#blast off

And one of the perks was this congregation of favored mechs in a makeshift luncheon of their recent spoils of war. Victory was theirs, and for a job well done, his team, as well as a handful of others, were treated to extra rations of barely better energon foods.

But at least Onslaught had a view.

For the millionth time since this shindig started, the truckformer’s red optics ogled his second-in-command’s pristine frame. Despite the bulky shuttle frame, the angles suited him well. And Blast Off knew it, making no secret of snubbing others and claiming his superiority.

Unlike the majority of the ‘Cons, the posh shuttle came from the sunnier side of the tracks. Born and raised in riches and royalty. His elite class dined on such fine cuisine during the energon shortage, believing the famine wouldn’t dare to wrap its ravenous maws around their kind.

Primus, were they wrong.

Apparently, you could knock that shuttle out of the sky, but you couldn’t take the snob out of him. Blast Off’s condescending sneer made that crystal clear. Still, even as the oddball of their ragtag team, he was a valued asset who knew how to have one’s back. Even after malicious fights between their Gestalts two fliers, if the shuttle’s word was given, you could bet your spark on him.

Slag, Onslaught snorted. He couldn’t quite say the same for Vortex- at least if it was Blast Off needing assistance.

That was the difference between them, or the rest of the gestalt for that matter. Despite not coming from a warframe background or a working-class one, Blast Off never got himself into any mess he couldn’t get out of. He was proficient, knew his job, and most importantly, knew his place.

Which was always by his side. During any important milestone, Blast Off stood right next to him, giving all his support.

Late-night planning sessions in which Ons went over his plans repeatedly were interrupted by the plated meal he had forgotten. Important speeches were dutifully proofread by the shuttle, who then willingly stood as an audience for the practice run. Hot days toiling at whatever menial tasks Megatron had ordered were met with ice-cold energon to quench his parched throat.

Onslaught snorted. It was silly, really, how Blast Off always went the extra mile for him, someone who was supposedly ‘beneath’ him.

And that attitude was what rubbed most mechs the wrong way, Ons reckoned. But despite this, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at the bougie nuances the flier always performed: plain energon sipped from cheap wine glasses, lips dabbed with a cloth napkin, bedtime routines of expensive polishes that smelt of exotic flora. And let’s not forget about the collection of lavish bath soaps that announced his presence before he even entered the room.

And the scent was something the Lead Combatie grew fond of, for it promised a nice reward. The late-night check-ins were oddly comforting. The shared midnight meals, with both their noses buried in datapads to devise the best battle tactics, proved valuable. The faint smiles cast his way, and the eagerness to assist was noticed.

And welcomed.

But recently, Onslaught had been eyeing his second-in-command differently. The shine on his plating, the flicking of his wings, the way he reeked of self-confidence as he strode into a room—Onslaught cherished such a loyal member of his team, but secretly desired more.

At first, that feeling weighed heavily on his frame and warmed his cheeks with shame. Was it wrong to want a subordinate in such an inappropriate manner? At least in a serious way... he and Brawl took romps in the berth as friends with benefits, but the chances of the shuttle taking him up on that offer were slim and none. Blast Off had standards, after all.

And Onslaught wasn’t interested in a casual fling.

But the fear of ruining their work relationship never banished the naughty thoughts from entering his processor at the most awkward times. Ons often fantasized about slathering that frame up with soap and scrubbing all his nooks and crannies clean. Or how warm the night would be snuggling with his second under the covers of the berth, servos roaming wherever they pleased. Or the way those wings would flick as that posh flier bounced on his-

Onslaught shook his helm, the guilt of his amorous thoughts catching up with him. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, silently staring at the way Blast Off picked through the subpar plate of finger foods. The way those dainty fingers fished for the best tidbits-

Onslaught quickly averted his optics when that bright visor looked right at him. Scrap—caught staring again. This couldn’t keep happening! The truckformer fidgeted, knowing only two options: stop staring or approach Blast Off. Throw out the line and see if he took the bait. Perhaps whisper sweet nothings in his audials; his front pressing into the shuttle's back as gentle and inviting nips planted on neck cabling.

ORGANIZATION TAGS

i will be adding to this list as i continue to post my characters and use tags more consistently!

#spaced out - general art post

#holy yap - text post/oc text post

#loot drop - lore related post

#blast off - asks answered

#lol im out of tag names - misc/random

#ooc - irl or update posts

any characters/character specific posts will be tagged according to their names :)

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