2016-06-15 Party People

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Party People
Date 2016/06/15
Location Lost Light - Command: Rodimus's Office
Participants Rodimus, Ultra Magnus
Summary Rodimus and Ultra Magnus recover from their parties.

A small plaque outside the door reads 'Captain's Office -- Rodimus of Nyon'. There is a drawing printed out and taped to the door. It's hilarious and a little inappropriate.

The room is fairly regulation. Where flames once ringed the doorway and magenta colored the walls, the ship's normal coloring carries through.

Center of the public space is Rodimus's desk, which is covered with doodles and scraps of some ancient Cybertronian dialect. More often than not, it's covered by datapads he hasn't quite gotten to yet. The other furniture in the room is suitable for a bot of Ultra Magnus's class -- or, with some adjustment, a much, much smaller minibot.

By the time the last of Minimus Ambus's well-wishers, ambushers and partygoers have let him go, it is late. It's very late. It's late enough that it doesn't take much effort to convince Drift -- as well as, really, himself -- that what he wants to do is walk home to the relative privacy of the room he shares with Moonracer and offline. Especially since he neglected the numerous energon and engex offerings that people tried to foist on him all night, it's small wonder he's worn out and drained, spent of more social capital than he had and thrust well into a deficit.

It's strange, then, that as he wanders the corridors on the long way back to the residential deck, he changes his mind.

He's almost all the way to the command deck before it occurs to him to message ahead and make sure that Rodimus is actually where he imagines him to be. It's a simple enough voice message he sends to ping him with, tentative in its tone, though his voice -- without the Magnus armor or its voice altering machinery -- makes clear that it's (one of) the armorless version of Minimus who is calling.

"<< Rodimus, are you awake? >>"

"<< Yes, huh, what? >>" comes foggy and at a slight delay. It is possible that Rodimus is lying, and has comms from Magnus set to bypass his recharge, or else that he was drifting off. Napping. Dozing. Dreaming. He sheds any fogginess with a speed typical of soldiers and asks more clearly, "<< What's up, Magnus? >>"

"<< I'm sorry. I woke you. >>" There's a beat's extended delay as Minimus tries to decide what he's going to say next, but what he eventually settles on carries with it, along with its sheepish air, only shy truth. "<< I just ... wanted to see you. >>"

"<< I was awake! >>" Rodimus says, sounding totally insulted that Minimus would assume he'd been asleep at a reasonable hour. The prickle fades from his voice, warming into something softer: "<< Always have time for you, though. Come in. Office is unlocked. Because I was awake. >>" And not because he just unlocked it. (The door gives a subtle shunk as the lock disengages.)

Because Minimus was already on his way there when he thought to call, he is pacing up the hall to Rodimus's office when this happens, so even if the auditory transmission didn't pick up the quiet sound of the door release, he might detect it anyway. He still permits Rodimus the falsehood with only a hint of irony in his, "<< Very well then. >>"

Coming to the door, he steps past the threshhold as it, unlocked, slides open to admit him. He cuts a somewhat ridiculous image just on basis of the fact that he never made it back to the armory to put away his loadout. Slightly built though the green and white figure of Minimus in his medium frame is, he still looks like a one man army when he shows up armed for bear. Talk about overdressed for a nightcap.

<FS3> Rodimus rolls Deception: Success. (3 4 6 8 1)

Rodimus is in his office behind his desk with his feet crossed on the edge like he has been here the whole time. The door leading to his private quarters is open, but the lights are off inside. He has a datapad in hand. HE HAS BEEN LIKE THIS FOR HOURS, REALLY. He drops his feet as Minimus steps in, bounding to his feet and then rocking back on his heels. His smile falls off as he takes in the weaponry. "There a problem?"

"What? Oh." Minimus looks down. Visibly embarrassed, he shifts his weight between his feet, his hands tangling in front of him with tension drawing their clasp into a hard press as he ducks his head. "No. I thought I was being ambushed but they were just ... trapping me at a social event." Which does sort of beg the question of why, when he thought he was being ambushed, he went and strapped half the armory to his body instead of telling somebody about it, but that's-- well, you know.

Reaching to help relieve Minimus of his weaponry so that he can pile it on his desk, Rodimus says, "A social event," in a lightly strained voice. "They?"

"Apparently Getaway masterminded the whole thing," Minimus tells Rodimus in tones of baffled dubiousness. He unbuckles the gauntlets first, letting Rodimus divest him of one while he eases out of the other, and then starts taking other small scale guns out of various increasingly unlikely places upon his person. "I'm not even sure how many people were there. They kept trying to talk to me for hours. For hours," he emphasizes just in case Rodimus doesn't realize without the italics just how awful that was. "And trying to get me to drink, which obviously I wasn't going to do that, or dance, which is even more ridiculous than the drinking I clearly wasn't going to do."

