Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Skids stood facing Rung with his large hands resting carefully, comfortingly, on the domed plating of Rung's shoulders. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along thin transformation seams. “It's not like anyone is forcing you or anything...”

“No, no one is,” Rung agreed. But Tailgate's innocent question, and all the emotional turmoil it had dragged up, still weighed heavily on his spark.

'Why do you still wear that backpack?'

Any other mech(especially those who'd lived through the war) knew to leave well enough alone. Everyone had a story but that didn't mean they were obligated to tell it. Not unless copious amounts of high-grade engex was involved. Tailgate, having had the good fortune to miss the war altogether, had no such mindset. And Rung was usually glad of that! It was so rare that he could look another mech in the optics and see no evidence of some deeply buried trauma.

The sad thing was... Rung couldn't think of an answer.

The Functionists, the ones who'd forced him to wear it in the first place, were long gone, taking their flawed philosophy with them. The few followers that had survived the war were so few and far between that to call them a political movement was, at best, laughable and, at worst, pathetic. And while the wheel had convinced his fellow Cybertronians that Rung had a functional, and practical, alt-mode, it brought little comfort to Rung. He knew the truth. The wheel marked him as an other, something that needed to be bent and twisted to have any hope of slotting into his supposed niche in society.

It wasn't until he'd boarded the Lost Light and met its crew of misfits and oddballs that, for the first time in his very long life, he'd felt truly accepted. Acceptance had lead to friendship which, in turn, had lead to Skids and the beginnings of love.

As if able to sense Rung's thoughts Skids' hands stroked along tense shoulders, up the slim column of Rung's neck, until his hands were gently cupping the smaller bots face. “Then why?” he asked, pulling Rung just that little bit closer. “Not that I'm going to stop you or anything. Just want to know what’s changed all of a sudden.”

A fair question. Rung couldn't detect any judgement or disapproval in Skids' tone, just curiosity and support, and for that he was thankful. Not that he was expecting anything less but anxiety did strange things to the mind. Rung could forgive himself for feeling more than a little anxious over this whole situation.

His hands, which up until now had been idly tracing the softly glowing circuitry strips across Skids' chest, reached for and lightly gripped Skids' wrists. “I'm struggling to think of reasons to keep wearing it,” he admitted, softly. When said out loud it was a surprisingly simple answer.

Skids leaned back just enough to look Rung in the optics. He was grinning, that strangely unique grin that could mean anything from 'I've had too much to drink and I have a grappling hook' to 'You're being daft but that's okay'. In this case Rung assumed it was the latter.

“Don't you use it to cart things around?” Skids asked, leaning back in and gathering Rung close enough so that they were touching at several points along their bodies, helm to helm, chest to chest even knee to knee if Rung shifted his leg just so.

This close up Rung could truly appreciated the long lines of Skids' face, the curve of his lips made all the more desirable but that blasted grin! “I hardly think I need a whole buggy to carry a small armful of datapads...” Rung frowned, an expression that always spoke volumes due to his impressive eyebrows.

“What about that time with Tailgate?” Skids asked, nuzzling his nose just below Rung's jaw.

Rung huffed , fighting the urge to smile and losing horribly. “That was a special case,” honestly, Skids made it sound as if he made a habit of offering buggy rides to overcharged minibots. How else was he supposed to get Tailgate back to his habsuite. Rung still had a loose grip on Skids's wrists, so he eased them down, encouraging Skids to follow the path he was setting out for him.

Skids, brilliant theoretician that he was, easily picked up on Rung's intent and hummed warmly at the invitation. “Very special,” Skids chuckled, brushing his lips briefly, teasingly, against Rung's. “But I get your point.”

No longer needing Rung's to guide them, Skids' hand slipped slowly down Rung's body. They had only been officially together for a short time but Skids, true to his title as super-learer, was already quite familiar with most of Rung's more sensitive spots. His fingers traced the outer curve of Rung's chest plates, dipping briefly under the thin armour to stroke the bare protoform beneath which earned him a stifled gasp from Rung. Skids, after their first time together, had revealed that he found Rung's whole body, mysterious alt-mode and all, to be utterly fascinating. Unlike other mechs, whose own frames were weighted down by the sheer excess of weapons and armour, not a single part of Rung's frame was wasted on frivolous lines or pointless kibble, he was all compact lines and smooth, curved plating. Rung had been touched spark deep by that intimate remark. He'd never thought of himself as conventionally attractive, not when placed up against such fine examples like Rodimus or Ultra Magnus. Even Skids could carry himself proudly with the best of them. But when standing here, with the lighting low and Skids' hands stroking reverently over his plating, Rung could believe that he was if not attractive then at least desirable.

