#chromewind

A quick, nervous glance behind confirmed Chromedome and Rewind were still walking—or rather, Chromedome was walking with his much smaller partner sitting atop one of his shoulders. They were openly chatting to one another, completely ignoring the scanner magnetized to the taller mech’s hip…and the pair ahead of them, much to Cyclonus’s relief.

Strong winds muffled the couple’s conversation, but a blip of glowing red from the side of Rewind’s helm revealed he was recording, as should have been expected. Cyclonus could only hope its microphone function was not strong enough to pick up Tailgate’s lurid taunts.

The servo holding his tightened its grip as Tailgate muttered his complaint, “It wouldn’t be a problem if the third and fourth wheels hadn’t tagged along.”

Cyclonus lifted an optics ridge, and his conjux hastily looked away, seemingly recognizing how mean-spirited his complaint had been. Somewhat bashfully, Tailgate amended, "Hanging out with them is fun and all, but this was supposed to be our date. If Whirl had come, that would be one thing, but they’ve been doing this conjux thing a lot longer than us. What if…forget it. I’m being silly.”

If not for his love’s refusal, Cyclonus would have scooped him up just then and held him in his arms.

After a small chuckle, he smoothed a sharp thumb over Tailgate’s smaller servo. “Dearest, love is not a competition.” Lowering his vocals, he smirked, “And if it was, do you think either of them could ever possibly defeat me? Or you, my savior of worlds?”

Tailgate tripped again; Cyclonus held him aloft.

“What was that about defeating us, old timer?”

Pausing in the snow, they both turned around to see Rewind with his arms crossed over his chassis and leaning forward. Chromedome’s yellow visor was curved, implying a smile beneath his mask. Both mechs’ fields buzzed with amusement, displaying no real irritation at Cyclonus’s contention.

“No more than a statement of fact, Rewind,” he responded, earning a delightful laugh from Tailgate. Cyclonus continued only once it was finished. “There are very few arenas in which you could contend with me, and none of them are to be found here.”

Rewind clicked his glossa and bobbed his helm up and down, “Alright, alright. I know a challenge when I hear one. How about this—you against us. Snowball fight.”

Red optics narrowed. While he’d not heard of a snowball fight before, the syntax gave him enough of an idea of what it entailed. No, the suspicious part of Rewind’s recommendation was how quickly he had resorted to it.

Clipping the scanner to his side, he pointed a digit at the seated mech. "What is your true purpose, Rewind? I did not take you for a mech who enjoys conflict. Or losing."

Chromedome huffed, his chassis shaking as though he were withholding a laugh. Perhaps the two had shared some private joke within their bond.

Holding his servos up in surrender, Rewind said, “You got me. There's no recording of Cybertronians snowball-fighting in any archive. I checked. That means I’ll be the first.”

Cyclonus’s suspicions eased as the couple’s motive became clear.

Ah, so that was why the pair had insisted on accompanying Cyclonus and Tailgate to the ice-covered planet. Originally, only the jet had been selected to pursue the distress beacon due to his proximity in age, durability to the elements (and most potential dangers), and his flight capability. As was natural, Tailgate had volunteered to accompany him. Newly conjuxed mechs rarely left each other’s sides. And while Cyclonus had been worried for Tailgate’s comfort in the cold, it had not been enough for him to attempt swaying his love’s mind.

Aboard the Lost Light, there was no real opportunity for privacy outside of their shared quarters. Even more so now that Whirl had taken up residence as a semi-permanent guest.

He had assumed Rewind and Chromedome shared a similar reasoning, but now it was obvious Rewind’s compulsive need to film new experiences was what had pulled them from the safety of the ship orbiting above.

"While I would enjoy the chance to do battle with you—in case you have forgotten, we are on a mission. The distress beacon is still some distance away, and there may be survivors awaiting rescue," Cyclonus said.

A corner of Chromedome’s visor quirked up. “Oh, that? There is no real distress signal. Rewind made it up.”

