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( i. it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me. || thunderclash, the first time. )
When Rodimus’ visage appears onscreen, Thunderclash is quick to notice the irritable flick of his spoiler, the curving pout to his unhappy scowl. He quickly changes the status of their conversation from an open channel to a private one, allowing them a measure of protection from the gossip that could hound them.
He wastes no time in trying to figure out why his darling seems so frustrated: “I take it that your meeting with Optimus and Prowl did not go well?” That had to be it— Last time he had checked on Rodimus, he was in a generally good mood as the RodPod was being rebuilt and he was preparing for a relaunch of the ship in a few days time.
Rodimus gives a jerky, rough nod before he looks down, his attention focused on something else at the moment, not that Thunderclash minds.
The soft sounds of him scratching— no, carving —something onto his desk can be heard through the speakers. One of these days, he must ask Rodimus what he’s been doodling onto his desk. That can wait, however— “May I ask what it was all about? It must have been a lot to have you in such poor spirits.”
There’s a mutter, barely audible. He leans forward to better catch it.
“My everlight?”
“—They wanted me to let Megatron become a ‘co-captain’ of the ship.”
“What?!” Thunderclash doesn’t realise he’s standing over his console until he feels his chair knock back behind him, clattering noisily over the next rush of his words, “Megatron? Megatron of Tarn? Megatron, leader of the Decepticons? That Megatron?”
“Yep,” Rodimus bites out, looking up now to reveal lidded optics and barely hidden disdain in the twisting curve of his snarl. “They just— They try to ambush me with that announcement— more like an order, ha —when I walked into the meeting. If it wasn’t for Ratchet giving me a heads up before it and Ultra Magnus being there to point out we’re a private vessel, I probably would have been steamrolled or something. Urgh.”
Thunderclash needs a moment to compose himself, to allow the shock be washed away by the wave of relief he feels when Rodimus accidentally assures him that this arrangement didn’t happen. He allows his spark to settle down, fighting back a wince when he feels his spark constrict and contract painfully within its casing.
That’s been happening more often and with more frequency , to his dismay, but he keeps the turn of his health to himself. They can talk about it some other time.
Right now, he wants to focus on this— “So you said no? To Megatron being a co-captain.” It’s still feels absurd to say it aloud, to even consider it being a possibility.
“Ha! And then some.” Rodimus stops carving to reach behind him and rub the back of his neck, huffing, “They kept trying couch it as a suggestion that I should really do since it’ll be best for my crew. I wasn’t having it. I, heh, may or may not have handled it well. We argued for a bit. Got heated. May or may not have told Optimus to stick his ‘suggestion’ where Hadeen can’t shine because there’s no way I’m letting that happen.”
Thunderclash presses a servo against his mouth, trying to hold back the snort of laughter as he imagines Optimus’ reaction to that: All wide optics and pinned back finials, so unused to his authority being questioned, being pushed back against.
He knows he should caution Rodimus over his words, how it’ll affect his relationships with others. Thunderclash tells himself that, yes, he will do that. It’ll be done but on some other day, at some other time. He feels like, for this moment for the time being, that this is an appropriate response to have (if one happens to be Rodimus, of course.)
“—Clash?”
“Ah, sorry for that,” Thunderclash apologises, grateful he hadn’t been adrift in his own thoughts for too long. “So… How did that work out in the end?”
“Lots of Tense Words between me, Mags, Optimus, and Prowl,” is Rodimus’ response and he groans, already tired from recollecting the meeting alone. He dips back, leaning in his chair, and his spoiler flickers up and down, up and down in agitation. “I don’t get why Prowl has a say in any of this but, like, whatever and stuff. At least he was on my side during the whole thing. Anyways— We talked it out. I resisted the urge to storm out of there a few times and we managed… something, I guess. He’s still on my ship.” Rodimus wrinkles his nose, unhappy with how that is still going to happen but makes no further comment on that for now.
“He’s coming with us but with waaaaay less power and authority, thank Primus! He’s going to be Third-in-Command and Ultra Magus volunteered to oversee his onboarding so I don’t have to look at his dumb face.”
