#maybe not so much on the rodimus side but definitely with thunderclash

[outlier-roddy]

I just realized why I liked the Chris pine/autistic paladin relationship in the dungeons & dragons movie so much it's because they reminded me of rodimus and thunderclash

[dramamelon]

For @polyshipweek 2023! 💖

Day 1: Road Trip Day 2: Second Chances

Completing the Connection

Day 3: Bed Sharing Rating: E (overall, but not until day 5) Chararcters: Drift, Ratchet, Rodimus, Thunderclash Pairing: thunderdratchrod Fandom: Transformers (IDW1) Tags: Minimal Editing, Romantic Fluff, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Polyamory, Flirting Fic Summary: As a still newly-minted foursome, they've come closer to one another, but one connection hasn't quite fully cemented itself just yet. A surprise retirement announcement from Thunderclash has Rodimus suggesting one last tour on the Exitus for all of them. Really, it's a chance to for a bit of vacation time with his partners on Cybertron's shanix. And maybe it might spur on a little more action between Thunderclash and Drift.

AO3 link in reblog! Sequel to Closest of Friends. :)

Thunderclash knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but learning Rodimus had thought so far ahead as to have their first night on the planet already booked in a fancy hotel still left him impressed. The fact that the hotel had rooms sized for Cybertronians as large as himself—for larger, even—came as a bit of a shock. Everything else he'd seen on this world thus far most definitely, despite their open friendliness, leaned toward a much physically smaller crowd. This, at least, held true enough that their little group was left carrying their own luggage to their suite. None of the porters, living being or cart was of a size to carry it.

"How were you able to set this up?" he asked, following the rest of them into the main room of their rather expansive private suite. Setting the two bags he toted beside the pair Drift brought along from the Rodpod, behind the couch, Thunderclash gave a slow spin to take everything in. The decor was grandiose, absolutely verging on garish, almost like the sort of thing one might expect from an over-the-top conjunxing hotel in the gaudy lower-level districts of Staniz. And somehow perfectly Rodimus. "How far ahead of the game were you to do this without any of us finding out?"

Nearby, Drift crossed his arms and stood with one hip hitched to the side. A grin stretched crooked across his face, flashing a bit of amused fang that sent a tickle through Thunderclash's belly. Drift tilted his helm a touch to one side, audial flares giving a curious wiggle. "Yeah, Roddy," Drift added with a tone meant to nudge the humor further, "how did you do that? Care to share how you paid for something like this?"

Rodimus stopped where he was in the middle of giving the suite a sweeping look through, spoiler wings perking before he swung around with an expression of utterly false indignation. He slapped a hand to the center of his chest as he decried the insinuation in such a manner that it spoke of pure mischief. "Drift! I can't believe you," he said, spoiler wings dancing through a display of sly playfulness. "What exactly are you accusing me of? It better not be what I think it is."

Not wanting to turn away from the flirty interaction between the two best friends, Thunderclash eased his way backward toward the suite door. Waving one hand behind him, he kept his pace slow to avoid tripping over his own pedes. He managed to find the control panel, mashing the lock button with the briefest glance. The lock gave a small beep to indicate it was engaged and he let his hand drop, sharing a grin and a look with Ratchet. "Honestly, I don't particularly care which bank account it came out of," Thunderclash interrupted, slinking—or as close as a bot of his build could accomplish—across the floor to stand between the two. He laid a gentle hand on Drift's shoulder, taking his time with the mech as they were still learning one another. The other hand, however, traced a slow and incendiary touch along the lower edge of Rodimus' nearest spoiler wing. It gave a faint quiver that evoked a low rumble of Thunderclash's engine. He felt more than a little smug as he said, "My suggestion is we just enjoy it as long as the gold card doesn't bounce."

Optical ridges shooting skyward, Drift turned a look on him that was almost offended. Thunderclash might've been worried were it not for the large bellow of amusement that filled the speedster's field. Then Drift laid his hand on Thunderclash's chest plating and gave him a playful shove. A playful shove that lingered decidedly longer than it needed to. In fact, Drift's fingers didn't lift from Thunderclash's armor at all, instead trailing downward along the central vent flaps of his lower torso. He curled them away, though, before they dropped towards Thunderclash's pelvic span. The wanting tingle that sent through him in a sharp pang did little more than remind him that despite the four of them coming together as they had, the bond between himself and Drift as yet remained unconsummated. While the extensive kissing and ever deepening petting sessions were very nice, Thunderclash couldn't deny a rising desire to share in the things Drift did with both Ratchet and Rodimus.

