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Cyclonus' claws were gently caressing his plating. Tailgate knew he was trembling, but couldn't stop it. It wasn't the physical closeness, that made him nervous... at least, not only.
A finger brushed against his deep-wires and Tailgate twitched. It was unfamiliar and scary, and... Tailgate pressed his faceplate against Cyclonus' shoulder, trying to get closer. He could hear the faint engine rumbling inside Cyclonus, the small sounds that were impossible to hear unless your audio receptors were inches away from the plating. Tailgate felt like they were slowly melding together. This was what was making Tailgate tremble.
The idea with the sparks had been Tailgate's. He heard it first in a bar, mentioned an offhand joke, and had grown curious. Rewind had explained it to him later, tactfully acting as if it was a hypothetical topic totally unrelated to reality. As if he didn't get why Tailgate was asking, and for whom.
Cyclonus was now rubbing the smooth wiring deep beneath, long fingers slipped between the cracks of the plating. It was pleasant and electrifying, and despite however gentle Cyclonus was, it did nothing to calm down Tailgate. He was getting more nervous by the minute, breathing faster than before.
It was getting stupid by now. He came to Cyclonus with the idea, and now was shaking on Cyclonus' lap, not even daring to look him in the face. It was time to do something about it.
"Cyclonus?" said Tailgate, head still pressed against the frame. It must have come out muffled and quiet. "Could you sing something for me?"
Cyclonus had halted, and then resumed his stroking again. After a short silence, Cyclonus did that raspy sound, the one he always did to warm up his vocalizer.
It was a new song. It started on a low note and began climbing, before falling away, and repeating itself from the start. A slow song. Tailgate recognized the old Cybertronian word for "hope" somewhere in the middle. It did kinda sound hopeful, and it was just as gentle as Cyclonus' careful hands.
Cyclonus was singing quietly - at least, quiet compared to Cyclonus' usual volume -, but it was still enough to make the frame vibrate from his powerful voice. Tailgate noted with fascination, that the music could not only be picked up by audio receptors, but also reverberated through the body frame. Tailgate put his hand on Cyclonus frontplate, to feel the rumbling fade into his fingertips. This was amazing.
Tailgate looked up to Cyclonus and saw him smile. Cyclonus raised a hand to brush with the thumb against Tailgate's cheek, and held up Tailgate's chin while slowly leaning forward. Inches away and looking directly into Tailgate's optics, Cyclonus kept singing with the same faint smile. Tailgate couldn't move, transfixed by his beauty. Tailgate's processor stuttered, uncapable of dealing with the flood of emotions.
Tailgate could tell by now that this song was about love. How could he have not noticed it from the very start?
It was almost too much. The warm voice was full of love, his gaze full of love, his metal frame carrying the notes of the same beautiful song. Tailgate wanted to hide on Cyclonus' shoulder again... and at the same time, he wanted more.
"Cyclonus, I'm ready," said Tailgate. When Cyclonus broke off the song, Tailgate quickly added: "But please keep singing. For as long as you'll manage to, considering... well..."
Tailgate decided to say nothing more.
Cyclonus cleared his throat and resumed singing. He lifted Tailgate up to change their position, so now they were not sitting face to face, but half-turned. Tailgate had clung to Cyclonus' hands while he was being lifted up, feeling awkward and nervous again. It seems Cyclonus wanted to have a bit more space between them, and Tailgate fought the urge to press himself against Cyclonus frame. He had felt better when he was close to Cyclonus.
One hand on Tailgate's shoulders and the other scratching against his own breastplate, Cyclonus looked focused and stern. It seems that he was trying to find the rarely used mechanism, that would allow to retract the plating in the front. People didn't do this very often. Usually, there was no reason to expose the most vulnerable portion of yourself to the world.
An audible clang made Tailgate perk up, and then he saw the plating withdraw with a soft hiss. There were more layers below it, which Cyclonus unclasped and removed by hand. Then there was...