“So his position is one with a limited authority over others.” Thunderclahs sets his chair back up and settles in again. “All in all? I think—” He clears his throat, correcting himself, “No— I know you did the right thing. You did the best you could in that situation and you did amazing, my Evelight. That’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
“… Thanks. That means a lot to me, ‘Clash.” Rodimus sits upright to address the console properly, his face finally breaking into a relieved smile, like how a sun peers through the gloom of heavy clouds. “And— And I also told him, Megatron, that, no, he won’t be in that position for long. The second I bring Drift back to the ship, Drift is going to be reinstated as TIC and Megatron is going to be some junior officer or whatever. Be Mags’ secretary or something. Long as he’s part of the command crew, I can keep Optimus off my back but keep the crew from throwing a mutiny over this.”
“It’s your ship, Rodimus,” he assures his partner, knowing the pushback and opposition Rodimus must have faced for standing his ground. “You have the right to decide who boards it and in what capacity. Not only that, but you have to consider the crew’s well-being in this matter.”
He really is making improvements, Thunderclash notes with bursting pride. Rodimus is able to speak about Drift without a wince or a pause; an excellent start to the promise he had made back on Luna 1.
(Thunderclash tries not to think about the circumstances surrounding to the lead up of that, or the scream that Rodimus let out when the switch was thrown and he was helpless to do anything—)
“—‘Clash?”
Ah. There he goes, getting lost in thoughts again. “Forgive me. You did well in this, Rodimus, I assure you. I’m proud of what you did.”
“Heh,” Rodimus laughs, his optics twinkling a merry blue, no longer tense and on edge. “It’s always nice to hear it from the Greatest Autobot Who Ever Lived. Hoping things are better on your end, ‘Clash. Miss having you around.”
Thunderclash knows better than to suggest they could pool their crew and resources together so they could be together, considering Rodimus, then Hot Rod’s, response to the first and last time he brought it up. All the same, he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful, leaning forward: “Perhaps we can meet one of these days? Compare notes on adventures so far?”
Rodimus falls quiet, thoughtful as he considers his options for when he eventually returns to space, one of his few loves. “… I’d like that, yeah. Primus knows you’ve probably made more progress than us and we’ve got a lot to catch up on.” He wriggles his brows and Thunderclash is unable to stop the laugh that comes from that. “What do you think?”
What does he think?
He thinks it’s almost felt like going back home.
( ii. but you still catch my eye. || thunderclash, the second time. )
All is now quiet on Vis Vitalis.
With the (multiple) crisis averted and the ‘dance hall’ now cleared of its once mourning celebrants, and as the ship had to be screened for the possibility of more personality ticks and other potential hazards (and the party now being moved to the Lost Light so the crew/s could continue to celebrate only for a more joyous reason this time around), Thunderclash tried to… take stock of the impressively gargantuan memorial statue they had made for him.
He steps forward, allowing its’ shadow to fall over him and he reaches out. Lets his servo drift over the embedded words on the polished gold plaque:
ABOUT TO BE TAKEN FROM US TOO SOON
He hadn’t thought it’ll be so… so… grandiose, he supposes is the best word to describe it without being rude. It makes him squirm, to have such adoration poured over him when he’s merely a mech trying his best.
Still, it’s touching to see the care and dedication the others had shown for him over what should have been his final hours.
“Now that’s a morbid thing for you to find. I thought someone would try to hide it from you or something.” A warm and familiar frame presses close to his side and, from the corner of his optic, he sees red-and-gold settle with practiced ease next to him. “Sooo… What do you want to do with the innermost energon offerings? Everyone — and I do mean everyone — is insisting that you keep them. For heroically holding back the personality ticks before Megs and I got there.”
Thunderclash now peers down at his beloved, surprised but amused. He brushes his field against Rodimus’, allowing his everlight to feel the genuine joy he has whenever they’re allowed to be together. He really thought he wouldn’t get to see him for one last time, and he’s glad that’s no longer the case.
He pushes those rather morbid thoughts aside, focusing on something more cheery, casual. “Megs? I didn’t know you’re now on nickname terms with him.” From what he can recall from their last conversation, the two were still on thin ice.
“It’s mostly to annoy the frag outta him,” Rodimus assures, “because he’s, like, so stiff and serious. Like Ultra Magnus but trying to not be murderous. You should see his face when I use ‘Megsy’ in front of the crew during ship-wide announcements. Ha!”
“Long as it doesn’t escalate,” Thunderclash cautions, choosing his words carefully because he knows Megatron’s authority on the ship is still a sore spot for Rodimus. It’s gotten better over the months, he’s happy to know at least. “I’m simply happy you’re okay.”