Catching Drift's hand, Thunderclash brought it up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the presented knuckles one by one. He focused his gaze directly on Drift's, taking a moment of triumph in the soft flush that suffused those cheeks, visible even through the ceremonial paint he wore in remembrance of Dai Atlas. Well, maybe that rising desire of his was actually more fully risen, if he really took into consideration the way his spark flickered and danced in its casing when he shared such things with Drift these days. And the way his interface array plagued his HUD with pleas to just open, already.

"Just so everybody knows," Rodimus said, breaking the moment and heading toward the set of double doors that stood off to one side of the main room, "there's only one bed." A pseudo-innocent expression plastered on his face, his spoiler wings flittering through a little dance that exclaimed otherwise, Rodimus grabbed hold of the old style handles and threw open the doors. "Apparently, that's all they had left and I forgot to specify when I booked…. Oops?"

That earned him one of Ratchet's snorts. A glance toward his best friend showed Ratchet's hands perched on his hips and a lopsided smirk on his face. "Of course you did."

Thunderclash laughed as Rodimus swung around and approached Ratchet with the swing to his hips that meant business. He shifted Drift's hand into the grasp of his other and risked laying the first in the small of Drift's back. Much to his relief, the touch was not refused nor even slightly rejected. His spark fluttered with jubilation. Both Ratchet and Rodimus had told him Drift did not accept such gestures easily, even from one of them, at first.

Like a gentlemech escorting his partner to the dance floor, Thunderclash walked Drift toward those open doors as he said, "Shall we take a look? I don't imagine Rodimus has done us wrong, but we've all been incorrect about that before, haven't we?"

From behind them, perhaps most of the way to Ratchet at this point—Thunderclash didn't stop to check—Rodimus yelled out at him. "Hey, I heard that! Why is my boyfriend talking slag about me, huh?"

A quiet chuckle escaped Drift, the beautiful mech leaning closer to him as if to share the good humor. And, oh, how Thunderclash's spark danced in its casing. For all that he felt so in charge when it came to his relationship with Rodimus, Thunderclash felt just barely out of his sparklinghood in the presence of someone like Drift. Older than all of them, Drift had seen and experienced things in life far beyond anything Thunderclash could even begin to imagine. It brought back all the softness that had filled him sitting so close to Drift on the Rodpod, the softness he was very keen to reclaim. In response to Rodimus, however, Thunderclash turned up the brashness and asked over his shoulder, "Is it slag when it's true?"

Before Rodimus could say anything back, Drift distracted him with a curious, "Oh. Huh. At least it's big enough for all of us, I guess?"

Turning his attention back to the open berthroom, Thunderclash took in the massive berth and felt his jaw drop. He'd never seen anything of that size in the full extent of his functioning. "Well, occasionally you make entirely practical decisions, Rodimus, my love."

"Occasionally?" Rodimus asked, his tone wheedling and growing whinier as he drew closer. It was only a matter of moments before Rodimus was giving them both a jab to the back. He squawked and jumped back as Drift threw an elbow in his direction, spoiler wings flaring wide. "Whoa, hey! Dude, Drift, the frag was that for?"

Drift turned an annoyed scowl on Rodimus. "You know exactly what that was for—"

"Yeah, yeah," Rodimus said, cutting him off before he could get any further. He moved closer, wiggling as if to squeeze between them, though Thunderclash kept him from attaining the position with any ease. It ultimately amounted to Rodimus dipping under the arm Thunderclash had stretched out to rest his hand in the small of Drift's back, poking back up between them and slinging his arms one around the shoulders of each. Thunderclash knew without doubt Rodimus had designs with this move. His flashy speedster proved him correct when Rodimus tossed a glance first at him, then an Drift, his most self-satisfied smile stretching across his face. "So," Rodimus started, tone sultry, "how's about we break that thing in, hm?"

