Day 2 - locked in: close proximities
Fulkrok + Spinister, 1.2k, fluff/tension (?) ficlet
summary: Fulcrum and Krok get trapped together in the WAP's engine room and have a talk! Spinister makes a guest appearance.
The loud, yet familiar sound of the engine room resounded as Fulcrum glowered down at the mess of wires before him. The motherboard of the W.A.P. needed repairs after Misfire had fried it to a half functional state in his execution of a prank gone wrong. He looked back to the monitor connected to the mass of wires, trying to ignore Krok leering over his shoulder plating. The tactician had initially tasked him with the repair job—apparently he had also decided he had nothing better to do than watch Fulcrum’s attempt at fixing the equipment.
It was a bit unnerving to have Krok practically breathe down his neck cables, optics watchful of Fulcrum’s work, but the company was nice nonetheless—tech work could be absolutely mind numbing. Tweaking another wire, Fulcrum groaned at the monitor blue screening.
“That doesn’t look good.” Krok remarked, vocalizer steady.
“It’s not, I might have to re-do the past half-joor of coding over again.” Fulcrum lamented—how badly he felt the urge to smack the damn thing.
“Oh, that's...upsetting—I think a break is in order while we wait for it to come back online, you've worked hard.”
“Yeah, just let me—“ Fulcrum was interrupted by a the of a wire shorting and the instantaneous WHAM!!! Of the blast doors shutting.
“Fulcrum, what is happening on there?”
“I don’t know, I think a wire shorted, but the command center is bugged right now!” Fulcrum furiously slammed the power button praying for the command center to reload before a flash of hope appeared on the monitor: mandatory lock down.
“Uhhhh, Krok??? i think we have a big big problem!!!” He scrambled, pointing at the words on the screen. The pair turned to stare at the door, Krok jogging over to try and pry it open.
“It’s too late! It’s locked down!”
“I can see that.” Krok grit out before opening his commline, “Fulcrum and I have been locked in the engine room of the W.A.P., I need Crankcase here stat.”
Krok deflated with a sigh before walking back over to Fulcrum and the black screened computer. They sat side by side, defeated.
“Sorry,” Fulcrum groaned out, “guess we’ll be stuck here for…awhile.”
“There are worse things,” The tactician sighed as he laid a tender pat on Fulcrum’s shoulder, “we’ve made it through…much worse and I did choose to be here.”
“Yeah I guess at worst Spin can saw a hole in the door for us…and the engine is still working at least? I mean it’s not optimal but…”
Krok interjected “It’s not so bad either?”
Fulcrum let a small smile tug at his lip plates, nodding. As their optics met, Fulcrum shuffled, Krok patting his servo reassuringly. the technician typically wasn’t privy to his personal space being invaded, but he felt comfortable with the proximity now—he wanted Krok to lean into his space.
The tension was heavy, the warmth of the engine elevating their temperatures even further, and Fulcrum felt his vents hitching. He thought about moving to interlock their fingers, processor ballistic as those vermilion optics bore into his own. He vented before breaking the silence.
“KROK??? FULCRUM??? ARE YOU GUYS HAVING FUN WITHOUT ME…???”
A familiar voice boomed from behind the door; Fulcrum sprung up, scrambling over; an escape from whatever he was about to say was welcomed.
“Spin?! Is that you??? Where the hell is Crankcase???” He exclaimed, banging back on the door.
“Eh he’s busy. Doin stuff. He’ll be back soon—ish!”
Krok let out a displeased grunt, ”For how long exactly is soon-ish?”
There was a pause of silence.
“SPIN, HOW LONG???!!!” Fulcrum wailed, banging at the door again.
“Hm...I think…he said two joors? I wasn't really listening.”
“TWO JOORS???” The pair groaned.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Can’t you just saw a hole or something?” Fulcrum provided frantically.
“Well I mean…I could but it’d probably take longer than Crankcase coming back cause it’s a pretty thick door. Gotta get the drill out and then the door is fragged. We’d need a new one and that’s expensive.” Spinister responded with little sense of urgency; Krok looked like he had a headache.
“Spinister…I need you to try and locate the outer lock frame. There should be a command code in the portal you can input to disable the lock.”
“Huh…? There’s a portal…on the ship? I don’t know where that is, Krok.”