Rodimus's eyes widen before narrowing in a hard look that he turns down at the gauntlets as he sets them firmly down on the desk. He takes the next weapon with more care, and steps back to watch Minimus pull gun after gun off his body with a slow smile. "Sounds terrible," he says. He palms the top of Minimus's head, then glides his head down the back and along his neck in a soothing stroke. "What was the event?"

The noise Minimus makes as Rodimus strokes a hand down his neck bears some kinship, almost, to a whine, or maybe a groan: a low, wordless vocalization that bespeaks the level of tension he has been carrying in his neck and shoulders for the past however many hours. He shrugs the shotgun off his back and puts it on Rodimus's desk, and then carefully unclips the grenade belt, which was the last thing. Probably the last thing. He might find a gun somewhere unexpected later when they're trying to cuddle, just to conform to the laws of narrative causality. "They were -- celebrating Ultra Magnus. I think Getaway said it was a retirement party. I don't know, I think I was trying to detonate his head by staring at it at the time and I wasn't really listening."

"Well, you're worth celebrating." Given that the first touch produced a good response, Rodimus repeats it, and then brings both hands up to rest on Minimus's shoulders, thumbs dragging along the line of his spine strut and then up along the cords and cables of his neck. "I don't suppose the glaring worked, did it?"

"No." Minimus sighs regret for the unexploded Getaway, or maybe for the warm drag of Rodimus's touch as he leans back into it. After a beat's thought, he eliminates some of the distance between them necessitated by his disarmament. Backing into Rodimus, he drops against him and thunks his head against his chest with a light clank of impact. Hi. "I couldn't leave because it was about Ultra Magnus. There was a queue. A queue, Rodimus. They all came up and talked at me about great things Magnus had done, or terrible things Magnus had done, although most of them weren't that cheeky. I counted 2709 words of small talk."

Rodimus leans over Minimus to try to get an upside-down peek at his face. His hands slide down over his front, crossing over his chest, as he pulls Minimus against him. His embrace is as warm as the laugh in his voice. "2709? Are you sure? Not 2708, or 2710? Sounds like the kind of thing that'd drive you into retirement rather than celebrate it."

"I suppose 2708 or 2810 would be within a reasonable margin for error." Tilting his head further back so that he can try and at least get an oblique look back up at Rodimus's face as he essentially melts into the clasp of his arms, Minimus says: "Exactly. Exactly right. If Drift hadn't been there watching my flank and keeping me on my feet I don't know what I would have done."

"Wait, what?" Rodimus looks like he's considering scooping Minimus up, but the brief, cany calculation goes largely unseen. He errs on the side of not further annoying Minimus after the day he has had, and instead urges him back toward the berth with a light nudge of his knees at the back of Minimus's thighs. "Drift was watching out for you? Helping you out?" He sounds delighted -- even thrilled. Gleeful might be appropriate.

"Yes. Well! he kept grinning at me," Minimus says with a sour, aggrieved note in his voice. "But-- yes." At first unsure what Rodimus is getting at with the nudge of his knees, the moment when he figures it out becomes clear because he moves directedly toward Rodimus's berth. "At first I was annoyed at him for even being at the thing, of course. But he kept them off me except mostly one at a time and -- I don't know, he was just there. It helped."

Rodimus keeps close to Minimus's back, which is a little awkward, given that his own stride becomes more of a shuffle, and his arms pull Minimus back with their dragging weight each time he steps away. He ducks his head to brush a quick kiss on the crown of Minimus's helm and says, "I'm glad he was there for you," with an awful smug tone.

"You certainly sound glad." Minimus sounds rather dry, but warmly so, not annoyed (it's important to make these distinctions especially where Minimus is concerned). "All right, Rodimus, at this rate it's going to be an hour before we make it across the room," he adds, and twists, starting to move and twist to try and escape the embrace. At least temporarily.

Rodimus makes a whiny noise, but allows Minimus to escape so that they can head -- or return -- to the (rumpled? metal slabs are so uncomfortable.) recharging slab. "I am, though. Glad, I mean. Do you want to just recharge? Sounds pretty exhausting."

Minimus hesitates before answering. "Maybe in a minute." There is a distinct slump to the way he sits down on the edge of Rodimus's slab, his feet angled so that one is tucked up against its edge while the other turns out at a diagonal. His body language definitely speaks weariness, but his touch demands more. He reaches out with his hand to lace his fingers tightly with Rodimus's, and tugs.

Rodimus rests a knee on the berth next to Minimus, then turns to pull him back and across his chest as lies down. He squeezes Minimus's hand and drags his other hand up his side to rest just beneath the roof of his alt-mode. "Okay," he says, humor in his voice. "In a minute." Clearly he is lying down and pulling Minimus over him so that Minimus won't sense the residual warmth where Rodimus was definitely recharging earlier.