The spark was swirling and dancing inside the round casing. It was unbearably bright, more mesmerizing and radiant than anything that Tailgate has seen in his life. For a moment, Tailgate couldn't speak.
"You're so beautiful," Tailgate finally breathed out.
Cyclonus softly stroked Tailgate's neck.
"Hardly more beautiful than you."
"You've not even seen my spark yet."
"I've seen you," said Cyclonus, "and your brightness is impossible to miss."
Cyclonus always said such beautiful things, things that Tailgate could never match with his own words. Although considering how rarely Cyclonus spoke up at all... frankly, Tailgate would have preferred an "I love you" every day, rather than something mindblowingly sweet every couple decacycles.
But this was hardly the time for complaints, not with Cyclonus' spark before him. Was it moving faster now, this whirlwind of light? Or was Tailgate's chronometer playing tricks? It seemed like this moment was frozen in time, and yet passing by far too fast. How could such beauty even exist and remain within an arms-length of a bot like Tailgate?
Cyclonus grasped inside his chest, hiding the spark from sight. Tailgate now noticed that Cyclonus had stopped singing some time. Most likely he got distracted and forgot, just like Tailgate. After all, this was new territory for both of them.
When Cyclonus withdrew his arm, Tailgate gasped and clung to Cyclonus.
"Are you sure that's safe?"
"It is."
Tailgate stared at the unguarded spark. Cyclonus had flipped open the spark casing, leaving one half dangling to the side. It looked so vulnerable.
"But..."
"Look," said Cyclonus, "it's all good..."
He placed his hand inside the frame, and slowly raised a finger towards the spark. Tailgate felt his energon pumps hold still, as the sharp claw came closer and closer and...
The whirl storm released a tendril of light, which nipped at the finger and curled itself around it, before dissolving like smoke. More flames of light licked the finger, and then Cyclonus' hand carefully retreated.
"Primus," said Tailgate, "I'm... are you...? It's..."
He was babbling. He needed to stop babbling. Tailgate shut himself up.
Cyclonus started singing again, his arm resting on Tailgate's waist. If his goal was to calm down Tailgate, then he succeeded. The singing gave Tailgate an excuse to rest for a moment and think. It didn't look hard what Cyclonus had done, did it? Just put hand inside and wiggle his fingers? Like with love and utmost respect, but in the end it was still just finger wiggling.
Tailgate raised his hand and reached for the opening in Cyclonus' plate. When he was almost inside, Tailgate suddenly hesitated. Primus, what if something went wrong? What if he clumsily stabs the spark with his finger and kills Cyclonus? It could absolutely happen. Totally. Tailgate just knew it. These types of things always happened with him.
Cyclonus fingers wrapped themselves around Tailgate's hand and gently pushed them inside the breast space. Tailgate looked up in distress at Cyclonus, and then all protestations melted away upon seeing him smile. Cyclonus leaned forward and rubbed his forehead against Tailgate' faceplate and released the hand.
Well, Cyclonus seemed to have no hesitations at all. If Cyclonus trusted Tailgate not to accidentally kill him during sparkplay, then Tailgate will try to have faith in himself as well. No matter how hard it might be.
Tailgate looked at the spark. He now could recognize the hot core inside, pulsing bright and strong. It suddenly dawned on Tailgate - as he finally understood what he had known before - that this was the source of life! The small miracle that was allowed them to experience the joy and pain of living... a small miracle from which the greater was born. The gigantic, hugest miracle called love.
It was pretty amazing. Tailgate felt his engine stutter and tentatively reached for the spark. It had to be done slowly, carefully, so he wouldn't hurt Cyclonus. His hand was inching closer, as a flame suddenly jumped and licked his finger. Tailgate flinched from surprise and pulled back. Judging from the way Cyclonus shifted his weight, he had felt it as well.