As Skids' hands went down, Rung's went up to the first of the three clasps that kept the backpack firmly attached to his back and shoulders. “Good,” he whispered as he finally closed the distance and pressed his lips to Skids'. A jolt shot through his body that slowly dissipated, leaving a gloriously pleasurable feeling in its wake. His spark was pulsing so quickly it was almost scary; as much as he had experienced this before it was just as overwhelming each time. And just as wonderful. Rung hoped he would never tire of this feeling.

Skids', apparently needing no prompting despite the pleasant distraction, was already reaching for the two clasps situated lower on Rung's back. His quick, nimble, fingers made short work of the two fastenings, but had to lunge forward suddenly when gravity took a hold of the buggy/backpack. The unfortunate outcome of this action was that he had to break the kiss but neither mech was broken up over this, they had their whole lives ahead of them to enjoy the other's company.

Skids hummed silently and briefly pressed his lips to Rung's, stroking his free hand up the now clear expanse of Rung's back, as if marvelling at the new territory that was laid out before him.“Much better.”

Chapter Text

An overcharged Rung was a rare sight. So rare, in fact, that when it first happened no one recognised his state for what it really was. Swerve, panicking and fussing, was ready to call Ratchet when Skids, brilliant theoretician and regular bar attendee, connected the dots and quickly deduced what the problem was.

However, the very second after the mystery was solved an unspoken agreement was forged among the bar regulars. If Rung became properly overcharged then he was to be quietly escorted back to his room. No fuss. No questions asked. Why? Because Rung Rung knew things. At one point or another, every person on the Lost Light had sought out Rung in a professional capacity. People seeking his help had laid bare their deepest desires and darkest secrets, plus all that laid in-between.

Everyone knew Rung would rather risk his life than reveal a patients secrets. But under the influence of too much drink... well, it was better to be safe than sorry.

So that was how Skids found himself late one evening, walking down a quiet hallway with his arm looped around Rung's.

Was he annoyed that he had to drop everything for the sake of one bot who couldn't handle his drink? Not in the slightest! Skids would do anything for his friends and he counted Rung among them. He was actually quite fond of the ancient psychiatrist. You had to admire anyone who refused to carry a firearm and yet still sat in a room with some of the most dangerous bots within the Autobot ranks. He'd even been in a locked soundproofed room with Megatron! Okay, Megatron had been unarmed at the time, but that still took a spark of solid steel!

Rung stumbled so Skids paused to allow him time to find his footing. “You alright there, Eyebrows?” he asked, smiling. He knew he wasn't that bad. The psychiatrist tended to be a very mellow and chatty drunk. A little fumbled footing was nothing to fuss over.

Rung wrinkled his nose in a fashion that really shouldn't have been as adorable at it was for someone his age. “It's Rung...” he huffed, softly, and tightened his hold on Skids' arm. “It's just, why are the corridors so long?”

“Pardon?”

“The corridors,” Rung repeated whilst waving his free around him. “They're all so long. And not all of us have a pair of wheels to whiz about on,” Rung pouted. An actual pout!

Skids couldn't help it. He grinned and gently nudged the smaller bot. “I wasn't aware that I whizzed anywhere,” he teased, playfully. “Anyway, your office is only ten minutes from Swerve's,” he pointed down the hall to the familiar ornate door. “See, you can see it from here.”

Rung frowned at Skids' pointed finger. “So it is,” he murmured. “Strange, it always felt further...”

“Think you can make it?”

Rung huffed again but with amusement this time. “Oh, I think my tired old joints can just about manage it,” he smiled, smoothly.

That was another thing Skids liked about Rung. He had a surprisingly wry, if a little self-deprecating, sense of humour. It was always present but tended to come out more when Rung let himself go. In Skids' mind, a relaxed Rung was always a good thing.

Skids tugged gently on Rung's arm, urging him to walk onwards. “Well if those poor old legs of yours give out I'm sure I can give you a lift. It wouldn't be the first time,” the first time being the incident with the Sparkeater. At the time he had marvelled at just how light Rung was. Carrying him again wouldn't be all that much of a problem.

