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There were obvious benefits in allowing Bumblebee to ride on his shoulder. They could talk to each other with a relative ease that was absent when simply standing beside one another on account of their vast differences in height. Such proximity also gave Bumblebee complete access to kissing Blitzwing whenever he felt like it, which Blitzwing very much appreciated even if he did performatively sigh in exasperation every time Bumblebee hugged him close and pecked his cheek.
Another benefit was Bumblebee’s little fingers, able to touch him in ways that he could scarcely comprehend at times. Currently, Bumblebee’s servos rested on Blitzwing’s helm, one hand propping his chin up while the other languidly circled one of the two ecliptic components at the helm’s top, dipping into delicate interstices. It felt really good, not unlike a massage. His frame rumbled appreciatively.
“Ratchet’s always gives me slag for every single thing I do. Bossbot is no better sometimes. You know what that’s like? Being treated like you’re slag, totally ignored? It’s like they think I’m some kind of idiot, that I can’t do anything right, you know?” Blitzwing held back a moan when Bumblebee absently plunged his finger into the interstice. “Like I don’t measure up to their standards or whatever. It’s so dumb. You know, back at the academy, I used to—”
He could do without the incessant chatter, though.
He mostly half-listened, tuning in every so often when he heard a keyword or phrase that piqued his interest, but wasn’t above completely switching off his audials when he couldn’t take another klik of it. Blitzwing liked Bumblebee well enough, but there were some things that were too much for him to bear. He was at least glad the minibot felt he could vent his frustrations to him, even if they often fell on deaf audials. Bumblebee, indeed.
Blitzwing did not comment as Bumblebee’s chatter began to wane, or when he felt the small frame lean heavily against his helm, as if there was considerable difficulty in keeping himself upright. When he felt the cool metal of Bumblebee’s faceplate gradually settling on the top of his helm, he tentatively reached up and tapped a yellow pede with his finger: a silent question of Are you awake?
A slight jerk, but no response.
Soon Bumblebee was snoring softly. Blitzwing almost continued to prod him, partly because he thought it would be funny to startle the poor little Autobot awake — his I-just-woke-up-faceplate was so cute! — and partly because he worried Bumblebee might take a tumble to the forest floor if he wasn’t careful. Walking gracefully wasn’t something a war frame could easily accomplish; Bumblebee often complained about how bumpy his ride was and, when he felt Blitzwing was being particularly abrasive, grumbled things like “Hey, Blitzbrain! Are we on a gravel road or what?” or “Are you trying to shake me off?”
He wished Bumblebee wouldn’t call him that. “Blitzbrain” was a nickname that exposed his deepest insecurities like they were anything to laugh at and, if Bumblebee put enough venom behind it, sent his servos clutching his helm in shameful concealment. He knew the minibot didn’t know any better; it wasn’t as if he was intentionally trying to hurt him, as Blitzwing had never commented whenever he called him “Blitzbrain” or made light fun of his fractured processor. Bumblebee likely thought he wasn’t bothered, which only deepened Blitzwing’s frustration with himself for being so reticent. Bumblebee would be so upset if he knew…
Someday he hoped to possess the courage to discuss how he truly felt. Blitzwing squeezed the yellow pede affectionately. It would certainly not be today or anytime in the near future, but someday.
Moving onto lines of thought that didn’t send Blitzwing into a spiral of self-deprecation and cursing his own cowardice, Bumblebee had also proved to be a fidgety sleeper, to put it lightly. They had recharged together many times before and Blitzwing unfortunately knew all of Bumblebee’s obnoxious recharge habits. How a minibot less than half his size managed to hog an entire war frame-sized berth to himself was beyond Blitzwing, who would be relegated to huddling at the very edge unless he wanted to risk crushing the little bug. It was much more pleasant when Bumblebee recharged on top of Blitzwing instead, but even then he was constantly shifting and thrashing and kicking and mumbling — yes, he even incessantly chattered in recharge!
At that point, Bumblebee might as well transform into a little car, slam on his horn, and do donuts on top of him. He scarcely knew a good night’s recharge when they were together. In more ways than one, he thought with a placated grin.
The way Bumblebee had rode him just a few hours ago still sent shivers through his circuits. The plush little Autobot valve stretched so deliciously around his spike, lifting himself with a breathy moan and falling back onto the base, a slight distend in the black protoform’s belly shallowly outlining the tip of his spike.
It was truly a sight to behold when he overloaded inside of him, watching transfluid pump and fill him, protoform ballooning to laborious proportions as his tanks were pushed to their limits. The transfluid-drunk expression on Bumblebee’s faceplate was priceless, enough to swell his spike again before he even pulled out.
He would give Bumblebee a bellyful of spike forever if he could.
Snapping himself from the lecherous end of his memory banks, Blitzwing decided to leave the little bug be, for now. He continued a careful pace through the woods, slower than usual and paying special attention to the uneven forest floor below.
Soon the trees dispersed and they came to a clearing headed by open sky. The sun was just beginning to poke its golden head from behind the far mountains, lighting the swaying grass at his pedes in a soft orange glow. His optic sensors dimmed to accommodate the light. He didn’t think he would ever get used to how bright these Earthen sunrises could be.
Blitzwing did not consider himself a romantic by any means but he wished he could look at Bumblebee, see the light reflect off of his chassis and helm, casting his frame in soft oranges and reds. He imagined it to be very pretty. Unfortunately, only the dangling pedes were visible in his peripherals. He gently put his hand over one, stroking the warm metal as if to sooth. Bumblebee sighed, servos tightening around Blitzwing’s helm in a little hug.