And that’s when Rodimus decided to burrow further into Thunderclash’s side, startling the mech. A sparkpulse later, Rodimus allows Thunderclash to curl an arm around him to help steady the red-and-gold mech even if the tremor is still a faint one, to let their fields mingle and allow a real glimpse to what he’s feeling.
Relieved-tired-nervous nervous nervous cries out from Rodimus’ field, the false cheer that he carries falling away like a too worn mask that can no longer hang on. “I’m glad you’re okay too. I really am. Didn’t know what to think when I got your message and realised what it actually meant.”
“Oh, Rodimus—”
“Let me talk a bit, please?” Rodimus’ tone is pleading and apologetic, the both of them knowing that this was more for him than Thunderclash. “Get it out of my processors?”
… How could he say ‘no’ to such an earnest plea? “Of course, my Evelight.” He bends down to press a kiss against Rodimus’ crest as Rodimus renews his talk, winding and aimless and cathartic in its own way.
“Thought it was a joke at first, when we got the hail from your ship. Thought, ‘Oh here comes another message from Thunderclash, excited to tell us which cyberkitten he rescued from a tree or something.’ It was scrabbled at the start, so we only heard mentions of a party, a celebration for you. I— I didn’t think and that’s a scrap of an excuse, I know, but I really didn’t think much of it. It’s why I rung the Announcement Gong before we got the full details for why the party if being held. Thought you were trying to be hip and cool or whatever.
“Then when they said you were going to… that you had little time left… that you were already going through the rigor morphis stage already— I didn’t know…” Rodimus rests his helm against Thunderclash, his face screwed up in consternation and tries to hide his flinch when he looks up at Thunderclash. “I really had no idea it had progressed that fast, Thunders. I would have come faster. I would have, I swear.”
Thunderclash drapes his field over Rodimus’, trying to blanket him with affection-care-always always always. “I know you would have, Rodimus.” And he knew Rodimus was by his side when he learned the truth. The time during his rigor morphis was a hazy, floaty experience for him, though he thinks — no, believes — he heard Rodimus’ words, felt Rodimus’ touch.
Rodimus shakes his helm, wanting to say his piece. Thunderclash falls quiet, allowing it. “Sorry for not paying as much attention as I should have, Thunders. It’s something I’m still working on but that’s no excuse, I know.”
“One step at a time,” Thunderclash reminds him, knowing process comes in highs and lows. He takes Rodimus’ servo and holds it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the knuckles. “Now that everything has been settled for the evening… Will you dance with me, my everlight? We haven’t gotten a chance to do that for a while.”
The laughter from Rodimus is beautiful, unexpected and vibrant and wonderful in all the ways that reminds him he’s happy. “And here I thought you’d never ask, big guy.”
Thunderclash and Rodimus resettle to allow themselves to be chassis to chassis, servos entwined as they slowly, yet surely, start their dance. He begins to hum a verse of Bonds and Sparks, and the way Rodimus lights up when he recognises the melody is so endearing.
In the quietness of the hall, they allowed their beating sparks and quiet vents accompany in their waltz.
( iii. more than you could ever know. || thunderclash, the third time. )
“Thunderclash! Sir!”
Thunderclash pauses when he registers that someone is calling out for him and he turns around, seeing that some mechs, two of them, from Rodimus’ original crew are fast approaching him.
“Hello,” he says, greeting them as they’re close enough to give him (honestly, rather unnecessary) salutes. “Is there something you’re in need from me?”
The first one, a grounder with a green face, stops saluting him and takes a moment to compose himself. He’s looking up at him with undisguised awe that has him smiling back politely in response. “It’ll only be a moment, Mister Thunderclash! We wanted to ask your thoughts on whether or not we should respond to the distress call from the Hyrxians.”
Ah— He had heard about that when passing his datawork to Ultra Magnus earlier in the day.
It was an ongoing debate amongst the officers on whether or not they check the distress signal that Blaster picked up on their frequency. The Cybertronians and Hyrxians have had a troubled history with one another, following the Hyrxian Government going back on a deal that they had made with the Autobots regarding Decepticon POWs back at the height of the Great War. Everyone had an opinion, a thing to say about it.
He, of course, has an answer to that as well: “I believe we should wait and see what Captain Rodimus’ announcement will be on that matter.” Thunderclash made sure to give some emphasis to Rodimus’ rank, to make it clear that they should be going to him for this. “It’s only been a day so he should take his time deliberating on the choices at hand.”
