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With Tailgate’s reassuring weight heavy in his cockpit, Cyclonus fired his thrusters and launched himself into atmosphere. It clawed at him, tried to tug him back down and down and down to the core. Tailgate let out a little gasp and pressed himself against the glass, staring out as Cyclonus’ frame burned red from friction and heat.
Tailgate murmured to himself, quiet and almost as though he didn’t want to be heard. Cyclonus hummed in acknowledgment, still straining against gravity. He finally tugged himself free, the familiar cold of space curling its fingers around his overheating frame. Tailgate settled down as Cyclonus took a minute to just stare down at the planet. “Are we ever coming back?”
A notification appeared on his HUD. Cyclonus opened it, read what it said, then turned his nose away from Cybertron. His systems let out a little hum of satisfaction as they cycled the void through his engines.
“Yes, little one,” Cyclonus said, voice confined to the warmth of his cockpit, “we’ll be back soon enough.” He kicked his engine into the correct gear and Tailgate gasped. Cyclonus assumed it was because of the change in frequencies - did Tailgate like the one his engine currently ran at? Tailgate wiggled around to get comfortable as Cyclonus pulled away from Cybertron.
Yes, he was a couple zeros in debt. But Cyclonus of Tetrahex officially owned a building on New Cybertron.
--
The Gritel Nebula was beautiful. Multicolored dust floated through the gasses, drawn to the center of gravity. Tailgate demanded out of Cyclonus’ cockpit and Cyclonus transformed silently. Tailgate drifted ever so slightly towards the nebula, called by the gravity and the awe.
Light burned in the center of the nebula. Cyclonus didn’t know his optical sensors could pick up so many colors. His mouth was open and his engine stuttered. Somehow Tailgate noticed, somehow he always noticed, and he turned to look at Cyclonus.
Cyclonus’ engine stalled out completely. Tailgate, white and blue and painted with the colors of the nebula behind him, was - was ethereal. His biolights pulsed with his surprise as Cyclonus moved forwards, just a bit, just enough, to press a soft kiss to his faceplate. Tailgate smiled in his way, visor glowing, shoulders scrunching, biolights bright.
It had taken weeks for the two of them to get there, but it was worth the energon expendage. Cyclonus curled himself around Tailgate, pressed kisses where reds and pinks and purples and yellows decorated his love’s frame.
Beloved , Cyclonus mouthed against the metal, my beloved.
--
The mechanized planet was cold as the vacuum of space. It was times like this that Cyclonus really did miss Whirl, he realized. Whirl, at least, would have his back reliably. Tailgate hadn’t fought since he was depowered for those precious lost months. Cyclonus couldn’t rely on him in a fight, but Cyclonus trusted in his ability to protect the both of them.
The other mechs, the native mechs of this world, watched Cyclonus pass with a mix of anger and hate. Cyclonus bore the weight of those glares and prayed to Primus above that they wouldn’t try to hurt Tailgate, prayed to Solomus that they would figure out that Tailgate meant no harm.
Confident in his abilities or not, Cyclonus resolved to grab Tailgate and fly out. Recharge be damned, energon be damned, they would get their fill elsewhere. Tailgate seemed like he didn’t notice the glances and skipped ahead of Cyclonus, talking about this and that. Cyclonus listened as close as he could while keeping a sensor out for trouble.
Tailgate turned to him and Cyclonus finally noticed the worry on his face. Tailgate was good at hiding it, getting better since he and Cyclonus became friends. Cyclonus reached for the love of his life and caught a hold of his arm. Tailgate paused and beamed up at him.
Carefully, optics drawn to the floor, Cyclonus forced the words out of his mouth. “I will protect you,” he said and tried, oh Primus he tried, to make optic contact, “I won’t let you come to any harm. You don’t have to worry.” Tailgate smiled up at him.
“Thank you,” he said easily and Cyclonus smiled back. Tailgate looked delighted at its appearance and jumped up to nuzzle against Cyclonus. “You’re getting better at the optic contact thing.” Cyclonus nodded.
“It’s thanks to you,” Cyclonus said, then, because he was in an adventurous mood, “it’s always thanks to you.” Tailgate let out an aborted squealing noise and pressed closer. Cyclonus held him close and continued his walk towards the public baths. It was, in fact, always thanks to Tailgate.