The touch of the spark did not feel unpleasant. It was as if lightning entered your body, igniting every sensory node between the fingertips and your shoulder. The strength of the signal was something that Tailgate usually only associated with pain, but this feeling was ticklish and warm instead. For a short moment, Tailgate felt as if he was connected to Cyclonus.
Something brushed against Tailgate's neck. It was Cyclonus, kneading and rubbing the sensitive wiring in his back. It seems he was encouraging Tailgate to keep going.
The fear was gone, replaced by eagerness to try again. This was more special than Tailgate could have even imagined.
Next time, Tailgate did not pull away when the bright tendril touched him. Instead, he played with it - curled his finger and led it to the side, curious whether it would follow. It did - it seemed to acutely respond to his movement. The entire time, Tailgate felt as if all wires inside his arm were flaring up, hotter than the sun. It did not hurt. It only made him feel more alive than ever.
Tailgate moved closer, reducing the distance between his hand and the spark. More flames jumped at him, eagerly lapping his fingers. For a moment, Tailgate's arm was paralyzed, as his receptors were unable to deal with the flood of sensations. But his systems adjusted quickly, rerouting the energy and giving back control of his arm. Getting used to it, Tailgate gently brushed against the tips of light and watched it send ripples through the spark.
Cyclonus stuttered, breaking off his song. Trying and failing getting his vocalizer to work, He energetically rubbed Tailgate's back. It almost hurt, but Tailgate understood that Cyclonus just wanted to let him know, that everything was alright.
Tailgate stroked the light tendrils, as if caressing an evasive flame. Cyclonus tried to pick up the song again, but his voice only crackled with static.
"You can stop singing now," said Tailgate. "I'm okay."
'Okay' was not the right word for what Tailgate felt. The habsuite was silent now, but the tune and the sweet melody still resonated within Tailgate. When Tailgate started humming, he could not tell whether the pulsing of the spark adjusted to his voice, or whether it was him who adapted to its rhythm.
The vortexes on the sparks surface were changing under Tailgate's touch. He guided the whirl storms of light like small fish in a pond, feeling joyful and calm. The glowing in his arm was pulsing at the same time as the spark, fully synchronized with his own body.
Staring at the patterns of the spark, Tailgate wondered whether it was a trick of mind or whether they really appeared familiar to him. These ever-changing constellations, Tailgate felt as if he had seen every single one before. Of course, it made no sense. But since Cyclonus had shared his spark with him on his death-bed... well, almost-death-bed, maybe Tailgate did recognize the spark on some subconscious level...?
Maybe Tailgate was just kidding himself, trying to prove to himself how special and deep their bond was. It was silly, wasn't it? They clearly had something, and this something was dying for. What more should one even want?
Well, an "I love you" every day would be nice…
"Tailgate," rasped Cyclonus. He seemed to have a hard time of controlling his voice. "Will you let me..." There was a short burst of static, before Cyclonus could finish the sentence, "...have my turn?"
"Yes," said Tailgate, "of course, you're right. I'll immediately..."
Tailgate pulled away his hand and felt the power leave his arm in a single hot flash. It came unexpectedly and Tailgate almost yelped out. After the hotness passed, the arm felt tingly and weak.
"This is so weird," said Tailgate. "I knew that it'd be something special, but... more on a spiritual level? Instead it's like touching the sun. Wow. It's so..."
Tailgate caught himself.
"Wait, I'm rambling. You wanted to have your turn, didn't you? Here we go then..."
He began squirming on Cyclonus' lap. Ratchet had been examining his spark often enough in the follow-up medical checks, but Ratchet had his way with mech's bodies. He'd gently tap here and here, and the mechanism would redraw all on its own. All that Tailgate had to do was not actively struggle against it.
Tailgate tried giving a command to his breastplate - "retract, withdraw, move" -, but it was left unanswered by his body. Well, how about a hands-on-approach? He tried finding cracks, the pressure points that would give him to access the spark space. Fidgeting with the chestplate, Tailgate had the sinking feeling that he was getting nowhere.
