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The clouds frothed grey-white, breaking like high tide over red wings as Powerglide climbed higher into the stratosphere at top speed.
He banked left— hard— and then rolled into a Split S for no other reason than to feel the shifts in his rudder and ailerons, the mechanical components seamlessly clicking as a constant readout of knots, temperature, pressure, geography flitted quickly through his parietal subprocessor.
Spark canting in his chest in tune to the rivulets and bolts shuddering in his fuselage, pushed to the max, Powerglide let loose an electromagnetic pulse and a near-incoherent string of binary, a Cybertronian’s version of a—
Whoop of delight from his cockpit; Powerglide turned some of his somatosensors and infrared sight within, where Astoria was currently screaming her tiny head off. The long, red-painted claws tipping each of her servo digits were currently sunk half an inch into his seats.
He’d be concerned for her— and his upholstery— if not for the knowledge that humans screamed for many different and often frivolous reasons. Besides, his chemoreceptors weren’t picking up an alarming level of cortisol.
Yet.
“Astoria!” Powerglide crowed over the headset she was wearing, “How’s it hanging in there?”
Astoria grinned, rid lips plush over white dentae. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed and she wore a bomber jacket and a baby blue poodle skirt, though instead of a canine, there was a tiny red fighter plane doing loop-de-loops. She looked like a vision, Powerglide thought. Simply radiant. He rarely spent time observing human aesthetics but even still, he doubted there could be anyone as beautiful as Astoria Carlton-Ritz.
And then she opened her mouth.
“The Autobot flight academy must be real lax, Powerglide. Why, those were the sloppiest moves I’ve ever— !”
And the screaming resumed as Powerglide pitched up into straight vertical with a triumphant, “And awaaaaaaay we go!”
The two coasted lazily above New York.
Evening was unfolding with pink and orange clouds and the Earth’s star dipping beneath the horizon. How curious it was, to think of all the little humans in this 15 degree section of planet to be retiring from daily labors, turning on their habsuite lights, consuming their protein and carbohydrates… like silent, communal charades from Antarctica to the Arctic Circle.
Powerglide flew loose, unwound from the energy still crackling in his struts; s’like taking a warm solvent bath after getting his ports practically fried from an overload. He kept his audioreceptors marginally online, responsive only to certain keywords in Astoria’s rambling tales of her social life that indicated he should offer verbal assent. But anyway, he was idly flipping satellite radio channels and letting temperature and pressure inputs passively pop up and then dismiss themselves.
Powerglide dialed up his cockpit receptors when Astoria’s tone slightly increased pitch— a question.
“What did you say,” he asked. His vocalizer was a dull monotone, his processor too relaxed to devote energy into a more convincing replication of human speech.
“Oh, just…” Astoria sighed dreamily, “I can’t wait to do this again next weekend.”
An alert from his memory core pinged and he ignored it.
Powerglide hummed. She was doing something real nice to his yoke… brushing her servo digits over it and squeezing just right…
Astoria’s servos were rough compared to a Cybertronian’s— the ridges and crags visible even to a human’s limited eyesight. But they were unique. None of them cold-constructed or built from blueprints… each of the whorls and dips at the tip of a digit were wholly special, belonging only to the individual in their possession.
Magic little fingerprints all over his gauges and Astoria letting her servos roam and her mouth run all sorts of compliments.
“You really know how to cheer a girl up, Powerglide,” she was saying, “This is all I think about in those stuffy meetings. Like, who cares if marketing has some boring pitch only droopy old math professors would like. I don’t. Anyway, my advisors say a meeting with me staring out the window is better than no meeting at all but…” she gave an elegant shrug, hair curls bouncing, “They’re also a bunch of boring old clunkers who wouldn’t know fun if it bit them in the heinie. Ooh you know what, Powerglide?”
“Mm?”
“We should buzz the Hybrid Tech tower next weekend! Haha, the look on those old buzzards’ faces would be delightful!”
Another memory alert. Ignored.
“I… don’t think that’s a good idea, Astoria. ‘Robots in disguise’, remember? We’re supposed to lay low in high-population areas unless, you know, the ‘Cons are there throwing scrap.”
“But it’ll be fun! Come on, Powerglide,” she blinked her thick lashes at his dash, where she knew there were a few optical sensors, “I won’t have time after next weekend to— ”
Alert! Grumbling, Powerglide checked what the slag his memory core was so insistent on him knowing and… Oh.