Something in Skids' words must have affected Rung because the small smile he wore suddenly fell. Averting his gaze, the smaller bot muttered a “No no, that's quite alright,” and went quiet. The sudden mood shift was surprising since Rung had never struck him as the type to sulk. He could only assume it was the engex and let it be. Rung was a big boy, if he wanted to talk then he would.

It took only a few shorts steps to bring Rung in front of his door, safe and sound. Mission accomplished. “Home sweet home.”

Rung smiled, a sight that Skids was pleased to see. “Thank you,” he said, pulling his arm free of Skids'. “It was very sweet of you offer in the first place.”

Skids snorted and waved a dismissive hand at Rung. “Ha, no worries. I'm happy to do...it...?” he trailed off because of the expression Rung was currently giving him. It was an odd mix of exasperation and dismay. Was it something he said?

“Don't do the thing,” Rung said, evenly.

Skids blinked, feeling lost and very much confused.“The thing?”

Rung nodded and pointed at Skids. Not at 'the thing', whatever that might be. Just Skids in general. “Yes, the thing. You're doing it now.”

“I'm sorry, Eyebrows. You've completely lost me.”

“It's Ru- ugh! Never mind. You're doing that thing where you underplay the amazing things you do.

“Ah, Eyebrows. They're not that ama-”

“Don't!” Rung snapped, but not unkindly. He raised his hands and Skids took that as the signal to just shut up for the time being. “Just, Just let me talk. You'll probably try to distract me with your winning smile or something like that.” Skids resisted the urge to smile at that remark. “The simple fact is I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You've saved me from sparkeaters, legislators and even my own mind... You always seem to be there when I need you most.”

Skids blinked then smiled a little bashfully. How could he not after hearing something like that. “Jeez, you make me out to be some sort of action hero or something,”

“I don't think you realise just how utterly brilliant you are, Skids.”

Skids gasped softly. There was something in Rung's voice that made him look the smaller bot straight in the optics. He'd said those words with such sincerity but there was something else, a second layer of meaning that was just out of Skids grasp of understanding but took his breath away.

Even as he mind whirled to understand, Rung was leaning in, having to swing onto the balls of his feet to bring his face level with Skids'. “Thank you,” he whispered just before his lips brushed against the corner of Skids' slack mouth.

As far as kisses went it wasn't that amazing. Just a gentle press of lips to cheek/lips. No great songs or epic poems would be written about it. Nor would anyone be likely to rank it in their top ten kisses of all time(A Lost Light Insider exclusive! Check you ranking today!) but Skids found that he couldn't bring himself to care. Music and poetry held little interest for him, and he couldn't even remember if he'd ever kissed anyone, let alone enough people to form a top ten.

This simple expression of Rung's gratitude and affection made his spark flutter in his chest.

Before he knew it, Rung was pulling away and Skids couldn't decide if he was happy about that or not. Without thinking he reached out and steadied the smaller bot as he rocked back onto his feet.

And then he looked at him.

Oh...

Chapter Text

With each cautious step he took Skids made sure to shift his weight to the large tires that made up most of his feet. The manoeuvre worked well to cushion sound of his footsteps. Likewise, his armour was pulled in tight against his frame to silence any rattling, scraping or that strange squeaking noise that started happening a few days ago whenever he moved his left elbow. He should probably see Ratchet about that... Anyway, sneaking!

The room was dark so he dimmed his optics to reduce the glare, but there was an intensity in his expression as his gaze locked on his target recharging peacefully on the berth on the other side of the room.

He slowly closed in on his goal. Unseen and unheard.

He was silence itself...

“Good evening, Skids.”

His optics brightened to their normal gold even as his expression fell. “How did you know I was here?”

So much for being silence personified.

Rung chuckled softy and patted the empty spot beside him. “It was too quiet.”

It was a silent invitation that Skids eagerly accepted. RSVP and everything. But he had the good grace to look a little abashed when he hauled himself onto the berth. “Sorry my intense silence woke you,” he mumbled in a low soft tone.

Rung, who had yet to online his optics, sighed deeply and rolled into the dip created in the padding by Skids considerable weight. Skids grinned and looped an arm around Rung's slender waist, drawing the smaller bot tight against his side.