Thunderclash blew out a gusty sigh, but didn't attempt to hide his amusement while Drift relaxed and chortled along with Rodimus. Somewhere behind them, Ratchet grouched and rolled his optics. Thunderclash didn't hear any actual complaints, though.

[inktheblot]

📓 👀

Nebulous, queerplatonic Rodiclash my beloved. I've really warmed up to the pairing lately, but like, a specific flavor (or mixture of flavors). Of course there's the inherent hilarity of the "one-sided rivals" and "one guy actively hates/is in Homoerotic Nemesisship with another guy who is Literally Just Vibing, and maybe genuinely LIKES the first guy" dynamic, which I love, but then we can build from that... EMOTIONALLY :D

Rodimus holding no grudges after the mutiny, and actually being visibly more amicable around someone he "hated", and Thunderclash thinking "wow, so generous and honorable of him", but really Roddy is more like "oh okay you're not completely cartoonishly perfect, you're actually just as capable of screwing up royally as me, cool great awesome I can actually tolerate you now". From the other perspective, that person who is widely seen as Perfect™️ chooses to be with a person who is widely seen as a fuckup, because not only does he see that good in him that everyone else misses, but also because He Also gets to be on equal footing with someone who doesn't hold him up to an unrealistic pedestal of being Perfect, won't give up on him when he does inevitably fall short of the fantasy, actually likes him more for being a disaster and not a paragon. Both of them feeling seen as Full People, not only their accomplishments and also not only their mistakes. Even more meaningful IMO if you hardcore lean into a disability lens (Rodimus' ADHD and/or other neurodivergence + Thunders' spark injury + the whole species' lifetime of trauma + probably more): that you don't have to be a shining picture of ✨inspiration✨ and ✨overcoming✨ to be liked and wanted.

Aromantic Rodimus plus Thunderclash who maybe had some kind of romantic infatuation with him to begin with, but they talk it through once they grow closer, and he eventually concludes, "no actually, I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything, I wouldn't choose the thought of maybe hypothetically theoretically someday settling down and staying put with one (1) romantic partner forever over this, you and what you are comfortable with and having you and our relationship in my life at all are more important to me than any other what-ifs, and I'm definitely not going to leave you behind for want of someone or something else". Or maybe Thunders himself is aro, and/or some other kind of a-spec, and in the past he's felt like there was an obligation for him to be Available™ to all the mechs that swoon over him, and this is a huge relief. Either or!

In the murky recesses of my brain there's something set on the Exitus in the post-LL "bad end", of them growing closer mostly by accident. A series of subtle and bittersweet vignettes musing on lost loves (of many forms) and missed opportunities and inevitable creeping mortality. What makes you keep on living despite yourself when you know for certain that your best days are behind you, you can't have much time left, and you've already used up your allotment of second chances and then some? Finding similarities if not sameness, comfort if not closure, home base if not home, in unlikely places. Yearning and making peace and yearning again. This is imperfect, they are imperfect, but it's what they have, and it's not enough if "enough" was all they ever wanted, all that they had before, but it's enough if "enough" is Not Actively Self Destructing, and realizing it's okay to be tired, and it's okay to rest your tired head on another tired shoulder. A series in poetic bursts with all-lowercase song lyric titles precariously hanging between "way too corny" and "thanks, my soul just imploded". No plot, only vibes.

Whether as part of the above or a separate story entirely, I also have the thought of them deciding that they want to bond, but becoming conjunx wouldn't be right, and amica doesn't feel quite right either (while the term does have similarities to what we on Earth call queerplatonic relationships, and maybe is equivalent for some, I don't think that these two think of theirs specifically with the "best friends" connotation -- it's a different flavor). So what they settle on is invoking the rite of Prime and Lord High Protector. The Prime who never got to lead and the war hero with nothing left to fight have no one to prove anything to and no desire for a performance of the power and tradition of the ruling class; they twist this legend into a private affirmation for them and only them, swearing what they have left to one another. (Bonus angst if this is in fact along the timeline of the above, and it's not clear if they'll even have their sparks left by the time they're through; if one or both of them is close to the end, and bonding is a 50/50 shot between "we're both jumpstarted and then we'll see how far we can cheat death This Time" or "we both burn out instantly", and they're at the point where they can be at peace with either option.)