Oh no.
Meanwhile, Astoria was rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain, describing in vivid detail how a noisy fly-by would give Mr. Tensing a stroke and make Director Davidson's face turn a shade of red to rival Tracks’s.
Oh no.
“Ahem,” Powerglide gently interrupted, “A, uh, just a moment, Astoria?”
“What is it, darling!” She looked so happy and excited, a whole bundle of anticipatory energy bolstered by dopamine.
“I… uh… I can’t do next weekend? I might be… sorta… uh… booked?”
“With what.”
Oh, Unicron smite him now. She sounded pissed. And his somatosensory receptors relayed the way her body went preternaturally still and her heart rate and breathing steadily ticked upwards— the way her muscles burst red on infrared with increased blood flow, and yep those were catecholamines being released like that musty smell of rain before a thunderstorm.
“Well, uh, some friends and I- it’s the first time in a stellar cycles we’ve all had our breaks line up and no work to preoccupy us during the off-shift—”
“Who.”
Powerglide wished that Skywarp would materialize into existence right in front of him with Megatron himself riding on his back and revving up his fusion cannon to its highest charge. Anything but nervously titling on his wings above New York city.
“Oh, you know. Uh. Blaster, Jazz, Sunstreaker ‘n Sideswipe, Smokescreen, Slingshot, Tracks… and, uh, Raoul. It- it sounds like a lot but it’s just. You know. Mechs doing mech things? And it’s by the Ark. In Oregon? Where you, uh, don’t live? About 3,000 miles from where you do live actually. Uh.”
“No, no need to explain. I understand completely,” Astoria said. Her tone was frigid, “So you’re perfectly permissive of that pompous sleaze Tracks bringing his human fling and you’re perfectly welcoming to Slingshot, who’s all of, like, five months old, and yet somehow I’m the odd one out?!”
Her lungs were inflating and deflating quite quickly. Powerglide wobbled and dropped altitude before pulling himself back together.
“Wait. Hold on,” a thought occurred to him, “You know who Slingshot is but a month ago when I showed you around the Ark, you called Bluestreak ‘Wheeljack’ and threw your purse at Skyfire because you thought he was a Decepticon? Because he had wings?! Sweetspark, I have wings!!”
She stuck her pretty nose in the air, legs crossed best she could in the tight space of his cockpit, “My psychologist says I have ‘type-specific memory’.”
Powerglide gritted out a frustrated set of clicks and beeps that could best be translated as the sentiment: That’s a whole lot of words to say ‘glitched’
“Fine!” he conceded before she opened her mouth again, “I’ll… I’ll ask them, okay?”
Astoria grinned, suddenly hunky dory once more, “See! That was easy.”
The plane gave a long suffering vent and pulled up the group’s shared commline.
\\\
slinging-hot69: had to be their to see it fr. screamer shreiked so loud when I pulled up beside him, it couldve broke the sound barier
swiper-no-swiping: Ha! If we’d been there, I’m sure we’d have more than the usual critiques on this new tall tale of yours.
sunny-stunning: It’s so… intriguing… that these fights always occur with you isolated and no one around to confirm or deny… hm, Slingshot?
slinging-hot69: you wana say that to my face you cowerd
sunny-stunning: As if. I’d have to stoop so low for that I’d ruin my undercarriage
swiper-no-swiping: Damn! Slagged to the Pits. Good one, Sunny
sunny-stunning: Why thank you, Sideswipe
its-pj: Uh hey
slinging-hot69: powerglide!! yo we flyers gotta stick together ye?? c’mon i could take screamer rigt
its-pj: I’ll answer that in a klik. Just need to @all to say that Astoria wants to come to our meetup?
sunny-stunning: Nope
swiper-no-swiping: Tell her the meet’s canceled
slinging-hot69: yah she can come if she wants to b target practic lmaooo
s3xy-corvette: Did she stick her fingers up your turbines, Powerglide?! Primus, why would you tell her
smoker-ace: I bet she kills the party and wants to leave in a joor
ya-like-jazzzz: I’d put some shanix down on that
eating-out-tracks-rn: normally i’d say y’all were xenophobes but this is astoria and we don’t fucking claim her
s3xy-corvette: MY GOODNESS, RAOUL!! YOU WILL CHANGE YOUR NAME THIS INSTANT! THAT IS ABSOLUTELY INAPPROPRIATE AND NEED I REMIND YOU THAT RED ALERT MONITORS ALL PERSONNEL LINES!!!
