* * *
The blunt end of one of Octane's fuel-hoses circled over a spot in Blitzwing's turret, waiting for the other triple-changer to uncover his ports for the fueling. They stood beside each other, turned slightly away, under a ledge that didn't quite provide enough cover for Octane's wingtips. He kept slipping closer to Blitzwing, trying to pull his wings in under their camouflage.
The hatch in Blitzwing's turret finally spread open, and Octane slid the probe home. It twisted and locked in with a click more heard in the mind than aloud. Octane didn't begin pumping just yet, listening intently for the sound of Autobot hover-engines. But the only machine-sound was the gentle hum of the energon in his tanks and the rumble of triple-changer robot-mode hybrid engines. He couldn't even hear the distant roar of gunfire anymore, or the distortions of Seeker engines.
Wind whistled through the crack they hid in; this part of the planet was almost painfully dead, with no energy powering it at all. Octane kept tripping over things because his feet had no local energy fields to interact with and identify obstacles.
Despite his common sense and the sheer danger of the situation, Octane was trying his damnedest not to jump Blitzwing there and then. They were so close, his left wing scraped against the back of Blitzwing's left wing.
He began to pump, revelling in the barest relaxation of Blitzwing's ready stance, the stronger rumble of his engines. Blitzwing's main gun rubbed against his wing and left lines of lightning across his sensors.
But the best of it was the feeling of energon pumped from his tanks, the tight grip of Blitzwing's intake port around his probe, the pulling, demanding hunger of his fellow triple-changer... It was addicting, being the one who feeds.