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

Request: OTP from any continuity doing yoga together

I interpreted this as being my OTP so I hope that’s okay. Anyway, yoga time

Additional: oral, multiple orgasms, fingering, cum eating

Rodimus knew it was stupid to agree to this and yet here he is.

“Keep your palms flat and relax your head, let it hang down,” Thunderclash’s calm instruction reverberates through the air so close he can feel it against his plating, too close.

Rodimus follows the instructions and sighs, taking deep vents as Drift had taught him to do when meditating. He’s trying to ignore the proximity, the embarrassment of being talked through this with Thunderclash.

“You need to stretch your back up,” Thunderclash splays his hand over Rodimus’s belly and gently guides his torso into a shallow curve that stretches the cables in his back pleasantly, “like so.”

Thunderclash’s hand is warm and firm against Rodimus’s plating, leaving a lingering warmth as he slides it away. Rodimus takes a very deep vent. He pushes away the physical sensation with the help of the little mental exercise Drift had taught him where he centers on one point, one object. He really shouldn’t have mentioned his interest in learning yoga to Drift, he really shouldn’t have accepted Thunderclash’s generous offer when Drift turned out to be busy. Rodimus was trying to be better, trying not to let Thunderclash get under his plating but now he was on his plating, all around him and Rodimus was finding it was starting to get hard to vent.

“This is the ‘cat pose’” Thunderclash taps Rodimus to let him know they’re shifting positions, “It’s a pretty good beginner’s pose. I’m not going to start you on anything too advanced today.”

“Okay,” Rodimus nods and swallows, “Sounds good.”

“Lie on your back,” Thunderclash’s words hit Rodimus like Optimus in his altmode.

His processor provides very unhelpful and distracting scenarios that Thunderclash could give that command and he tries to distract himself from those thoughts but the only present distraction was Thunderclash maneuvering him into the set up for the next pose. His touch glides over Rodimus’s arms, straightening them out then he moves to bend Rodimus’s legs so the flats of his pedes are on the floor.

“Now, push up your hips until you feel a stretch in your cables,” Thunderclash keeps one hand on Rodimus’s knee as he talks and that’s almost distracting enough for him to miss half of what Thunderclash says.

Rodimus pushes himself up and vents out, keeping his optics firmly on the ceiling and not on Thunderclash’s stupid, encouraging smile. He begins to relax just as Thunderclash puts one hand on his lower back, easing him up further until his cables burn pleasantly. The fact that Thunderclash knows where his limits are doesn’t bother him nearly as much as how he doesn’t process the name of this pose or what it’s supposed to do. All of his attention is pinpointed on Thunderclash’s touch as he eases Rodimus out of the pose, going so far as to soothe the abused struts with a sympathetic rub.

“Now you’re going to stay on your back but you’re going to put your pedes together,” Thunderclash nudges Rodimus’s pedes towards each other.

Rodimus tries to follow his instructions but becomes focused on the position of Thunderclash hovering between his now splayed-out legs. Not realizing how far he could really go, Rodimus finds himself surprised as Thunderclash pushes down on his knees so his legs almost reach the floor. Rodimus sucks in a vent at the sight in front of him. Thunderclash with both his hands on his knees, pushing his legs apart while looming above him.

“This is the ‘Reclining Bound Angle Pose’” Thunderclash eases Rodimus’s legs back up, “It helps with flexibility in your hips but it looks like you don’t need much more work there. You’re already pretty flexible.”

Rodimus feels the warmth that’s been steadily building skyrocket with Thunderclash smiling down on him. A brief, fleeting thought passes in Rodimus’s mind that most of Thunderclash’s would probably kill to be where he was right now.

“How about we move on to the next one?”

Rodimus just nods, not trusting his voice in this instant. Thunderclash slides his hand up one of Rodimus’s legs, sending little prickles of pleasure through Rodimus’s sensor net and then grips his pede and lifting it up into the air. The room feels warm as Rodimus’s vents start to get heavy and he doesn’t hear what Thunderclash is saying beyond the deep baritone of his voice. It’s a slight shift in position, just a twist of the hips as Thunderclash tries to reach out for his hand and his thigh brushes Rodimus’s panels and to Rodimus’s embarrassment they all but fly open. He’s not fast enough to close them as Thunderclash looks down at the tell-tale noise of minor transformations and freezes.