tracks’s-boytoy: i’m sorry, babybolts. extra polish?
s3xy-corvette: Mm. Private message?
djblaster: DAMN TRACKS. you down that bad for a clearcoat??
s3xy-corvette: Please. I’m not Sunstreaker
sunny-stunning: Hey!
swiper-no-swiping: Hey!
ya-like-jazzzz: Yo @tracks’s-boytoy I wiped the chat records but slaggit kid, this ain’t junior high
tracks’s-boytoy: lo siento sir it won’t happen again *salutes*
\\\
Powerglide jolted back to real life when Astoria slammed her heel into his dash.
“OW!”
“Oh, don’t be a baby. You’ve pushed me worse than that and I’m made of paper compared to you!” Nonetheless, she patted his dash gently where she’d kicked him, “So! They all want me there, right? I’m quite the heartstopper, I know.”
“Uh. One sec.”
\\\
its-pj: Guys please I need to tell Astoria something and she won’t take no
swiper-no-swiping: Sounds like couples therapy to me
sunny-stunning: I’m sure Ratchet would be pleased to offer such a service
smoker-ace: Oh yeah. Or Teletraan-1 has a pamphlet on interspecies relationship advice
djblaster: well can’t say i’m opposed. girl knows how to party, that’s for sure
ya-like-jazzzz: Slag yeah. Good music? I’m there
s3xy-corvette: I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to decline. I’m neutral then about the matter
tracks’s-boytoy: same
its-pj: Anyone else?
smoker-ace: Guess I’m neutral too then
swiper-no-swiping: It’s your funeral. I won’t make a fuss if you want a little squishy around
sunny-stunning: As long as she doesn’t touch me with those ugly filth-covered things humans call servos. No offense, Raoul
tracks’s-boytoy: none taken. gross is kinda our specialty jajaja
s3xy-corvette: You are certainly one to talk with those choice headfilms. I believe last millenia called to offer you a refund and us an apology
swiper-no-swiping: Couldn’t hold him back. @s3xy-corvette you’ve got about half a breem
tracks’s-boytoy: yo @swiper-no-swiping please tell your hermano i like my men not in multiple pieces
swiper-no-swiping: No promises bro. Tell your boyfriend to upgrade his vox filters
its-pj: GUYS!!
slinging-hot69: pj yuor girlfriend is lameee!!!!
its-pj: Okay Slingshot
slinging-hot69: but like. idc if she comes or not so
it-pj: Thank you Slingshot
\\\
Powerglide ran a weary ventilation cycle. He felt as though he had aged vorns in the span of the one conversation. His friends were lovely mechs/person and he was lucky to have ‘em but slag if they didn’t make his processor spin sometimes. Usually it was a lot more tolerable when he was a few cubes in.
Astoria at least was blessedly silent. He listened to her heart beat, felt her pulse in the rhythmic thump of her femoral vein from where her thighs were pressed against his seat. Powerglide’s ailerons dipped on half a whim from his actuators and he tilted lazily, allowing sunset to stream into his cockpit and trickle over Astoria’s lovely plating.
Primus, she was beautiful. Somehow Astoria sensed the attention and preened. He wasn’t entirely sure how; perhaps his EM field nudged her subconscious or she somehow heard the distant whir of his fans over his rumbling jet engine. Regardless, she looked even prettier and he was having a wavering grip on his faculties.
“Soooo~ ” Astoria grinned, smug as an alloygator in an energon well, “What did they say?”
“You’re invited.”
“Good boy,” she leaned in to kiss his yoke and Powerglide just about dropped out of the sky.
He was running even hotter by the time he dropped her off, ventilations redlining from the self-satisfied ministrations she lavished him with, and Powerglide had to rattle off his guns into the empty sky to clear his charge before making that long flight home.
Just in case the nicknames are not abundantly clear
sunny-stunning: Sunstreaker
swiper-no-swiping: Sideswipe
smoker-ace: Smokescreen
s3xy-corvette: Tracks
eating-out-tracks-rn/tracks’s-boytoy: Raoul
slinging-hot69: Slingshot
its-pj: Powerglide
djblaster: Blaster
ya-like-jazzzz: Jazz