Both mechs clearly are discontent with his answer; they share a Look between themselves and. And Thunderclash has to hold back the ruffling of his plating and prevent his EM field from prickling in instinctive protectiveness for Rodimus.
This time, the mech with a yellow and purple colour scheme spoke up, “We’ll reach out to Ro—” Thunderclash arches a brow and the mech is quick to correct himself. “—Captain Rodimus. But we thought it wouldn’t hurt to get your expertise on this matter. You’re generally more diplomatic and all. And have a lot more experience! So many mechs look up to you and would feel great if they knew about your opinion on this matter.”
“Are you implying something about my Conjunx-to-be?” Thunderclash hates to pull that card — compared to Rodimus, who is quick to announce his status with Thunderclash whenever the chance makes itself known — but for this occasion, he thinks it’s only appropriate.
The green faced mech realises they’ve overstepped and is quick to hold their hands up, eager to placate him. “O-Oh! Oh no, Thunderclash, sir. Not implying anything at all! We only like to hear more from the crew is all.”
“And you heard mine.” He nods and he allows his field to unfurl a bit, if only to have them feel the finality of his stance on this. “I think we’re done. Good day.”
The two mechs are quick to book it, hurrying back down from where they came. They don’t look back but Thunderclash waits for them to vanish from sight and counts to ten kilks before he relaxes, letting out a sight of relief from his vents.
“You can come out now,” Thunderclash says aloud, now that he’s sure they’re alone. “I don’t think they realised you were there so you should be fine, Rodimus.”
Rodimus steps out from around the corner and he wears a bright, cheery smile. The sight of it makes Thunderclash’s spark ache. “You handled that pretty well! Remind me to get you a Rodimus Star for having the best diplomatic words.”
“Were you there the whole time?” Thunderclash asks, turning to face Rodimus. He has an urge to reach out to him but keeps his servo down, allowing Rodimus to walk to him before he attempts to take one of Rodimus’ servos into his own.
“Yeah,” Rodimus confesses easily enough, seeing no point in lying about this. “Sorry for eavesdropping on you like that. I was just turning the corner to hide from Magnus and the datawork he wants me to do and then I heard them and heard your voice and…”
He shrugs, allowing Thunderclash to take his servo without pulling back. (That’s a good thing. That’s progress.) Thunderclash turns Rodimus’ servo over, ever so gently, and stares at the damning 89/101 that’s etched deeply into the surface. One of these days, Thunderclash tells himself, he’ll convince Rodimus to have that repaired.
“I can’t blame them. Just shows I’ve gotta work harder to earn back their trust.” Rodimus smiles up at Thunderclash again but its a little more honest this time, a bit of something — close to sorrow — glimmering on the lopsided grin. “I can do it. I know I can.”
Thunderclash gives Rodimus’ servo a reassuring squeeze. “I know you will. You’ve done the impossible, time and again.”
“Thanks, Thunders,” Rodimus says.
“And for what it’s’ worth? Let it be known that I would voted for you.”
“… Thanks, Thunders.” Rodimus presses his lips against Thunderclash’s cheek, affectionate and warm and so, so grateful. “Thanks.”
( iv. oh, all the lights are shining. || thunderclash, the fourth time. )
It’s been some time since Rodimus has sung in front of a group. It was even before he had his designation—
(Perhaps its not the time. Not yet, at least.)
Rodimus has made leaps and bounds with his therapist, Systemshock, since beginning his sessions with them. The singing club he had with Cyclonus is shaping up to something promising; Minimus Ambus is starting to consider joining, compared to his immediate rejections in the past. Rodimus is confident they’ll rope him in if he finds some sort of rule in the Autobot Code, that he’s actually reading up on to further strengthen his arguments.
Yet even Rodimus froze at the idea of being beholden to an audience, one that waited to hear his words, when Cyclonus suggested, with utter seriousness, that they do a small event for their friends as a celebration of Solenoid.
Usually, a chance to be in the spotlight was he something he looked forward to, something that he’d preen and brag about leading up to the event. Rodimus would even have shiny Rodimus Stars created, just to award those who saw his performance as thanks.
This? This was different. A private concert feels more daunting than a public spectacle, Thunderclash supposes. Rodimus could brag about bagging first place for the Lost Light’s Talent Show all he wants, it didn’t mean he actually had to do it. An intimate setting filled with mechs whose opinions he did care for? Daunting.