“M-maybe we’ve had enough for one day,” Thunderclash flexes his hand on Rodimus’s pede but makes no attempt to move.

Feeling bold, Rodimus lets his other leg fall to the side, widening the space between his legs and tries to smirk up at Thunderclash but it comes out more like a heated grin. He can feel his face color as Thunderclash’s optics darken.

“Maybe we could go a little longer?” Rodimus hears the excited tremor in his own voice, feeling suddenly empowered by Thunderclash’s heated gaze and the possessive hand that finds its way onto his thigh, “I’m sure there are plenty other positions you could show me.”

Thunderclash moves back and Rodimus is worried for a moment that he misread everything but then Thunderclash’s voice breaks the quiet.

“Kneel.”

A shiver runs down Rodimus’s spinal strut and he quickly pushes himself up onto his knees. Thunderclash wraps one arm behind his waist and leans over him, that strong frame of his completely enveloping Rodimus. This was definitely a bad idea, he was exposing himself, exposing how much he wants Thunderclash’s attention but Rodimus couldn’t find it in himself to care as Thunderclash has him bend backward. Rodimus balances on his arms and tenses at the feeling of Thunderclash’s lips trailing kisses over his chest. Thunderclash rubs over his thumb over Rodimus’s node as he dips the tip of one finger into him then slides it completely, finding Rodimus already slick and ready.

“Do you think you could hold this position for me?” Thunderclash’s vents tickle his plating, making him shiver.

“Y-yeah, I-I think so,” Rodimus gasps as Thunderclash hits another cluster of nodes, “Just don’t stop.”

Thunderclash chuckles, the soft rumbles shaking Rodimus’s frame, “Is this what you had in mind when you asked to learn yoga.”

Rodimus moans, fighting against his urge to close his legs around Thunderclash’s hand as Thunderclash removes his arm from under him, leaving him to support himself.

“Ha, no,” Rodimus says with a sharp vent in as Thunderclash adds another finger, “Just wanted to know what all the fuss was about…”

“Well then, I’m very glad that I get to be your teacher,” Thunderclash purrs as he curls a hand around Rodimus’s spike.

Rodimus clenches his fists as Thunderclash strokes him in time with the rubbing on his anterior node and the slow pumping of his fingers in and out of him. It’s all too much and not enough at once.

“It’s your fault,” Rodimus gasps as Thunderclash gently scissors him open, “Those hands of yours… they should be illegal.”

Thunderclash doesn’t say anything to that as he continues to work Rodimus. It’s a long enough pause that Rodimus is tempted to try to get back up but then Thunderclash is taking his spike all in one go into his mouth, removing any willpower Rodimus had to get up. Rodimus pushes himself up as much as he can into that hot glossa that’s lapping at the underside of his spike as Thunderclash pushes deeper into his valve. He couldn’t think, didn’t want to with Thunderclash’s hot mouth sucking on his spike and those thick fingers. Without warning, Rodimus feels himself tip over the edge as Thunderclash hits his interior node and sucks hard on his spike so he’s spilling into Thunderclash’s awaiting intake while his valve clenches hard around Thunderclash’s fingers, mercilessly pumping into him. When Thunderclash finally releases him from his hold, Rodimus lowers himself with his arms fanned above his head with his knees bent, and just pants as he recovers. When he has enough sense to look up to Thunderclash, his face grows hot as that bastard actually licks his lips with that sinful glossa of his.

“Think you can take more?” Thunderclash smirks above him and Rodimus does his best to keep himself from pouting.

Never one to back down from a challenge Rodimus responds, “What? You’re tired?”

Thunderclash beams at him, sending a fluttering feeling through Rodimus’s spark and he has to look away from Thunderclash, his face far hotter than before.

“Good,” Thunderclash takes ahold of his legs and with that ridiculous strength of his, begins picking them up, “I have something I’ve always wanted to try. Let me know if you feel any discomfort.”

Thunderclash lifts Rodimus’s legs completely and moves them so his pedes are together on the floor and above his head with his aft high up in the air.