Guess that meant he was forgiven.

His fingers found the lovely curve of Rung's hip, where they slowly stroked up and down. “It's a shame you didn't come to Swerve's tonight,” he whispered into the crook of Rung's neck. “People were asking after you. Especially Rewind, looks like the little guy found a copy of that book you were after,” he had to pause as he recalled the conversation he'd had with Rewind, the little archivist could talk about anything and everything if the right mood took him. “Hm, something about a model catalog. Heh, I'm assuming he meant model ships. Unless there's something you'd like to share...?”

…

“Rung?” Skids pulled back and wasn't surprised in the slightest to discover that Rung had fallen back into recharge. Smiling fondly, he gently cupped the sleeping bot's face and angled it so he could press his lips briefly to one of Rung's eyebrows. “Cya in the morning, Brightspark.”

Chapter Text

Skids entered Swerve's bar to the usual chorus of “Hi Skids!”, “You doing alright there, Skids?”and the ever popular “Not using the vents today?” He returned the friendly greetings as best he could but he declined any offers to stay, chat and share a drink or two. Skids was a bot on a mission.

His optics swept the room hoping to catch a glimpse of his target amidst the bar regulars. It didn't take long to spot Rung's bright orange paint work sitting at the bar, chatting away merrily with Swerve about anything and everything, probably. The bartender said something that made Rung laugh, the psychiatrist raised a hand to hide his smile but there was no missing the way his shoulders shook with mirth or the mischievous glint in his optics. For one brief panic-stricken second Skids considered turning back the way he came. Rung appeared to be enjoying himself, so maybe now wasn't a good-

“HEY!” Swerve's voice cut through the air like a homing missile built to detect doubt and hesitation. “Hey! Skids! Over here!” the white and red mini-bot was frantically waving his arms. Beside Swerve, perched neatly on a bar stool with one leg crossed over the other, Rung was trying and failing to hide his amusement.

No backing out now.

Skids slapped a smile on his face and made his way towards the bar. “Evening,” he pulled himself onto the stool next to Rung. Before his backside had even touched the padding, Swerve had started telling him about an amusing incident that'd happened earlier that evening. Something about Whirl and a machine that went bleep? Ah whatever, he'd get the proper story from him later. Phase One was a success, he had located Rung, but now he needed to move onto Phase Two and that meant getting Swerve temporarily out of the picture.

Resting his elbows on the counter, Skids leaned over and tapped the chattering Swerve on the forearm. “Hey Swerve, do you think I could get my usual?”

“Sure thing. One Hassle-Free Hotwire coming right up,” Swerve turned trotted to the far end of the bar where Skids knew he'd needed to go if he was going to on Skids' drink.

Phase Two of Operation Eyebrows; complete. Initiating third and final phase, ask Rung the question without looking like an idiot or throwing up onto his lap... again. Ugh, even just thinking about that night made his tanks churn.

A gentle voice drew Skids out of his thoughts. “Skids. Are you okay? You're looking a little twitchy...”

“I'm fine,” Skids grinned because that's what he did when he was nervous, smile and hope no one called him out on it. “So, Rung. Since you're here and everything, I was wondering...”

“Yes?”

“Well, I've given it a lot of thought. And I'm a theoretician so you better believe me when I say A LOT because it's kinda true.”

Rung chortled and patted Skids' hand, kindly, and with far more patience than Skids probably deserved at that exact moment in time. “I'm sure it is. Go on.”

“Anyway, like I said, I've been thinking a lot about you. Actually, I never said that but I'm saying it now. But I really should have said it to start with because I'm pretty sure, right now, I'm just stalling by spewing out inane-”

“By Adaptus' third right knee! Just ask him already!” A voice boomed beside the pair, startling the both of them.

If Skids hadn't grabbed Rung's wrist then no doubt the Psychiatrist would have ended up on the floor. Both bots shot a look at Swerve who stood behind the bar with Skids' multi-coloured drink in hand.

The mini-bot simply grinned back and placed the drink on the counter top. “Uh... Here's your drink. If you need me I'll just be over there...” he scooted down the length of the bar. “Just doing my bartending thing...”

Ah to hell with it.

Skids loosened his grip on Rung's wrist but didn't quite give up that very small bit of contact. “Do you want to have a drink, sometime. As in just you and me. At the same time and in the same place, together?”

