Louder than Words

“Blah, blah, blah,” Wheeljack quips, unconvinced by the enforcer’s practiced recital. “Bullslag. What’re ya gonna do? Shove those in and see if there’s any juice left? Good luck.”

He tries to rub at his helm with a cuff, like a dog that can’t quite scratch an itch. When he looks back up, his spark drops at who he sees.

“Babe—” Ah, scrap. Someone must’ve pinged him. He pushes himself up from the ground, still hammered and unstable.

“I—” He looks around briefly. He doesn’t even remember who he attacked. He barely remembers the fight at all, except for the end of it, when he’d finally been pinned down.

He vocalizes low, to his partner, “Don’t know. Don’t know what happened.”

Bee doesn’t know whether he’s going to upset later, if he even wants to be. He does know that no one else on the face of this planet knows exactly what’s going on with Wheeljack right now, and he’s equally prepared to take out his months of frustrations on the settlement if it turns out this is happening to Wheeljack unfairly.

For now, he give his partner a brief nod. “Scrap...we’ll get this figured out, okay? Just hang on a second. We’ll figure this out.”

He grabs the attention of the most lenient looking enforcer present -- not an easy task, it’s one of the first things they unlearn -- and begins to do exactly that. It’s actually going better than Bee expected, the first rays of hope beginning to shine through to his spark, when a set of heavy footfalls makes itself known. For a wild moment, Bee prays it’s Bulkhead.

“No. No, no, no, scrap no,” Bee says to no one in particular, rushing to intercept Ultra Magnus before he can say or do anything he and Wheeljack will have to live with forever. “Where’s Arcee? She said she’d be right down here, I told her I--”

And it’s then that he gets the comm from Arcee.

::Bee? Are you online?::

::Yeah?::

::You need to get down to the Lunar Arch right now.::

One of the first casinos to rebuild on Cybertron, Bee remembers through the first flares of growing panic. He’d had a nightmare of a time trying to soothe the bots who believed, probably correctly, that it was a waste of time and resources. 

::Oh frag, no. Please no, don’t tell me--::

::No, no, he’s fine! Wheeljack’s fine.:: Bee exhales a deep cycle of air, visions of his partner ripped apart by Incubus or shot dead in a bar brawl not so easily cast aside. ::He’s fine, but he’s been arrested.::

ask-smokescreen​:

Smokescreen smiles seeing Bee’s doorwings flutter, maybe Bee needed to hear that? Or just needed the praise? Interesting.

But before he can think too much about it, he plops down next to Wheeljack, happy to enjoy the view with good company. Once settled, Smokescreen clink his glass against the others, “To friends! And to new memories!”

The safehouse… They were in it for a while, weren’t they? It must have been rough. He’s not certain about asking about that period of time, or even if he should broach the topic, but he is more than happy to make some new memories to celebrate their freedom!

Smokescreen gently tilts his glass, admiring the flakes before taking a sip. Oh, this is nice Vosnian scrap. As much as he wants to chug the drink, he takes his time, taking in a sip before taking in the lovely view.

Cubes clinked, Wheeljack throws back a healthy glug of high grade, crunching on the fancy flecks of mineral. Primus, that’s good.

His free hand is rubbing against the small of Bumblebee’s back reassuringly, making sure he’s still feeling okay about what’s about to happen.

“Hope this old mech’s got enough gas to keep up with you kids,” he jokes. They’ve got the place the whole weekend, so they’ll do just fine with breaks.

Plating loose and biolights warm, he finishes his drink and his field spreads out invitingly to both younger mechs.

If Bumblebee’s ever destined to feel not okay about what’s about to happen, it’s sure as pit not then, with the velvet high grade warming him from the tank outwards and the city lights laid out before them. In a moment like this, he’d be up for just about anything. 

This feels like another life, one far away from the one that exists entirely within that small patch of light off to the righthand corner of everything. It feels free.

Emboldened, eager, he oozes into Wheeljack’s lap, kissing his neck as his field wraps up with that of the older mech and joins it in reaching out for Smokescreen’s. A world of scandalous possibilities, theirs for the taking.

ask-smokescreen​:

“Really? That’s further than our trade agreements, that’s awesome!” Smokescreen does quietly make a note to see if there are any bots that can help get some kind of trade going on his home Cybertron. It would be nice to get set up, but he doesn’t even want to think about that right now.

Rather, the two handsome bots in front of him are getting all of his attention tonight!

“You’re always thirsty too?” Smokescreen chuckles as well, he can certainly relate, his doorwings twitching, ready to get the party started, and turns from the window to admire the two of them, as well as the drink Wheeljack mentioned, coming by to help prepare the cubes and get started.

“Yes to every part of that! I’m ready to feel like some kind of rich Vosnian actor who’s about to get into some famous scandals.”

“Mm,” Wheeljack hums, pulling out the high grade that’ll be sure to warm them up.

Once they’ve got their drinks of choice, he adjusts the lights so they can keep admiring the view, and plops down onto the comfortable furniture.