“Frag, Rodimus, how are you so naturally flexible?” Thunderclash says above him, somewhat obscured by his legs in front of his face.

Something about hearing Thunderclash, someone who’s supposed to be the ultimate example of a true Autobot actually curse sent curls of heat through Rodimus’s chest. He has to take a second to clear his intake before replying.

“What can I say?” Rodimus laughs, “We speedsters are just built for maneuvering.”

“I suppose so,” Thunderclash hums, running a hand over Rodimus’s aft and down his leg, “Do you know what they call this pose?”

Rodimus has to get himself to ignore the very distracting rubbing over his aft, “N-no…”

Thunderclash chuckles to himself and whispers cheekily, “The ‘Plow Pose’.”

Rodimus snorts a laugh then gasps as Thunderclash moves his legs apart, squeezing his thighs as he does so.

“I am modifying it somewhat so I can…” Thunderclash clears his intake awkwardly before continuing, “have better access.”

Before Rodimus can ask what he meant by that, Thunderclash situates him between Rodimus’s legs, kneeling above him to line up his spike with Rodimus’s valve. From this angle, Rodimus can see everything including Thunderclash’s thick spike that’s lined with red biolights at every white stripe that contrasts with the dark blue ones that lead to a broad, dark blue tip. It reminded him of those candy canes popular on Earth. He can also see Thunderclash’s wet valve and he’d reach up and touch it if his arms weren’t firmly flung out behind him. He watches as Thunderclash pushes into him, his valve lips stretching out for his spike and he moans as he feels and watches the spike enter him slowly. Thunderclash thrusts slowly in and out of him while he watches completely enraptured as the lubricant covered spike moves, moaning deeply every time it disappears into his valve. Lubricant and pre-transfluid begin to dribble down from his valve and onto his plating as his spike weeps pre-transfluid onto his belly. Thunderclash thrusts faster now, hitting Rodimus deep and shaking his frame, pounding into him relentlessly. His fingers dig into Rodimus’s thighs as he slams his hips forward, panting and moaning at the feeling of Rodimus’s hot valve tighten around his spike. With a cry, he overloads deep into Rodimus. Feeling Thunderclash’s hot transfluid fill him with a burst of charge, Rodimus overloads, his spike spilling transfluid onto his belly as his valve milks Thunderclash’s spike for every last bit of transfluid.

Thunderclash slowly pulls out of Rodimus, lubricant and transfluid following his spike, gushing out and dripping down onto Rodimus’s face. He moves Rodimus carefully so he’s laying completely flat, running his hands down the length of Rodimus’s body, taken in by the beauty of his plating covered in pink transfluid and heavy condensation. Bending down, he kisses the mixed fluids off of Rodimus’s face and as he’s pulling away, Rodimus pulls him back down into a real kiss. It’s slow with their glossas pressing lazily against each other, the press of Rodimus’s lips against his sending him into a spiral. They part far too soon for Thunderclash’s liking, venting hard. He scoops Rodimus into arms and settles him into his lap so he can hold him close as he peppers kisses over his face and neck.

Rodimus sighs with deep content and snuggles into Thunderclash’s broad chest, “We should do yoga together all the time.”

Thunderclash laughs and presses his forehelm against Rodimus’s, “I would like that.”

[scintillating-galaxias]

one hundred and seventy-ninth time's a charm

Drift and Rodimus spend the evening talking about crushes and what to do about them. Namely, Rodimus talks about his crush, and Drift tells him what to do about it.

(read it here on ao3!)

Drift really should have stayed in his hab suite tonight.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Rodimus thumped his fist against the table, rattling the several empty cubes around him. “I’m gonna die, Drift.”

“You’re not going to die,” Drift said.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“About?” As if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Him! Thunderclash!” Yep. “I can’t—ugh!” Rodimus threw his arms up and petulantly slouched in his seat.

“Wow,” Drift said, drawing out the first w in disbelief.

“Drift,” Rodimus moaned. He slowly sunk to lay facedown across the tabletop. Drift didn’t look away from his datapad as he lifted his servo and sympathetically patted Rodimus’ helm. “He’s so fraggin’ nice and noble and pretty. How does he make a color scheme like that work for him? Red legs and teal arms and a yellow face? How? It’s so unfair.”

