Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was an accident, really. Or a prank. Or both. Or anything that his team has planned.

Either way, he felt very uncomfortable with this.

“Can you move a little? My wing's nearly bent.”

Hot Spot moved. There wouldn't be a situation more awkward than this, being locked in a small storage room with a Decepticon and pressed against said mech. A damn hot and strong Decepticon Phase Sixer. He was pressed against his chest, feeling his sparkbeat on his back. The only sources of light were a set of optiques, a visor, and a slice of opening below the door. Sometimes, Streetwise could be so mean.

“Stop clawing at my wing?”

Hot Spot tensed, pulling his hand away. He didn't even realise that he had been clawing at Black Shadow's wing. Not that the wouldn't want, but fraggit this wasn't the right time!

And those hands were gripping his shoulders, pressing himself against him! Wonderful.

“D-do you think they're gone?” He asked the other, larger mech.

“I don't know. But they locked the door, remember?”

“Can't you just open it...?” He'd love to see him try.

Black Shadow lowered his helm, bringing him closer to Hot Spot's. “Can't without doing some damage.”

Hot Spot sighed; Black Shadow even cared about the condition of their HQ. There were humans in the HQ; even though they were downstairs, the noise would make them panic. It was the carnaval anyway, no wonder there were so much humans. This was only the first time Black Shadow was here and his team was very fast in getting to know him. Maybe a little too fast, so that they even dared to put on a prank on him. On them.

And he responded! Hot Spot didn't even know that a Decepticon Phase Sixer, whose job was to destroy worlds, would befriend Autobots! Not only befriend, fraternising with them! But, it was normal to find a Decepticon... attractive, right?

Maybe First Aid was right, maybe Optimus was right; they were just mech, they possessed the ability to change. They weren’t really a monster.

Hot Spot giggled a bit when he remembered about Blaster and Soundwave.

“What are you giggling at?”

“No... nothing.”

“Yes you are giggling at something and you are going to tell me.” Black Shadow replied, not even the slightest tone of threat or force in his voice, only teasing.

“No!” Hot Spot resisted, smirking a bit. They had also bothered to remove his masque. Maybe they would have the chance at gaining peace by small things like this! “You can't make me!”

“Oh, Hot Spot...” Black Shadow whispered, dangerously close to his audial. Even his smirk was audible. “You don't know what am I capable of doing.” He wasn't even threatening...

For a split second, Hot Spot thought of otherwise. He still had to be wary; he was playing with a Decepticon, after all.

But all his wariness and suspicion vanished when Black Shadow began tickling him. He laughed, trying to pull away from the touches at his sides. Damn Phase Sixer, he just knew where to touch. And somehow with those big thick fingers of his, he managed to enter the firetruck’s transformation seams and dug into it. They both laughed, ignoring the sounds from the outside. Hot Spot arched into the touch, grinding his chest to the Phase Sixer's, and in turn, their panels. At first, Hot Spot didn't notice it. But when he felt heat emanating from his panel, he whimpered, following his laughter. All the while Black Shadow stopped ticking his sides.

Hot Spot felt his faceplate heat up.

“Did you do that on purpose?” The other spoke close to his audial, until Hot Spot could feel the air of his words, his tone unoffended, suggestive.

“Uh, no?”

Black Shadow chuckled (oh Primus, that voice!) right next to his audial, sending tremors down his frame. Fraggit, Hot Spot, get ahold of yourself!

“Because you've just turned me on, and it seems your frame defied you.”

Realising that he was still so close to the other, especially lower area, the firetruck tried to put some distance between them, but Black Shadow draped his arms around him, preventing him to get away.

“Black Shadow...?”

Black Shadow didn’t answer. He just kept on hugging him, not moving. Hot Spot moved a hand to touch the Phase Sixer’s on his midsection… not exactly to push him away, because he couldn’t find the will to do so.

“You’re warm.” The other said at last. “You know, maybe they have their purpose in locking us both here.”

Hot Spot shuddered; he watched too much human college movies to know what that meant.

“So, do you want to do it?” Black Shadow purred to his audial, moving his hand to Hot Spot’s… interfacing panel?

Hot Spot shuddered, whimpering. He wriggled, trying to get off the larger mech holding him. “N-no! Get your h-hand off me!”

Black Shadow didn’t do such thing.

“Oh really?” Black Shadow whispered to his audial, very close… making Hot Spot shudder at the touch of air, tensing. His internal temperature increased significantly as he froze when Black Shadow licked his antenna, slowly, thoroughly, with one hand clawing at his interface panel. In an attempt to open it or not, he didn’t know. What made him feel mortified was the fact that he was enjoying his touch. No… he couldn’t.

He whimpered, hands began to grip the Phase Sixer’s wing.

