Wax On, Wax Off
Disclaimer: HASBRO owns the all. Alas...
Summary: G1. It all started with a can of wax... Feedback Welcome!
Author's Note: I know I said I was going to give the Twins a break, but I couldn't pass this story up.
"Sideswipe!" A very angry, and very dull, Sunstreaker yelled, storming into the common room. All optics fell on him as he fixed a glare on his twin, looking like he was ready to rip his arms off.
"Uh-oh, what did you do this time?" Bumblebee asked Sideswipe, putting down his Energon cube, getting ready to leave in case things got out of hand.
"Probably took his favorite waxing rag," Cliffjumper said, nudging the yellow minibot while casting a challanging look in Sunstreaker's direction.
"Stuff it, or I'll stuff you! I'm in no mood," Sunstreaker growled at the Minibot, raising a gold fist to drive his point home as Bumblebee placed a hand on Cliffjumper's shoulder.
"What happened?" Sideswipe asked, attempting to placate his brother. He had no idea what he, or the others for that matter, could've done to earn his brother's wrath.
"My wax that's what happened," Sunstreker hissed, placing his hands on either side of Sideswipe's headrest. "What did you do with it?"
"Honestly Sunny I didn't touch it," He said, placing his hands on the yellow one's shoulders. "I have my own." He pushed him back slightly, putting space between them.
"Which you ran out of the other day. Now, where's mine?" He asked again, getting in Sideswipe's face, optics shining angrily. The two Minibots, sensing more hostility than they were comfortable with, scurried out of the room, leaving the twins there alone.
"Seriously bro, I don't know." Sideswipe looked right into his brother's optics, sticking to his guns. Damn Sunny and his stubborness sometimes!
"You have to know! You're the only one who knows where I keep it."
"Sunstreaker. I. Don't. Know." He sounded out, keeping all emotion out of his voice and keeping his optics steady.
"Fine, but if you do know, you're sleeping out in the corridor!" Sunstreaker said, turning on his heel and stomping out of the commons, muttering all the Cybertronian curses he could think of. The Minis, who were listening at the door, scattered as he approached.
"Such language, and you kiss your creator with that mouth?" A familar, snooty voice said.
"Blow it Tracks!" Sunstreaker said, pushing him out of the way before realizing that Tracks was...shinier than usual, and there was only one bot he knew with that kind of shine and that was...himself.
"Say Tracks, where'd you get such a glossy finish from?" Sunstreaker asked sweetly, backing the blue Corvette against the wall, pinning him there with is body.
"What's it to you?" He asked, grinning smugly to hide the fear that flashed in his optics as a gold hand came to rest on his shoulder. He didn't like the look in Sunstreaker's optics...
"Tough talk from a Femme like you," He said, causing Tracks to sputter indignatly. "I bet I know where you got it from." He reached his free hand behind his back, producing a can of wax from subspace.
"Look familar Princess?" He asked sticking the can practically up the Corvette's nose.
"Yes, it's your wax. What of it?"
"The wax YOU stole from me!" Sunstreaker yelled pushing himself back and throwing the can, causing it to bounce off Tracks' chassis.
"I didn't steal it!" He protested, throwing the can back. Thanks to fast reflexes, Sunstreaker caught it.
"Then where'd you get it from!"
Sunstreaker stopped, optics widening slowly in realization. That little Pitspawn...
"I'll kill him," He hissed under his breath, then turned back to Tracks, a grin plastered on his face. "Pardon me," He said, as he turned and left, leaving Tracks blinking in confusion.
"Sideswipe you little fragger, you said you didn't know where it went!" Sunstreaker yelled, causing the red warror to jump, spilling his Energon onto himself.
"Where what went?" He asked, wiping the purple fluid off his chassis.
"My wax, you pit spawn!"
"You're still going on about that?"
Well...if I told you where it went you would've slagged me."
"I still may! I'm supposed to be the pretty one, and now Mister Priss is trying to take my title. It's your fault!" He yelled, smacking Sideswipe in the back of the head.
"Well, if your so worried about being pretty, why don't you go ask Ratchet to make you a Femme!" Sideswipe shot back, his temper getting teh better of him as he got from his chair.
"Don't think I won't!" He shouted, stroming back the way he entered.
"Yeah, you don't have the lugnuts to do it!" Sideswipe challanged, placing his hands on his hips.
"Ratchet, make me a Femme!" He demanded, as he barged into Medbay. He knew he was playing with fire, just waltzing in and making demands, but at the moment he didn't care.
"How about I make you a slag heap instead?" Ratchet growled, turning on Sunstreaker, weilding his deadly laser scalpel.
"...Sorry, but I need you to make me a Femme," He said, his tone changing from demanding to pleading.
"Why?" Ratchet questioned, lowering his "weapon" and raising an optic ridge. This was way out of character for the yellow twin.
"I have a point to prove. Please?" He said, putting on his best pouting face and wide optics.
Ratchet frowned, uneffected by Sunstreaker's "innocent" display. "I have better things to do than help you prove your points." Ratchet tuned away from him.
"Please! I promise, I won't show my face around here for a month even if I'm bleeding out my optics!" Sunstreaker practically begged the medic.
"Is it really that important?" Ratchet asked. Sunstreaker nodded.
Ratchet sighed. This was going up against everythng he believe in. "Get up on the table and sit still," Ratchet commanded, pulling out his medical tools.
Well, don't know where this came from, but it's here. Don't kill me for it!