"Cyclonus? Could you help me get this thing.. ugh... open?"
Cyclonus placed a palm on Tailgate's chest. His claws looked as sharp as ever. Cyclonus tentatively scratched against the outlines on the white panel, but nothing yielded. Short after, the hand wandered down to Tailgate's lower body plates. He traced with a finger the round protuberance, which felt ticklish to Tailgate. Then Cyclonus placed his fingers around it, and pressed.
Tailgate exhaled as the plates retracted downwards.
"How do you know these things?" asked Tailgate.
"Look for weak spots," answered Cyclonus laconically. "Usually the mechanism is where the plating is at its most vulnerable."
"And how does one recognize that?"
"Experience. Battle."
"To put it in different words," said Tailgate slowly, "you wonder where the easiest spot to rip out my plating would be."
"Hmm. Yes."
"Cyclonus, you are so creepy sometimes. I mean, there must be better ways to phrase these things!"
"You said it, not me," said Cyclonus, raising his brow.
"Cyclonus, you're hopeless," sighed Tailgate. He tentatively touched the edges of the opened breast space. It was such a shame that he couldn't see anything, since the bulging chest plate was in the way. Maybe he could get himself a mirror to have a look at his spark one day?
"Well, it's your turn," said Tailgate finally. "What are you waiting for?"
Silently, Cyclonus tilted Tailgate backwards by the shoulders to have a better look and access to the spark. Even knowing that there is no way that Cyclonus could drop him, Tailgate couldn't help but cling to his arm. He now felt vulnerable not only to the touch, but to the powers of gravity as well. Off balance, in the literal and metaphorical sense of the phrase.
Cyclonus placed his arm inside Tailgate's chest space and then... a surge of electricity followed, the sparking of a connection. Only when Cyclonus hissed and broke the bond, did Tailgate notice that his body had jerked forward. Towards the touch.
Cyclonus withdrew his hand from the chest and growled:
"What are you doing?"
"I haven't ... It happened on its own!"
"You realize the danger of what you just did?"
"I didn't want to. I'm sorry, Cyclonus."
With a heavy sigh, Cyclonus changed his grip around Tailgate.
"I will put you on the berth and hold you down," said Cyclonus in a voice that allowed no argument, "so this type of thing won't happen again."
"Imprisoned in my own habsuite by a villain twice my size..." muttered Tailgate under his breath.
"I'm sorry?"
"Nothing."
With a "Hmph", Cyclonus followed up on his threat - or "plan", if one could call it that - and laid Tailgate on the berth. Cyclonus leaned above and placed a hand on Tailgate's shoulder, to heavily press him down. It seems Cyclonus was serious about immobilizing him. Not as if Cyclonus didn't have a point - sudden movements were dangerous, especially handling something as delicate as a spark. Wasn't Tailgate deathly afraid just minutes ago about accidentally killing his sparkmate himself?
Cyclonus must have been scared too. Now, he looked serious as ever, examining the spark as if it were a bomb. Tailgate was about to nudge Cyclonus and say "My spark doesn't bite", but Cyclonus went ahead and reached for it. Comedic timing lost, Tailgate could only brace for the in-bounding connection.
This time, Tailgate only helplessly twitched in response to the signals that spread to his body. It was so unlike the experience of touching the spark himself. Instead of wires burning up inside your arm, the sensation jumped straight to the brain. The electricity caressed his body with static hands. There was a pull at Tailgate's chest, as if there wasn't enough air circulating within him or as if he drank too much high-grade energon. It made Tailgate feel light-headed.
The sensation faded and grew stronger. Tailgate couldn't help but associate it with the movements of a hand - he imagined Cyclonus fingers brushing against him, the flames of the spark dancing in response. There was a careless elegance to everything that Cyclonus did, and Tailgate wished he could see Cyclonus' hand playing with the tendrils of light. It must be a beautiful sight.