Rung didn't say anything. Not a peep. Instead, he removed his arm from Skids' weak grip, picked up Skids' drink and held it out to him. Skids took the glass whilst casting an anxious glance at the exit, if he moved now he could probably reach it before anyone could stop him, when he heard the sharp ringing sound of glass clinking against glass, Rung tapping his own drink against Skids'.

Rung smiled, sweetly. “I'd love to.”

Chapter Text

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

With utmost care, Rung gently inched his model of the Ark 7 a little to the right, then left, then right again. Nudging it this way and that until it lined up perfectly between Ark 6 and 8. He stopped and leaned back to inspect his work.

Perfect!

His Ark collection had been the last thing on his mind during the ship-wide evacuation, but after returning to the Lost Light, and digging himself out from under a pile of his unconscious crew mates, he'd been relieved to find his office relativity untouched. At least it wasn't filled with Legislator corpses, again.

He took a step back from the shelves to admire his collection, when he heard the door to his office open behind him. Rung smiled to himself. His office contained sensitive materials(such as patient records) and was always locked. There'd been no override alert, whoever opened the door had used the key-code, and only two people on the entire ship knew that sequence, himself and-

“Skids! Thank Primus. I was... Skids?” He'd turned around, expecting to see his lover and his ever-present grin. It was Skids, there was no mistaking the distinctive silhouette filling the doorway. What caused Rung to falter was the way Skids' body sagged against the door frame, or the tense - almost pained - look in his flickering optics.

Even from where he was standing Rung could hear the faint rattle of armour quivering with obvious distress. Skids' door-panels, often a reliable indicator of his moods, were hiked up, putting pressure on the sensitive joints and no doubt causing Skids a fair amount of pain.

Skids grinned, but it was brittle expression, threatening to crack at any moment. “Hey Eyebrows...”

“Skids, are you okay?” Rung took a hesitant step forward, then another, before he'd even made it half-way across the room, Skids had swiftly closed the distance between them. He felt large, strong arms around his waist, holding him tightly, desperately, as the larger bot curled over and buried his face against Rung's slim neck.

He gasped. He could feel the heat that radiated off Skids' frame as well as the shaky, uneven, breath against his neck. Obvious symptoms of an overworked system. Rung's concern grew, verging just on the edge of panic, but he brushed those feelings aside with a cool, professional hand. Panic rarely solved anything.

“Skids,” he wriggled, succeeding in freeing his arms from the tight embrace. “Skids, please tell me what's wrong,” like a protective shroud he lowered his arms around Skids' neck and head, shielding him. His fingertips traced idle patterns against the too warm plating. “What happened, Dearspark?” he kept his tone as light as his touch.

Skids didn't reply but Rung was willing to wait. Patience was a skilled he had honed over eons. He never let up on the gentle touches to Skids' frame, using touch to sooth as well as reaffirm his affections. Each caress of his fingers bled a little of the tension from Skids' taunt frame until finally, thankfully, he spoke.

The words were muffled as Skids had yet to raised his head from Rung's neck. “I... Sorry. Sorry. Just give me a minute, okay?” Rung felt a wave of heated air across his neck, Skids sighing. “I, I just really need this...” the arms around Rung tightened but it was nothing like the desperate squeeze from only a few moments ago.

Rung turned and nuzzled the side of Skids' helm, “Hush now,” he murmured, angling his head so he could press a gentle kiss to the edge of Skids' audial. “You have nothing to apologise for,” he said, spark and EM field brimming over with warm affection. Something had clearly distressed Skids. The evacuation? Or maybe the failed poisoning? Either way, there was no shame in seeking out comfort or reassurance.

Another kiss, this time to the curved edge of Skids' helm crest. “Would it be okay if we sat down?”

There was a nod, a soft grunt of agreement, and then Skids finally lifted his head, revealing a raw expression that evoked a strong pulse of sympathy from Rung's spark and field. Rung was quick to offer comfort. He made a quiet, soothing sound as he cupped the sides of Skids' helm with both hands and eased him into a kiss. It was soft and warm, sweet, and more than enough to convey Rung's feelings.

It's okay.

His pulled back and kissed Skids' right cheek, then the other.

I’m here.

Back down to his lips, still warm from their last kiss.

You're safe.