a long drag becomes a slow dance and a halo of embers

[primebyproxy]

WHO: Ultra Magnus and Wing
WHERE: Whichever building Magnus felt was okay for him to adopt for himself
WHEN: Sometime vaguely early-ish in the sex pollen event
WHAT: The usual sex pollen shenanigans, really
WARNINGS: Smut


He isn't sure how it happened exactly, but Ultra Magnus is painfully aware that the odd flowers – there weren't such things on his Cybertron, only elaborate and delicate crystal growths that crumbled too soon after erupting – he'd been so curious about must have something to do with his current state. It's a burning ache in his every joint and seam that makes the trek back to his 'home' long and exhausting, and it's a worryingly familiar pressure in his lines, electricity running through his circuits. How the flowers did this to him, he also isn't sure of that. He is certain he can't take this to a medic; it's hardly a critical ailment. It's also much too embarrassing.

No, he can simply take some time privately to solve the issue, he thinks, and meanwhile thinks nothing of the sight he makes as he rushes through the streets with a harried, slightly sick look on his face until he transforms and drives instead for the added, critical speed. Buildings and streets go by in a blur, and if he passes anyone, he doesn't even realise it; he's too much focused inward trying to hold himself together until he's no longer in the public eye. Especially if that eye happens to fall on him disapprovingly – a worrisome thought that pushes him faster still.

Even worse than being like this is being seen like this, he decides, and gusts out a sigh of relief as he turns a corner and his door is in sight. Safety.

Magnus barely even registers unfolding himself and taking the last few steps before he's indoors and out of view, and then the door is shut behind him and he hurries deeper into the plain, austere little apartment he's claimed for himself. It's dark and quiet and lonely but instantly he feels more at ease; he settles, shivering now, onto the large pallet that serves as his bed with his arms wrapped round his elbows. He's much too warm, he knows; the heat makes his armour ping softly as temperatures shift and metal swells with the rising temperature. But maybe he can just… wait it out.

Already, he's forgotten about the front door that he didn't lock.

Comments

[knightlite]

Magnus nearly bowls Wing over as he blows around the corner, and Wing catches the look on his face as he ducks in through his doorway, his mouth pulling into a frown. He's effected by the flowers too--he can feel heat building low in his chassis, recognizes it for what it is, but he's been doing his best to accept it and set it aside.

Magnus... does not appear to be having similar luck, if Wing judges correctly.

So Wing follows him through and to the door he slammed shut, tapping on it gently and trying the knob when there's no answer. He pushes it open and shuts it behind him, his ventilations deep and steady as he makes his way into the flat and finds Magnus curled into a ball on his bed. A soft, sympathetic sound pulls from his throat as he moves closer and kneels in front of Magnus, barely reaching out and brushing soft fingertips over his elbow.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and deliberately gentle before his mouth quirks up wryly. "You too? Are you all right?"