robothell | (no subject)

Entry tags:

sixshot | phase6kindofbot

(no subject)

Who: Sixshot, Tarn and anyone.
Where: Some place!
When: The day after prom!
What: Sixshot trying to deal with the devastating aftermath of the spectacularly disastrous prom party.
Warnings: Awkward teenage super robot drama. Also discussions of sex?

For Tarn

Unfortunately for Sixshot's new found sense of shame, the six-former's sense of obligation was still stronger. It took a bit more motivation than usual to drag himself out of humiliated hiding, but he manages it and arrives a prim ten minutes early to the agreed meeting point.

And then he just sits.

And tries not to think too hard about the upcoming talk, quietly grateful that his canine face wasn't too expressive.

If Tarn tries to kill him today...

Honestly, Tarn wasn't going to kill him today because, frankly, Sixshot wasn't going to let him. He was not going to die being known for what happened last night, so help him Primus.

Open

The giant murderous space dog is attempting a new strategy: being small.

And hiding.

After shoving most of his mass into subspace, Sixshot was quickly being enlightened to the fact that the dead city actually had a surprising amount of hiding places. He'd never though about it before: Phase Sixers didn't hide after all. Ambush tactics were for the weaker.

On the other hand, Phase Sixers also were never trained to deal with social situations gone so awry that they would actually want to hide. Sixshot certainly never was, anyways.

He quietly curses Megatron's short-sightedness because, clearly, this was all his creator's fault, and shuffles deeper into the hole.

To most outsiders, he was barely more than a white nose sticking out of a wall.

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The trouble with being a spark-possessing individual with a friend who can sense sparks is that there's no way to truly hide.

Rampage slams down in front of Sixshot in a crouch, stirring up a large cloud of dust and rust, having leaped off the top of a building above.

"You feel miserable!" he crows, clearly in a smashing good mood himself.

Man, she's not even looking for Sixshot. In fact Miria ends up passing by that white nose a few times before she actually stops and looks at it. Shifting her weight from a leg that is damaged as she spends much too long staring at it. It doesn't click for the earth made robot that hey, this is Sixshot.

It's not the right size. So she's just going to reach out and...

Bap.

"Dog, why are you inside a wall?" She asks, lightly patting the nose.

This is awful.

It's all Tarn could think as he staggered out of the Decepticon base with the worst hangover of his life. Daylight cuts right through his processor, making his helm ache desperately. Unfortunately for him, he remembers everything that he said and did, the night before, in vivid detail.

Or rather, he remembers the events leading up to his discussion with First Aid. Everything after Sixshot dragged him off is a blur.

What a shameful mess he made of himself. He should know better than to get overcharged and catty like that. He doesn't know how he'll be able to look his fellow Decepticon in the eye after some of the things he said.

Or is he still a Decepticon? Tarn doesn't even know. After all, that bit of detail is what sent him on his spectacular drinking binge to begin with. But really, what does being a Decepticon even mean here? What does it matter?

Eventually Tarn finds himself approaching Sixshot at their designated meeting spot. His steps slow as he risks a glance up at the six changer.

Primus he's never felt so mortified by just looking at someone.

"Sixshot." He clears the static from his throat. "Thank you for seeing me."

"I am going. To shoot you."

Despite the threat, Sixshot lights up an optic, cycling air to blow the settling dust off his his frame. He peers up at his friend, radiating muted embarrassment and a lot of irritation.

"You're unusually cheerful."

And also smelling heavily of First Aid and- hm, overloads.

"I don't want to know why and I don't care," the Sixer adds before Rampage could start.

On one hand, seeing Tarn limping into the light made a spiteful part of him delighted beyond description.

On the other hand...

The frustrated anger that had been coiling up under his spark fizzled away into something like pity. Angry pity. In that he was still pretty ticked at the DJD commander, but he still didn't particularly like seeing the other mech suffering like this, even if it was entirely self inflicted.

"Tarn," he greets. Then pauses in uncertainty. How should they start this?

Sixshot opts to trying for professionalism. After all, pretending like last night didn't happen was very high up in the beast mech's current agenda.

"... Nice. Weather. Today?"

Good job.

SNORT

Sixshot rears back with the most startled and offended of expressions he could muster.

"I do as I please," he puffs indignantly.

Oh.

Oh, it's Sixshot. Miria stops with the patting and looks just a little apologetic.

"This Unit is sorry if it offended Sixshot," she responds, her voice actually having a slight apologetic tone to it. Surprisingly.

"Is Sixshot in the wall because of the yelling about chickens from the previous evening?"

Yes, she heard Tarn shouting about Sixshot's cock. Except she doesn't know that it wasn't about chickens.

Rampage laughs raucously at the threat, clearly not in the least bit worried or offended. Honestly, he's in a good enough mood that Sixshot could probably vaporize his head and he wouldn't even care about the burn of regrowing it.

"You're welcome to try, friend!"

He doesn't know why Sixshot is feeling so awkward and he doesn't really care, lost in his own uncharacteristically pleasant mood.

He flops heavily against the wall next to Sixshot's hole, staring up at the sky with wide optics, and proceeds to completely ignore what Sixshot just said.

"I had sex," he says, sounding rather incredulous.

