealt remarkably well with Galvatron's relationship with Hot Rod, presumably because of all the time he spent in the (usually metaphorical) berth with the two of them, but Scourge and the Sweeps had had to deal with Cyclonus' jealousy over the relationship before.
Cyclonus shook his head. He was very much within beard-grabbing (or wing-grabbing, or any-number-of-vulnerable-areas–grabbing) distance, but he refrained from grabbing anything at the moment. "No, I have no problem with the truce continuing. However. The truce is continuing because Magnus and Optimus Prime hauled Galvatron and Hot Rod into the Boudoir together. And they're all still in there."
This didn't make any more sense to Sweep #3 than it did the last time Cyclonus had said it. Scourge, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what Cyclonus was getting at. "Ohhh. And you are not."
"Yes." Cyclonus took hold of Scourge's wings. The Sweep made an extremely undignified squeaking sound as he was pressed between them, but Cyclonus didn't seem to notice. "All this time I've been trying to get Magnus and Galvatron in the berth together, and somehow they manage to pull it off without me."
"Um." Scourge's body was heating up from the wing-grab. He peeked at Cyclonus over Scourge #3's shoulder "You could comm and ask to join in?"
Cyclonus shook his head forcefully enough to shake Scourge's wings a bit, too. "It's make-up sex. I can't just intrude on them."
"Um, well--Optimus and Magnus are already there. Clearly it's not a private party?" Scourge was getting off on being shaken substantially more than Sweep #3 thought was reasonable. For that matter, Sweep #3 was starting to get off on being pressed between the two of them--he didn't know whether to curse or give thanks for his Unicronian programming and conditioning.
Cyclonus growled. "But I can't just--!" And now he was tugging on the wings. Sweep #3 tucked his own wings further around himself as the space available between him and the other two suddenly became zero on all sides.
"Cyc--I've got a camera in there. Have our own orgy while we watch?"
Cyclonus considered this for a second. "Acceptable." He then looked at the Sweep between the two of them. "If it is not acceptable to you, we can always get some of the others."
Sweep #3 gave Cyc a slightly shocked look.
"I mean it, Sweep," Cyclonus growled. "You may go if you like."
"Um. If I stay--no beard grabs? It's already sore!" For all that he was terrifying, Cyclonus was good in the berth, and with what all else that had been going on lately, opportunities for the Sweeps to 'face with him were few and far between. But he was not kidding about the beard.
"No beard grabs." Cyclonus leaned in--not very far, really, considering how closely they were pressed together--to purr into his ear, "Unless you ask for them."
"Yes! Definitely yes!" Sweep #3 realized a second after that he'd actually said that out loud. "Um, on joining you in the orgy. Not on the beard grabbing."
Cyclonus laughed, just for a second, and the vibrations rippled through all three of them. "Understood. Now. To Scourge's room. Before they finish." He released one of Scourge's wings, turned around, and headed off.
"Ow, hang on!" It took Scourge and his Sweep an astrosecond or two to get out of each others' way sufficiently to follow Cyclonus at the right angle to keep Scourge's wing from being pulled off. "It does record, you know."
"Watching live is better." But Cyclonus waited.
"Also better when I have two wings," Scourge grumbled, but he was already keeping pace, not protesting the hand on his wing.
Sweep #3 followed behind them, as he was designed to do, summoning his brothers to join in the entertainment. Or, if necessary, split the pain.