Archive of Our Own

Ultra Magnus struggles with how the Lost Light is being run. He knows the state of their mission is flimsy at best, given the enormous number of setbacks they’ve already faced. Not to mention Rodimus’ cobbled together solutions that suffer improper welding and loose screws.

Magnus vents heavily, aware of how worn he must be to use superfluous metaphors like that. This ship, this crew, is changing him. He’s not sure if it’s for the better. Being the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord meant that he had a manual for all matters except himself.

His hobbies, opinions, personality, he keeps hidden. He has an image to uphold, the bastion of justice, feared by rule breakers and Decepticons alike.

But sometimes he just doesn’t know what to do. It’s like the members of the Lost Light are finding new ways to bend the rules, bleeding gray into the black and white structure he’s created.

It infuriates him, not because of his title, although that had been stripped of him, but because of his inability to remain objective. Each day he feels his personality slipping out into the open. Everything inside him tells him that’s a bad thing, that he’s a rule breaker by indulging in himself.

Ultra Magnus’ helm falls into his servos. He’s sitting at his desk roiling inside his own processor while roughly 27 unsigned datapads stare back at him.

The frown on his face gets impossibly deeper, almost a grimace. His derma moving reminding him of a horrible memory.

Primus! He can’t believe they made him smile. SMILE! If anybody gets wind of him making a funny face, all hell will break loose. Rewind even recorded him hugging Thunderclash, and the video was shown to hundreds of other bots in an effort to recruit more to their mission. All because he saw a straight badge and received a compliment. His vanity has truly exceeded his armor.

How has chaos not yet consumed the universe?

Is he even worthy to be called Ultra Magnus?…Magnus: “great”…was he even that great? Magnus…Magnus…magnus…

“MAGNUS!! Mags! Helloooooo??”

“What, Rodimus…”

Rodimus stands before his desk. He must’ve not heard him come in. He was almost startled…almost.

Before he can barricade Rodimus’ approach, Rodimus leans over his desk, getting right in his personal space, face plating stretching over a smug grin.

“What’s gotcha down big guy?”

“Nothing, what do you need?”

“Well,” Rodimus leans even closer, “I had a date with all those datapads you’ve seemed to stockpile, but my first officer has not come to bother me with them.”

Ultra Magnus looks down at the datapads and then back to Rodimus.

“Normally, I’d have to drag you kicking and screaming to take care of administrative work, why seek me out?”

“Oh, um,” Rodimus stands up straight and folds his arms rather defensively, “you don’t seem…well you didn’t come see me…” Rodimus ex-vents loudly and tries again, “Are you ok?”

“Define ‘okay’.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately, man.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? It lets me do my job.”

Rodimus balks.

“Wha-? No, Magsy, we want you to be yourself.”

“Don’t call me Magsy, and who’s ‘we’?”

“A-actually it might just be me…I don’t think anyone else has noticed…” Rodimus whispers that last part but Ultra Magnus picks up on it.

“Besides! You would’ve been on my aft about those signatures! Even if it’s your job or whatever, you like to do stuff like that and haven’t been. You hardly notice when Swerve’s badge is askew! He can’t go around repping the Autobots like that!”

“He can’t…”

“And! I think this is happening because you’re burnt out!”

“What? Ratchet said my energy levels were fine.”

“Ugh, not your energy levels, your processor! The mental part of you needs rest.”

“I…don’t understand. I never get tired, I recharge the recommended amount.”

“Sure, but you don’t rest your processor!”

Ultra Magnus furrows his face. Putting more emphasis on “rest” was not changing the meaning of the statement. He had talked with Rung about mental concepts before, but they didn’t get very far.

“Ok, you’re definitely not getting it. What I’m trying to say is…care to have a drink with me at Swerve’s bar?”

If this will get Rodimus to leave him alone, then fine. He’s already smiled and engaged in a hug. Participating in social drinking one more time couldn’t make his reputation any worse.

“An- And then I just steal this ship that’s lyin’ around because Primus knows I had to get the frag outta there!”

Ultra Magnus ex-vents in frustration, clasping his servos together and leveling Rodimus with a stern look.

“I know. That was my ship. And you left me there…on Earth with no way to leave.”

“Oh…right…WELL! All’s well that ends well! Now you’re here with me! Searching the stars for the Knights of Cybertron!”

Rodimus clasps Magnus’ arm and looks off into the distance as if seeing something magical that he was not privy to.

He didn’t have the spark to shrug him off. Despite rehashing old wounds, Ultra Magnus found some comfort in Rodimus’ company. Anything was better than sitting alone in his office waiting for everything to fall apart even if it meant witnessing a tipsy Rodimus.

He’s feeling a little floaty himself, the engex tastes better than usual. Eventually, Rodimus’ words fade on the air as Ultra Magnus peruses the bar’s denizens.

Tailgate sits with his usual crew, Cyclonus sitting almost too close to him. Whirl is enraptured in talking about what some might consider a war crime. Skids saw Whirl’s story as an opportunity to start a pissing match, and the rest just seemed too out of it to care.

Swerve consistently refills their drinks, leaving some Autobots waiting impatiently at the bar.

Magnus’ optics linger on Tailgate and Cyclonus once more. There is something about their relationship he can’t quite place. Some level of respect…and affection? Ever since they interrupted Tailgate listening to Cyclonus sing in ancient Cybertronian, he didn’t place any more meaning behind the strange sounds he hears outside their door. But a bot can wonder about how often they “sing”.

He pulls out of his thoughts as soon as he feels Rodimus fully hug his arm. Bright blue optics peer up at him.

“You haven’t been listening this entire time, have you?”

“Uh…” Magnus’ face plating sports a pink hue, “You were talking about…taking my ship?”

“Bzzt! Wrong! I talked about that like joors ago!”

Now, Magnus knew that it had not been that long. Rodimus had a penchant for hyperbole.

Ultra Magnus stalls. He’s at a loss for words. It is not kind of him to ignore the only bot who cared to pull him out of his doldrum.

“Alright, Magsie. I’ll let you off this time. I know you already got a lot on your mind.”

“Er, no, I was just…” Magnus quickly looks to Tailgate and Cyclonus. Rodimus follows his gaze.

“Oh! Lookin’ at the lovebirds I see! My theory is that they’re reaching conjunx endura territory. I mean I’ve never seen Cyclonus tolerate someone more than Tailgate. Not only that,” Rodimus uses Magnus’ arm as leverage to get closer to his audial for a whisper, “I think their ‘singing’ is a cover for fraggin–”

Magnus immediately smothers Rodimus’ face with a large servo.

“Don’t imply such things! With that language no less!” His voice came out in a harsh whisper.

He can feel Rodimus smile giddily beneath his palm. Feeling embarrassed, Magnus removes his servo and sits ramrod straight, looking dead ahead.

“What are you so shy about? All bots do it. I know Cyclonus just appreciates his privacy and probably made a cover.”

“Why are we still talking about this…” Magnus grit, maintaining his far-off stare.

“Because out of all the things on the ship, this might be the most interesting. We could use a little soap opera to draw us away from the crippling weight of a dead-end quest.”

“I would hardly call what they have a ‘soap opera’… it feels so real…” Magnus’ optics became a little empty.

Rodimus shifts into his line of sight.

“Why are you so caught up in this? I thought you didn’t care about this kind of stuff. Too…emotional for you I guess.”

Ultra Magnus feels the corners of his derma draw down.

“I–I have…I just want to understand. My whole life has been my job. Doesn’t leave room for much else.”

Rodimus’ optics imperceptibly soften. He grabs Magnus’ servo.

“Well, as a bot of action, I can help you!”

“WHAT!?” Ultra Magnus finally broke his staring competition with dead space and looks at Rodimus. What does he mean? He can’t possibly…

“We can have you speed date members of the crew to help you understand attraction and maybe give insight into what you want in a ‘junx!”

“That is the single most stupid idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Too bad! It’s an order! I’m the captain, I can do these things.”

“You realize I’m more of an outside party? The only commands I follow are the Autobot  Code and Tyrest’s intergalactic law.”

“Tyrest had a screw loose, and I think this will help you relax your brain from work.”

Ultra Magnus ex-vents loudly. Maybe it can’t hurt to try. Rung kept saying he needed a small break. Besides, meeting with members of the crew can help him make sure all rules are followed. Some of those badges won’t fix themselves.

“Fine.”

“Dude, I swear to Primus Ultra Magnus dead stared at me for a few kliks. He was just talking to Rodimus and then all of a sudden looked at me…menacingly. My badge is straight, right?”

“Swerve,” Skids ex-vents, “For the fifth time, yes, it’s straight. He was probably looking behind you.”

“No, no, can’t be. He was looking into the windows of my spark, Skids. Something about me is off and I don’t know what. Primus, if he comes looking for me, I bequeath the bar to you.”

“For frags sake, Swerve, it’s probably nothing.”

Ultra Magnus paces nervously in his office. Rodimus said that he collected a list of Lost Light members and was sending them to his office for short scheduled meetings. He even gave Magnus a detailed planner…which is the most initiative from Rodimus he’s ever seen. If only Rodimus could apply that determination to other things.

Receiving an organized document from his captain sent a flutter through his system. His processor did mini flips just imagining Rodimus putting it together for him. The feeling, however, is oppressed by crippling anxiety when he remembers what the list is for.

Ultra Magnus is going to try… speed dating.

Ratchet

“Hey, Magnus. Reporting as commanded…although the reason I’m here is still unclear. Kid wasn’t too keen on sharing the details.”

Oh Primus, Rodimus most likely gave vague commands so that bots would actually show up. Looks like he’s going to have to do the tough part.

“Ratchet, thank you for coming. Rodimus…deems it necessary that I understand how interpersonal relationships work.”