"Oh my god," Sixshot mutters despairingly, coverings his snout with his claws and uttering the most deeply unhappy groan he could muster.

Yes, he knows you had sex. He knows you had a lot of a sex and he knows you had a lot of sex with First Aid. The scent was practically rolling off of Rampage with how dense and fresh it was, every single atomic detail filtering through Sixshot's olfactory systems like a smelly film reel.

"Congratulations and spare me the details."

Chickens?

... Chickens???

The look Sixshot shoots at Miria is a baffled and still somewhat offended one. He has no idea what chickens would be, but he knows that the previous evening was something he's rather not talk about ever again.

"Let's pretend that nothing happened last night. Forever."

"But... this Unit doesn't see why Cybertronians would be thirsting for chickens?"

Sorry dude, she is completely clueless as to why this is something the phase sixer would want forgotten. But she is picking up on the offended body language. A little.

"But this Unit will cease this line of conversation then," she adds, just to let Sixshot know she doesn't expect an answer from him.

Rampage gives a long contented sigh and continues to ignore Sixshot in favour of daydreaming happily about the previous night.

"It wasn't what I expected," he says, horns drooping dreamily. He looks rather smitten. And happy. Genuinely happy, not the dark amusement he usually has. "It was really... nice."

He's overcome with the sudden urge to hug Sixshot and share his pleasant mood with the closest thing he has to a living best friend at the moment. Except Sixshot is in a hole. What's up with that anyway?

His horns quirk back up and he raises a brow. "...Why are you cowering in a hole?"

Where does he even start? Do one start with ‘I’m sorry that I was yelling about your dick last night at a crowded party’, or ‘How could you leave the Deceptions'? Those are two very different topics to be had.

It’s going to be a very long painful conversation regardless of where they start.

“I-“ He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m really-“ Embarrassed? Sorry? Confused? Ashamed? Any of those would be true statements. “I behaved very poorly last night."

Understatement of the century.

"There's literally a whole roomful of people you can ask about that, who aren't me and are probably more willing to talk about it."

Not like the Autobots were about to forget whose cock Tarn was shout about at any rate.

"I can't really disagree there, unfortunately."

This was a little worse than that time the Prime punched Megatron hard enough that their great leader tried to start a poetry slam in the medical bay with Sixshot in it. Only this a lot more public and in front of an Autobot majority crowd.

"Of course, since you've completely ruined my image in a way that was immensely embarrassing for both of us," cue the most painfully embarrassed expression a wolf could muster. "I don't suppose I can get extension on any upcoming executions? I'd like to die with a little dignity. Preferably after people forget about my, ah, sexual performance."

"Sex is generally supposed to be nice." After a moment though, Sixshot amends, "Unless it's with someone you hate, then it's complicated." He doesn't entirely understand it himself, but it was a pretty common trope in a lot of Decepticon erotica for some reason.

"And I am not cowering," the Sixer scoffs. "I'm just enjoying some privacy." You know, while occupying a hole in a wall.

(He was totally cowering.)

"People say that about a lot of things, but they're actually boring," Rampage says. Sex, though, man. That lived up to the hype. He just gives Sixshot a weird look at the idea of someone interfacing with someone they hate. That doesn't sound real.

"Well, get out of there," he demands with a huff. Come on, Sixshot he needs to be happy and schmoopy all over you. And inadvertently make you smell like sex with First Aid.

"Nnnnnoooooo. No? How about no." Sixshot shuffled deeper into the hole. "No thank you."

Rampage shift in front of the hole and glares into it. "Stop moping and come out or I'm going to drag you out."

Come get a crab hug, Sixshot, it'll make you feel aaaall better!

Hey, she said she'd stop talking about it. So she is going to, even after what Sixshot just said. So instead she'll try and pat his wall-snout again.

"This Unit still doesn't understand why Sixshot is in the wall," she adds. Not knowing that it's all connected anyway.

Sorry Sixshot.

"I am happy in my hole, Rampage." What? "And if you try, I am going to bite you and then neither of us will be very happy."

Neverrrrrrrrrrr

"You're coming out," Rampage says. Seriously, Sixshot, getting bit isn't going to ruin this mood!

Bracing his feet, he reaches in to grab onto Sixshot's doggy cheeks and start dragging him out.

Tarn can’t suppress the cringe of embarrassment at the hazy memory.

“I’m not going execute you, Sixshot. I have no right to make that decision anymore.” He gestures to the empty space on his chest. Megatron had stripped him of his badge. Technically he’s not commander of anything, anymore; let alone the Decepticon Justice Divison.

It stings his pride. But still in some strange way he’s thankful. It gives the Phase Sixer the second chance that Tarn desperately wants him to have. It’s not too late for redemption.

“Regardless, it hasn’t stopped my disappointment. I thought that you were loyal. I thought that, out of all the Decepticon’s that I’ve met here, you would be the one to have my back."

"Uuuuuuuuggghhh."

Sixshot is done and very done and would like to stop existing now please and thank you.

"Rampage, I swear-" Then the crab is grabbing his cheeks and Sixshot makes the most undignified growling noises of all time as Rampage starts pulling him out.

There's a slow screeeeeeeeee of claws against concrete and metal as the Sixer stubbornly tries to resist.

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