Minimus Ambus doesn't object to the arrangement, though. He slithers readily across the heat of Rodimus's frame and first he kind of drops his head to bury his face into the angle of Rodimus's neck, just before the hard spikes lining his collar angle outward. His engine hums in a quiet purring idle as he appears to be trying to soak all of the body heat he can from Rodimus's frame. "I had Drift to help me through it but when it was over and I was heading back -- I found that all I wanted was you," he says. Slightly muffled. And way sweeter than anything he usually says without writing it down and hiding it somewhere. A little wry he adds in a mumble, "Ungrateful of me, probably."

That's a lot of body heat. Rodimus is constantly generating it, pouring out a wealth of warmth even at idle. Briefly tense, Rodimus says, "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I don't think I got that message." His hand drags up over Minimus's back, light on his roof. "But I'm glad you're here."

The tension he picks up leads Minimus to look up. He squeezes in the interlace of their fingers, reaching up to frame Rodimus's face in the spread of his other fingers with his elbow angling in a plant against Rodimus's stylistically flamey chest. "I didn't want to be there," he says. "You certainly don't have to apologize for not being there."

"I would've been anyway," Rodimus says urgently. It's obviously important to him that Minimus know this: "For you. If I'd known. I would've." It's not like it would've been a sacrifice for him, though. Oh no, Rodimus has to go to a party. Still. He insists, turning his head into the touch of Minimus's hand.

"Rodimus, believe me, if there is anything you don't need to convince me of." Minimus Ambus's voice takes on the barest tremor of a laugh as he says this. He draws his thumb in a glide across Rodimus's chin, and then scoots up him a little bit. Hooking his arm across Rodimus's chest, he releases his hand so that he can loop his arm around his neck against the back of the slab and nose gently at his cheek. "Anyway, I hate parties," he points out, murmuring with his lips near at hand to his jaw. "It would be more of a symbol of your appreciation for me if there was a party, and neither of us went to it, and we stayed somewhere quiet instead."

"Ha!" Rodimus barks a sharp little laugh at that, and draws Minimus up hard against his chest as his arm falls to rest across his middle. "Yeah, let's have a party for you right here, right now, and not go. How about it?" He looses Minimus's hand to tip those lips just a little bit up to steal a kiss, so maybe by party he means cuddle-and-make-out.

Minimus's engines thrum as he meets Rodimus's lips with his. It is a slower, lazier kiss than usual, in so far as there is a usual from him. His fingertips glide a light tracery over Rodimus's face, mapping the familiar angles and curves as, just a little, he smiles into the kiss. Breaking the contact, he says, "You mean stay right here, not drink, not dance, and in fact, not get up at all?" He clearly likes the idea; for one thing, he hasn't banished the smile.

The brief bite of sharpness that was Rodimus's laugh melts into something sweeter as they kiss. His eyes trace over Minimus's features with an awed sort of delight and then he grins, beaming back at him. "Yes. Exactly that. All of those things. My Minimus Appreciation Party. What do you say?"

"I like it." Minimus Ambus cycles a low sigh that trickles out of him as he slides back against him, flattening himself as though to drape along as much of Rodimus as possible without, you know, being any bigger. "I like it a lot."

Mediumus Ambus is a pretty fair fit for his drape, even so. It's the Goldilocks matching: too big, too small, and just right. Fingers stroking idle doodle patterns across the roof of Minimus's alt-mode, Rodimus relaxes back toward the near-stasis of recharge. "Yeah. Me too. We should have them more often."

"All right," Minimus murmurs agreeably as he lounges drowsily against him. He tips his head to brush a lighter kiss to the underside of Rodimus's jaw, and cycles through another, easier sigh as he settles himself. His words rumble deeper, mellow humor from the depths of his frame: "But should you really encourage me to disrupt your night cycle this way?"

"Definitely," Rodimus says, nosing the top of Minimus's helm and then settling back. "After all, hard to imagine a better way to wake." After saying this, he immediately imagines one, glancing to the side at the space left on his slab. He measures it against memories of Drift, looks thoughtful, and wisely says nothing. FOR NOW.

FOR NOW. For now, Minimus rests against him, as relaxed as he almost never is, warm and at peace and untroubled as a bot too run down and tired to worry about a goddamned thing. "I'm glad," he says. Or mumbles.

The stroke of Rodimus's hand becomes a more purposeful connection of cables to recharge, and then his hand rests over Minimus's back again. Rather than immediately power down, he lingers in a rare, content quiet. Still and silent. Who knew it was possible? I MEAN YES IT IS TRUE HE IS LITERALLY FALLING ASLEEP BUT.

EVEN SO. Minimus clearly appreciates it, sharing in both the contentment and the quiet. At least up until he's all the way asleep.

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