--
Tailgate slept, safe and sound in Cyclonus’ cockpit. He marveled at his conjux’s weight as he glided towards - towards somewhere. Tailgate, small and beautiful, perfect and alluring, his engine purring, Tailgate who had Cyclonus’ attention forever, who chose Cyclonus, Tailgate -
Tailgate who loved Cyclonus, despite how many times Cyclonus had hurt him. Tailgate, who loved and loved and loved, even when he was angry, even when he was frustrated. Cyclonus loved him, wanted to live with him forever, wanted to meet his end after Tailgate had so his love wouldn’t have to face down the world alone.
Tailgate could take care of himself, he could take care of Cyclonus, but to Primus above Cyclonus prayed that Tailgate would never have to. Beautiful, perfect Tailgate, who had it in his spark to forgive Cyclonus, to give him another chance. Cyclonus relished in Tailgate’s presence, in the flickers of his biolights, the little sleep murmurs, the -
Cyclonus was pulled from his thoughts by a notification on his HUD. He opened it. His debt had been paid off with his last payment. Cyclonus pulled open his bank account to double check and - and yes, it had been paid off. Cyclonus send a question back and received an answer and a choice.
Cyclonus of Tetrahex now owned three apartment buildings on New Cybertron. Cyclonus hummed in approval and let himself sink back into his resting state - thoughts of his conjux.
--
Organic planets were organic planets were organic planets. Tirgon 3 was no different from others they had landed on. The dirt caught in Cyclonus’ filters, long used to the clinical cold of space, and ground against his joints. The air felt weird and heavy thanks to the intense gravity and the moisture clogging his wiring.
But as always, there was beauty to be found in the lay of the land. Thick trees towered over them, the foliage beneath them all encompassing. The creatures of this planet survived in the branches of said trees, their huts hanging in the open air. Cyclonus slowed his flight as he passed them, sensors detecting the warmth of life inside each of them.
Cyclonus didn’t even have it in himself to be unhappy or tired when they landed. Tailgate was so excited, glowing beneath the planet’s sun, paint brighter than it had ever been. Cyclonus followed him silently, exhausted from travelling, rejuvenated by Tailgate’s light.
“There’s a bar here! I wish Nutjob was here, he’d probably start a fight,” Tailgate said cheerfully as he headed for a nearby town - or so Cyclonus named it. It was more a collection of the hanging homes, connected by ramps and bridges and all manner of pretty things. It was too high up for Tailgate on his own, so Cyclonus wrapped gentle arms around him and flew up.
“You know his name is Whirl,” Cyclonus said and Tailgate shrugged with a smile.
Tailgate disappeared into one said bar - due to the size of some of the patrons, a tree had been hollowed out to make space. Cyclonus could tell most inhabitants didn’t like the arrangement. A part of him was fascinated - did the native peoples consider trees holy and disagreed with the decision to hollow one out? Did they dislike the oversized visitors their unique culture drew? - but another part worried for Tailgate’s safety.
The little thing sauntered up to the bartender, ordered confidently. Cyclonus smiled to himself and checked his messages for the first time in months. His buildings were doing well, were pulling in a good amount of revenue. And - and there were a couple buildings up for potential sale.
“Cyclonus! I got us some engex,” Tailgate sang as he jumped out of the tree. Cyclonus sent an offer and caught his beautiful conjux in his cockpit. Tailgate cooed at him, little fingers dragging along his seams, and Cyclonus flew out to a field.
The confirmation came back as Cyclonus finished his engex, already halfway to drunk with Tailgate dancing something awful in front of him. Cyclonus wouldn’t give Tailgate up for the universe.
--
::We’ve never been so close to a black hole.::
Cyclonus nodded faintly, drifting towards recharge. Tailgate looked over at him, plating darkened by general wear and tear. Cyclonus made a note to try for a mechanized planet next time, or at least one with large public baths and saved it somewhere in his processor. Tailgate’s biolights flashed.
Cyclonus twisted so he was upright in relation to Tailgate, on high alert. Tailgate was drifting, like Cyclonus was, towards the event horizon.
::All we’ve been through,:: Tailgate said through their comm.link, ::just to be taken out by a black hole.::
Cyclonus reached out and pulled his beloved into his arms. He fired his thrusters, too tired to aim or course correct, and they swirled away from the black hole. Tailgate, imprinted against the spinning star fields, Tailgate, bright and beautiful against the eternal dark of the black hole, Tailgate, captivating, Tailgate, only had to point his gleaming visor at Cyclonus and he was caught on Tailgate’s event horizon.