Ultra Magnus is using Rodimus to deflect. In reality, he’s curious about collecting data on the subject but is too afraid to voice it.

Ratchet scoffs, “What like having friends or colleagues? Because I think you know how colleagues work. Friends, a little less, but you’ve been making strides. Even Rung says so.”

“Wha–? You and Rung talk about me?”

“Well, as the ship’s Chief Medical Officer it’s good to know the physical and mental well-being of all the crew. I mean, Rung takes care of the mental bit, but informs me if I should be concerned.”

“And you’re concerned that I’m making friends?”

“Look, I’m not trying to be invasive. It just came up over a conversation and some drinks.”

“I see. It is of no consequence.”

“Well, is that it? I really got to get back to work. The medbay won’t clean itself.”

“N-no. I…uh…actually wanted to ask about romantic relationships.”

“Romantic?” Ratchet looks surprised. Ultra Magnus feels his engine burn hot. This is humiliating.

“Nevermin–“

“No! It’s fine,” Ratchet holds his servos up defensively, “It’s just…I don’t think I’m the best bot to ask. All caught up with my work y’know. Although any relationship I’ve had was exiled.”

“Drift?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. It feels stupid. We’re so different: He’s religious, I’m atheist; ex-Decepticon, Autobot; murder machine, medic…the list goes on.”

“What attracted you to him in the first place?”

“His ability to change. I saw that kid in the darkest pits of despair, helped him clean up, but in the end, he put in the most work. He might have headed in the wrong direction for a while, trusted the sweet words of conniving warmongers, but eventually came around.” Ratchet looks wistful, “He did nothing but try to prove himself on this ship, to prove that change is possible.”

“Hm. That is commendable. Perhaps we were all too hard on him. In his absence, the cracks in leadership begin to show.”

“Is that a metaphor, Magnus?” Ratchet looks at him smugly.

“I’m trying to ‘soften my image.’ Rung suggested it.”

Ratchet bellows a laugh.

“It’s good to see you working on yourself. I sometimes forget there’s someone behind all that armor.”

Ultra Magnus stiffened. That statement is truer than anything else. Does Ratchet mean literally? No, it was merely a figure of speech. One that infused a small hurt down to his spark. Does anyone think of him as more than his job?

“Thank you, Ratchet.”

“Yeah, no problem…although I’m not quite sure what we were accomplishing. It’s always good to talk, though.”

With that, Ratchet exits his office. The room feels unnaturally empty, but another is soon to enter according to the schedule.

While uncomfortable, Magnus at least learned something. The capability to change…

Perceptor

The task of explaining the need for their presence is tough but becoming easier.

“I would laugh, but it seems you’re serious. Look, all I do is keep my helm down and do my work.”

Before Ultra Magnus could ask the question differently–

“Did Brainstorm put you up to this? He’s always trying to find ways to one-up me. How he thinks relationships would make him a better scientist is beyond me. Listen, Magnus, the only relationship I care about is me and the facts. I swear to Primus, when I figure out what’s inside that damn briefcase, I’ll be the one to understand it better than he does.”

Perceptor leaves without much fanfare. Well, that was…unhelpful.

Brainstorm

“See! You looked away and forgot! That’s why this baby is on me at all times.”

“Right…what does it even do?”

“I knew it! Perceptor is out to get my secrets! That piece of scrap! I can’t believe he’d try to get you of all bots to do it. Not even the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord can get me to talk.”

“I’m not–“

“Using a ploy like relationship-advice to get me to open up. They don’t call me the ship genius for nothing! You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”

“The question is no ploy. I am genuinely interested.”

Brainstorm clutches the briefcase to his chassis and eyes Magnus suspiciously.

“Ok…what do you want to know?”

“Well, what do you look for in…in a Conjunx Endura?”

“What a strange question, I thought you’d at least want to ask me for some kind of cool specialized weapon for combat or something. I got some projects cooking up in the lab because Perceptor didn’t think I was ‘capable’. Smug son of a glitch.”

Magnus in-vents to speak–

“Listen Mags,”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Listen, I’m not one for that kind of stuff. Science is my one true love. And as much as I hate to say it, Perceptor is the only bot that pushes me in new directions. Most of my cool weapons are made out of spite…for him…” Brainstorm seems to drift for a bit, “I gotta outcompete that gashole or I’ll lose. And I don’t want to lose.”

After Brainstorm left, Ultra Magnus ponders his words. Magnus was pretty dense when it came to relationships but it seems Brainstorm and Perceptor, while slightly volatile, drive each other toward new successes. He can’t imagine they’d hate each other that much when there’s so much in common.

Whirl

“Who’s got time for scrap like that? You know how I’d like to spend my time? Watching the spark leave the optics of some Decepticon who was fortunate enough to bleed out by my claws…”

Whirl stands to his full height, arms flinging high in the air in jubilation.

“AND THEN ALL WILL PROCEED TO KNOW MY NAME AS I KILL MEGATRON!”

“Yesssssss, I can see it now…” blue claws clack together unnervingly, “I’ll deal with him the same way I dealt with Killmaster, taking his huge arm cannon and shoving it up his–“

“OK!” Ultra Magnus has to stop this immediately, “Whirl, t-thank you…for that. You can see yourself out.”

“No thanks necessary! I am just helping the Autobot cause!” He stands proudly, claws on hips.

As the door opens to his exit, Whirl kicks it open, frustrated with its “slow” progress. He turns down the hall to go to Primus knows where, and the door slides shut.

No one else would notice, but Magnus sees a small dent left behind by that little miscreant.

Well, he ex-vents, at least Whirl is fighting for the Autobots instead of the Decepticons, although he’s at a loss as to why.

In the notes of his datapad, Magnus crosses out Whirl’s name and the blank space dedicated underneath. Nothing can be learned from that bot.

Swerve

“H-hey, Ultra Magnus…sir.” Swerve stands timidly in the doorway.

“You may enter, have a seat.”

Swerve nearly trips over his pedes finding his way to the chair directly facing Ultra Magnus. Only the desk forms a barrier between them.

Ultra Magnus notes that Swerve looks like he’s going to fall apart at any moment. Not only that, but he is also oddly quiet.

“Swerve?”

“Huh? What? W-What’s up?”

“If you think you’re sick, report to the medbay and inform Ratchet immediately.”

“I’m not sick…I don’t think. Do you think I’m sick? Is there something about my appearance that’s off?”

“No…are you alright?”

“Primus, Magnus! I mean…Ultra Magnus…sir. Please just tell me what I did wrong! I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since last night and I seriously have no idea. I checked my badge a million times and it looks straight to me! See?”

Swerve pulls out a small level, the bubble floating perfectly between two black lines as he places it on the small ridge of his Autobot badge.

“That’s…that’s actually very impressive, Swerve.”

Ultra Magnus becomes lost in the beauty of precision, not as good as Thunderclash’s but damn close. He didn’t realize he’s holding Swerve in perpetual silent agony.

“Please! Just don’t give me rivet duty again!”

“What?” Magnus was dragged from his paradise, “No, Swerve, nothing’s wrong. Why do you think I called you here for punishment?”

“You were glaring at me, last night in my bar. You even ignored the Captain because I’ve committed some infraction so horrible…I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Swerve,” Ultra Magnus pinches his brow, “I was just spacing out, you’re here to help me.”

“Help you? With what?”

“What do you know about romantic relationships?”

Swerve looks completely caught off guard.

“Relationships? Well, I know Tailgate and Cyclonus are definitely in one. Did you know that in my bar, Cyclonus threatens at least 2 bots a night with death if they get too close to Tailgate? Sometimes they stay late to sing old Cybertronian lullabies. Not that I understand any of it. And of course, you know about Chromedome and Rewind…man, Chromedome isn’t doing too good. He’s heavy on the engex, but I try to limit his intake. A good barkeep knows when to stop serving. Now that I think about it, Perceptor and Brainstorm are oddly close although they argue a lot. It might be some type of love-hate situation. And not to mention–“

“Swerve! Thank you…for your input. You can be quiet now.” Ultra Magnus is not one to gossip and, Primus, did it take everything in his processor to actively listen to Swerve. He likes him better when he’s quiet.

“I am aware of most of the relationships on the ship, I just…don’t quite understand them.”

“You mean you’re not trying to get me to “out” them? I figured there was some rule that relationships had to be approved by you and the Captain or something.”

“While that is a rule I’d like to keep, no, it’s too invasive. Besides, you were quick to sell out others’ relationships. While I don’t condone breaking any rules, it seems unbecoming to give up information of other Autobots if you thought there were consequences.”

Swerve stiffens. “N-no! I just…I just don’t know when to quit talking I guess…I notice a lot tending bar. People let their guard down.”

“Indeed.” Magnus can tell Swerve was parsing out if he agreed with the “talking too much” statement or the latter.

“Well, our allotted meeting time has terminated, you can see yourself out.”

“T-thanks.” Swerve fumbles out of his seat and makes for the door.

“Oh, and Swerve?”

“Yeah?” He turns to look behind.

“Your badge is phenomenally straight…but it’s off-center. Fix it roughly 1/16^th of an inch to the left.”

Swerve drops his helm down to look. He really can’t see the issue but resigns anyway.

“Thanks, Ultra Magnus, will do.”

And he was gone.

Ultra Magnus found that meeting largely unproductive. Swerve was so worried about rule infringements and other bots’ relationships that he didn’t find any useful information at all.

Oh, well. On to the next one.

Skids

“Man, I hardly know anything about myself. You think I’d have any information on my previous romantic exploits?”

“Ok…point taken. But, has anything happened recently that would be helpful?”

“What, are you serious?”

Magnus’ frown remains unchanged.

