“How about this one.”
Bumblebee leaned over to look, making a face. “It has two stars,” he said disdainfully.
“The last two star was hilarious, though.” Skyshot flicked away from the summary anyways, thumbing through the carousel for something else.
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled absently, returning to the report he was trying to finish. He’d like to get it done before recharge, but he just couldn’t get himself to concentrate on the datapad. With an annoyed exvent he realized he’d re-read his last sentence three times, and not only did it still not make sense but he couldn’t even remember reading it three times.
The holo-vid projector affixed to the wall opposite the berth flickered to life, and he immediately looked up when he heard the familiar yip of the lonely coyote that opened The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. “Didn’t know this was on Netflix,” he said, already scattered thoughts of the unfinished report being chased away by the Eastwood epic.
“The magic of the internet,” Skyshot said, obviously pleased with herself as she felt the annoyance bleed out of the mech’s field. Bumblebee hummed vaguely, letting her slip the datapad out of his loose grip as he focused on the movie. He could watch a bit, but he really needed to get that report done….
At some point he realized there was a pleasant tingling in his hand that washed up elbow, and when he glanced down Skyshot was gently dabbing at the buildup of grease in his servos, tiny fingers dipping into seams to polish and apply fresh lubricant. “That feels nice,” he murmured, and she responded with a kiss to the underside of his wrist.
“How’s the movie,” she asked, stroking a wire that had nothing to do with her cleaning and everything to do with a pleasant little bolt of charge that zipped through his frame. His engine rumbled appreciatively and she grinned. “Good.”
By the time the movie had finally wound down through the third act and the end credits began to roll, Bumblebee’s field was a mellow, humming wash of contentment and he probably would have fallen into recharge sitting up. “I think you’re about done for the day, prettybot,” Skyshot said, laughing when he tried to mumble a protest and only managed a fuzzing click instead. “C’mon, time for recharge.”
“Report,” he managed after resetting his vocalizer a couple times, despite his traitorous frame letting her push him gently to lie down on his side. “‘ss not done yet….”
“I already took care of it, read it in the morning and sign off on it,” Skyshot soothed, and he sighed heavily while nuzzling against her palm as she stroked his faceplate, accepting defeat. “Sleep.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, optics already dimming and shuttered as his processor began to cycle down. She stroked his helm until his field took on that frequency ‘bots emitted during recharge that she associated with white noise, signalling for the projector and lights to dim before snuggling up against the crook of his neck.