With a little nod, Rewind confirmed, "I tweaked the system to read a fake frequency. I made it so old that no one could confirm whether it was a real distress signal. Total guess about your ages, by the way. Do you think I could get you to state your creation dates on record?"

Anger raced through him for having been deceived; only the gentle hold on his servo stopped him from marching forward. “For what purpose have you lied?” Cyclonus spat. Surely, it could not only be to record a snowball fight. If so, Rewind would be sorely disappointed. For while there would be a fight, and there would be snow, there would not be—

"Tailgate complained to me you guys haven't been on a proper date away from the ship since being conjuxed. I figured we could both get what we wanted. You get a date; I get to record us pelting each other with snow during the date. Win-win.”

At his side, Tailgate brightened, practically bouncing with excitement. "Really? That's so nice! Thank you, Rewind. Of course, we'll snowball fight with you. And, um, not to be rude, but—could you guys leave after we do? Or at least go to the opposite side of the planet? I really want to spend some time alone with Cyclonus."

Rewind’s visor turned equally bright, “Sure thing, buddy.”

Releasing Tailgate's servo, and with no real ire, he mused, "I see you have decided for us. A snowball fight in exchange for time alone with my love? So be it."

Tailgate wilted, stammering, "Oh-oh, sorry, if you don't want to, we really don't have to. I just thought it sounded fun. Kind of like a double date. But you're right, I should have asked you first. Forgive me?"

The minibot's visor became impossibly wide, a tiny drop of coolant threatening to spill out the side. An obvious ploy meant to pull at the whisps of Cyclonus's spark and convince him to accept Tailgate's apology. Fortunately for his conjux, an obvious ruse was not necessarily an ineffectual one.

He pressed the tip of a claw underneath Tailgate’s chin, turning his helm up. Grinning, he crooned, “Only through victory will you be forgiven. Come, let’s learn the rules of this game so that we may win it.”

Tailgate shuddered, then, much to his dismay, stepped away.

“Actually…I want to be on their team.” Hastily, Tailgate explained, “Hear me out. They’re not warriors like us. The teams are uneven. And since there’s no way I could convince them to switch sides, I just figured it made more sense for me to.”

How could he be upset at such a virtuous cause? Cyclonus could not, though he could pretend through an obvious ploy of his own.

Glancing slyly down at his love, Cyclonus rolled a shoulder, preparing for war. “I confess the idea of you battling on their side does give me some small amount of unease.”

Visor flickering in a facsimile of a blink, Tailgate sweetly asked, “Because you don’t want to hit me?”

“Because I only have two servos for which to throw, providing you an opportunity to strike.” Bending low, his vocals were visible puffs in the chilled air as he growled, “I suggest you take it.”

There would be no mercy, no quarter given. If Tailgate wanted to join forces against Cyclonus, then his dear conjux would pay the price. Frigid and unyielding, he looked forward to warming the small mech up once back on the ship.

Unthreatened, Tailgate leaned up on the tips of his snow-covered pedes, a zap of a kiss flashing between his mask and Cyclonus's derma. “Oh, I’ll take it all right,” the minibot shot back just as a wave of desire pushed forward from his field. It enveloped Cyclonus, heating the air around him; he half expected the surrounding snow to melt into a puddle at his pedes.

An appalled groan cut off any response Cyclonus might have given, drawing both their attention to where Rewind was standing next to Chromedome with his servos pressed flat against his hips. 

“Are you going to let me explain the rules, or are you two going to flirt all day?”

Throwing up his chin, Cyclonus asked, “Is the latter an option?”

“Cyclonus,” Tailgate chided.

He chuckled but otherwise remained silent as Rewind launched into an explanation.

“It’s one-tap you’re out rules. Pack the snow as hard as you want, just don’t aim for visors or vents, or optics, I guess. We’ll each step twenty paces away—twenty Chromedome paces—and count down from ten before starting. Any questions?”

Tailgate raised a servo, “Just one; can I join your team?”

Chromedome and Rewind shared a look before both shrugged, the taller of the two answering, “We’d love to have you. So long as Cyconlus doesn’t mind.”