“Alright then, definitely serious. Um…no? All I do is help clean up the messes we make along the way and almost start bar fights with other races.”

“You start bar fights with other species!?”

“No…I did say ‘almost,’ clarifying word, Ultra Magnus.”

This is the longest day Ultra Magnus has ever suffered on the Lost Light.

“Go, you’re of no help.”

Instead of guilt, Skids just looks concerned.

“You alright big guy?”

“Yes. Leave.”

Tailgate

“Reporting for duty, sir!” Tailgate patters into his office with a salute, climbing into the seat and looking at Ultra Magnus expectantly. His pedes hanging several feet from the floor.

“Yes, thank you, Tailgate. Describe your relationship with Cyclonus.”

“What!?” Tailgate holds his helm with both servos, pink flushing his faceplate, “That’s private…”

“You do not have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I mean, Cyclonus is very…he’s very cool y’know? Those sharp horns and cutting faceplate with a look that sends chills down my back-strut. Not only that, but he knows Ancient Cybertronian! Sometimes he sings me lullabies from a long time ago.” Tailgate’s pedes begin to swing back and forth in excitement.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Ah, yes…that. He really was singing to me y’know. It was beautiful, but other bots don’t see him the way I do. They think his singing is ugly.” Something changes in Tailgate’s demeanor.

“You offered him your innermost energon, correct?”

Tailgate throws his helm between his knees in embarrassment, servos covering his visor.

“Hahaha…yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

Blue optics sprung up to look him in the face.

“Why? Because I care for him, that’s why. He was injured…because he saved me from that explosion. He also saved me from my cyberchrosis using his own spark! He’s a little rough around the edges, but I know he cares too. He wouldn’t have done something like that if he didn’t care.”

Magnus is a little off-put by the sudden confidence. There is something endearing about Tailgate’s honesty.

“Have you been keeping up with your studies?”

“Of course, sir! I could probably give you a run for your money on reciting the Autobot code!”

A small smile creeps onto Magnus’ faceplate. He feels proud.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, I’ve been living this code for many cycles. It’s become me.”

Tailgate takes his statement with some consternation.

“A part of you, sir.”

That assertion stuns Ultra Magnus into silence.

“Just like Cyclonus fell in with Galvatron, that time is merely a part of him. He is so much more than the scarlet letter bots are so eager to brand him with.”

How oddly…insightful. This shouldn’t surprise him with how quickly Tailgate had taken to learning the Autobot code and its intricacies. They need more recruits like Tailgate.

“Anyways! I’m going to be late for a meet-up with Whirl! He promised to teach me how to fight!”

Perhaps he spoke too soon.

“Be careful.”

Cyclonus

Cyclonus stands there, arms crossed, wordlessly staring down Ultra Magnus.

“You may have a seat.”

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Okay…”

This persistent threatening exchange is starting to wear on Magnus.

“If you don’t want anything from me, I’ll be leaving.” Cyclonus does an about-face and is already halfway to the door.

“Cyclonus, wait.”

He stops his march but does not turn around.

“It’s about Tailgate.”

Within nano-kliks Cyclonus is gripping Magnus’ desk, horns uncomfortably close to his face plate.

“I swear on my life if you do anything to hurt him–”

“Why would I do that? Tailgate is an Autobot, an honorable one at that.” Cyclonus’ trust issues have really become a problem.

“Then, what?”

“My question is, why have you become so taken with him?”

Cyclonus crosses his arms, defensive. He sizes Ultra Magnus up cautiously.

“That’s preposterous. I treat him like every other useless Autobot on this ship.”

“It won’t do you good to lie to me.” Magnus stands to his full height, imposing shadow looming over Cyclonus.

The threat falls on deaf audials. Cyclonus draws his attention upwards but does not back down. Instead, he confidently sneers in Magnus’ face.

“What is my business, stays my business. I’m not afraid of your laws. They don’t apply to me.”

That statement alone breaks Magnus out of the stubborn altercation. He was supposed to be asking for help, not intimidating him. Cyclonus seems to bring out some angry fire in his spark and this time he got the better of him. Magnus took in a deep vent and sat down.

If Cyclonus really thought that he was outside of the law, then he wouldn’t maintain a somewhat peaceful demeanor on this ship. He wouldn’t fight alongside them, save the lives of other Autobots, stay on their dead-end quest.

“I apologize. I did not mean to argue. I’m actually trying to ask for your help.”

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of doing it.” Cyclonus’ guard drops slightly. He actually sits down.

“What I mean to ask is, what about Tailgate earned your trust?”

Cyclonus remained silent, not furious, but merely thinking.

“He got to know me. Parts of me I thought long forgotten.”

Before Magnus could respond, Cyclonus left.

Their relationship seems quite complex. Tailgate openly shows affection, Cyclonus feigns irritation. Yet, Tailgate is not deterred, the opposite actually. Cyclonus pushing him away sparks Tailgate’s attention tenfold. It’s as if they’re magnetized and Cyclonus’ magnet changes polarity for merely a moment, but they always come back together.

He thought of himself very similar to Cyclonus: defined by duty and branded by the past. Perhaps one day, someone will reach into the depths of his spark and cast away the persona he’s been living every day. Just once, he’d like to relax and not bear the weight of such a heavy duty, not feel optics following his every move.

Chromedome

“Hey, what’s this about? I’m kinda busy.” Chromedome enters sluggishly.

“Rewind.” Magnus internally winces at his own lack of tact, but he sees no better way to approach the subject.

“NO! No! I’m not doing this!” Chromedome threw up his servos in frustration, shifting out of his seat to leave.

“Chromedome, listen to me,” Magnus is suddenly next to him, servo resting on Chromedome’s shoulder. “The…crew is worried about you. You hardly come out of your quarters and when you do, it’s to go to Swerve’s.”

“And this is your job, how!?” Magnus’ servo is shrugged off. “Magnus. I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

“How did you know you loved him?”

Chromedome stops resisting. His helm sags into his servos. The light in his optics bubble out at the corners.

“Love him, Magnus. I still do. I always will.” Chromedome’s expression is difficult to decipher, “Spending every moment with him, teaching each other new things about whatever stupid little hobbies we have, watching the light in his optic shimmer with passion as he spoke, looking out across the stars with him and wondering what else could be out there, sacrificing so much for each other…that’s how I knew.”

Rung

“Ultra Magnus? Do you require an emergency session? We normally meet tomorrow.” Rung arrives, notepad and stylus at the ready.

“No, Rung. I’m alright. Please have a seat.”

Rung sits down, one leg crossed over the other, stylus poised to jot down some notes.

“So, why have you brought me here today? Concerned about a crewmate?”

“There are some bots I’d like you to speak with, but that is not my primary reason. What do you know about romantic relationships?”

“Well, how would you describe them?” Ah, yes, Rung wouldn’t let him off that easily. He should have known this would turn into some kind of therapy session. “What would a romantic relationship look like to you, Magnus?”

“I guess it would be a mutual understanding between two bots that entails closer interactions…”

“That’s very vague. Can you describe what kind of interactions?”

“Um…no.”

“Magnus…we’ve been through this. I know you are capable of describing difficult concepts, you just hide behind your embarrassment.”

Rung always has him verbally pinned. Some things are not as simple as right and wrong, black and white. Magnus ex-vents in frustration.

“Such interactions would be…sharing interests, protecting each other, growing together, learning from each other, divulging personal information, p–phys– um… physical touch.” Magnus definitely mumbles that last bit as if something would strike him down. At least he’s able to list other things he learned from this hellish day.

“Mhmm…” Rung writes furiously on his notepad. Ultra Magnus feels hot with embarrassment. What warrants an “Mhmm” and note taking?

“What are you writing?”

“Magnus, you know that’s not how we do things.”

“Right…” It takes everything in his power to not run away. Rung always had a way of hitting the nail on the head, slowly driving it into his processor, and watching him flail helplessly.

“What have I told you about worrying how others perceive you? I am writing notes, not judging. Validation comes from yourself, Magnus. When you get better at that, things like dissenting opinions or consistently being watched won’t bother you much anymore. You will have all you need from yourself.”

“But, what if–”

“Nope, you’ve been traveling that negative neural pathway for far too long, try exercising your positive self-talk pathway. I believe you’re holding yourself back with this inner critic. It most likely started as the voice of Tyrest and has now evolved into your own voice. Is there anything or anyone that helps you focus on your true self? Eases you into yourself rather than the persona which you’ve been thrust into?”

“Rodimus…”

“Rodimus? Explain.” More writing.

“I–uh. I don’t know why I said his name. Disregard that.” Rung levels him with the most withering, incredulous expression. No way out of this one. “He–He is the only bot that seems to see more within me,” Although Tailgate sees something more as well. “He spends time with me, not out of obligation but because he wants to. And even though he infuriates me and is one of the most reckless and arrogant captains I’ve ever worked with; he is learning, maturing, handling dangerous situations with more intent. He’s no Optimus Prime, but he’s open to change.”

“And how does that affect you?”

“I’m changing too. He’s driven me to do and try things I would have never entertained before. When he saw the real me, Minimus Ambus, he didn’t even flinch. He was so ready to accept things about me I thought shameful. When he sacrificed his own spark for the sake of those born cold, I saw a leader. When he confessed to me about Overlord, I was angry. But now, I see he was trying to take accountability. He’s shaped up to be a fine Captain.”

“You speak very highly of him.” Rung tapped the stylus against his bottom derma.

“Yes.”

“Ultra Magnus, did you notice that when speaking about Rodimus, you’ve checked some boxes of the “closer interactions” you listed?”

Energon floods heavily into Magnus’ face plate.

“S–some things on that list could pertain to platonic companionship as well!”

“I agree. And how would you categorize the nature of your relationship with Rodimus? Rather, which category do you desire it to be in?”