“Let’s toast,” he suggests. His optics follow one of the sparkling white flakes of stone in his cube. He clears his vocalizer. “To another anniversary, to the safehouse bein’ in the past…”

He raises his cube. “And to friends.”

Bee’s doorwings flutter at the praise, and with it, the assurance that he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing and doing it well...something he’s utterly ravenous for, but that’s not something he plans on unpacking tonight.

“Pit yes. Vosnian actors get into the best scandals.”

The drink is heavy and sweet smelling in his hand, catching the warm lights from above and the twinkling ones spilling up from the city below, each one brimming with stories and promise. Bee raises his cube, scarcely able to believe how recently he and Wheeljack were boxed up in that doorless, windowless safehouse, just trying to get through the night.

ask-smokescreen​:

Smokescreen wasn’t sure what to expect from the strip, but it certainly wasn’t this! As they enter, he is looking at every single stall, doorwings twitching, more than happy to pick out a few toys that seem like they would potentially be fun later, a few smaller, vibrating toys, some that can be used when plugging in, a few small things Smokescreen thinks could be fun for them, mixed in with a few sillier-looking toys.

“Hey, It’s nice! I think it’s awesome to have this- a bot’s gotta have fun after working hard.”

He’s also taking a look towards whatever Bumblebee points out, happy to point out things he recognizes and has tried, and generally just enjoying and laughing along with them.

The sight of the hotel brings Smokescreen to a halt, as he looks around to admire it. His Cybertron didn’t have anything like this yet, and by the time he was in Iacon, locations like these hadn’t been this glamorous, with the war and everything. Seeing something so extravagant, something he knows he can enjoy with these two bots.

And the suite? Smokescreen can’t help but admire everything. It has such a good view, and the different amenities have Smokescreen’s imagination going wild. The three of them could do a lot of different things here, and he is looking forward to enjoying this suite with them.

Once Smokescreen finishes admiring the suite, he is moving to stand next to Wheeljack, taking in the view. It was an unmistakably different Iacon to both the old, war-torn Iacon he remembered in the past and the different Iacon of his home universe, but it was unmistakably beautiful in its own right, and still hit the same notes of home Iacon had hit for him before.

“This is- I can’t- Wow. Not bad at all. You guys have been working hard on construction, too. A drink sounds awesome right about now, actually. What do we have?”

Wheeljack’s already buzzed just from excitement. The sight of Smokescreen and Bee shopping and laughing like the carefree kids they should be… Yeah, this is going to be fun.

He smiles down at each of them when they come to check out the view.

“You know I’m thirsty,” the Wrecker jokes, turning to put his shopping bags out of the way, briefly spying a mercury flavored lube in its cute little blue box.

What should he start with tonight? Nothing too heavy.

“Should be a special cube, with the moonstone flakes. Fancy Vos scrap.”

“They should have all the basics. Our trade agreements don’t extend past Eurythmia yet but anything before that, they’ll either have or we can put in a request for.”

He chuckles fondly at his partner, who’s rarely not thirsty in some sense of the word; they definitely have that much in common. He can’t help but wonder how long they’ll all last before jumping one another’s struts.

Primus knows they’ve talked up their fantasies about Knock Out in berth. Never gets old.

He’s on the same page as Bee. Surprised they haven’t done this sooner. He’ll try not to get too excited before they’ve even asked their friend if he’s up to it.

The Wrecker reaches into subspace to pull out a very shiny gambling coin covered in Cybertronian script. The stories that coin could tell.

He calls heads. Here goes nothing. Three, two, one, flip.

Wheeljack blinks but accepts the coin’s decision.

“Alright…” He thinks for a klik. He can’t just ask right off the bat. Maybe they can plan for a drive and a pit-stop, bring it up then.

“I’ll get the ball rollin’, we’ll see how things go.”

For now, it’s still morning. He’d better get them some fuel before all they have left is fumes.

Well! If that’s what the shiny old gambling coin says, then that’s how it’s going to be. It probably works out for the best that way...Wheeljack’s had a little more driving excursion time with Smokescreen than he has. It won’t seem as out of the blue.

“Exactly. We can figure it out as we go, maybe go out for day cubes or something. If he says no, no problem.” He kisses his older partner’s neck once, lightly, and then again, and again, lingering. Hands drifting all the while towards his doorwings. “It’s all good...”

Honestly, Bee wondered if the whole notion wasn’t one of those things that would dissipate with the onset of post-overload clarity. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve talked outrageous nonsense while fired up. But no...there he is cozied up to Wheeljack, circuits sizzled and contented, and this still seems like a pretty excellent idea.

Bee collapses back onto the berth, doorwings rattling, vents shaky and stuttering. The charge he poured into Wheeljack buzzes back to him through his partner’s field, making his optics vibrate, his plating run hot with aftershocks.

He’s still a little dazed by the time Wheeljack rests his head on his thigh and reaches for him as though he’s the last coherent thing in the world, stroking his helm tenderly, shaking fingers full of adoration his glossa isn’t quite up to articulating.

Eventually, though, he gives a breathless chuckle.