“Doesn’t mind losing,” Rewind finished with a whoop, pointing double-digit guns at the purple mech. Chromedome twisted his servo around and Rewind low-fived it.

Looking down at his conjux, Cyclonus gave him one last chance, "Are you sure?"

Tailgate sucked in a long, cold vent before nodding, “Positive.”

"Then I respect your choice and your commitment to evening a one-sided battle. Little as your weight will tip the scale of victory in their favor."

His remark was met with an unimpressed stare, “A minibot joke, Cyclonus? Really?”

Smiling playfully, Cyclonus replied, “Take it as you will.”

“Oh, I’ll take it all—

“Ahem! Are we doing this or not?” Rewind rudely questioned, interrupting their couple’s banter. The minibot started off in the opposite direction, Chromedome dutifully at his side as the shorter mech started grumbling, “We’re not that bad, right? Please tell me we were never that bad.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Chromedome looked up at the sky and said, “I think I used to be that bad.”

Rewind snorted, “Used to? Who are you fooling, Domey?”

Red optics rolled, focusing downward when tiny servos tapped against his knees.

“I want to wish you good luck, but I also really want to win,” Tailgate admitted.

Cyclonus knelt in the snow and wrapped an arm around his conjux’s back. Speaking directly into a white audial, he murmured, “I want you to win as well, love.” Tightening his hold, his vocals dropped into a menacing croon. “Unfortunately, we do not always get what we want.”

Tailgate’s little engine revved, and he gasped, “Oh, goodness.”

Then, Cyclonus was releasing the minibot and watching somewhat mournfully as Tailgate raced after Rewind and Chromedome. The short mech managed to only trip three times, a testament to how seriously he was taking their battle.

Cyclonus stepped backward without facing away from his now enemies. The twenty paces took no time at all, Tailgate reaching the others just as Cyclonus finished.

With vocals louder than his diminutive frame would suggest, Rewind began the countdown.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two—one!”

Immediately dropping, he curved both servos in the snow, taking a fistful and squeezing it into a ball. He threw his first projectile before the others had packed their first ball.

It whizzed by Chromedome’s helm, and the lanky mech leaped forward in startled panic.

Cyclonus grinned, righted his aim, and threw again. Chromedome flinched backward, then, in a surprising turn, began rushing toward the jet. Tailgate did as well, albeit at a much slower pace.

A snowball was tossed in his direction, falling to the ground before it could reach him.

Grabbing two more servos full of snow, he taunted, “Admirable effort, Tailgate. Futile, but admirable.”

He threw both at his conjux at the same time—Tailgate dived into the snow, completely disappearing from view. His optics narrowed, then widened as he was forced to dodge a snowball aimed at his waist.

Chromedome had closed the distance remarkably quickly and was now bouncing a snowball in one of his servos. Next to him, Tailgate popped out of the snow, holding two weapons of his own. However, Rewind was nowhere to be seen. Where could….

A wide smile split his hollowed faceplate as he spotted where the black and orange mech hid. Their plan unfolded before him.

While Chromedome and Tailgate kept Cyclonus at bay, Rewind was tasked with building a snow wall. No, not just a wall. He was building a snow fortress. A place for them retreat; hiding away while they fired protected volleys at the jet.

Warrior spirit overtaking him. Admiring the challenge posed. He came up with a plan of his own.

Four snowballs raced toward him at once; concurrently, Cyclonus pulled his great sword out of subspace.

He dodged three of the iced ammo, using his sword to slide through the last of them. Its separated pieces flew past his helm. Jet engine roaring, he sprinted toward the pair, causing them both to yelp and fall to the ground. They were paid no mind as he ran toward the half-built fortress; sword dragging behind him in one servo, the other open-palmed against the snow.

Piercing the ground with his sword, Cyclonus used it to vault himself over the top of the wall, his opposite servo launching a massive snowball directly at the cowering minibot inside.

His aim struck true, and Rewind grabbed where he had been hit, stomping a pede as he yielded. “He got me, I’m out.” The minibot plopped down in a corner of the fort, then, likely only to add a bit of dramatic flair to his recording—cupped the side of his faceplate and shouted, “I’ve been defeated, Domey! Avenge me!”