“T–THAT’S HARDLY–I’M NOT ANSWERING THAT!!”

Rung holds up one servo, signaling for Magnus to stop.

“There is no need to yell.”

“Sorry…I don’t know what became of myself.”

“Your homework is to answer my question and better understand the reaction you gave me just now.” Rung jots down a few more things. “I’ll be taking my leave. We did good work today, Magnus. You are welcome to see me again tomorrow as usual or reschedule.”

How had this derailed so terribly? Ultra Magnus was supposed to ask the questions, gain insight from a learned individual about romance. Not…not have a surprise therapy session.

Primus, today was exhausting. From what he sees, no other bots are scheduled for this little “speed dating” catastrophe.

Ultra Magnus sits at his desk, an unmoving statue lost in thought. The room is cold, empty. Sound only emerges from his rhythmic venting.

What did Rodimus mean to him? Ratchet admires Drift’s ability to change. Rodimus set aside his ego to save lives, follow the wishes of the crew. Perceptor and Brainstorm challenge each other to achieve new heights. Rodimus challenges him to branch out socially, turn associates into friends. Cyclonus respects Tailgate and Tailgate is undeterred by Cyclonus’ sharp exterior, looking inward. Rodimus ignores imposing titles to talk to him, get to know him. Chromedome and Tailgate both mentioned sacrifice…

Son of a glitch.

Magnus’ helm thumps repeatedly against his desk. He cannot chastise himself over that little curse when he has a much bigger problem. With this little thought exercise, he practically finished checking off the rest of his romantic relationship activities except physical touch.

When he tries to think about all the times they touched, it’s mostly Rodimus’ friendly gestures. A servo on the shoulder, a pat on the back plate, an elbow to the mid-section. Then, then he remembers. Rodimus in the bar, hugging his arm, looking up at him with those mischievous optics.

His vents puff air at a faster pace. He thought nothing of it in the moment, but with these new personal realizations, the memory seems different somehow.

“FRAG!”

“WHOA, Mags! I’ve never heard you use that language! Is everything alright?”

Ultra Magnus looks up from his despair. Of course, Rodimus decides to sneak in at this very moment.

“What? Here for my report?”

“Actually, you have one more bot to meet with.”

“The schedule you made doesn’t have any more meetings. Who?”

“Me.”

Rodimus

“Well?” Rodimus taps his pede impatiently. Taking his usual unprofessional form: slouching back in his seat, one leg crossed, an arm bent with one servo holding up his helm, the other tapping incessantly against the arm of the chair.

“Well, what?” Magnus is so, so tired.

“Are you going to ask me questions or not?”

Magnus’ servos slam into his face plate, rubbing against his optics.

“Do I have to do this with you of all people?”

“While that is a question, it’s not one I appreciate, Mags. Take this seriously.”

Wha–? Seriously? This entire day was a tremendous waste of time he could have spent working…although deep inside he wouldn’t be caught saying that around Rung. Rung would know the things he learned today, know that he is now cursed with knowledge. And because of that, Rung thinks he’s accomplished quite a lot.

Magnus almost wants to expel a growl in frustration. He is going to have to face this head-on.

“Rodimus,” Magnus speaks spiritlessly, “How would you pick a romantic partner?” The question is asked with much reluctance and effort.

“Thank you for asking! I’m not really sure…”

“All this pomp and circumstance, and you’re not sure!?”

“HEY! I’m not done!” Rodimus holds up a digit to shush him. “As I was saying, I’m not really sure how I’d pick a ‘junx. All I’ve been in are these meaningless flings that don’t really satisfy me at all.” Rodimus’ pose becomes sheepish. “I do really want someone to spend my life with. Despite all these friends, I feel lonely. Sometimes I think it’s because I burn bridges when I get too close. I have this twisted sense of self-preservation that destroys everything around me. Maybe it’s because I set ablaze all that I had in the first place…”

Ultra Magnus heard of how Rodimus, or Hot Rod at the time, destroyed his own home and people to save them from becoming fuel for Zeta Prime’s war machines. Magnus cannot fathom having to destroy everything you love in such a way…

Maybe he could try to relate. His title stripped from him, unknowingly supporting the laws of a tyrant, his secret exposed. Yet, after all that, just as the Autobots accepted Hot Rod into their ranks, Rodimus continued to want him as his Commanding Officer. Continued to consult him for important decisions.

“Rodimus…you can’t blame–”

“WOW! That got a little heavy, huh?” Magnus can tell Rodimus is deflecting but gave him the courtesy to do so.

“On a lighter note: I can tell you what I’d like for them to look like, maybe how they act.”

Magnus steels himself. This could go one of two ways: Rodimus describes details that would make any bot blush, or Rodimus describes somebody who is completely different from himself. Primus, Magnus can’t believe he’s already lamenting not being Rodimus’ type.

“I want…someone big, like really big!”

“Rodimus, that’s hardly appropriate.”

“Get your processor out of the gutter, Magnus! Large in stature! Someone who can set me straight because let’s be honest, I’m kind of a loose cannon.”

“You’re getting better at curbing that behavior.”

“As Captain, but not as a partner. I can be a little wild.” Rodimus grins salaciously.

Magnus can only imagine what he’s implying.

“This mech would know when to control me, put me in my place. But at the same time, I want to be able to overpower him at times.”

“This seems very conflicting.”

“Not at all! There’s a mech out there for everyone. I just gotta pick the right one! Anyways, he and I would also be like best buds! Spend a lotta time together, getting to know one another on a deeper level.” Rodimus shoots Ultra Magnus with an indescribable look. He can’t place it; all he knows is that it is getting hotter in his office and his vents kick on rather loudly.

“Someone I can trust to take care of me as I take care of him, relax him from all of his worries gathered throughout the day.”

Ultra Magnus can see Rodimus drawing a circle repeatedly on his desk with one digit. Now that he’s paying more attention, when did Rodimus lean so far forward in his space? He’s feeling a bit claustrophobic.

Rodimus senses the discomfort. He almost looks, hurt? Quickly, he shifts back in his seat away from Magnus’ face plate.

“That’s pretty much it. Give or take a few details you don’t seem to care about.”

Well, whomever Rodimus was describing, they are lucky. Magnus can’t even lie to himself anymore. He admires Rodimus a bit more than a friend would.

“Now that you’re done with executing my genius plan, what is your report?”

“Can’t I write it down and give it to you later?”

“Nope! Must be verbal. Captain’s orders.”

“I did speak with Rung, and he treated our meeting as a therapy session, so I’m entitled to some modicum of confidentiality.”

“Oh my Primus.” Rodimus bangs a closed fist against his helm. “Just tell me what you are comfortable with, then.”

Magnus can tell Rodimus is pouting, if his slouch and evasive optics are any indication.

“Well, ‘conjunx endura’ is a term that means different things to different bots. For instance, Tailgate and Cyclonus cherish their similar interests and formed a deep respect for each other that extends to life-saving events. Chromedome and Rewind were very similar as well. Other bots…seem to ignore the concept altogether or are too absorbed in their work to see the connection right in front of them.”

“Pff, I’ve seen that before.”

That piques Magnus’ interest.

“Do you mean Ratchet? Because when we spoke, he mentioned a small attraction to Drift but didn’t have time to see where it went.”

“Wait, seriously? Drift and Ratchet? That’s surprising to say the least.”

“If not Ratchet, then who were you reminded of?”

“Hey! This is your report, not mine.” Magnus can see slight distress creeping up into Rodimus’ frame.

“Okay…The day was exhausting. I made some realizations about what I’d appreciate in a conjunx endura, but I’ll keep that to myself.”

“What!? Nuh-uh! You can’t do that! Leak information and then clam up! You have to tell me at least a little bit of what you look for!”

“Rodimus,” Magnus vents heavily. “Why is this so important to you? Curiosity or something else? I’ll be honest, I would not have entertained this gauntlet of meetings if it weren’t for your efforts.”

“Are you saying the day was all for naught? Because I can take my very organized schedule and leave. I know you like to keep those things even if they’re outdated.”

“No–” Magnus’ body moves on its own to barricade the schedule from Rodimus’ view. He feels immature, but this is a memento he’d like to keep. Rodimus made it for him.

“That’s what I thought. Spill.”

Magnus slides the schedule into a locked desk drawer. Rodimus looks at him amusedly, arms crossed and waiting.

“I–I like bots who can change.”

“Mags, we all do that. It’s kinda our thing.” Magnus shoots him a dead-pan look.

“Are you going to keep interrupting me? Because I can stop, and I know you don’t have a key to this drawer.”

“I have my ways. But, no, sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Magnus looks skeptical, but he continues.

“Somebody that earns my respect and pushes me to work harder. Being here, I realized that I need to keep trying new things. While scary, new situations become learning tools. I want them to introduce me to the ‘new’.”

“This guy you’re describing sounds like he’d be a rigid gashole. They’d have to be if they meet all your requirements for respect and become your taskmaster.”

“The opposite. He has done all of this unknowingly by his adventurous yet rash personality.”

Rodimus’ behavior shifts. Magnus cannot quite place it. He looks like he’s trying and failing to hide his smugness. What did he say? “He has” instead of “He would have”. Frag. Frag. Fragfragfragfrag.

“Oh?”

No, Rodimus, for the love of Primus please let it go.

“It seems you’ve already laid optics on somebody. You spoke in past tense, not future tense.”

“Conditional perfect, not future tense.”

Rodimus leans closer out of his chair, digits pressing into the arms.

“That’s not a proper response, Ultra Magnus.”

Magnus shivers. Rodimus hardly calls him by his full name.

Besides, Rodimus has a point. Anytime he uses syntax errors against somebody, it’s typically because he’s losing control of the conversation.