Chk. Chk. Chk.
Obnoxious laughter echoed through his processor, desperately trying to fight its way to the surface. Blitzwing stubbornly barred its entry. He knew he shouldn’t do this, nothing good ever came of trying to silence a personality, especially one so eccentric and temperamental, but he just knew his mania would mess everything up!
It was a wonder Bumblebee hadn’t broken up with him over it by now. Sure, he seemed to enjoy the moments when Blitzwing’s mania came to the forefront, laughing along with wild ideas and egging on ridiculous behavior, but there was no telling how long that would last. The jagged red grin was always there when disaster struck, when those around him began rolling their optics, giving him irritated glares, pulling away, not wanting to be around someone who acted so absurdly.
Everyone got sick of Blitzwing eventually. It was only a matter of time before Bumblebee joined them.
He reached his servos up and tightened his grip on both his blue faceplate and helm. A terrible heat beneath his frame boiled and churned, an all-too familiar consequence of trying to shut this part of himself up, but he couldn’t let it win, let it wake Bumblebee from recharge, let it reveal what an unstable and irresponsible mech Blitzwing truly was — he refused to let it ruin everything like it always did.
Chk. Chk. Chk.
If I just — ahahaha-haha-ahaha! — if I — oh, I want to see my little Bee, let me see my pretty little Bee in the pretty light — if I just ignore — I have to tell him he’s so pretty, pretty, pretty — I don’t — hey, hey, why don’t we do jumping jacks? I wanna jump up and up and up and touch the sky!
Blitzwing jerked his helm as he fought the mania squirming within himself. Realizing his mistake, his spark somersaulted in his chassis when Bumblebee dully muttered in his sleep, venting a puff of air before continuing his little snores.
There was little time to be relieved that he did not awaken his Bee because—
Chk-wirr.
Hulking pedes thumped against the dirt as Blitzwing jumped up and down, spreading his servos as if to invite a hug from no one in particular, cackling maniacally.
“Little bug, I have something to tell my little buggy-boo!” he screeched.
He felt Bumblebee’s small frame jostle around due to his jumping, slowly slipping out of recharge, cogs churning and circuitry buzzing back to a functional state of consciousness. (He loved being so close that he could hear every little component in Bumblebee’s frame!) A yellow servo reached down and caressed the black faceplate, tracing the jagged dentae and deep-set optic ridges as if to shush his loud voice.
“Huh? What is it, Blitzy?” he asked groggily.
Somewhere in Blitzwing’s processor, he felt relieved that Bumblebee was not irritated with him. However, his current personality cared little for trivial things like the feelings of others and pulled on Bumblebee’s pedes excitedly.
“Wakey, wakey! I have something to tell you! Hehehe! Something very, very, very important!”
The sudden pulling seemed to bring him to his senses. He leaned over to look Blitzwing in the face, slightly concerned.
“Hey, hey, calm down, big guy! What’s gotten into you?”
“Are you ready? Are you ready for what I’m gonna tell you? Are you, are you?”
“I am, I am,” he laughed. “Spill it already!”
Chk-wirr.
The blue faceplate was absolutely petrified. He hadn’t intended to be switched to the forefront without his consent. His entire frame stiffened, optic and monocle as wide as saucers, his intake opening and closing uselessly, unable to form words.
Blitzwing was going to kill that wretched personality chip, tear the stupid face out of his helm, sever the accursed circuits that connected them, burn the fragging—
“What?” he asked. “What happened? Why do you look like that? Are you alright?” Bumblebee grasped at his own face in search of a scuff or dent. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Uh…”
“C’mon, tell me! What’s wrong?”
“What I wanted to tell you is… the Earth sun and… and I just like the way…” He paused, desperately trying to collect himself. “Um…”
Ahahaha!
Shut up.
“I think you look… good.”
Bumblebee was looking at him like he had rotaries for optics and a cockpit for a helm. “What?”
“Because of the sun. It’s pretty and it makes you… you look… uh, nice. Very nice.”
“The sun…?” Bumblebee’s helm turned to face the sunset, then looked back at Blitzwing with softer optics. “Oh. You’re complimenting me,” he blurted, now a little awkward too. “Uh, thanks. That’s… that’s really sweet of you, Blitzy.”
This was new territory for Blitzwing. Sure, they regularly fragged each other like a pair of wild animals and sucked each other’s intakes as if it was the last time they’d be together, but romantic gestures did not come as naturally, especially ones of a verbal nature. Bumblebee knew Blitzwing was a reserved mech who had been “out of the game” for a very, very long time; he figured he would go at his own pace, opening up little by little as he grew more comfortable with their relationship.
This, on the other hand, was quite sudden. Still, he appreciated the gesture, even if it was incredibly awkward. Baby steps, he supposed.
“We should probably get going. Bossbot will be expecting me back at the base by now.”
Blitzwing looked to the horizon then back at Bumblebee, disappointment apparent on his face. “Alright.”
“And Blitzwing?”
“Y-yes?”
“You look good too. The light really brings out your optics.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you.”
As they continued through the woods, Bumblebee pretended not to see the deep purple blush creeping across Blitzwing’s faceplate.
He smirked, leaning over to kiss a purple cheek. What a sap.