Good Morning, Sunshine - Chapter 1

Warnings: Sordid implications, foul language, & references to drunken revelry!
Word count: 429

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Drifting slowly back to the conscious world, Sunstreaker groaned as he felt the first throbs of a hangover. And given that he rarely ever had them, he must've done some seriously heavy partying last night. He onlined his optics and opened the lens shutters, only to snap them back shut at the rather painful glare off a nearby monitor. Slowly, he opened them again and glanced down at his scratched up chest plate…and the arm draped across. It was hard to tell what color it was in the gloom but Sunstreaker could clearly make out the vivid red paint transfers all over his body.

“Dammit, bro!” he growled, elbowing the mech spooned behind him. “What have I told you about fucking up my finish?”

“I'm not Sideswipe…” a very polite, very sleepy Perceptor muttered as he snuggled closer. “Now will you please stop grumbling and go back into recharge?”

Bolting upright, Sunstreaker got to his feet and hauled the scientist out of the berth. “Percy?! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“Well, there was a celebration last night for our latest victory and I fear we both may have indulged a bit too much in the high grade, which lead to you becoming very inebriated and boasting about your prowess in certain intimate areas. Then I happened to make a comment one of your more…colorful recollections that caused you make a few choice allegations against my own personal life.” Perceptor paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I think it was about me being a `geeky virgin who wouldn't know the first thing about giving anyone a good hard fuck' or some such nonsense, if I recall correctly. This then lead to a challenge that lead to us retiring to the closest available bunk for several rounds of rather frenzied and extremely vigorous intercourse. By the way, I hope you're not feeling too sore this morning.” He had the decency to at least look a bit ashamed. “See, I sometimes forget my own strength…”

Sunstreaker only glared and, getting a tight grip on his arm, dragged Perceptor to the door. “Get out.”

“But—”

“Out. Now.”

Before he could protest further, the front-liner shoved him rudely out into the hall. When he turned back, the door had already slammed shut. “But that's my bunk…”

The door snapped open with a hiss and Sunstreaker came out, still glaring death. “If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. Slowly. With tweezers.”

And with that, the Lambo limped rather painfully off to nurse his wounded pride and retouch his paint job.