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Bullslag! It’s totally my concern because I sparked this entire investigation! I deserve to know. Is it someone on this ship??”

“Can’t I just…Can’t I just tell you vague descriptors?”

“Fine.” He thinks Rodimus took pity on him. He can’t be a pretty sight right now, vents blaring, condensation beading at his temple, servos slightly shaky.

“This bot is an Autobot…”

“Coulda guessed that much. More.” Magnus feels like he’ll blow a gasket.

“He’s red…-ish? Has a terrestrial alt-mode…”

“Primus, that could be anybody! You know how many red Autobots are on this ship? Although, it’d have to be someone you spend time with…”

Magnus couldn’t stop this train if he tried.

“It can’t be swerve, I’ve seen you tolerate his ramble only for a few kliks before you just chastise him about following code. Hmmm. Rung? No, you wouldn’t go for someone who provides conflict of interest. Also, I don’t even know if his alt counts as ‘terrestrial.’ Red Alert is too crazy. First Aid maybe? Although he keeps to the medbay and anytime you’re there you’re almost always unconscious. Last guy I got is Ratchet. Going for the old man yaoi thing?”

“The. What.”

“I’m honestly not sure if I used it right, it’s some Earth slang I picked up.” Rodimus scraped a digit against his chin in thought. “But you wouldn’t be attracted to someone who already has optics for another bot, even if he was banished.”

Magnus is feeling light-headed. The only other red bot he spends exponential amounts of time with is Rodimus, and sooner or later he’s going to realize that too.

“Let’s just stop this now, I gave you more information than I intended.”

“Oooh! I must be getting close!”

“Rodimus, please.”

“Ugh, fine! I was hoping it wasn’t any of them anyways.”

Ultra Magnus became confused.

“And who are you hoping for it to be?”

“Man, you are dense.”

“I do not take kindly to insults, Rodimus.”

Rodimus looks so dejected. He takes his closed-off stance once more.

“What is this? You say things that are open-ended but then refuse to elaborate. And now, you’re upset yet again. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Rodimus. I can tell when you’re deflecting or just being passive-aggressive.”

“Pff, did Rung teach you that one?”

Magnus stands to his full height. He is over this behavior.

“No, Rodimus. I know this from being around you so much. And right now, I don’t feel like being around you if you’re going to berate me after I’ve complied with such ridiculous requests.”

Rodimus meets Magnus halfway, their faceplates inches apart in fury. Magnus’ frown almost hurts his face. He can tell Rodimus is gritting his dentae. After this juvenile stare-down, Rodimus’ face relinquishes into sadness. He falls back into his chair dejectedly.

“I don’t want you to hate me, Magnus.”

Magnus ex-vented in frustration. “I don’t hate you. You’re just irritating sometimes.”

Rodimus looks at the floor like those words were an arrow through his spark.

“Ultra Magnus, I like you.”

“That’s hardly believable, Rodimus. Deflecting yet again.”

“No, Magnus. Not a deflection. I like you a lot. L-like ‘junx a lot.”

Magnus’ optics widen in disbelief. He takes a seat once more, waiting for his processor to catch up.

“Why do this entire game then?”

“Why? Because I was hoping you’d open up your spark just a little bit to the romantic stuff. I saw the way you looked at Cyclonus and Tailgate. The interest was there; you just needed a little push. I thought that if I got you thinking about it and then have a meeting with me at the end, then you’d come to some realization. Even with my obvious flirting, though, it seems you’ve found somebody else. Plan backfired I guess.”

Rodimus would not look him optic to optic.

“Obvious flirting? What flirting? When we had our ‘meeting’ you went on and on about some bot that I’m not even sure exists.”

“Dude.” Magnus cringes at the Earth informality. “I was describing you the entire time. Like?? A bot who’s big and can dominate me but can also be dominated. That’s the Ultra Magnus and Minimus Ambus combo. Not only that, but we also spend a lot of time together, even outside of our duties. And you worry all the time about every little detail. I wanna just slow you down, take care of you, work the tension out of your frame.”

With the floor as his optics’ best friend, Rodimus has a degree of separation from Mangus to say such brash things.

Ultra Magnus stalls again. The intimate details definitely disturb but excite some part of his processor, and the straight forwardness is an intake of fresh air turned stifling. He couldn’t make sense of this new information.

Was Rodimus really implying all of that during their meeting? Did he now have to share his own feelings? He felt the same way, although a little more reserved than Rodimus’ depravity. He’s not sure he has the courage to speak. Is it really this easy? To just happen to share feelings at the same point in time and space?

“Primus, Mags. I didn’t mean to break you. Look, I’ll be heading out. We can keep our relationship strictly professional from here on out. Don’t worry about me, I’ll get along. I always have.”

“You missed one.”

“What? Missed what?”

“You’re an Autobot, red, have a terrestrial form...”

Rodimus looked down at himself for a moment.

“Huh, so I am.” Rodimus just stared at Magnus with the most blank optics. Arms down at his sides, no movement. It’s kind of creepy. “WHAT!??”

“I am like none of the things you described earlier!”

“You are everything I described: you introduce new things into my life and adapt rather well to new surroundings because you’re unafraid of change.”

“Wait, you also said I make you work harder.” Rodimus pointed a digit at Magnus. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

Magnus winced.

“WAIT! You also said you respect me!” Rodimus’ optics bubbled at the edges. “Oh my Primus! How did I manage that? Magnusssss, you liiiike meeeeee.”

Next thing he knows, Rodimus slides onto Magnus’ desk, knees falling between Magnus’. His servos grip the edge as he leans forward. Very much in his space.

“You like me, Magnus.”

Ultra Magnus flushes at the intensity of this new position. He tries scooting back, but the wheel of his chair bumps the wall.

“Unfortunately.”

“Hehe,” Rodimus’ pedes kick slightly, brushing against Magnus’ thighs. “Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

“U-um…” Magnus looks down at the touch of thigh and pede. He feels like dying. Not like a bad kind of dying but an embarrassed kind of dying because Primus forbid he feels a certain way about how Rodimus touches him. He’s never had a social interaction so extreme before much less a romantic one.

“I’ll let you off the hook. You look like I’m frying your processor. But! Magnus. I expect you take your captain on a date. Somewhere local…Swerve’s?”

Thank Primus. A place he’s been before. Ultra Magnus can only handle so many new experiences at once.

“T-that sounds doable.”

“Well, let’s go! You look like you could use a drink!”

They both agreed to keep their fuel intake moderation chips active. The last thing they want is to have the night get away from them in the form of a drunk blur.

Ultra Magnus and Rodimus sit at a more secluded table in the corner of Swerve’s bar. Not many bots fill the seats; the night was still too early for the rowdy crowd to appear.

Magnus nurses his engex, trying to savor the taste. Rodimus takes larger swallows even though that won’t get him anywhere with an active FIM chip. Perhaps he’s nervous. Magnus completely understands.

Their conversation seems to fade in and out within a tense, heavy atmosphere. Now that all was in the open, what do they do next? Magnus has no clue. He was hoping Rodimus would lead as he always does.

“Mags,” Magnus looks up from his drink, “the tension can be cut with a blade, try to loosen up a bit.”

Magnus’ optics flit back and forth, searching for a solution.

“I–I’m not sure what to do…”

Rodimus sighs. “You don’t have to do anything. Here,” Rodimus takes Magnus’ servos into his own. The touch is…

“I’ve heard around that you like music. What kind of music?”

Magnus is thankful for the redirect.

“All kinds. As one who concerns myself with intergalactic order across all species, I’ve run into a lot of different kinds of music. They all seem to have the same progression to me. A mixture of notes that are reused and rearranged into different sounds. The process is almost cyclical. Music having a finite number of notes and sounds allows for each arrangement to build from another. It all comes down to structure. Nothing is entirely new, yet unique sounds are continually created.”

“Wow…I’ve never heard you talk so long about something that’s not business.”

Magnus blushes and almost tears his servo away from Rodimus’. Rodimus maintains his grip.

“It’s beautiful, encouraging to know that you allow yourself to branch out. When do you listen to all this music?”

Ultra Magnus is caught off guard by Rodimus’ directness. He never saw indulging in his hobbies as venturing outside of his bubble before.

“When I do a lot of research, administrative tasks, or general reading. I have collected music from my travels and uploaded it to a personal folder.”

“General reading? Like reading for fun?”

“Sometimes I dedicate a long night to breaking down codes and contracts for my own edification. Other times…I uh… I might read fictional literature before recharge.”

“Ooh! Fiction! I never thought you’d go that far! I happen to read a lot of fiction myself.” Rodimus idly traces a digit across Magnus’ servo.

Magnus imagines it’s not the same kind of fiction he indulges in.

“I read political thrillers and mysteries.” He’s never told anyone that. The only hobby out in the open is his penchant for music.

“Oh, yeah, definitely not the same kind of fiction I read.” Rodimus swipes his servo out of Magnus’ to cover his deviant smile and chuckle.

Magnus knew that it was probably something salacious but decided to ask anyways. Rodimus has been so keen on learning more about his hobbies, he should make an effort to do the same.

“What kind of fiction?”

“Oh, y’know…romance…other stuff…” Rodimus’ pointer digit traces the table’s surface.

Magnus realizes that motion may be Rodimus’ “tell” for flirting. Magnus feels a little dizzy, internally he checks that his FIM chip is still active.

“I can show you if you want. It’s good to branch out into other genres. You said it yourself; I get you to try new things.”

“U–um…” Magnus registers Rodimus’ pede brushing his leg underneath the table.

Rodimus’ helm is propped up on his servo, optics watching in amusement at Ultra Magnus’ nervousness.

“Maybe you can recommend some of your favorites?”

“I could do that…or…I could just demonstrate with you what happens in them instead.”

