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“Bah.”
His seventh bah of the night—Crankcase might have hit a new record. He squinted seriously at the platter Misfire held in his servos. Rows of glowing cookies, lovingly crafted into holiday shapes like trees and bats. He wasn’t exactly sure what his fellow Scavenger was proposing, as he’d thrust them at him and launched into some unintelligible explanation that Crankcase almost immediately tuned out.
“So? Are you gonna help?”
“Huh?” Crankcase asked, blinking several times beneath his visor. Misfire stared. “Sorry, wasn’t really listenin’ to ya.”
“You’re the fucking worst,” he said and Crankcase only nodded in agreement.
“Isn’t he?” Arms slid around him from behind and it took barely a moment for him to recognize the voice—Blaster, his favourite mech. He leaned back, warmth spreading along his kibble. Then he was being spun around and pressed into a broad chest, something he wasted no time in snuggling into.
“Ugh, I’ll find someone else to decorate these.”
Why did anyone need to decorate them? They were perfectly edible as-is.
He looked up at Blaster, who was grinning. Not that he wasn’t always stunning, but the way the string lights hit him just right had his tanks fluttering. His armor was stained with that warm color and his blue optics twinkled. Crankcase couldn’t help but return a small smile, meant only for him to see.
“Thought I’d find ya here. How are you?” Blaster asked, one servo finding Crankcase’s face to cup it.
“It’s Swerve’s, of course I’m here,” he replied playfully, standing on the tips of his pedes so he could plant a kiss firmly on Blaster’s lips. The bigger mech chuckled and squeezed him, tilting his head so their olfactory sensors didn’t clash nearly as much.
“Right, of course.” Blaster released his grip suddenly, pulling Crankcase to the center of the room as the song changed into something else. “Oh, this’s a good one.”
Oh, Primus… he was being pulled into a dance, wasn’t he?
It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last. Blaster loved to dance… Crankcase, not so much when he was sober. And right now, he was far too sober. He had half a mind to turn away, but caught the look on his lover’s face and hesitated.
One dance wouldn’t hurt, right…?
“Alright,” he sighed, defeated, and Blaster laughed.
“C’mon, Casey! Where’s the Christmas spirit?”
“It died with me when I had to witness Whirl flirt with Nightbeat an hour ago.”
Blaster made a face, clasping his hand as the music picked up. Crankcase spread his pedes in preparation… and they danced.
Out of all the reindeers, you know you’re the mastermind.
It was a faced-paced dance. Blaster would step back with one foot and Crankcase would fill the space with his own pede until it returned, then he’d give up part of his own space for the other. Their hips rocked back and forth in time with the beat.
Of course, Blaster was perfect. He was on-time and hot as hell while doing it. His smile was easy and his optics observed Crankcase’s movement. In comparison, his own dancing was sloppy, a second or two behind as he followed the other’s lead. His optical ridges were furrowed in concentration and he was beginning to grow nervous from being watched, which only caused him to stumble further.
Primus, they’d been together for ages now and he was still shy.
“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blaster suddenly asked and Crankcase looked up at him, his movements stuttering.
“You can’t pretend I’m not dancing like shit,” Crankcase huffed back.
“You are,” he replied and Crankcase snorted in shock, “but you’re a damn good sight while doin’ it.”
“Yeah? I think you’re full of it.”
Run, run Rudolph, Santa has to make it to town!
One of Blaster’s servos slipped onto Crankcase’s back and he looked up into a shining smile.
Santa, make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down.
Crankcase felt himself being guided back into a dip through pressure on his chassis and he relaxed, allowing those strong blue hands to support him. It was a little disorienting, but he knew Blaster had him. The delighted face that loomed over him was enough to make up for any discomfort he felt. It was all worth it for him… even a shitty Christmas dance.
“I love you,” Crankcase blurted suddenly, and Blaster’s optics widened. Oh, had that been the wrong thing to say? His intake parted to backtrack, to apologize for the bold statement at such a tender time, but his face was gripped with so much force it nearly hurt, Blaster’s digits curling warmly against his cheek guards.
“I love you, too, so damn much,” he replied, voice soft, and Crankcase’s spark lurched in a pleasant way.
The universe must have rewarded him with Blaster as reimbursement for all he had gone through. He hoped that the other mech felt the same.
After a moment of staring into each other’s optics—or optic-to-visor, really—Blaster picked him back up and they continued dancing until the end of the song. When it seemed they’d go another round, Crankcase caught his hand and pulled him towards a table, ushering Bluestreak out of the way in the process. He slid into a booth, Blaster across from him, and grinned.
“Got your fix of dancing?” Crankcase asked. Blaster set his servos on the table and he wasted no time in clasping them, making his companion chuckle.
“I could go for s’more,” he replied, squeezing Crankcase’s hand. At the expression on his face, he hurried to continue, “but I’m okay just sittin’ here, too. Maybe later.”
“Maybe,” Crankcase agreed. Before he could say much else, a clawed hand slammed down on the table and he looked up into the single optic of Whirl. Despite not having a face with which to do it, he could tell he was grinning viciously.
“Hello, my favorite lovebirds!” he crowed. “And don’t worry, I’ve only said that to three other couples. I’ve come with a gift! No take-backsies!” His other servo lifted high above their heads and Crankcase squinted; pinched between his claws was a bundle of green organic matter that bounced merrily with each movement.
“...a plant. Thanks, Whirl,” he said, reaching out to take it. It was yanked higher up.
“Nuh-uh! Don’t touch the mistletoe, don’t you know what this is?!” Whirl demanded and Crankcase glared.
“No, I don’t, and if you don’t get out of my face, I’m going to—”
Before he could finish, Blaster stood and leaned over the table to grab Crankcase by his kibble, yanking him out of his seat and pressing their lips together. Unprepared, the ‘Con made a small noise, but quickly gathered himself and placed his servos on either side of his partner’s face. He no longer cared that Whirl was leering over them, watching with far too much interest to be considered normal, because all that mattered was warm lips on his own.
The lanky presence beside their table disappeared and Blaster released him, a smile on his face. “That’s what the mistletoe means.”
“To kiss?” Crankcase asked doubtfully, finding the entire idea to be ridiculous.
“Yeah! ‘S an Earth tradition,” Blaster replied happily, settling back down into his seat with a soft creak. A laugh left him as he saw Crankcase’s expression and he reached out to grab his hand. “Don’t look so disturbed. It’s cute, and it gave me an excuse to kiss you.”
“Right… you can do that, anyways.” Crankcase shook his head dismissively and squeezed Blaster’s servos.
“I can,” he agreed, “but not every day is Christmas.”
Quite frankly, Crankcase wasn’t sure when they’d begun to adopt Earthern traditions. Before this year, he’d never celebrated anything—let alone ones from other cultures. It wasn’t all bad, the mechs bustling around the decorated bar seemed fairly happy and he felt so as well.
Maybe he ought to give the organics a chance… he’d heard talk of Easter, maybe Blaster would tell him what that was about.