Blackarachnia's bare cranial circuitry gleamed grotesquely in the low light, the organic appendages along her jaw twitching in a way that would have had more squeamish Cybertronians flinching away in disgust. Slipstream, who had known no worlds but this organic planet and its barren moon, simply pulled a harsh claw down Blackarachnia's chest plate, reveling in the prickling sting of techno-organic claws scraping thin peels of metal from her back.
Fanzone, Issac Sumdac
Fanzone paid a visit to Sumdac Tower one day. Out of curiosity, a sense of duty, just looking for someone to commiserate with, he didn't know. It was awkward; he and Issac Sumdac were complete strangers, dissimilar in so many ways, despite having their lives so dramatically influenced by the same set of alien machines. But in the end the robots had come to him for help when Sari needed looking after; he felt a certain responsibility towards her, whether or not he wanted it. And apparently now the girl and the robots were gone, and to his disgruntlement he actually missed them, and he could only think of one other man who might be feeling the absence even more keenly. So he told the man that he'd done his best to look out for the girl, and when Sumdac invited him in for coffee he didn't refuse.
Brawn, Ironhide, Hot Shot
Brawn and Ironhide acted like a pair of mechs who'd not only worked many long, hard shifts together, but who enjoyed being in each other's company. Hot Shot, new to the team, wanted in on it. Red Alert was stand-offish and something in her demeanor intimidated him, and Prime was personable but still his superior officer; what Hot Shot wanted was friends. So when he strode with false confidence into the small rec room for his ration of energon and Ironhide waved him over, Hot Shot joined them with relief. And when Ironhide cracked a dirty joke and Brawn snorted, Hot Shot laughed too. And when Brawn gave him a hearty, friendly slap on the forearm as the two left to go on patrol, Hot Shot did his best to fight down the feeling of disappointed exclusion.
Will and Sarah cuddled in the back of Ironhide's bed, trusting the black mech's sensors to tell them if Annabelle, asleep inside the house, should need them. They gazed up at the stars – so clear out here with no surrounding city or even roadside lamps polluting the night sky with light – and cuddled, sharing soft kisses and the long, tender stroke of hands across neck and arm and waist and occasionally straying down to brush across the metal truck bed. They'd asked him together, if he'd mind, something in Sarah's eyes that brought to mind the gratefulness Optimus used to express when Ironhide managed to bring the troops under his command out of impossible situations with all sparks intact and something in Will's that reminded him of lovers and comrades long lost, and any desire to refuse them had vanished.
Windcharger likes to sneak up on Brawn and goose him with a minor magnetic jolt; Brawn hasn't quite got to the point of actually pouncing on Windcharger himself, but some time ago he'd begun to retaliate out of pure self defense with headlocks and noogies or, on one occasion, by pulling Windcharger around and carrying him, head down, all the way outside before dumping him on his face in the mud. Then Windcharger countered by picking him up and dropping him on his aft and in the subsequent wrestling match Windcharger's magnets might have given him enough of an edge to win if Brawn hadn't kept distracting him. It wasn't fair when your opponent knew all your ticklish spots.
Firestar presses into Chromia fiercely, running high on adrenaline, the heady rush of explosions all around them still ringing in her processor. Chromia secures her blaster in subspace and has to tap Firestar on the temple with the butt of her own gun before Firestar pauses long enough to do the same. Chromia looked beautiful today, thinking fast on her feet as always and handling her weapon with the practiced confidence that never fails to set Firestar's circuits alight. Chromia uses her heavier frame to maneuver Firestar up against a wall, mouthing at the cables in Firestar's neck, hands wandering far too slowly for Firestar's taste. For all her intensity on the battlefield, getting Chromia worked up to a frenzy off of it takes some persistence. Firestar, who likes things hot and fast, tugs impatiently at Chromia's helm, deliberately sending feedback through her audios in a bid to aggravate her into a faster pace. The minor assault causes Chromia to jerk back, optics gleaming, before securing Firestar's arms in one hand and resuming her slow, torturous explorations.
Interfacing with Beachcomber had taught Cosmos nothing if not that peace could be found in even the most passionate of acts. Cosmos was never quite sure just where Beachcomber's attention actually was when they interfaced, what with the way his hands and energy field wandered absently, visor staring off into space. Occasionally a melodious hum escaped him, or a twittering response to a nearby bird, or a flicker of light across the visor as Beachcomber analyzed the components in some tree, or perhaps searched for patterns in the clouds. Things invisible to Cosmos. His sensors were calibrated for the vast, slow turn of space, perfectly in tune with the magnificent spin of the stars and planets above. Cosmos stood beside Beachcomber fully upright – there was no truly comfortable way for him to sit or lie down – and together they would wile away an entire day in the hidden places they found, slowly fluxing their fields with each other and with the unending dance of the universe around them.