'you make me so happy' (whirlstorm)

04 December 2018

Sleeping’s awkward to begin with – not that he really ever realized it until he saw a grounder in recharge and realized with a jolt that oh, wow, people can sleep on their sides – but that thing that couples do when they like each other and want to be close while in the same berth and not currently engaged in sexual interface, that’s like, almost impossible. There’s a word for it. The word is… right on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s just that they have wings and rotors and thrusters and all sorts of other kibble that gets wildly in the way, meaning that they can’t exactly curl up together and nuzzle at each other like little sleepy Earth animals. They have to figure out how to make do, and that involves a lot of experimentation involving wing sensitivity and whether one can ignore how the narrow juts of Whirl’s kibble is digging into one’s spinal strut the whole night through. It’s a bit of a nightmare at first because they’re both stubborn and they’re both impatient and there’s more than once that Whirl gets tired of Brainstorm’s fidgeting and turning and tells him in no uncertain terms to settle the hell down or he’ll kick Brainstorm out on his aft.

You’ve already got me committed to this recharge scrap, so let me do it, Primus.

They figure it out eventually. It’s only sort of uncomfortable, and only at first, because it means Brainstorm has to lay on his front, which makes him a little nervous because he knows realistically that his cockpit windows aren’t likely to crack underneath him but there’s still that little shiver of fear about it. His chest takes most of the weight, besides, and he can cross his arms up under his head if he wants to. If he’s there on his front, his main wings can rest over Whirl’s thin abdomen, and he can scooch up until their sides are mostly touching. And it’s nice.

The first time they figure it out they don’t sleep, either of them, because they’re so busy being tense and unsure the whole night through, even though neither will admit it to the other. And the tension feeds off of itself and it’s a feedback loop of anxiety and stiff struts the morning after, uncomfortable groaning when they get up off the berth. They’re just not used to it. Casual touch. Affectionate stuff. Not when it’s honest and genuine and promising to come back like this.

It takes … a while. An indeterminate amount of time. Whirl probably knows; Brainstorm’s found that if he asks what time it is, or how long it’s been since some event, Whirl can come out and say it instantaneously. Gotta know this stuff, Whirl insists. Clockmaker. But to Brainstorm it just feels like ages, maybe weeks, probably a few days, and it’s actually Whirl who pulls in a long draft of air for strength and relaxes first. The tension just empties out of him like someone’s put a hole in a barrel of energon. That’s the first part that surprises Brainstorm.

The second part that surprises him is when Whirl tips his head to the side (he’s flexible, he’s got elastic cabling and a long and pretty neck) and sort of nudges the rim of his optic down against the top of Brainstorm’s head. It’s gentle, as gentle as Whirl’s ever been. Those curled-up Earth creatures with their soft fur come to mind again. One of Whirl’s legs comes up over one of Brainstorm’s, draping over the joint of his knee. There’s a murmur of something that’s halfway just basic, mechanical sound.

Brainstorm feels so suddenly warm that he worries for a second that his energon’s gotten polluted. A quick diagnostic check assures him that nope, all systems are go, you’ve just got it bad.

Whirl nudges their helms together again and he says, real low so that Brainstorm only barely hears it, “you make me happy, you weird little jet.”

Brainstorm’s vents catch and his systems all seem to stutter at once and he’s aware that he’s making a prolonged and high-pitched noise at the back of his vocal synthesizer.

“Well, don’t break over it,” Whirl mumbles, pinching the edge of Brainstorm’s wings, and Brainstorm can’t do anything but break into a helpless and desperate kind of giggle and shove his face down further against the berth.