Outnumbered and plotted against, Cyclonus had still scaled their fort and claimed it as his own. He laughed, victorious and proud. “You’re conjux is defeated! What will you do now, Chromedome? Will you claim revenge as your lover begged, or submit to his fate?”

When no answer came, he looked through the small hole in the fort’s side, only to duck as a snowball nearly hit the tip of one of his horns sticking out over the wall. It came from Chromedome. Tailgate was once again nowhere to be seen.

Never one to cower, he strode through the wall, using its remains to rearm himself. Sparing a quick glance downward, he noticed his sword had fallen into the snow. It was half buried, and he dared not expose himself by leaning down to grab it. He would have to recover it after his victory.

Perhaps he could even convince Tailgate to gather it for him, since they were both warriors of the same caliber, after all. Watching his conjux struggling with a weapon clearly too large for him might just smooth over any remaining irritation Cyclonus had at Tailgate for choosing another over him.

In an unexpected turn, Chromedome held out both arms at his side, dropping his snowball to the ground.

“Do it!” The mech goaded. “I was only in this fight for Rewind. Without him, winning has no meaning.” Chromedome's yellow visor darkened, taking on an almost brown hue in his resolve. "Do it!"

Honoring the mech's dedication to his conjux, Cyclonus threw two snowballs at him. They both made contact, one on a shoulder, the other on a knee. He threw another; it hit the dead center of Chromedome's throat.

The tall mech clutched his neck with both servos before falling back into the snow. It billowed around him, covering his frame as he guttered out, “I’ll be with you soon, Rewind. Wait for me.”

Behind him, Cyclonus heard Rewind bemoan, “Oh my Primus, we are that bad.”

The battle raged on, and so he gave the minibot no response as he stepped away from the destroyed shelter. Nothing but soft white surrounded him. No trace of metal or blue to be seen for miles. First, a snowball fight, now hide and seek? His conjux truly loved his games.

A giddy sort of thrill swirled in his spark, almost akin to battle lust as he relished in how perfect his conjux was.

His smile was wide, excited. Pivoting in the snow, Cyclonus bellowed, “Tailgate! Come out, my love, and your downfall will be gently guided.”

He stilled, optics darting left and right as he searched for any sign of movement. His conjux was many admirable things, but stealthy? It was only a matter of time until the minibot inadvertently revealed himself. Sooner rather than later, Cyclonus hoped.

The longer the battle continued, the faster energon pumped through his lines, the more Cyclonus looked forward to claiming his prize.

A sudden gust of wind blew snow into Cyclonus’s optics, temporarily obscuring his vision. Just as started to shutter it away, a burst of snow from below caused him to take a startled step back—he tripped on his own sword. And then he was falling, gathered snow forgotten as a familiar weight landed on his chassis.

Lying in the snow, now atop of him, was Tailgate. He was clutching a tiny snowball in both servos and pressing it directly over Cyclonus's armor-covered spark chamber. It slowly melted into loosened seams; he shivered.

Both panting heavily, Tailgate announced, “I win. Do you submit?”

Through a long vent, Cyclonus marveled, “I am conquered.”

Visor dimming, Tailgate husked, “To the victor goes the spoils.”

His conjux leaned forward, energy building around his mask. Then, with a pleased rumble, he—

“Oh my Primus! First Aid’s fanfiction has better dialogue,” came the distant shout of a disgusted Rewind. “You ruined it! There’s no way the film club won’t think this is scripted. A cute candid video of the odd couple, and now everyone is going to think my writing is worse than soft-core holo-vids.”

Feeling no desire to move, or to look away from his conjux’s adoring gaze, Cyclonus merely replied, “I have always thought your writing worse than First Aid’s. At the very least, his creative works have,” with a purr, he finished, “passion.”

Tailgate chuckled. Rewind let out a choked sound of offense. Chromedome gave the affronted camera sparkfelt assurances that he was a great writer as he picked up Rewind and headed toward the planet's opposite end.