Thunderclash finds Rodimus pacing back and forth, back and forth while he goes through the music sheet one last time. From where he stands, just through the curtains of the wing, he can see some mechs are settling into their seats or happily chatting to one another, all of them waiting for the show to begin. Even from here, Thunderclash can feel the buzz of anticipation, of expectations for what Rodimus and Cyclonus had in store.
He weighs his options and decides to not surprise or startle Rodimus, he can tell by his field that he’s on edge as is. Last thing he should do is cause his abilities to flare up. “I’m sure you’ll do well, Rodimus.”
“—Huh? Oh! Thunders!” Quickly, the music sheet is forgotten as he turns to the direction of Thunderclash. Rodimus’ spoiler does a flutter at the sight of him, and the way his field blooms has Thunderclash melting in returned affections. “I didn’t think you could make it.”
“If I’m to be honest, I shouldn’t be here for the sake of my recovering health.” He winks and pretends to look behind him, as if expecting a certain teal coloured medic to pop up, waving a medical chart in her servo. Ratchet is really rubbing off on her these days. “Don’t let Lotty know you’ve seen me.”
Rodimus laughs and rushes to his arms, his frame radiating a cozy warmth as they embrace the other. “I’ll say you were never even here if I gotta,” he promises, winking back. “Just make sure she doesn’t see you in the wing or we’ll both be in trouble.” He wriggles around in Thunderclash’s arms, the bubbly happiness tempered with something else, something—
“You’re nervous,” Thunderclash notes and he does his best to not sound condemning or judgemental.
Rodimus opens his mouth, most likely deny the claim, but he then closes his mouth, looking away in a bit of shame. “A little bit,” he says at last. “I just… I dunno. I’m worried it’ll fall flat on its face after hyping it up to Drift and the others for the last few weeks. What if they find it hokey? Or, worse, boring?”
“They’re your friends, Rodimus,” Thunderclash points out. “Through thick and thin, the crowd outside has had your back through missions and adventures and pranks. ” A lot of pranks, really. An alarming amount of pranks but, well, Thunderclash knows better than to judge that when one is onboard the Lost Light. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy it, my everlight. Especially when they see how passionate you are about singing.”
“I hope they do.” Rodimus squirms. It’s never easy for him to be vulnerable but he tries with Thunderclash. “I really, really hope they have fun since that’s the important thing, right? Everybody enjoying themselves in a special occassion? It’s been a while since I’ve sung but that’s what I enjoyed the most when I did the ceremonies, back home.”
“And that’s a good sign.” Thunderclash is so, so proud of him to speak of Nyon without regret but fondness. “You’re thinking of them and that’s great. Highs and lows as your therapist would say, remember?”
Rodimus nods, looking more confident as his field perks back up to anticipation-joy-excitement. Thunderclash’s friend enmeshes with his, radiating with support-care-joy joy joy. “Yeah. Hey— Maybe we should video this and send it to Systemshock. See if they’ll like it too.”
Thunderclash already prepping the footage in his HUD to ensure the quality of the recording he’ll send to them, after Rodimus has given his approval, of course. “And I’m sure they’ll love it, just like the others.”
“I apologise for interrupting you two but Rodimus, we need to get going now.” Cyclonus, up ahead, gestures towards the lit stage. Though muffled from his position, Thunderclash can hear the beginnings of an opening act, spirited and bright. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah— Yeah. Just give me a sec.” Before he hurries off, Rodimus turns to him and pecks his cheek, flashing one last smile before he hurries after Cyclonus. “Love you, ‘Clash!”
Without hesitation, Thunderclash calls out, “And I love you too! Break a leg, as the organics would say!”
Rodimus, laughing, steps onto the spotlight, facing his crowd.
( i. now i’ve found real love. || rodimus, the first, but certainly not the last, time )
It’s quiet now, the bridge.
Thunderclash enjoys the solitude that so rarely graces the ship as he walks onto the emptied out area. The Lost Light is a technologically advanced ship, able to cruise through the stars with a skeleton crew if needed and if the crew wanted.
Outside, it is bright and crisp, a winter wonderland as the ship hovers above ground. If Thunderclash calibrates his optics just so, he could see some moving dots, colourful figures stark against the white snow. Some of the crew members that left the ship when Rodimus announced a ‘free day’ for them all to enjoy their current shore leave, no doubt seizing the oppurtunity with both servos.