Cyclonus’ thrusters turned off and Tailgate was sent spinning away with inertia, Cyclonus’ servo slipping from thin fingers. Cyclonus heaved himself forwards to catch Tailgate, caught in a dizzying swirl, watched as his love laughed, watched as the heavens consumed the sound but left the mech alone.
Tailgate wrapped himself around Cyclonus’ frame shaking with the remains of his laughter. Cyclonus felt his grip on consciousness beginning to slip. He reached down to find the correct panel. It was one he’d found as a youngling, busy in a berth with Galvatron, one he directed Tailgate’s attention to.
::This one,:: Cyclonus told him, ::these couple wires. Rip them out and my thrusters will start automatically.:: Tailgate tilted his head, shoulders slumping, visor and biolights faded slightly. A frown.
::Won’t it hurt you?:: Tailgate asked. Cyclonus nodded.
::I would rather hurt than allow you to be lost to the grips of a black hole.:: Cyclonus murmured, the emotion of the words catching up to him. He twisted his head away as he said it, shoulders slowly hunching in. Tailgate pressed his little body against Cyclonus, wrapped Cyclonus’ arms around his thin waist and wide hips, pressed a servo to the opened panel.
::Neither of us are going to die because of a black hole.:: Tailgate said, sure of this as he was sure of Cyclonus’ love. Cyclonus nodded slowly.
Recharge claimed him quickly.
--
Tailgate woke Cyclonus with fingers drifting along plating and seams, tweaking wires and stroking along plating. Cyclonus refreshed his optics at his love as he slowly came out of recharge. Tailgate crawled right over him, plating squeaky clean and glowing under the lights of the building. He pressed his faceplates to Cyclonus’.
“Good morning, beloved,” Cyclonus murmured, and Tailgate giggled. Cyclonus twisted so Tailgate was beneath him, still glowing and perfect and steaming with the heat of his shower.
“Good morning,” Tailgate whispered.
--
Cyclonus stood under the force of the bird song. His limbs quivered beneath him as birds alighted on his frame. Cyclonus manually locked his limbs one by one, optics beginning burn. Tailgate sat beside him, smiling. An alert for an on sale building appeared on Cyclonus’ HUD and he accepted without thinking about it.
Anything to keep the birds from flying away.
--
The wind tunnels were loud. So was Cyclonus’ engine on a regular basis, but the wind tunnels. Tailgate couldn’t stand to stand so close, his audio sensors were still sensitive from the extended silence of space. So they stood in the desert, stationary, as the air whistled through the mountain range.
Tailgate didn’t even tried to say anything, just stayed quiet in Cyclonus’ arms. His weight, after so many years of of carrying, was familiar and solid. Cyclonus pulled Tailgate closer to his chest plates, closer to the spark that was dedicated to him and only him.
Tailgate shifted and finally turned to look at him. Even now, dusty with the dirt of the planet, even now, curled beneath Cyclonus’ chin, he was beautiful. Tailgate motioned up, towards the green sky, and Cyclonus nodded. Tailgate beamed and Cyclonus tossed him up into the air, a familiar gesture by now, and Tailgate laughed.
He landed snug in Cyclonus’ cockpit, relaxed. “Let’s go! I heard there were people on this planet. I want to meet them.”
“Let’s go then,” Cyclonus said, voice only in his cockpit. Tailgate lounged back against the cushioning they’d installed a couple years into their journey. Cyclonus blasted off across the planet, sensors scanning for any sort of life signs. Tailgate’s weight pressed back against Cyclonus for a second.
“I miss Nutjob,” Tailgate said suddenly, and Cyclonus’ engines hummed a little higher in response. Tailgate laughed a little and snuggled closer. “It was always the three of us, on the Lost Light . You know? You, me, and Nutjob. Do you miss him, Cyclonus?”
Cyclonus didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.” Tailgate wiggled against Cyclonus’ padding.
“Next adventure,” Tailgate said, “we’re going to take him with us. I bet you and him would have so much fun terrorizing the locals.” Cyclonus shook his head.
“You and Whirl would have a lot of fun terrorizing the locals,” he said, “I would follow you and pay for damages.” Tailgate let out a betrayed laugh.
“You’re the worst Conjux,” he said, laughing, “you’re supposed to be on my side.” Cyclonus pulled upwards, out towards the soft gleam of stars, and Tailgate let out a yelp. Cyclonus leveled out, then, after a still beat, plummeted, spiraling. Tailgate shrieked.
