TF fic: BABBU
Mar. 7th, 2012 11:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swordagePell told me to write a fic about Bob. This happened. I died of cute at least ten times. I JUST REALLY LOVE BOB OKAY?!
Title: BABBU (aka idk how to title anything)
Rating: G
Series: Transformers (IDW)
Wordcount: 400ish
***
The blaster is pointed right at its head. The Insecticon cringes, cornered, but Sunstreaker doesn't shoot. He's not quite sure why - maybe because it's alone, maybe because it whimpered when it saw him, maybe because it looks a little too much like a person instead of a monster, but probably because it's scared. He's never seen fear in the Swarm.
"What's the holdup - aw, heck, I thought this sector was clear," Ironhide rumbles, coming up beside him and unholstering his blaster in one easy movement. Sunstreaker slaps Ironhide's gun down. He doesn't take his eyes off the Insecticon. Its antennae twitch back, its optics dim, and there's no way to read that as anything but a flinch at impending death.
"Come here, bug," Sunstreaker says softly. He tucks his gun away but lets Ironhide keep his out, just in case. For once Ironhide isn't saying anything, maybe baffled or maybe just wondering if Sunstreaker's suicidal. Sunstreaker doesn't much care either way. He holds out a hand to the Insecticon, wiggles his fingers enticingly. "C'mere. It's alright."
It takes a long time, long enough for Ironhide's attention to wander a little, before it starts to creep forward. Sunstreaker just keeps talking, low and soothing, until finally its big head is just under his fingertips. He leans back a little and it moves with him, shifting its weight forward, until he can finally rest his hand on its head.
It freezes. Which, if Sunstreaker is honest, is a better sign than trying to rip his hand off would be. He rubs his thumb behind an antenna, slow and sure, until the tension eases away and it tilts its head into the touch. He brings his other hand up, careful to keep it where the Insecticon can see, to rub behind the other antenna - and the next thing he knows, its head is resting heavily in his lap with a happy rumble vibrating up into his abdomen while he mumbles nonsense and scritches its jaw.
"You're hopeless," Ironhide says despairingly, but then he reaches over and brusquely pats the Insecticon and Sunstreaker figures he was kinda lonely too.
"Alright, bug," Sunstreaker says, "we've got work to do. You gonna come with us?"
It does.
Title: BABBU (aka idk how to title anything)
Rating: G
Series: Transformers (IDW)
Wordcount: 400ish
***
The blaster is pointed right at its head. The Insecticon cringes, cornered, but Sunstreaker doesn't shoot. He's not quite sure why - maybe because it's alone, maybe because it whimpered when it saw him, maybe because it looks a little too much like a person instead of a monster, but probably because it's scared. He's never seen fear in the Swarm.
"What's the holdup - aw, heck, I thought this sector was clear," Ironhide rumbles, coming up beside him and unholstering his blaster in one easy movement. Sunstreaker slaps Ironhide's gun down. He doesn't take his eyes off the Insecticon. Its antennae twitch back, its optics dim, and there's no way to read that as anything but a flinch at impending death.
"Come here, bug," Sunstreaker says softly. He tucks his gun away but lets Ironhide keep his out, just in case. For once Ironhide isn't saying anything, maybe baffled or maybe just wondering if Sunstreaker's suicidal. Sunstreaker doesn't much care either way. He holds out a hand to the Insecticon, wiggles his fingers enticingly. "C'mere. It's alright."
It takes a long time, long enough for Ironhide's attention to wander a little, before it starts to creep forward. Sunstreaker just keeps talking, low and soothing, until finally its big head is just under his fingertips. He leans back a little and it moves with him, shifting its weight forward, until he can finally rest his hand on its head.
It freezes. Which, if Sunstreaker is honest, is a better sign than trying to rip his hand off would be. He rubs his thumb behind an antenna, slow and sure, until the tension eases away and it tilts its head into the touch. He brings his other hand up, careful to keep it where the Insecticon can see, to rub behind the other antenna - and the next thing he knows, its head is resting heavily in his lap with a happy rumble vibrating up into his abdomen while he mumbles nonsense and scritches its jaw.
"You're hopeless," Ironhide says despairingly, but then he reaches over and brusquely pats the Insecticon and Sunstreaker figures he was kinda lonely too.
"Alright, bug," Sunstreaker says, "we've got work to do. You gonna come with us?"
It does.