Flash fic: Morning After (G1) - PG13
Title: Morning After
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied drunken sexual encounters
Pairing: Spinister/Needlenose
Universe: G1 comics
Prompt: tf-speedwriting "Let me guess. I got drunk, you were drunk, I screwed you, and now you want to kill me, right?" (wording changed for appropriate header)
Summary: Needlenose finds courage in a cube of high grade, and wakes up to the consequences.
Needlenose onlined to luridly purple metal under his face and a throbbing pain in his head. What the...? He froze, antenna quivering, the post-overcharge churning in his tanks turning to a cold lump. That was a very familiar shade of purple. One he was used to seeing a very standoffish, very deadly squad leader.
Hesitantly he lifted his optics, uncertain if he really wanted to know.
The plating under him shifted as the mech stirred, red optics flickering on to meet gold.
“Uh-” Crap. He’d slept with Spinister.
Not that he didn’t want to sleep with Spinister, or that he hadn’t thought about getting him drunk and doing something like this, but thinking about seducing your extremely accomplished assassin of a boss and actually facing the reality of the next morning were two very different things.
Spinister was watching him, utterly inscrutable behind his facemask, still half-curled under Needlenose.
“Um, wow, we were really drunk last night, weren’t we?” Needlenose said uncomfortably. “Yeah. Really drunk. So there’s no hard feelings for anything that may have happened, right?” What had happened last night? He remembered drinking - a lot of drinking - and Spinister drifting in to the party. After that, everything became kind of blurry. A few flashes, pushing Spinister against a wall, Spinister’s hands on his wings, stroking his antenna...
His fans kicked on, and he hastily cut power to his cooling systems. Oh frag, he was going to die. Sure, Spinister had forgiven his little... indiscretions during the Mayhem Attack Squad’s initial training run, but somehow he doubted that his extraordinarily private and aloof commander would appreciate a subordinate pinning him down and -
Needlenose cut off the memory, optics sliding to the doorway, wondering if he could get out of the room before Spinister decided to scrap him - and if it would help.
Probably not, Needlenose thought, antenna twitching desperately. Great one, Needlenose. You had to get obsessed with him of all mechs. Then you go and... He eased back. Maybe he could get away, and give Spinister time to cool down... Oh, who was he kidding? Spinister was already cool. He wouldn’t even twitch when he tossed Needlenose in the smelter. “Really drunk. So nothing that happened was actually anybody’s fault-”
“Needlenose,” Spinister interrupted, voice as calm as ever.
Needlenose shut his mouth, wondering if Spinister always sounded this calm when he was about to kill someone. “Yes, Spinister?” It came out as more of a squeak than the cool assurance he wanted.
“I wasn’t drunk.”
He wasn’t? “Huh?” Wait, did that mean-
“I was not drinking last night,” Spinister reiterated, with the faintest note of amusement. “Ergo, my judgement was not impaired.”
Oh. Oh ! Needlenose’s antenna perked up. “You’re not going to shoot me?” he asked hopefully.
“Mm. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.” Definitely amused.
“Oh. That’s good.” He paused, engine running unsteadily.
“Lie down before you purge your tanks over my berth,” Spinister said, as dry as the Sea of Rust.
Okay, there were worse places to wake up, Needlenose thought fuzzily as he crawled back into place against Spinister, the sniper’s arm curling around his shoulders to rest against the back of his wings. He sighed, nuzzling back into that purple armor. He could get used to this.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied drunken sexual encounters
Pairing: Spinister/Needlenose
Universe: G1 comics
Prompt: tf-speedwriting "Let me guess. I got drunk, you were drunk, I screwed you, and now you want to kill me, right?" (wording changed for appropriate header)
Summary: Needlenose finds courage in a cube of high grade, and wakes up to the consequences.
Needlenose onlined to luridly purple metal under his face and a throbbing pain in his head. What the...? He froze, antenna quivering, the post-overcharge churning in his tanks turning to a cold lump. That was a very familiar shade of purple. One he was used to seeing a very standoffish, very deadly squad leader.
Hesitantly he lifted his optics, uncertain if he really wanted to know.
The plating under him shifted as the mech stirred, red optics flickering on to meet gold.
“Uh-” Crap. He’d slept with Spinister.
Not that he didn’t want to sleep with Spinister, or that he hadn’t thought about getting him drunk and doing something like this, but thinking about seducing your extremely accomplished assassin of a boss and actually facing the reality of the next morning were two very different things.
Spinister was watching him, utterly inscrutable behind his facemask, still half-curled under Needlenose.
“Um, wow, we were really drunk last night, weren’t we?” Needlenose said uncomfortably. “Yeah. Really drunk. So there’s no hard feelings for anything that may have happened, right?” What had happened last night? He remembered drinking - a lot of drinking - and Spinister drifting in to the party. After that, everything became kind of blurry. A few flashes, pushing Spinister against a wall, Spinister’s hands on his wings, stroking his antenna...
His fans kicked on, and he hastily cut power to his cooling systems. Oh frag, he was going to die. Sure, Spinister had forgiven his little... indiscretions during the Mayhem Attack Squad’s initial training run, but somehow he doubted that his extraordinarily private and aloof commander would appreciate a subordinate pinning him down and -
Needlenose cut off the memory, optics sliding to the doorway, wondering if he could get out of the room before Spinister decided to scrap him - and if it would help.
Probably not, Needlenose thought, antenna twitching desperately. Great one, Needlenose. You had to get obsessed with him of all mechs. Then you go and... He eased back. Maybe he could get away, and give Spinister time to cool down... Oh, who was he kidding? Spinister was already cool. He wouldn’t even twitch when he tossed Needlenose in the smelter. “Really drunk. So nothing that happened was actually anybody’s fault-”
“Needlenose,” Spinister interrupted, voice as calm as ever.
Needlenose shut his mouth, wondering if Spinister always sounded this calm when he was about to kill someone. “Yes, Spinister?” It came out as more of a squeak than the cool assurance he wanted.
“I wasn’t drunk.”
He wasn’t? “Huh?” Wait, did that mean-
“I was not drinking last night,” Spinister reiterated, with the faintest note of amusement. “Ergo, my judgement was not impaired.”
Oh. Oh ! Needlenose’s antenna perked up. “You’re not going to shoot me?” he asked hopefully.
“Mm. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.” Definitely amused.
“Oh. That’s good.” He paused, engine running unsteadily.
“Lie down before you purge your tanks over my berth,” Spinister said, as dry as the Sea of Rust.
Okay, there were worse places to wake up, Needlenose thought fuzzily as he crawled back into place against Spinister, the sniper’s arm curling around his shoulders to rest against the back of his wings. He sighed, nuzzling back into that purple armor. He could get used to this.