The wind streaming down his sides, his conjux pressed against his spark, Cyclonus spiraled up and Tailgate squeaked.
“You’re the worst,” Tailgate gasped, slumped where he sat. Cyclonus said nothing, just poured some more strength into his engines and took off towards where he thought he sensed life.
--
After visiting so many planets, Cybertron was a relief and a comfort. It glowed beneath them. Tailgate pressed against Cyclonus’ windows and stared down at the planet he’d been stuck on for six million years. Cyclonus regretted not being able to admire his love, the way the light of the planet glinted off his plating, the soft twitching of his fingers against the window panes.
Tailgate, beautiful beautiful Tailgate, leaned back just a bit. Quietly, so as not to disturb Cyclonus’ negotiations with customs, began to sing. Cyclonus nearly stuttered mid debate, caught up in Tailgate’s voice. He took the song, the praises for their shared homeland, as comfort and strength, and returned to the arduous twists and turns of bureaucracy.
--
The hab.suite was big. Tailgate rushed through it no less than three times before coming to a stop in front of Cyclonus. His visor glowed and pulsed in time with his biolights, little frame nearly vibrating with the excited rumble of his engine.
“It’s so big,” Tailgate said, “we could live here for years and fill it with all sorts of things and not get bored. How did you get it? I thought everyone was assigned a hab.suite?” Cyclonus shrugged a little.
“I bought it,” Cyclonus said and Tailgate’s visor flashed. Then he shifted his weight to one side and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Do you have a side job?” He asked. “Have you been working this whole time? I thought we were on our honeymoon.” Cyclonus just barely stopped himself from choking at the word. There was no way to deny what it was but - but Cyclonus hadn’t thought about it like that. He floundered for something to say while Tailgate pouted and continued to talk. “Cyclonus, you’re not supposed to do so much for me. I should be helping to support us too. You can rely on me too, you know.”
“I know,” Cyclonus finally said and Tailgate’s visor seemed to narrow. Cyclonus couldn’t make optic contact and he just knew Tailgate was about to start teasing.
“Are you embarrassed? Is it cuz I was talking about you getting a job?” Tailgate said slowly and Cyclonus’ engine went up a pitch as he looked away. He shook his head and Tailgate frowned at him.
“I want to support you,” Cyclonus said, “and that wasn’t it anyway. I wasn’t working, just buying and renting buildings, that’s it. I promise.” Tailgate shuffled forwards to wrap himself around Cyclonus’ lower half. Automatically, Cyclonus bent down and pulled Tailgate up and into his arms, buried his face in Tailgate’s shoulder.
“Then what’s up?” Tailgate said, voice loud in Cyclonus’ audio receptors. He held out against his beloved for a couple more seconds before he pulled back to stare Tailgate in the visor.
“You called it our honeymoon,” Cyclonus said and Tailgate nodded, head tilted like it was the most natural thing to call their adventures, “I. . . I was scared to put it into words, I think. You did it so easily.” Tailgate smiled at him and pressed his faceplates to Cyclonus’ forehead.
“I could and would do anything for you,” Tailgate said sweetly. Cyclonus nearly suffered a spark spasm and re-hid his face. Tailgate giggled and pulled Cyclonus’ face up. “Hey.”
“Hello,” Cyclonus said and his optics dropped. Tailgate waited until he found it in him to look Tailgate in the visor.
“I love you,” Tailgate said. Cyclonus beamed.
“I love you too.”
--
“Cyclonus! Tailgate!”
They turned to see a familiar bright mech rushing towards them. Tailgate jumped off the bench and sprinted forwards. Cyclonus stood as his love crashed into the mech and they tumbled to the floor.
“Hello, Rodimus,” Cyclonus said. Said mech looked up at him from where Tailgate was trying to become one with Rodimus’ armor. Cyclonus held out a clawed servo and Rodimus reached up to take it. He lifted Tailgate up with him and Tailgate nuzzled his head against Rodimus’ shoulders. They’d missed their captain, the heat of his frame and the stability with which he held himself.
But that stability was gone now, somehow, for some reason. Rodimus still burned, with the fire packed beneath his thin plating, with the conviction of what he was doing, with his truth, with the intensity of the event horizon that nearly pulled Cyclonus and Tailgate into the timelessness of a black hole. But at the same time -
Cyclonus had always been a little uncomfortable with Drift’s starry-optic-d interpretation of auras and optic color. But Cyclonus found he didn’t need it to see Rodimus’ optics dim with weary, protoform deep exhaustion. He didn’t need it to see the slouch of Rodimus’ shoulders, the way his chin tucked close to his chest plates.