Drift merely shook his helm while Rodimus mumbled into the table. Hm. It looked like Ultra Magnus’ citation count was beginning to tick up again (“—and so tall and I bet he’d be stupid good at hugging and—”). Reckless behavior, vandalism, destruction of personal property, encouraging unnecessary violence. All clear signs that the Lost Light needed to find a place to stay for a while so its passengers could blow off some steam (“—and his laugh is all deep, and it gets in my chest, and it makes me feel all floaty? It’s weird.”). He’d have to pass the suggestion on to Ultra Magnus himself or Megatron at some point, seeing as their first in command was currently otherwise… occupied.

“—you think he likes me? He smiles and compliments me all the damn time, but maybe I’m wrong and I think he’s just being nice to me when he’s actually nice to everyone?”

“Have you considered,” Drift began with the weariness of someone who has had this exact conversation no less than one hundred and seventy-eight times with no results, “that if you didn’t very obviously and dramatically avoid every conversation with him, you’d find out?”

Rodimus paused. Then he turned his helm towards Drift. “Is it obvious?”

“Painfully so.”

“What should I do then?”

“I have a two-step solution for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Number one.” Drift put up one digit and waited for Rodimus to focus on it. When he blearily did, Drift said shortly, “Have a normal conversation with him that doesn’t involve compliments disguised as insults and-and-or running away. You’re sending messages that are mixed to the point where he doesn’t want to approach you for fear of offending you. Trust me, I asked.” And he had. After weeks of hovering, it was clear Thunderclash didn’t want to step on the lines in the sand Rodimus had unintentionally drawn. Drift, having been watching the dance between the two of them for far too long, decided to step in then.

Rodimus winced but didn’t deny it. “Can do,” he said easily. “What’s step two?”

“Step two is to ask him out.”

Rodimus sputtered and shot straight back up, mouth gaping. “Are you crazy?” he asked with a slight squeak to his voice. “I can’t just—do that.”

Normally at this point, Drift would shrug and say, if you say so. Rodimus would huff and bluster for a few more moments before pointedly avoiding this particular point of conversation like the rust plague for the duration of the night. And that was that. 

But Drift, to be frank, had had enough. One hundred and seventy-ninth time’s a charm.

He shot Rodimus a frown. “Why not?”

Rodimus sputtered. “‘Cause he’s Thunderclash! And I’m—”

“A very capable, determined, wonderful mech who is not about to tell me that he is unworthy of Thunderclash’s potential romantic interest in him,” Drift cut in firmly, narrowing his optics.

“Sure,” Rodimus huffed. “But there’s also no way he’s gonna say yes.”

Drift thought for a moment. Should he mention that Thunderclash had been staring at Rodimus for as long as they’ve been at Swerve’s? Or reveal he had a ten-minute long audio file of Thunderclash talking about all the things he liked about Rodimus’ smile? Or admit it had been Thunderclash who had anonymously gifted Rodimus his favorite spray paint set? Hmm. He could. Or…

“You’re right,” he eventually said with a woebegone sigh. “He won’t. Because you’ll never ask.”

Rodimus narrowed his optics. “You’re doing it again,” he accused, jabbing an accusatory digit at Drift. “The reverse psychology thing. It’s not gonna work.”

Drift dramatically rolled his helm as he ignored Rodimus and continued, “You won’t ask, and you’ll never get to be held in those big, strong arms…”

A telltale heat shimmer began to warp the air around Rodimus’ exhaust pipes. “Stop that.”

“And you’ll never get to kiss his pretty face—”

“Drift.”

He stared Rodimus right in the optic. “You won’t get the chance to suck his—”

“Drift!” Rodimus yelped, slapping a servo over Drift’s mouth while barely smothering his laughter. “Shut up, oh my God.”

Drift snorted and peeled Rodimus’ servo off of his face. Then he wound his digits between Rodimus’ and tugged him in close. “Rodimus, I need you to listen to me,” he said somberly. Rodimus’ smile faded slightly. “I love and care for you very deeply. You know that, right?”

“I wonder sometimes, but yeah.” Drift squeezed his servo just on the side of too tight. “Ow, okay, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I know, Drift.”

