Actions

Work Header

hobbyist

Work Text:

Drift’s back was to the door when it opened, but he didn’t tense or flinch or even turn. He knew Rodimus’ gait when he heard it -- who else just invited themselves into his habsuite without a word? -- and he was more focused on his current task.

 

“Same code,” Rodimus teased as he approached.

 

Drift turned his helm a little, a smile touching his lips. “How else would I expect you to let yourself in whenever you please?”

 

Rodimus snorted in laughter. “Command overrides?”

 

“Desperation,” Drift shot back.

 

“So cruel,” Rodimus said with another laugh, wrapping his arms around Drift’s waist. Drift smiled, leaning into the touch. Rodimus rested his chin upon Drift’s shoulder, peering down at the small table in front of them. “Oh, are those what you were telling me about?”

 

“Yeah.” Drift grinned down at the little pots overflowing with mostly organic flora. Settling back in had been a task, but the plants gave him a project at least. “Well, what survived Ravage’s crash-landing anyway.” He finished trimming some stalks on one and set the small clippers aside.

 

Rodimus hummed, leaning closer, ostensibly out of curiosity. Not that the motion brought him any new vantage of the neatly arranged collection so much as it just pressed more of his frame against Drift’s.

 

Not that Drift minded.

 

He did, however, lift one of his hands from Drift’s waist to reach out to one of the more curious members, which despite Drift’s clear attentiveness to them, seemed to be wilting. “What’s wrong with this guy?”

 

“Well, nothing, but -- ”

 

Rodimus made an honest to god squeak of surprise when the apparently wilting tendrils instead reached for Rodimus’s fingers. Drift bit his lower lip to keep back a laugh. “What is with that ?”

 

“It likes warmth.”

 

“Okay, but why did it move ?”

 

“It’s carnivorous,” Drift explained. “It catches prey with those.”

 

This didn’t seem to clear things up for Rodimus any more; he just pouted up at Drift, chin still resting on his shoulder. “It eats things? What are you feeding it?” He retracted his hand, letting it rest back on Drift’s wait to play idly with one of the seams there.

 

Drift snorted. “I have nutritionally adequate substitutes for its normal prey,” he replied. “Anyway, I get the feeling you didn’t really come here to talk about my plants.”

 

From the corner of his optic, Drift saw Rodimus frown harder, though it was in that particular way that he knew meant the mech was trying very hard not to smile instead. “Why do you say that?”

 

Drift snorted softly. “It has a little something to do with the way you’re playing with the seams on my waist.”

 

Rodimus lowered his helm, muffling his laughter into Drift’s plating. “You’re too perceptive.”

 

Drift arched an optic ridge, though the amusement on his features was lost Rodimus, with his face still pressed to Drift’s back. “Perception isn’t exactly required when it comes to you,” he remarked.

 

Wow .” Rodimus lifted his helm, now using the hands on Drift’s waist to turn him around. “At least I don’t talk to a table full of plants.”

 

Embarrassingly, Drift felt a flush of warmth on his features. “Who said I talk to them?” he demanded.

 

A triumphant grin spread across Rodimus’ lips as he leaned in again, his hands resting on the tabletop on either side of Drift’s frame. “No one, except the way you just told on yourself,” he said, snickering.

 

Drift pursed his lips. “They like the vibrations of spoken word,” he said, though he doubted Rodimus cared about his odd defensiveness.

 

“Fascinating.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Rodimus smirked. “Make me.”

 

Drift narrowed his optics a little. As much a pest as Rodimus could be, he sure knew what buttons to press. Without another word, Drift tugged him forward into a kiss, thrilling at the rumble of Rodimus’ engine.

 

Didn’t come for the plants, indeed.