“So? Still don’t want to do it?”

Hot Spot turned, trying to see the other’s face. His visor glowed dim with want, steam began collecting in its surface. Black Shadow smirked, as he took hold of the other’s chin, lifting it up. They both locked optiques. Hot Spot felt unsure about this, but then as Black Shadow pushed his lip, he didn’t think of anything else.

“There won’t be regrets?”

Hot Spot looked away, ashamed. “No.”

Black Shadow grinned, then leant down.

Chapter Text

First Aid had protested to him, but he too was unable to change anything. Megatron expected them to go tomorrow in the morning. First Aid wanted that at least they were there for a couple of hours. But he couldn’t do it. They would leave early in the morning.

He looked at the time indicator on the console. 2357. They had to rest if they wanted to go early and hold themselves at least until the next jour.

Sixshot didn’t want to.

He let First Aid sleep in the berth, whilst he was doing something in the console. And now, he was trying to get through to Hot Spot, to apologise to him that he couldn’t come tomorrow. He’d leave at 0400.

After securing the connexion, five times so that Soundwave wouldn’t be curious about the connexion, and changed the channel, so that it was outside normal Decepticon communication channel, he finally tried to contact the Protectobot base. He didn’t know the comm frequency, so he tried to get a list of all available frequency on that channel. It wouldn’t be hard, he thought, knowing that there were only 2 different major Cybertronian channel and a few frequencies in each channel. But the risk is huge; he knew if he chose the wrong frequency, he might end up connected to Red Alert, or worse, Prowl.

The list went up. It showed all frequencies available on one of the Autobot channels. He randomly picked one and transmitted a message.

-- “Excuse me? Am I coming in?”

No reply.

-- “Excuse me. Coming in.”

Behind him, First Aid stirred.

The message showed that it had been read. He ignored the sound First Aid made, and tried again.

-- “Is this Protectobot base? Please reply.”

First Aid stirred again, and moved to lay on his back.

The message had been read. Someone was typing a reply.

-- “Who is this?”

Sixshot didn’t change to video feed, instead he replied again.

-- “I need to talk to Hot Spot.”

First Aid whined behind him. Sixshot looked over his shoulder, the medic’s visor was turned off. He didn’t wake up, did he? Sixshot lowered his noise.

A reply.

-- “This is Protectobot. Hot Spot is unreachable at the moment.”

Sixshot sighed.

-- “Can you pass a message to him?”

-- “It’d take some time, but I can.”

His fingers tapped the desk randomly whilst he was thinking how he should tell them.

-- “I’m afraid that I cannot go to the base for Christmas tomorrow.”

It took a second more for the message to be replied.

-- “Christmas? Tomorrow?”

Sixshot sighed.

-- “Who is this?” Came a reply.

-- “Sixshot of Decepticon.”

Behind him, First Aid sat up, optiques turned on and looking at him. Sixshot looked over his shoulder and sighed. “Pardon me if I woke you up.”

-- “Who is this?” he asked through the message.

First Aid tapped his arm, making him turn. Sixshot raised his optical ridge. “Excuse me.”

But when he looked at the console, he felt surprised, and a bit embarrassed.

-- “First Aid.”

Sixshot felt his tank drop in embarrassment. He didn’t dare turned his head again. Fortunately, he wore his masque, he thought. He sighed; not looking into the other’s optiques. “I’m sorry I picked the wrong frequency and woke you up.”

“It’s fine.” First Aid replied. “You wanted to tell them that we can’t come, right? I’ll give the frequency.”

Sixshot nodded and gave place for First Aid to type.

“So, that is your frequency. I didn’t save it previously.”

“779-0873-223-7. Yep, that is.” First Aid typed the Protectobots’ main console’s frequency. “Although I wonder if any of them are available now. I already said to them that I can’t come.”

“This one is… personal.” replied Sixshot.

“Yep, connected.” First Aid turned. “Here.”

Sixshot typed the same message to the console. Hot Spot, surprisingly, replied in this middle of the night. He was watching TV on the main room, saying that he couldn’t sleep. Sixshot told him sorry that he had to break his words. Megatron expected them to go off-planet tomorrow. At first, Hot Spot was concerned about First Aid going with him, but he told him that he would be fine with him; it’d be better if First Aid come with him rather than stay on the Nemesis. And he wrote something about it was a good thing that Blades wasn't the one who read this message.

Hot Spot then told him that he agreed on it, as long as Sixshot guaranteed First Aid’s safety. Sixshot said yes. Then the connexion ended.

“Would you like to sleep again?” he asked First Aid, after quite a silence passed.

First Aid sighed. “I don’t suppose so. It’s 02:49 anyway. Let’s just pack up.”

“Pack up?”

“You know, preparing the things we’d require.”