"Cyclonus, did you open the spark casing? Like you did it with yourself?"
"No."
"Then could you do it now?" Since Cyclonus was not moving, Tailgate added: "You said yourself that it was safe."
Moving slowly and with a visible dislike, Cyclonus moved away to break the bond. It sent a cold shiver through Tailgate. Then Cyclonus grasped the casing with both hands and screwed it open. The grating movement reverberated through his spark. Tailgate was astonished that he could feel it. Usually the workings of the spark was invisible to him just like the circulation of energon. But now it suddenly could be felt. It became real.
Then, the bond returned. Stronger, much more stronger than before. Gasping in surprise, Tailgate felt overwhelmed by the sensation. He placed a hand over Cyclonus' and turned off his optics. There was too many stimuli going through his body, and visuals were the most superfluous senses right now.
Waves of electricity were flowing through Tailgate, but not just that. It was... if one could feel colour, then this is what it would feel like. Soft blue nested in his shoulder, bright red was coursing through his chest and the green tickled the back of his neck. Phantom sensations were taking over his body, making him feel things that weren't there. Tailgate could only gaze in wonder at the fireworks inside his body.
But beneath it all, beneath all the noise, pulsed the same old link. It was strong and made Tailgate want to scream or sing or laugh... if this link had a colour, it would have been purple. If the link had a sound, it would sound like love.
Tailgate wouldn't have been surprised if he activated his optics and found out he was floating up in the air. It was unbelievable, beautiful and... oh no. Tailgate felt that his optics were melting and fluid was running down his face. Too many emotions. One had to do something about the emotions, before Tailgate drowned the whole habsuite.
Tailgate tugged at Cyclonus' arm.
"Cyclonus," said Tailgate faintly, "let me touch your spark as well."
Actually, this plan made no sense. Being connected both ways was only liable to make Tailgate even more emotional. Anyway, to the Pit with logic. Let's make this memorable and worth shedding tears.
Cyclonus changed his grip and moved closer, exposed chest now hovering above Tailgate. The brilliance of the spark caught Tailgate's eye. It was just as mesmerizing as the first time he'd seen it, the bright flames in constant flux. Tailgate reached but stopped inches before touching.
"Cyclonus?"
"Yes?"
"I love you."
The spark ignited the wires inside the arm, burned him up like a ferocious sun. Everything that Tailgate felt before, was amplified hundred times. The caresses of Cyclonus' hand expanded inside the mind like an unfolding universe, the phantom sensations grew in complexity and tenderness. This was no longer a firework, no longer a beautiful spectacle playing out before him.
It was a language.
Tailgate traced his fingers along the spark surface, finding the rhythm. It was not just the pulsing of the spark that guided him - it was the impulses which Cyclonus sent through his body, the synchronized dance of their two sparks. The colours flared up and faded away, leaving symbols and pictures, too quick and too many to remember... but enough to be understood.
It was nothing that could be explained in words. It was like catching a glimpse of a holo-vid, seeing the fraction of gesture or the corner of a smile. But this glimpse was slowed down and more beautiful than anything you have ever seen. Like fingers tenderly locking into each other and never letting go. Like a dance whose only music was the singing of the spark.
A dialogue without words. Tailgate could recognize Cyclonus in every single symbol, see everything that made him him. There was no coherence or clarity to it, only the glorious chaos of love.
Tailgate looked at Cyclonus to see whether he felt it too, felt it exactly as he did..? This was not something that could be answered with a glance, but Cyclonus locked gazes with him and smiled. The image overlapped with the echoes of love, was too magnificent to comprehend. Tailgate felt tears run down his faceplate.
Their fingers danced on the surface of the spark, separately and yet together. It was a moment that should last an eternity. There was beauty in this, and glory and the golden glow of happiness the likes which Tailgate had never experienced before. But above all it was a promise, not spoken with words but only communicated through the fire of their sparks. It was a single word etched in love:
Forever.