Ultra Magnus feels his joints lock up. Energon rushes to his faceplate.

Before he could respond, a particularly loud group of Autobots entered the bar and kick up a ruckus, drawing his attention away.

“Ultra Magnus,” all attention focuses back on Rodimus at the sound of his full name, “do you want to continue this date back at your room?”

He feels a little exposed. The idea of Rodimus in his chambers felt so intimate now that they’d established some sort of romantic intent to their relationship.

“W–why not your own? It’s closer to where we are.”

“Haha! I appreciate the urgency, but I’m afraid your room, more importantly your berth, is more customized to your size.”

Ultra Magnus did not mean to sound like he was racing to get out of here like some overcharged idiot. But more importantly, what exactly was Rodimus implying?

A part of him knew it was a proposition, an opportunity to explore…other things romantic partners do. But another part wished to play dumb. It was easier, yet the prospect of touch was so exciting and frightening.

If he wanted to try it with anyone, he’d want to do it with somebody who won’t judge him. Rodimus is that somebody. Sure, he teases Magnus when he’s out of his depth, but never serious enough to hurt. In fact, Rodimus’ laughter doesn’t seem mocking but rather joyful and light-hearted.

“Okay.”

Rodimus stalks around Magnus’ room as if he’s exploring it for the first time. They’ve had many tactical meetings in this room because it doubles as his office.

“Y’know, Mags, a bot can appreciate how tidy you keep your space. Not a lick of dust or metal shavings in sight.” Rodimus drags a digit across his desk and it comes back completely clean.

Ultra Magnus is beyond flattered. Not that he means to be, it’s just that…that no bot has openly appreciated his efforts. While it may not be apparent from Magnus’ usual frown, he is flustered.

Rodimus most likely knows…somehow, he always knows the imperceptible changes in Magnus’ demeanor.

“It’s a shame you always keep this drawer locked,” Rodimus tugs on the handle, “I’d like to see that little collection of lists and schedules you’ve got going.”

Primus, Ultra Magnus is feeling faint.

“Sure. I can show you.”

Rodimus looks a little surprised, but smug, nonetheless.

Magnus brings his hulking form beside Rodimus as he inserts a key into the lock and opens the drawer. He can feel the exhale of Rodimus’ vents over his shoulder, warm and inviting.

Dozens of datapads are delicately stacked and organized. Rodimus began to rifle through them at the silent confirmation of Magnus.

Most of them were written by Rodimus: schedules, tactical plans, speeches.

His optics brighten with pride. That pride is quickly crushed when he notices the rest of the datapads were written by Thunderclash.

“Oh…I see you got your #1 fan’s work in here.” He sounds dejected. Magnus, however, does not pick up on that right away.

“His work is interesting and thorough. I appreciate his input on my previous assessments of the unique syntax used within the Tyrest Accord. He reminds me of myself if I had more time outside of my work.”

“Yeah, well, apparently everybody fragging loves this guy.” Rodimus crosses his arms petulantly. Magnus is not so slow on the uptake this time.

“He’s a good bot, Rodimus, but I think you’re failing to see that despite his experience, the majority of datapads are written by you.” Ultra Magnus can feel his faceplates burning.

Of course, he loves to keep detailed and well-researched work amongst his collection, yet he couldn’t help but keep Rodimus’ attempts at meeting him halfway when it came to paperwork and structure. He cherishes those the most. They symbolize someone on the outside of his interests trying to build a bridge.

Rodimus looks a little flustered himself.

“W–well, good. You should take the things your captain gives you seriously.” He was definitely putting up a front.

“I do. I especially appreciate this one.” Ultra Magnus picks up the schedule Rodimus gave him earlier in the day. He would be lying if it didn’t make him a little hot under the collar. Sure, it’s just a schedule…but it’s one Rodimus made the effort to make. He even applied the standardized formatting that Magnus uses across all his own work.

“Mags, your vents are pretty loud right now. All worked up over a schedule?”

Magnus’ processor finally returns to the present. He takes stock of his own state: running warm and expelling air at several decibels higher than normal.

Rodimus spans a servo over the datapad, pushing it down and slinking into Magnus’ view.

“I can continue to make schedules for you Mags. Was up all night making it, thinking about you…”

“I–it can’t have possibly taken all night.”

“It didn’t.”

Magnus’ intake felt dry.

“I was rather preoccupied with other activities as well.”

“U–um…”

Rodimus moves even closer, propping himself up on Magnus’ desk to gain a few inches in height. A digit lightly traces Magnus’ lower derma.

“I can finally show you what happens in those romance stories I read…maybe even show you what I was doing last night…”

Ultra Magnus’ vents kick up a notch. His servos feel frozen at his sides, pedes glued to the floor. Rodimus’ face comes very close to his own, vents ghosting over each other, optics occasionally flitting down to look at each other’s derma.

“Can I?” Rodimus sighs.

It takes a while for Magnus’ processor to catch up.

“Yes.”

Without further ado, Rodimus surges forward to kiss Magnus. It starts slowly, gentle and leading. Magnus finally gets the cue to bend down slightly and relieve the height difference.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before. A sensation he’d wonder about a handful of times but never experienced. It felt warm, soft, inviting.

A large servo comes to cup the side of Rodimus’ faceplate, the other sweeps around Rodimus’ lower back-strut to pull him upwards.

“Whoa there, big guy!” Rodimus’ servos come to rest on Magnus’ chest plate.

Magnus peppers Rodimus’ face with feather-light kisses. Once the affection started, it was hard to stop.

“Too much?”

Rodimus laughs, full and melodical.

“Too little.” His helm jerks in the direction of the berth.

Magnus gently guides him off the desk and awkwardly shuffles to his berth. He sits down in the way he always does: full force and legs spread. As a bot of his size, any form of space was welcomed with as much sprawl as possible especially when he’s had a hard day.

“I love it when you do that. And I know you mostly do it when you’re stressed or tired but FRAG! All I want to do is sit on your lap.” Rodimus left no time for a response as he climbed on up into Magnus’ space, legs stretched over his thighs, covered arrays brushing against each other.

Ultra Magnus’ servos grab Rodimus’ waist in surprise. He has never been so acutely aware of the position he normally sits in until now. For the first time, his array begins to warm and slick at the implications. He tries to close his legs in embarrassment but is prohibited by Rodimus’ new position.

“Hey, no need to be shy.” Rodimus shifts his pelvis forward into Magnus’ even more.

Magnus resorts to turning his helm away to try and tamp down the tremendous sense of need.

“Mags,” Rodimus’ servo cups his cheek to turn his helm forward once more, “is this ok?”

“I, uh, I think so.”

Rodimus’ features soften.

“Are you nervous?”

“Maybe…yes. I’ve just…I’ve never done something like this before. It’s a bit overwhelming and I’m worried I might mess it up. I’ve never been a desirable partner, so this is all new.”

“Wha?” Rodimus scoffs. “Not desirable? Absolute slander. Ultra Magnus, every time I’m around you hearing you say all that technical jargon, I want to climb you like a tree.”

“I’m afraid to ask what that means.”

“It means, Magnus, that you are a very handsome, very intelligent, very desirable bot…in both forms. And whatever you are worried about, we can go slow, I can help guide you, make you feel good. And you can say ‘no’ any time you feel necessary.”

“Thank you…the same goes for you.” Ultra Magnus felt so much more comfortable knowing that there was no rush and that intentions weren’t written in stone.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not gonna be saying ‘no’ anytime soon.”

Magnus clenches his jaw, swallowing to clear his intake.

“Ok, so! Let’s start with what you do know. Can you tell me what you’ve done before?”

“L–like I said, I haven’t been with anybody before.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Oh, I thought you were exaggerating. That’s almost difficult to imagine…I mean…look at you!” Rodimus gestures to Magnus. Magnus’ optics follow to look down at himself. He’s not really getting the point and the confusion on his face is extremely obvious.

“Anyways, how about when you’re alone? What have you done then?”

“Like what?”

“Ugh, Mags, work with me here. Like touching yourself…here.” One of Rodimus’ servos comes to slide down over Magnus’ modesty panel. Magnus in-vents a gasp. His thighs begin pushing together, wanting to hide.

“That’s not– I don’t concern myself with that. I–I have other priorities.”

“What!? Seriously? Like never before in your entire life?”

“No.”

“Have you ever felt aroused before?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“And you just ignore it? Wait for it to go away?”

“It’s not becoming of an enforcer to use the Ultra Magnus armor in such a way.”

“I guess I can follow that logic, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Fortress Maximus is the new enforcer. The Magnus armor is now obsolete.”

Magnus began to push Rodimus away.

“Hey, hey, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” Rodimus pulls his helm closer, digits caressing both sides of his face. A chaste kiss. “What I meant to say is, you don’t have to feel so watched anymore. Armor or not, you’re free to experience whatever the frag you want.”

Magnus returns his grip on Rodimus’ sides, digits tensing and relaxing with consternation.

“Your position, think of it like an experience rather than a piece of you. You are still Ultra Magnus, Minimus Ambus, just moving on to express your values a different way.”

“That’s beautiful. I’ve never…it’s just hard. Now that I have the opportunity to experience things, I still feel this looming dread.”

Rodimus sighs, a still seriousness envelops him.

“And that may not be something we can solve in one night. But, I can show you that we are completely and utterly alone. No all-seeing optics, no reputation to maintain. It’s just you and me. Rodimus and Ultra Magnus…and Minimus Ambus.”

Magnus chuckles.

“Holy slag. No way.” Rodimus pokes at the corners of Magnus’ derma, drawing attention to the small smile. Magnus smoothly turns to press a kiss into Rodimus’ open palm.

“I never thought you’d be so open to both sides of me.”

