#thunderrods

Drift really should have stayed in his hab suite tonight.

“I can’t do this anymore!” Rodimus thumped his fist against the table, rattling the several empty cubes around him. “I’m gonna die, Drift.”

“You’re not going to die,” Drift said.

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“About?” As if he didn’t already know the answer.

“Him! Thunderclash!” Yep. “I can’t—ugh!” Rodimus threw his arms up and petulantly slouched in his seat.

“Wow,” Drift said, drawing out the first w in disbelief.

“Drift,” Rodimus moaned. He slowly sunk to lay facedown across the tabletop. Drift didn’t look away from his datapad as he lifted his servo and sympathetically patted Rodimus’ helm. “He’s so fraggin’ nice and noble and pretty. How does he make a color scheme like that work for him? Red legs and teal arms and a yellow face? How? It’s so unfair.”

Drift merely shook his helm while Rodimus mumbled into the table. Hm. It looked like Ultra Magnus’ citation count was beginning to tick up again (“—and so tall and I bet he’d be stupid good at hugging and—”). Reckless behavior, vandalism, destruction of personal property, encouraging unnecessary violence. All clear signs that the Lost Light needed to find a place to stay for a while so its passengers could blow off some steam (“—and his laugh is all deep, and it gets in my chest, and it makes me feel all floaty? It’s weird.”). He’d have to pass the suggestion on to Ultra Magnus himself or Megatron at some point, seeing as their first in command was currently otherwise… occupied.

“—you think he likes me? He smiles and compliments me all the damn time, but maybe I’m wrong and I think he’s just being nice to me when he’s actually nice to everyone?”

“Have you considered,” Drift began with the weariness of someone who has had this exact conversation no less than one hundred and seventy-eight times with no results, “that if you didn’t very obviously and dramatically avoid every conversation with him, you’d find out?”

Rodimus paused. Then he turned his helm towards Drift. “Is it obvious?”

“Painfully so.”

“What should I do then?”

“I have a two-step solution for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Number one.” Drift put up one digit and waited for Rodimus to focus on it. When he blearily did, Drift said shortly, “Have a normal conversation with him that doesn’t involve compliments disguised as insults and-and-or running away. You’re sending messages that are mixed to the point where he doesn’t want to approach you for fear of offending you. Trust me, I asked.” And he had. After weeks of hovering, it was clear Thunderclash didn’t want to step on the lines in the sand Rodimus had unintentionally drawn. Drift, having been watching the dance between the two of them for far too long, decided to step in then.

Rodimus winced but didn’t deny it. “Can do,” he said easily. “What’s step two?”

“Step two is to ask him out.”

Rodimus sputtered and shot straight back up, mouth gaping. “Are you crazy?” he asked with a slight squeak to his voice. “I can’t just—do that.”

Normally at this point, Drift would shrug and say, if you say so. Rodimus would huff and bluster for a few more moments before pointedly avoiding this particular point of conversation like the rust plague for the duration of the night. And that was that. 

But Drift, to be frank, had had enough. One hundred and seventy-ninth time’s a charm.

He shot Rodimus a frown. “Why not?”

Rodimus sputtered. “‘Cause he’s Thunderclash! And I’m—”

“A very capable, determined, wonderful mech who is not about to tell me that he is unworthy of Thunderclash’s potential romantic interest in him,” Drift cut in firmly, narrowing his optics.

“Sure,” Rodimus huffed. “But there’s also no way he’s gonna say yes.”

Drift thought for a moment. Should he mention that Thunderclash had been staring at Rodimus for as long as they’ve been at Swerve’s? Or reveal he had a ten-minute long audio file of Thunderclash talking about all the things he liked about Rodimus’ smile? Or admit it had been Thunderclash who had anonymously gifted Rodimus his favorite spray paint set? Hmm. He could. Or…

“You’re right,” he eventually said with a woebegone sigh. “He won’t. Because you’ll never ask.”

Rodimus narrowed his optics. “You’re doing it again,” he accused, jabbing an accusatory digit at Drift. “The reverse psychology thing. It’s not gonna work.”

Drift dramatically rolled his helm as he ignored Rodimus and continued, “You won’t ask, and you’ll never get to be held in those big, strong arms…”

A telltale heat shimmer began to warp the air around Rodimus’ exhaust pipes. “Stop that.”

“And you’ll never get to kiss his pretty face—”

“Drift.”

