Paint (64 Prompts; Aerialbots, Protectobots; #26- Color)
Title: Paint
Character(s): Aerialbots, Protectobots
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions paint on afts, possible shippy-ness if you squint, probable characterization slaughtering.
Notes: Dear miss amazing Protectobot authoress, I'm sorry for mangling them, the idea just wouldn't leave me alone.
Silverbolt found himself struggling to keep a straight face as he stared down at his team. Hot Spot wasn't faring quite as well at hiding his amusement, quiet chuckles escaping him now and then as both team leaders surveyed the 'damage'.
Paint was splattered, smeared, and dripped all over the Aerialbots' common room as well as all eight mechs inside (including what looked suspiciously like hand prints all over Fireflight's aft and he really didn't think he wanted to know), a few of whom had the decency to at least appear sheepish.
“Hi, Hot Spot!” Fireflight squirmed his way partially out of the entangled mess of limbs sprawled all across the floor to wave cheerfully at the newly-arrived commanders, one of those damningly-adorable smiles on his face. “Sorry about everyone being late but they stopped by so Streetwise could grab some datapads from Skydive and then Groove got caught in a prank Air Raid was testing-”
The F-15 squawked loudly from somewhere behind the (currently a near-painful pink) couch, interrupting his brother's 'explanation'. “Hey! You promised not to tell!” Fireflight shrank a little at that, letting out a nervous giggle. “Um... Oops?”
Silverbolt barely managed to resist the urge to cover his optics, instead venting heavily. “You know what? I don't want to know. I don't even care. Just... All of you, go get cleaned up. And then you're going to clean this mess up.”
Blades (at least, the Concorde thought it was him- he couldn't quite identify any of the Protectobots at the moment given the paint and general discord) didn't bother to hide his snickering as the four jets set about untangling themselves from each other, their guests, and miscellaneous pieces of furniture. Hot Spot quickly shut whoever it was up, though, with a cheerful nudge to a nearby limb. “'All' includes you four. And you'll be helping clean up the Aerials' common room. So up and at 'em!” Despite the 'order', the fire truck was still grinning widely, amusement clear in his optics as the remaining four staggered to their feet with a few light-hearted mumbles.
Despite some difficulties- mostly the paint being partially dried and very sticky- all eight of the mechs managed to make it up and out of the room with a minimum amount of additional wreckage. He stared at their retreating backs and finally let the smile he'd been holding back cross his face. Chuckling softly, Hot Spot glanced at him before looking back at the now-closed door, leaning lightly against Silverbolt's side. “So... First Aid or Fireflight, do you think?”
“Fireflight,” Silverbolt said decisively, adding the image of Slingshot and Blades walking side-by-side with declarations that they secretly loved each other scrawled across their backs to his most precious memories. “First Aid wouldn't have added the hearts.”
Character(s): Aerialbots, Protectobots
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions paint on afts, possible shippy-ness if you squint, probable characterization slaughtering.
Notes: Dear miss amazing Protectobot authoress, I'm sorry for mangling them, the idea just wouldn't leave me alone.
Silverbolt found himself struggling to keep a straight face as he stared down at his team. Hot Spot wasn't faring quite as well at hiding his amusement, quiet chuckles escaping him now and then as both team leaders surveyed the 'damage'.
Paint was splattered, smeared, and dripped all over the Aerialbots' common room as well as all eight mechs inside (including what looked suspiciously like hand prints all over Fireflight's aft and he really didn't think he wanted to know), a few of whom had the decency to at least appear sheepish.
“Hi, Hot Spot!” Fireflight squirmed his way partially out of the entangled mess of limbs sprawled all across the floor to wave cheerfully at the newly-arrived commanders, one of those damningly-adorable smiles on his face. “Sorry about everyone being late but they stopped by so Streetwise could grab some datapads from Skydive and then Groove got caught in a prank Air Raid was testing-”
The F-15 squawked loudly from somewhere behind the (currently a near-painful pink) couch, interrupting his brother's 'explanation'. “Hey! You promised not to tell!” Fireflight shrank a little at that, letting out a nervous giggle. “Um... Oops?”
Silverbolt barely managed to resist the urge to cover his optics, instead venting heavily. “You know what? I don't want to know. I don't even care. Just... All of you, go get cleaned up. And then you're going to clean this mess up.”
Blades (at least, the Concorde thought it was him- he couldn't quite identify any of the Protectobots at the moment given the paint and general discord) didn't bother to hide his snickering as the four jets set about untangling themselves from each other, their guests, and miscellaneous pieces of furniture. Hot Spot quickly shut whoever it was up, though, with a cheerful nudge to a nearby limb. “'All' includes you four. And you'll be helping clean up the Aerials' common room. So up and at 'em!” Despite the 'order', the fire truck was still grinning widely, amusement clear in his optics as the remaining four staggered to their feet with a few light-hearted mumbles.
Despite some difficulties- mostly the paint being partially dried and very sticky- all eight of the mechs managed to make it up and out of the room with a minimum amount of additional wreckage. He stared at their retreating backs and finally let the smile he'd been holding back cross his face. Chuckling softly, Hot Spot glanced at him before looking back at the now-closed door, leaning lightly against Silverbolt's side. “So... First Aid or Fireflight, do you think?”
“Fireflight,” Silverbolt said decisively, adding the image of Slingshot and Blades walking side-by-side with declarations that they secretly loved each other scrawled across their backs to his most precious memories. “First Aid wouldn't have added the hearts.”