“We missed you so much! Cyclonus and I have been on a road trip!” Tailgate said and jumped down. He chattered about his and Cyclonus’ adventures and Rodimus knelt to beam at him. They went back and forth excitedly for several minutes. Cyclonus stood and carefully eyed the mecha eying them.
“Do you want to take this reunion to our apartment, captain?” Cyclonus rumbled and Rodimus looked up at him.
“You know the Lost Light ’s gone, right? You don’t have to call me that,” his voice got quieter the more he spoke. Cyclonus shook his head and pulled Rodimus up and close to him.
“You are my captain,” Cyclonus said quietly and - and Tailgate had been helping him so that he could look people in the optics, so he could let the emotions choking him be put into words.
“I’m no one’s captain.” Broken, self deprecating, Rodimus twisted away from Cyclonus, from the words he shoved between them. Cyclonus raised a servo to cup Rodimus’ cheek, idly admiring how out of place his claws looked against Rodimus’ helm. There was a time Cyclonus would have enjoyed putting someone so pretty in danger.
He didn’t enjoy it anymore.
“In the same way Scourge will always be my amica,” Cyclonus said carefully, and Rodimus’ head jerked up in recognition of the name, “in the same way Galvatron will always be my lord -” Rodimus’ lower lip began to tremble, his optics wide and glowing overbright “- in same way Tailgate will always be my conjux, you will always be my captain.”
Rodimus’ optics went out and his helm dropped onto Cyclonus’ chestplates with a clang as his engine hitched and turned over. Cyclonus wrapped his arms around Rodimus - one around his waist, one servo pressed to the back of Rodimus’ helm as Rodimus quivered against him. They rocked as Rodimus struggled for control, engine stuttering, biolights flaring at different intervals.
“Thank you,” Rodimus whispered against Cyclonus’ armor, “thank you.”
--
Tailgate’s plating almost sparkled despite the lack of lights. Cyclonus held still, his beloved sprawled across his chest plates. Cyclonus couldn’t draw his optics from Tailgate. He’d turned off the alarm so Tailgate could recharge a little longer. They had things to do later, a funeral to attend, but the thoughts barely registered as they filtered across his processor.
Cyclonus, as careful as he could be, traced the outlines of Tailgate’s dimmed visor and seams with a single clawed finger. Tailgate shifted now and again, but didn’t wake up. Cyclonus kind of wanted to keep him there forever. Cyclonus wanted to hold Tailgate close to his spark and never let him go.
Cyclonus also wanted Tailgate to be happy, so Cyclonus would never dare confine him to any place. Cyclonus sighed a little and finally checked his chronometer.
“Tailgate,” Cyclonus said and his love shifted against him, tried to curl up tighter so he wouldn’t have to wake up. “Beloved.”
“Cyclonus,” Tailgate mumbled against Cyclonus’ chest plates. Cyclonus smiled down at him as he finally stirred awake. Tailgate blinked up at him, visor winking in and out as recharge’s grip slipped away.
“Tailgate,” Cyclonus said again and Tailgate finally shifted up. Cyclonus reached up to touch his cheek. Tailgate cupped Cyclonus’ servo, engine running idle, still the neutral sound of recharge as opposed to the rumbling of an awake mech. “Tailgate.”
“Cyclonus,” Tailgate said, happier now, fonder now. Cyclonus pulled Tailgate back down to press their foreheads together.
“Do you,” Cyclonus said and hesitated. Tailgate nodded encouragingly, and waited. “Do you want to know why. . . why I always insisted on carrying you? On our - our honeymoon? Instead of taking a public transport?” The words came haltingly, unsure. But they pushed against the back of Cyclonus’ fangs and demanded to be released into the world.
“I’d always assumed it was because you didn’t think they were safe,” Tailgate said and Cyclonus had to take another couple minutes to organize an answer out of his scrambled emotions.
“Because they aren’t,” he said, “and - and we’re coded to protect our sparks at all times.” Tailgate stared at him, then - Cyclonus caught the exact moment it clicked.
“Oh, Cyclonus,” Tailgate whispered and his visor clicked off. “You’re my spark too.”