“I’m offended! I’ll have you know, as captain, I am able to adapt to all kinds of situations.” Rodimus postures proudly. “Besides, I got the best of both worlds with you, and trust me when it comes to your personality, Magnus and Minimus are the same. Simple as that, you are you.”

Magnus smooths his servos over Rodimus’ shrugging shoulders. Optics lost in Rodimus’ fluorescent blues. Mindlessly, his servos gravitate toward Rodimus’ spoiler, tracing the stark edges.

“Eep!” Rodimus falls forward into Magnus’ chassis, back-strut arching ever so slightly. “Ohhh, frag.” A slight clank from Rodimus’ hips slamming forward into Magnus’ resonates throughout the room.

Magnus removes his touch immediately concerned by the response.

“Wait Mags, please, keep doing that.”

“It feels good?”

“It feels so slagging good.” Rodimus nuzzles more into Magnus.

“Why?”

“I, um, hmmm…I don’t know why. It’s just always felt this way. It’s a very sensitive part of me, I guess. Doesn’t matter. C’mon.” Rodimus was practically pawing at him like a needy mech-animal.

Magnus smirks and continues to run his digits up and down, starting at the back, pinching his digits along the ridge and following it all the way to the top.

“Mmmmmffff-uh.” Magnus is afraid Rodimus might transform with how much he’s compacting himself against him, rutting in jerky movements. The moment was broken by a loud SHUNK!

Rodimus immediately stops and looks down between them, his own modesty plating had just done away with itself without so much as a warning.

“Whoops, I, uh, didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Ultra Magnus already feels fried. He can’t stop looking at the arch of Rodimus’ spike curving down into plush folds leaking lubricant all over his lap. If he thought the pressurized release of Rodimus’ plating was loud, then he obviously wasn’t prepared for his own vents to sound like an industrial fan whipping air in a violent torrent.

“Haha, woah. Like what you see, big guy?”

Magnus did not move an inch; his optics remain frozen on Rodimus’ array.

Rodimus spreads his legs a bit more around Magnus, putting on an obvious display, letting lubricant smear all over Magnus’ modesty plating.

“Ah, frag, Mags, aren’t I supposed to be the one showing you what to do? It seems you’ve found the magic switch already.”

The silence was almost deafening, but Rodimus could see lubricant leaking its way out from behind Magnus’ panel.

“Ok, maybe you do need some direction.” Rodimus pecks a quick kiss on derma before instruction. “I want you to prop yourself up at the head of your berth, legs open. I’m gonna try some stuff. That ok?”

“I, uh, ok.”

Magnus shuffles back to rest against his pillows. Hesitantly, he parts his legs.

“Good. Now,” Rodimus crawls up the berth, settling between Magnus’ legs once more. “Can we try opening this up?” Digits brush against Magnus’ modesty plate.

“Um…”

“Hey, optics up here big guy.”

“Sorry.” Magnus hurriedly covers his faceplates in shame.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Rodimus pries his servos away to look him in the face, “You can look all you want, I just need a bit of focus on yourself here.”

Magnus nods, then looks away as his plating slowly retracts.

“Holy Primus!”

Magnus tries to cover himself.

“No, no, no, Mags, Primus, you’re huge!”

“W–what did you expect for a bot my size?”

“Well, I figured you’d be a little bigger, but this is amazing! Primus, you’re gorgeous!”

Rodimus sat back in silent awe watching the occasional twitch of Magnus’ spike and the flutter of his valve. Magnus couldn’t even bear to look, too embarrassed.

“Can I?”

“Um, sure.”

“Gonna need a ‘yes’ or ‘no’. I’m not going to proceed with a ‘sure’.”

“What is it that you’re going to do exactly?”

“I just wanna touch you, feel your spike in my palm, maybe dip a couple of digits inside…”

Rodimus is practically steaming, turning the room into a sauna. He always did run a little hotter than most, especially right now.

“Yes. Just…just go slow please.”

“Ok.” Rodimus gives him one of his winning smiles and reaches out.

Digits experimentally skim up and down Magnus’ length before a gentle grip takes hold.

Magnus gasps.

His servo slides for a few passes before sliding lower to gather lubricant and spread it along the spike for better ease of movement.

Magnus could not help the occasional grunt and drawing up of his legs. Never participating in such activity before has him unprepared for the intensity. He feels charge run up and down his system, radiating out from his array with every pump of Rodimus’ fist. 

“Ah, frag, Magnus, you’re so cute. How does this feel?”

“Hgn, g–good. Definitely new.”

“Haha, I imagine so. Can I try a bit further down?” Rodimus insistently presses his digits against Magnus’ folds.

“Ah, yes.” Magnus would almost lament Rodimus’ warmth drifting away from his spike if it weren’t for the slow push of a digit inside.

The stretch is not too intense due to Rodimus’ much smaller form, but the digit still provides a slight burning tension. The feeling is almost alien; calipers contract around the intrusion in response. Magnus has never felt the function of this part of himself before.

Just the insertion itself seemed to be a neutral feeling, neither good nor bad. But, when Rodimus curls his digit, presses up against this little concentrated spot, Magnus releases an airy moan.

“I was about to ask how it felt, but you already gave me an answer.” Rodimus stares him down with this smug grin as he continues his ministrations. Magnus cannot hold his gaze for long, too self-conscious.

“I’ve never…it’s…it’s interesting.”

“Just interesting, huh? Guess I should try harder.”

A second digit slides along the first allowing for a wider stretch and deeper reach. Rodimus’ “come hither” motion intensifies in pressure. Magnus grunts at the sensation, feeling his frame creak and slightly shift with the heat that floods his system. His legs unknowingly open wider, spike still jutting upwards between them.

“Yeah?” Rodimus’ other servo slides up Magnus’ thigh in a petting motion before brushing against his twitching spike. Magnus’ hips buck upwards into the touch. Embarrassment is quickly being overshadowed by heady desire.

“Primus, I could look at you all day, Mags. And this spike, frag, I want it in me so bad.” Rodimus strokes a little faster. Magnus can feel something bubbling up inside, he thinks his overload is approaching. While he wants to just let it happen, he can’t stand just watching Rodimus grind into the berth, smearing lubricant everywhere.

Magnus grabs the wrist pushing digits inside him, slowly dragging it out and away from himself. Rodimus furrows his brow in confusion.

“Are you alright, Mags? I thought you were enjoyi–WOAH!”

Magnus yanks Rodimus forward onto himself, aligning their arrays, their optics. His large spike slides against Rodimus’ valve up to rut against his spike.

“I think you’ve focused on me long enough.”

Rodimus chuckles and presses himself against Magnus.

“Hahah–ah! What did you have in mind?” Rodimus looks up at him dreamily during the continuous slide of their hips.

For some reason, the direct question shatters Magnus’ confidence.

“I thought you were going to ‘show’ me what you were doing the night before.” Deflecting responsibility, sure, but it was something Rodimus promised.

“Well,” Rodimus slides off Magnus and leans back, legs spread. Magnus almost regrets asking, missing Rodimus’ touch already, but the view was really nice.

“When I think of you as Ultra Magnus, I imagine…” Rodimus’ servo slides down his own body to the opening of his valve. Two digits slide around it, threatening to dip inside, but staying just out of reach. “I imagine your thick digits working me open,” two of his digits slip inside, “Of course, they’re the size of an average spike, so it feels slagging amazing.”

Rodimus dips his helm back, shutting off his optics for a bit, servo still working between his legs. “You kiss up and down my neck, tease my spoiler.” A small servo travels up the side of his neck and reaches back to graze his spoiler. His hips buck up, spike leaking transfluid despite being completely ignored. “And then, you finally take me, I’m on top of you, supporting myself on those huge smokestacks as you thrust up into me. Ahhh, frag.”

So caught up in his own little world, Rodimus doesn’t see Magnus inching closer. Eventually large digits slide themselves aside Rodimus’. Optics are back online. Rodimus looks down and removes his own servos, welcoming the push of Magnus’.

“Please, Magnus,” Rodimus curls in on himself as one slides inside with only slight friction. A high-pitched gasp echoes throughout the room. Hips grind down to force it only a little bit further.

Magnus pulls Rodimus into his lap, sliding his touch up and down that proud golden spoiler. His helm nestles into the crook of Rodimus’ neck, derma brushing gently over thick cords.

“Like this?” He sighs.

“Exactly like this.”

Rodimus is clinging to Magnus’ smokestacks as another digit pushes through. Magnus can feel the rhythmic clamping of calipers. He spreads them slowly to give a bit more of a gentle stretch.

Rodimus’ optics are hazy again, small whimpers escape his intake. His grip on Magnus’ shoulders tightens to the point of scratching off some paint. Surprisingly, this doesn’t bother him in the least, he has more important things to focus on.

Rodimus looks down between them, intake agape, air venting in hot puffs. He seems mesmerized by the movement of digits slowly going in and out.

“Mags, I–I need…ugn, frag! I want you inside me, please.”

The movement stops.

“I still feel like I need to prepare you more. I just–I don’t know if I’ll hurt you.”

Rodimus peers down once more, doing mental math of how wide Magnus’ two digits are in comparison to that thick spike. Obviously, he was weighing the pros and cons of just going ahead without more preparation.

“Ughh, as much as I wanna just say ‘frag it’ and go ahead, you’re probably right. Just make it quick. I need you, like, yesterday.”

Ultra Magnus thunks his helm onto Rodimus’ shoulder. The declaration made him impatient as well, but the last thing he wanted was to hurt Rodimus on their first time.

Magnus leans in for a languid kiss to distract from the addition of a third digit. Rodimus was practically whimpering into his derma before breaking off the kiss.