The others were more than happy to take Rodimus up on his generous offer, hurrying off as if they were trying to flee before he changed his mind or, worse, tell Ultra Magnus about this and force them to go through paperwork to properly request off-shore leave.
Thunderclash approaches the glass and peers down intently. He squint and sees that Brainstorm is hauling some sort of invention out as others scramble to get out of range. And, just over there, he sees Lotty and Nautica iceskating, holding each other to keep themselves from falling over.
“There are you are! I was looking all over for you.”
“Rodimus,” Thunderclash greets him, barely able to open his arms in time before Rodimus all but throws himself into the offered embrace. “Oof! I’m happy to see you as well, my everlight.”
A pair of bright blue optics stares at him, assessing. “Why aren’t you out with the others?” Rodimus peers down the window, also observing the antics of the crew below. “I bet the mechs would be tripping over themselves if you wanted to make snowmen or something.”
“Velocity suggests that I should keep away from extreme weather for the time being,” Thunderclash says. That, and he’d like the peace and quiet from his, ah, fan club. They’re sweet and enthusiastic but, now and then, he’d like some distance from them.
Rodimus snorts, burrowing into his arms. “What? Me being the best heater isn’t enough?”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me when you could be enjoying yourself,” Thunderclash assures him, feeling guilty at the thought alone. He knows Rodimus doesn’t think that but still. “I’m surprised you’re still here. You’re usually leading the charge when it comes to enjoying a break.”
“Can’t a mech enjoy cuddling with his Conjunx-to-be?” Rodimus nudges him with his elbow. “Besides, I’m feeling magnanimous enough to be your personal heater if you plan to step out later. We can watch the others flee from Brainstorm’s snowball thrower or something. It’ll be fun.”
Even now, Thunderclash can tell Rodimus is hiding something and is barely able to contain his mischievous glee to himself. His field is a riot of excitement, barely held back as is, and there’s an impatient wriggle as he tries to keep himself from just. Blurting out the surprise he has in store for him.
Thunderclash holds back a smile, indulging his partner. “Is there something I should know?”
“I maaaaay have a surprise for you,” Rodimus says, his tone teasing and bubbling with glee. “But first? You gotta close your optics.”
Thunderclash shutters his optics obligingly, curious to see where this is going. He feels Rodimus remove himself from their embrace — something he reluctantly obliges — and then feels his arm being tugged, guided to a direction. If his sense of the layout is correct, it’s… towards the doorway?
“No peeking!” Rodimus warns as he guides Thunderclash to where the surprise would be. “Absolutely no peeking or else! Okay… Okay… Okay! Open them up and look up!!”
Thunderclash does as he’s asked and looks up as he opens his optics. He sees there’s a some sort of organic plant matter that is dangling over the arch of the doorway. It’s small enough for him to have noticed it when he came onto the bridge, small enough that he thinks it is perhaps from Earth, and he’s admittedly unsure of how to react to this. Certainly colour him surprised.
He decides to be honest: “What’s that?” Thunderclash peers closer, curious at the bushel of merry green leaves that are dotted with white berries.
“It’s called a mistletoe! The humans on Earth use it as part of their solenoid celebrations for couples.” Rodimus cuddles close to Thunderclash now, batting his optics as his grin takes a more flirty edge to it. “Apparently, it’s Earth tradition dictates you’ve gotta kiss under it, or else you’re breaking the law. We wouldn’t want Ultra Magnus on our afts, now would we?”
“Really now,” Thunderclash smiles as he wraps his arms around Rodimus’ waist, pulling them close together. “I certainly wouldn’t like to break any law if possible.” He’s usually not one for public displays of affection but they’re alone, aboard a starship that is technologically advanced, able to cruise through the stars with a skeleton crew if needed and if the crew wanted.
“And I researched. Made sure the berries are white and everything.” Rodimus is so pleased with that admission and Thunderclash chuckles and presses their helms together, his field enmeshing against Rodimus as a loop of love-love-love spirals around them.
“What,” he whispers, “have I done to earn such a delightful percent from you?”
“… Consider it a gift of thanks.” Rodimus’ smile softens, lowering his voice as if to make sure only Thunderclash heard this. “For always being there for me, one way or another.” He takes a deep vent before he adds, “I love you, ‘Clash.”
“I love you too, my everlight.”
They then press their lips together and Thunderclash knew that this, without a doubt, that must be what it felt like when going back home.