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Ironhide had emerged from battle sporting considerably less injuries than usual. While this may in part have had to do with the recent increase in Autobot recruits, he knew there was another very significant, very substantial reason for it.
And she was currently in deep discussion with her commander. Ironhide could easily tell by the slight crease between Chromia's optic ridges that she wasn't impressed. What it was they were discussing, he couldn't guess. All he knew was that the way she quirked her lip components up into a scowl was ridiculously appealing in that instant.
Primus. Since when did he get so revved up after a battle?
Since the femmes joined combat, a voice in his head helpfully supplied. He gave a mental nod. Seen as the femmes were specialised to guerrilla warfare, it was a rare occurrence when they got to fight alongside their mech comrades. A special treat when he could bear witness to his bondmate in battle. And she never disappointed.
He watched as Elita finished whatever sermon she'd been delivering. With a less than enthusiastic salute, the blue femme pivoted round and made a trudging beeline toward, what Ironhide could only assume, the med-bay.
Without so much a second thought on the matter he made after her. Following behind for a moment, he waited till the hall was clear before he grabbed and pulled her into a nearby closet. An undignified squawk left her and her whole frame tensed to attack. Pivoting round with a snarl, her fist automatically came flying toward his faceplates.
Ironhide ducked so the swing just grazed the top of his helm. He mentally congratulated himself. Last time he'd tried something similar to this, his bondmate's reflexes had gotten him square in the nasal plates… Ratchet had had a good laugh while repairing that one.
Now aware of her assailant's identity, Chromia's outright fury instantly simmered to confused irritation.
"Ironhide? What th-"
The rest of her sentence was smothered when the red mech surged back up and roughly crushed his lips to hers. A muffled noise of surprise escaped her, optics ridges rising before furrowing back down. Ironhide took the opportunity to quickly deepen the kiss, pressing her back against the closet's wall.
Chromia's optics then narrowed a fraction.
'Oh for the love of-! You'd swear he hadn't gotten any in vorns for Primus' sake.'
With an impatient huff she jerked her helm away, effectively breaking the kiss. Fortunately for the pickup, this gave him ample access to her neck. Chromia's engine growled in annoyance as his mouth attacked the cables there.
"For frag's sake, 'Hide. You can't wait five damn breems?"
Her mate growled in turn, though his was more assuredly one of something other than anger.
"May as well be waitin' five mega-cycles" he mouthed against her neck, biting down on a single cable and causing her to hiss in a sharp intake. "Yer own fault fer bein' so sexy in battle"
Chromia snorted in spite of the continuing attentions to her neck and rough hands beginning to glide along her hips and waist.
"Wasn't aware there was a sexy way t'get shot at"
Her own hands rose and established a firm grip to Ironhide's shoulders. With a forceful shove she managed to detach the determined mech from her neck. His hands remained locked on her waist, thumbs proceeding to draw slow deliberate circles on what he knew were sensitive seams. She glared up at him.
"This-" she roughly pried them off, "-can wait till later. I'm tired, fragged off, and filthy. And no! I don't feel like washin' together, so don't get any fun ideas. You interrupt my wash, I rip your arm off. Clear?"
Ironhide couldn't keep the slightly silly grin from blossoming.
"If this is yer way of turnin' me off, ah gotta say, it really ain't workin'"
Chromia's optic twitched and her mate sighed, posture slumping.
"Oh fine. Go get patched up" he gave his hand an idle flop to wave her off. "Just don't come crawlin' t'me when yer lookin' for some and ah'm not in th'mood"
She gave a dry snort.
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind"
[Roughly two mega-cycles later]
It had been a long and arduous patrol shift for the pickup. Ironhide had returned to base over four joors later than expected, thoroughly battered and wholly exhausted. After a quick run to the med-bay, Ironhide immediately headed for his and Chromia's quarters. Completely bypassing the energon dispenser on his way.
He then went straight for their washracks, set on eliminating all traces of soot and grime rubbing between his joints before they got in any deeper.
Chromia was sitting atop the berth when he finished, data-pad propped in one hand and energon ration in the other. There was another cube waiting for him on the berth-side table.
She grunted a wordless greeting without looking up from the screen. He returned the sentiment, dumping himself onto the berth next to her before grabbing and throwing back his own cube's contents.
"Rough patrol?" she needlessly asked.
His engine gave a bushed rumble, answering only after the glass was well and truly drained.
"More'r less" he huffed, dropping it back onto the table and letting himself crumple atop the berth. "Jus' wanna spend th'next cycle offline"
He shuffled and made himself more comfortable, helm resting back into the malleable metal of the berth's headrest.
Chromia vented an amused noise, focus still primarily set to the data-pad's contents. Another klik went by and Ironhide felt his recharge systems slowly begin to kick in; joints relaxing and berth metal growing comfortably warm beneath him.
A soft chirp cut the droning silence when Chromia shut the data-pad off and turned to face him.
"Wanna do it?"
There was little more than a metallic scrape before Ironhide was up and next to her.
"Y'have t' ask?"
A/N: Erm… my main influence for this consisted of Two and a Half Man, Rules of Engagement and King of Queens 8D Hope that explains it!
…God, what's wrong with me?