Chapter Text
“Is this seat taken?” Thunderclash asks.
"The seat's not taken, but I can't promise you'll stay in it," Rodimus says, raising his empty cube and catching Swerve's attention. It’s not difficult. The nanoklik Thunderclash walked in, every helm in the room swiveled in his direction. Now he’s standing next to Rodimus, and the weight of those optics washes over them both.
The barmech tosses Rodimus a quick thumbs up, his focus still on Thunderclash, and turns back to finish serving Blaster. One servo grabs a bottle of blue-tinted ultra-refined from the well.
Thunderclash doesn't sit down immediately.
Thunderclash doesn't sit down at all. A few moments pass and Rodimus glances over his backplate to see the other mech's optics glancing between the barstool and Rodimus's servos, like he's waiting for Rodimus to take a swipe at him if he tries to take the seat.
"Primus, Blundercrash, I meant I might drink you under it," Rodimus says. "Not push you off of it. Not a lot of mechs can keep up with me, you know?" He flicks the empty cube and taps his digits on the bar.
Thunderclash looks at him and his derma split into a smile. "I cannot promise I will not try, Captain." His smile is perfect, denta wide and white. Almost too perfect. Kinda unsettling even.
Rodimus makes himself smile back. Just a quick one. Half-sparked at best but- hey, he's been trying to be nicer to the mech, alright? To all the mechs on his ship.
Thunderclash settles onto the barstool. As soon as he does, Swerve is in front of them, sliding a mixed blue cube to Rodimus with one servo and giving Thunderclash a finger-gun with the other.
"My main mech! What'll it be?"
"Whatever the captain is drinking," Thunderclash says gracefully.
Swerve winces. "You sure? That stuff's strong! Point-one-percenters only. Not that, uh, not that your spark's not just as strong and hot. Like you. Just saying. And I'm also just saying maybe order something else to start? Anything else. Get your lines nice and lubricated before you burn a hole in 'em?"
Thunderclash chuckles. "Excellent advice from an excellent bartender. A cube of my usual, please." He smiles broadly at Swerve, who thankfully keeps the visible swooning to a minimum.
"Coming right up!" Swerve says cheerfully, and pivots away to mess with the taps.
While Swerve talks and Thunderclash sparkles, Rodimus resists the urge to roll his optics and instead pulls his high-grade towards him. He dips a digit in, giving it a slow stir. The heat from his frame mixes the compounds, blurring the blues together and making a thin trail of steam rise from the cube. It takes a klik to melt together. When the cube reaches the right color, Rodimus pops the dripping digit in his intake to lick off the worst of the stickiness.
Thunderclash ex-vents quickly and shifts next to him, raising his servos to rest, folded together, on the bar. He stares intently down at its surface.
It's quiet between them, and Rodimus starts to wonder why Thunderclash had chosen to sit here. A surreptitious glance around the bar shows plenty of open counter seating and several mechs still looking in their direction, clearly hoping Thunderclash is just grabbing a cube at the counter before finding a more permanent seat next to them.
Rodimus considers saying something, but then Serve returns with a cube tinted neon orange. The sparkle of copper shavings floating on top make Rodimus do a double-take and turn on his stool to look at Thunderclash in disbelief.
"Hold on, Blunders, your 'usual'-" he makes air quotes with his servos- "is a Styrakon Sunrise?"
Thunderclash grins bashfully and ducks his helm as he takes the cube. "I regularly enjoy sweet energon."
"Sweet? Those things will rust your glossa off!" Rodimus says.
"They have not managed to yet," Thunderclash says cheerfully. He takes a sip.
Rodimus resists the urge to roll his optics. Again. "Yeah, well, how many have you had? Maybe you're approaching critical mass. Maybe this is the drink that does it."
"I will have to risk it if I'm intending to keep up with you."
Rodimus stops resisting the urge to roll his optics. "Are you intending to?"
"If you’ll recall, I did not state that I would not try to," is Thunderclash's response, and it's not that funny, but Rodimus thinks it kind of is anyway. Mostly because that sounded like something he would have said, and he's funny.
"That sounds like something I would say," Rodimus says. He taps Thunderclash's cube with his, careful not to spill the drink he's sipping. Cheers, drink up. "Better hurry up and chug that or I'll be one drink ahead of you the whole cycle." He sips his cube and the neon blue glow washes pleasantly over his glossa.
"You are intending to stay out late?" Thunderclash asks earnestly. He doesn't lift his cube to drink, it stays firmly on the bartop.
Yeah, no shocks. Rodimus regrets the cheers motion immediately. Instead of inspiring Thunderclash to start drinking and stop talking, it seems like he's opened the ship's gates even wider. He reminds himself he's being nice, and it wouldn't kill him to have a slightly longer conversation with the mech.
"No duty shift to worry about. Only thing on my calendar is sightseeing that nebula we're passing by in a few hours." Rodimus says evenly.
"I recall the ship-wide broadcast encouraging visitation to the starboard viewing deck. I assume Drift wrote the announcement?" Thunderclash asks.
"What gave it away? The -"
"- auras?" they say at the same time. Rodimus laughs. Just a little. Thunderclash beams and taps his cube against Rodimus’, repeating the cheers motion.
Okay, that’s enough of that. Rodimus turns to face the bar again and hopes Thunderclash gets the memo their little bonding session is over. He takes another sip.
Unfortunately Thunderclash doesn’t get the memo, because he turns on his barstool to face Rodimus. When Rodimus doesn't acknowledge him, Thunderclash resets his vocalizer. Rodimus has noticed him doing it before - a sign he’s about to speak, so everyone else has time to shut up and listen.
Unless he does it for some other reason? Thunderclash hasn’t started talking yet. Is the vocalizer thing just a helms-up that he’s trying to get your attention? Rodimus glances over at him.
“How are you, Rodimus?” Thunderclash asks. So the vocalizer thing is Thunderclash being polite. Okay then.
“Same engex, just reheated,” Rodimus says dismissively and turns his optics back to his cube. There's a pause, and he can tell Thunderclash is waiting for him to ask how the other mech is doing, but Rodimus isn't that interested.
Thunderclash resets his vocalizer again. When Rodimus just sips his drink, Thunderclash sighs and leans forward on his barstool.
"Rodimus, might I ask you a personal question?"