Air exchanged between their intakes mingles together creating an oppressive heat. Their faceplates were centimeters from each other, the entire world shut out from their view. Only Rodimus and Ultra Magnus remain.

“Does it hurt?” A whisper.

“N–no, just overwhelming. The stretch burns a bit but feels so good.” A sigh.

“Ok…” Magnus plants kisses alongside the cords on Rodimus’ neck. His digits begin spreading and curling. He really hopes he’s doing this right.

A high-pitched keen escapes Rodimus’ vocal processor. His groans are laden with static. Metal scrabbles against metal as Rodimus tries to maintain a firm grip on Magnus’ smokestacks.

“Magnus, the…it’s fine, please. I don’t want to overload before we get anywhere good.”

Magnus feels a jump of charge rise through his chassis. A part of himself feels prideful for garnering such a response, another part is nervous for what’s to come.

He withdraws, Magnus transfixed by the bright pink transfluid slipping down each digit. He looks to see Rodimus’ valve open and clenching around nothing. Transfluid leaking from his spike trickles down to mix with lubricant.

The sight is…it is…there are no words. Which was strange since Magnus has a very large vocabulary, but at this moment, he could not describe the beauty or emotion of it.

Out of context, this may seem like a moment of depravity between two bots. But, right now, to Magnus, they were about to solidify trust mentally and physically.

“Magnus, oh my Primus, now is not the time to zone out.”

Rodimus takes it upon himself to climb back into Magnus’ lap, rubbing his valve along that proud spike.

“Rodimus…” Magnus grabs ahold of a thin waist, large servos wrapping around to touch ridges along the back-strut. Optics searing with purpose. “Rodimus, I–I love you.”

The impatience on Rodimus’ face shatters and eventually gives way to soft amazement.

“Ultra Magnus, you–you mean that?” Rodimus’ optics bubble at the corners.

“I, uh,” At his hesitation, he sees Rodimus become more guarded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I’ve never…this hasn’t happened before…After all this time, I’ve let myself be used because–”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Magnus swipes a digit underneath Rodimus’ optic, smoothing out the errant bubble of light. “I just want to know if we are on the same page.”

Rodimus knocks his helm against Magnus’ chassis, speaking with a sigh, “Absolutely.”

That is all he needed. Magnus lifts Rodimus, lines himself up, and slowly guides him to sink down. Rodimus curls forward as the intense drag of Magnus’ spike breaches into each ring of calipers.

Rodimus’ vents are working so hard that he has to let out steam through his intake in heavy puffs. Magnus can feel Rodimus’ frame become almost unbearably hot to the touch. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Hah, mmmmMagnussss, it’s so much.”

Magnus could tell Rodimus’ optics were offline to maintain complete focus on the sensation. He nudges his helm, kisses his derma, whispering, “You’re almost there.”

Rodimus is whining, gritting his dentae. Eventually, he’s to the bottom, shaking legs clamping around Magnus’.

Ultra Magnus tries to soothe him by stroking his back-strut. He couldn’t help the grunts and groans that came with such a strong pulsing sensation around his spike.

This is the first time he’s ever felt anything like this, and he desperately wants to move. Remaining strong, he stays still, letting Rodimus adjust. Hopefully, it will also give him time to try and calm down. Not that he thought it was possible, though.

He couldn’t see Rodimus’ face. It was pressed against him, but he did see the distortions in the air. Heat and ozone swirl around their joined frames.

“You ok?”

“I, uh, I still think I need a minute, sorry, if you can just–” Rodimus’ babbling is interrupted by Magnus dragging his servos along his spoiler. That seems like the distraction he needs. Hips roll back and forth.

Ultra Magnus feels small sparks from the movement, yet he continues to focus all his attention on Rodimus. One servo moves to grip Rodimus’ hip, guiding his movement while the other continues its ministrations on his spoiler.

“Frag, Mags, actually I think…I think I need more. Let me just–” Rodimus lifts himself up and lowers back down again. A small moan escapes his derma. Magnus could not focus anymore, both servos grab Rodimus’ hips in a creaking grip.

The movement continues in a slow slide up and down, up and down. Testing the waters, Magnus pulls down on Rodimus while thrusting up. Rodimus’ back-strut arches as he claws into Magnus’ shoulders.

“Oh my Primus!”

With that exclamation, Magnus confidently picks up speed and force. He cannot hold back any longer. Rodimus feels too good and looks absolutely gorgeous.

Rodimus’ own movement has completely stopped because he couldn’t keep up with Magnus’ pace. In fact, their positions swapped. Magnus tilted him backwards onto the berth to lean over him.

This new position provided better leverage and an even deeper connection.

Rodimus could not stop releasing wanton, staticky moans that only added fuel to the fire.

Air from Magnus’ heavy ex-vents curls around Rodimus’ audials, trickling down the cords of his neck. At the same time Magnus receives temperature warnings on his HUD, Rodimus cries out.

“Magnus! I’m so close, please!”

Honoring his request, Magnus kept up the pace despite his own overload approaching rapidly. He saw Rodimus’ optics begin to flicker before feeling tight pulsing clamps of calipers pull him deeper. Rodimus releases a long whiny moan and scratches his digits down Magnus’ shoulder stacks.

The sensation is too much; Magnus feels that intense ramp of pleasure threaten to topple over. The tipping point is reached when he looks down to see their connection, to see excess lubricant drip down beautiful legs, to see the glow of pink transfluid cover Rodimus’ abdomen. With a low moan, he overloads into Rodimus in slow, deep ruts.

Rodimus keens at the feeling of warm transfluid overflowing his valve.

They both take a moment to properly cool their systems and return to a normal intake rhythm.

When his processor finally boots up, Magnus realizes he’s resting an immense amount of weight on Rodimus. Slowly, he lifts up, joints creaking, and rolls to the side. Rodimus was right, doing this on any other berth than his own would not provide the same space for them to simply lie next to each other.

The silence stretches on for a comfortable and then slightly concerning amount of time. Magnus turns over to face Rodimus.

What a sight to behold: lubricant and transfluid covering the inside of his valve and thighs, foggy puffs of air escaping his intake, arms reached up overhead.

More importantly, though, Rodimus seems to not have started up again. Magnus slides a servo along his face, hoping to gently wake him up but to no avail. Anxiety immediately takes hold. Magnus quickly pushes himself up to shake Rodimus a bit more.

“Rodimus? Are you–”

Optics abruptly flash on.

“Magnus! Holy slag! I don’t think I’ve had an overload that strong before! I was afraid I might have just slipped right into recharge.”

“Thank Primus. Rodimus, you scared me.”

“What? Oh, sorry. Yeah, I wasn’t sure what was going on myself. But no need to worry your pretty little head, I’m sturdy.”

Magnus sighs in relief, sliding Rodimus into his arms and kissing his neck.

“Mmm, Mags, I think…I think this might be a start to a kind of relationship I’ve never experienced.”

“Elaborate.”

“I really care about this…like I want to hold onto it forever. I’ve never felt that way before about somebody else. I…” Before he could finish, Magnus kisses him, slow and affectionate.

They spend a little time just enjoying the sensation of each other.

“I love you, Ultra Magnus.”

At that, Magnus curls Rodimus into a tight hug, vents shaky.

“Mmm, so this is what it’s like to get the universe’s best hug. I was jealous of Thunderclash for a while.”

Magnus knows Rodimus is poking fun to lighten the weight of his earlier declaration, but he still falls prey regardless.

“That was…a lapse in judgement. You know I get a certain way about my work.”

“Oh, do I ever. You were practically drooling over those schedules I made. You better not do the same for Thunderclash’s or anybody else.”

Ultra Magnus chuckles in a low rumble. “No, I just appreciate his point of view as a peer, nothing more. Yours, though, they’re different…”

“Good. Although I can say that it is the strangest form of flattery I’ve ever received.”

Silence draws out for a bit as they snuggle. Rodimus shifts to look up at him.

“What do you do when you go back over my documents?”

Magnus was unsure about how to proceed. Sure, within this entire day he’s admitted some humiliating things and tried some things he’d never thought possible, but he was hesitant to share. What damage can one more embarrassing fact do to his state of mind? Not realizing it yet, but this train of thought has carried him through the entire day.

“I memorize your handwriting, your immature sketches. I imagine what it is like to see you writing and planning them. I think about you in…compromising positions.”

“That’s quite a jump.” Rodimus laughs giddily.

“It takes longer than that, I just…I don’t know, can’t think straight when you’re involved.”

“So how does a ‘I’ve never done that before’ bot like you end up daydreaming about my aft? I thought you’d be too strict on yourself to even think about that kinda stuff.”

“Well, it used to be things like imagining your servo in mine. But, your tendency to make innuendos and the fact that these walls are so thin did not help garner any innocent thoughts.” Magnus huffs indignantly.

“Wait, WHAT!?” Rodimus presses away from Magnus’ chassis with a horrified face. “You–you heard me through the wall?”

Magnus looks slightly ashamed. “It’s not like I wanted to listen; it’s just you were not making it easy to tune out.”

“Oh my Primus! I thought this ship was sturdier than that!” Rodimus finally settles down again. “I mean, I guess I should’ve known since we could all hear Cyclonus and Tailgate from the hallway.” The revelation ended in a grumble. “Thank Primus it all worked out. If you didn’t like me, this would’ve been a way worse conversation to have.”

“Indeed.”

Rodimus imitates a yawn, a habit he picked up from the humans.

“I think we need to slip into recharge. My processor’s getting all fuzzy.”

The immediate shift gives Magnus a little bit of whiplash, but he couldn’t agree more. He is exhausted.

This entire day has been one new thing after another. His social battery, although small, had been depleted by all those interviews. Not to mention the emotional rollercoaster that followed.

They slowly drift into recharge, Ultra Magnus cradling Rodimus in his arms.