“Oh for frags sake,” Fulcrum huffed, “it’s a DIGITAL portal, Spin! You know…like the ones misfire uses for his pet games.”
Krok sighed, “Spinister. In the inner vault, there is a data pad on the wall. Go into the data pad and I will give you a code to input.”
“…Hm...kay. Don’t have fun without me.”
“Oh yeah, i just love being trapped in the hottest room in the ship, very fun.” Fulcrum quipped sardonically.
“Kinda weird choice but i don’t judge.” Spinister responded, tone judging.
“Just go find the data pad, please.” Krok sighed before sitting back against the door.
“Kay, will do. See ya soon.”
And he scampered off on his search. Fulcrum joined Krok in sitting, stealing a glance at the tactician.
From his time with the scavengers, Fulcrum had observed that Krok was probably once studly…with his well portioned frame and athletic struts. Every so often, he'd catch a glimpse of Krok’s face plate--it was the face of a war scarred heart throb, handsome in a withered way from years of anxiety and stress. He started to wonder what it was like to see him smile—he had a sharp set of dentae for sure, but it might just add to his charm. Fulcrum had only ever seen his expression as exhausted or neutral.
“You’re staring, what are you thinking?” Krok chimed, Fulcrum looking away, embarrassed.
“Nothing really! I just…I’ve never seen you smile so yeah. Uh. Just thought it would…look…good. On you. Yeah.” Krok stared back at Fulcrum, optics glowing bright.
The technician coughed, “You actually can forget I said anything! I don’t—um?”
Krok leaned closer, mask sliding back to reveal his faceplate; his lip plate seemed to quirk up ever so slightly.
“Well…I mean—sure??? I was thinking bigger though but actually this is fine! This is great!”
Fulcrum could feel his spark banging around like a trapped bird in his spark cavity. Krok’s—unfortunately good looking—face plate was closing in, entering his space. He let a slightly sharp toothed smirk quirk at his lip plates—Fulcrum could swear he had ascended.
“…yeah…” Fulcrum squeaked. Krok averted his optics momentarily, almost seeming bashful himself before taking Fulcrum’s servo in his own and lifting it to his warm, scarred, cheek plating. Was this a nightmare or a dream? Hell if Fulcrum knew.
“What were you saying earlier? You didn’t finish.”
Fulcrum idly traced his thumb along The faded scars decorating Krok’s plating.
“I—uhhh…” he went red thinking about it, “i don’t remember…actually.”
Krok raised a brow ridge in suspicion before leaning into Fulcrum’s touch.
“Well,” he started, optics half lidded, “I’m going to ask you again, how do you feel about Spinister?”
The question shocked Fulcrum out of his mesmerized haze.
“You’re still on this topic???”
Krok tilted his helm back inward, practically touching Fulcrum's nose with his own, gaze more stern.
“Yes. Now give me a clear answer—no running this time.”
“Not like there’s anywhere I can go anyway…” Fulcrum sighed, rolling his head back.
“I don’t know…I like being around him…I guess. I like being around you too.”
“And…” Fulcrum felt his core temperature matching the rooms, “…he’s frustrating but I like how he cares and is…admittedly considerate. What else do you want me to say???”
By now Fulcrum was hiding his face plate in his servos.
“Hm. Right well…what about me?”
Krok raised his servo to, gingerly, tilt Fulcrums gaze back to his own.
“What do you think of me?”
Fulcrum felt his mouth go dry, fans giving away his response.
“I--OH LOOK!!! The computer came back!!!” Fulcrum wheezed, scrambling away from Krok to act like the wires were suddenly so very interesting.
A few kliks of hot wiring, and a few modified commands and suddenly the doors shot back open…with Crankcase staring at them??? And Spinister squinting.
“You two have fun in there?” Crankcase groused, seemingly annoyed.
“Without me?! I told you guys to wait!” Spinister huffed.
“Where the scrap were you, exactly?” Fulcrum puffed out crossing his arms.
The group left the engine room, some well needed rnr being put in place. And if Fulcrum spent the cycle in the kitchen, relaxing with Spinister and Krok, playing some stupid board game, the holo—and misfires snoring—giving the classic W.A.P ambience, who was Crankcase to sus him out?
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