“That’s why I need you to promise me you’ll at least try to talk to Thunderclash.”

Rodimus’ field twisted with uncertainty. “I mean, you were right, earlier,” he said offhandedly. “I dunno if he even wants to talk to me now. I’ve kinda fragged things between us up a lot.”

“Stop trying to convince yourself of a fact you don’t know for certain is true. Besides, Thunderclash isn’t the type to hold a grudge. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you apologize first."

But Rodimus still didn’t look convinced. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How are you so sure about all of this?”

Rodimus is the bravest and strongest mech I know. I’ve never seen such genuine conviction and determination in my many years of function. It’s hard to believe he’s of the same stuff as you and me.

I’ve heard many stories about Rodimus, some unsavory, some heroic, and some that fall in-between. But each one has only sought to prove his spark burns brighter and fiercer than anything in this universe.

Oh, what I would give to be able to tell him how truly wonderful he is! I’d tell him every day if he would allow it—And I’d much instead gain the courage to say that all to him myself one day, so my apologies for requesting you not share any of this with him, but I can’t bear the weight of my affections by myself a second longer—

“Primus has gifted me with wonderful intuition,” Drift said.

“...Ugh. Your intuition's always right.” Rodimus sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

Drift smiled a small, genuine smile. “You’re a good mech.” He patted Rodimus on the back and gently pushed him back. “Also, I am going to start locking you out of my hab suite every time you come to complain about your crush on him.”

Rodimus groaned and thunked his head against Drift’s shoulder. “I knew there was a catch. You’re the worst.”

“Interesting way to pronounce ‘helpful amica who wants his best friend to be happy because he deserves it.’” Drift took a sip of his drink and picked up his datapad. “Go get your mech, Rods.”

“What like, right now?” Rodimus asked with an incredulous hitch of laughter.

“Well, now that you’ve said it… yes.”

“Ugh.” Rodimus stole the rest of Drift’s drink and gulped it down in two swallows. Then he stood and rubbed his servos together furiously before blowing out a short, harsh exvent. “You owe me drinks here forever if you’re wrong, and this goes to Pit,” he hissed.

“It won’t,” Drift smiled.

Rodimus sighed again before striding over to where Thunderclash was sitting. The mech in question very hastily turned his helm away to pretend he was focusing on his drink, only to peek up bashfully when Rodimus came to a stop at his table. Rodimus shot a worried glance back at Drift, who smiled encouragingly. Rodimus’ spoilers flicked nervously before he turned back to Thunderclash with a slightly strained smile. His servo went to apologetically rest on the back of his helm, the other gesturing as he spoke. Thunderclash watched him with wide optics before a smile broke out across his face. He replied something with an earnest expression and a servo laid grandly over his spark that had Rodimus' spoilers sinking in relief.

Drift wasn’t sure what Rodimus said next. But whatever it was caused Thunderclash’s helm light to flare up with such a brilliant red glow, Drift had to reset his optics a couple of times to clear the spots from them. Seconds later, an overwhelming wave of pure joy washed over the room. It clearly emanated from the broad smile on Thunderclash’s face as he nodded enthusiastically, then gestured for Rodimus to sit down beside him. Mechs left and right turned to the source. But once they found it, most of them turned away with a fond shake of their helm, though some called out to the pair, and at least one mech definitely whistled.

Drift watched as Rodimus sank into his seat. He could tell by the unsteady descent of the motion instead of the practiced carelessness that Rodimus was more than a little dazed. His smile grew as he opened his comms with Rodimus only to find that he was already typing out a message for him.

.:he said yes:.

.:???:.

.:he said yes???:.

.:I told you he would.:.

.:i owe you:.

.:seriously:.

.:Tell me how it goes and I’ll consider your favor fulfilled.:.

.:I’m happy for you, Rodimus.:.

.:thanks:.

.:for everything.:.

Drift glanced up. Rodimus wasn’t looking at him—he was staring in shock at his servos, which were enclasped in Thunderclash’s—but the content glow of his optics told him everything he needed to know. He nodded once and went back to typing out his report. And if he included a couple of popular date spots as suggested places they visit on nearby planets, well. No one but him needed to know.