He stared Rodimus right in the optic. “You won’t get the chance to suck his—”

“Drift!” Rodimus yelped, slapping a servo over Drift’s mouth while barely smothering his laughter. “Shut up, oh my God.”

Drift snorted and peeled Rodimus’ servo off of his face. Then he wound his digits between Rodimus’ and tugged him in close. “Rodimus, I need you to listen to me,” he said somberly. Rodimus’ smile faded slightly. “I love and care for you very deeply. You know that, right?”

“I wonder sometimes, but yeah.” Drift squeezed his servo just on the side of too tight. “Ow, okay, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I know, Drift.”

“That’s why I need you to promise me you’ll at least try to talk to Thunderclash.”

Rodimus’ field twisted with uncertainty. “I mean, you were right, earlier,” he said offhandedly. “I dunno if he even wants to talk to me now. I’ve kinda fragged things between us up a lot.”

“Stop trying to convince yourself of a fact you don’t know for certain is true. Besides, Thunderclash isn’t the type to hold a grudge. I’m sure he’ll forgive you if you apologize first."

But Rodimus still didn’t look convinced. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How are you so sure about all of this?”

Rodimus is the bravest and strongest mech I know. I’ve never seen such genuine conviction and determination in my many years of function. It’s hard to believe he’s of the same stuff as you and me.

I’ve heard many stories about Rodimus, some unsavory, some heroic, and some that fall in-between. But each one has only sought to prove his spark burns brighter and fiercer than anything in this universe.

Oh, what I would give to be able to tell him how truly wonderful he is! I’d tell him every day if he would allow it—And I’d much instead gain the courage to say that all to him myself one day, so my apologies for requesting you not share any of this with him, but I can’t bear the weight of my affections by myself a second longer—

“Primus has gifted me with wonderful intuition,” Drift said.

“...Ugh. Your intuition's always right.” Rodimus sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

Drift smiled a small, genuine smile. “You’re a good mech.” He patted Rodimus on the back and gently pushed him back. “Also, I am going to start locking you out of my hab suite every time you come to complain about your crush on him.”

Rodimus groaned and thunked his head against Drift’s shoulder. “I knew there was a catch. You’re the worst.”

“Interesting way to pronounce ‘helpful amica who wants his best friend to be happy because he deserves it.’” Drift took a sip of his drink and picked up his datapad. “Go get your mech, Rods.”

“What like, right now?” Rodimus asked with an incredulous hitch of laughter.

“Well, now that you’ve said it… yes.”

“Ugh.” Rodimus stole the rest of Drift’s drink and gulped it down in two swallows. Then he stood and rubbed his servos together furiously before blowing out a short, harsh exvent. “You owe me drinks here forever if you’re wrong, and this goes to Pit,” he hissed.

“It won’t,” Drift smiled.

Rodimus sighed again before striding over to where Thunderclash was sitting. The mech in question very hastily turned his helm away to pretend he was focusing on his drink, only to peek up bashfully when Rodimus came to a stop at his table. Rodimus shot a worried glance back at Drift, who smiled encouragingly. Rodimus’ spoilers flicked nervously before he turned back to Thunderclash with a slightly strained smile. His servo went to apologetically rest on the back of his helm, the other gesturing as he spoke. Thunderclash watched him with wide optics before a smile broke out across his face. He replied something with an earnest expression and a servo laid grandly over his spark that had Rodimus' spoilers sinking in relief.

Drift wasn’t sure what Rodimus said next. But whatever it was caused Thunderclash’s helm light to flare up with such a brilliant red glow, Drift had to reset his optics a couple of times to clear the spots from them. Seconds later, an overwhelming wave of pure joy washed over the room. It clearly emanated from the broad smile on Thunderclash’s face as he nodded enthusiastically, then gestured for Rodimus to sit down beside him. Mechs left and right turned to the source. But once they found it, most of them turned away with a fond shake of their helm, though some called out to the pair, and at least one mech definitely whistled.

Drift watched as Rodimus sank into his seat. He could tell by the unsteady descent of the motion instead of the practiced carelessness that Rodimus was more than a little dazed. His smile grew as he opened his comms with Rodimus only to find that he was already typing out a message for him.

.:he said yes:.

.:???:.

.:he said yes???:.

.:I told you he would.:.

.:i owe you:.

.:seriously:.

.:Tell me how it goes and I’ll consider your favor fulfilled.:.

.:I’m happy for you, Rodimus.:.

.:thanks:.

.:for everything.:.