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ayngelcatTitle: “The Blue Lagoon”
Universe: G1
Rating: PG13
Characters: Beachcomber, Groove
Warnings: Extreme fluff, mild smexual references
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or any of the characters or scenarios from the series within this story.
Prompt: #2 “water”
Notes: set after the Protectobots arrive on Earth, at the site of the previous "Golden Lagoon" from Series 2. Groove has taken a shine to Beachcomber.
THE BLUE LAGOON
Groove could not get over this place. It looked like one of those picture postcard things humans sent to each other.
A green, grassed plain dotted with small trees and bushes stretched down to a thickly wooded valley, the deeper greens blending with a backdrop of lilac peaked mountains beyond. The vista was exquisite – but most beautiful of all was the deep, almost perfectly round pool filled with cool water in which the two Autobots now dangled their feet. The surface was azure blue, sparkling, in the sunlight, yet when Groove looked down he could see the bottom perfectly, rocks wavering in the clear depths as small fish darted between them.
The Protectobot took it all in with a kind of wonderment, his intakes softly sighing. And otherwise, only the sounds of the trickling stream, the lazy buzz of insects and the occasional birdcall permeated the silence.
The blue mech beside Groove was like a statue, gazing out across the scene, deep in thought. Groove could feel his warmth, his strength, an intensity to the mech as deep as the pool he had created. Everything within Groove was fascinated by him, warmed to him, yearned to get to know him better. It was hard to decide which was more beautiful. Beachcomber or the vista in front of him.
“Now if we sit here and don’t make a single sound,” Beachcomber had said, “we might just get some little winged and four legged visitors. And so they had sat – for what seemed like an eternity. But although a couple of rabbits had hopped tentatively into view on the other side of the pool, and a few birds had fluttered nearby, and once a deer had scampered out of the trees to the left, stopped half way and scampered back again, none of them, it seemed, were game to approach up close.
Groove could contain himself no longer. He had to know. “Is it ‘cos of me that they won’t come?” he blurted out. “I can go – if you like. Prob’ly should be getting back to base anyway.” Although Primus only knew, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
The mech beside him let out a chuckle in his deep, melodious voice. “Naa, not ‘cos o’ you in particular l’il buddy,” Beachcomber said. “These little fellas here – they’re just still a bit nervous of anyone, after what went down. Give it a while – they’ll get used to you.” He regarded Groove kindly, smiling that warm smile which seemed to melt the protectobot’s circuitry right to his very core. “Y’got a good spark – and Earth creatures can sense that.”
Groove nodded, looking down at the water, a sadness in his spark. He had heard the whole story earlier – how this pool had used to be filled, not with water, but with a substance called Electrum, which if mechs coated themselves in it made them invincible to just about any weapon. Beachcomber had told him how it had remained here undiscovered, unspoiled for eons, until mechs did find it. And those were, of course, the Autobots and the Decepticons; and they had both taken advantage of its unique protective properties.
Beachcomber had explained how after the Decepticons had discovered those 'properties,' he’d tried to save the pool by not telling the Autobots about it, hoping that with nobody to fight them for the Electrum, the Cons would just get bored and go away. Not a good strategy, now I think about it, but I just couldn’t think what else to do …. Then he’d been captured and ended up on Cybertron, where he’d rescued Perceptor and Seaspray and they’d all come back – but too late. A pitched battle completely destroyed the countryside around, and then the Decepticons - unwilling to let anyone have the Electrum if they couldn’t have it themselves - had blown the pool up.
And Groove had almost wept at the emotion in Beachcomber’s voice, the obvious strength of the feelings he had for this place as he described how this was one instance in which, in his view, the Autobots had been every bit as bad as the Cons, and how he had refused to go back to base, remaining instead to clear the burnt out stumps of trees, and bury the bodies of the little dead animals who he’d come to know as his friends.
“Mind you, Megatron doin’ that - prob’ly the best thing coulda happened,” Beachcomber had said. “Cos that way ‘least there was nothin' here anyone would want, and I could get on with fixing up the place.” And he’d gone on to explain how he’d diverted the stream from the rocks above to fill the pool, and replanted the grass and the trees, and made the place into the paradise it was now.
Groove felt his spark swell and flare in his chest. Beachcomber was so gentle and caring, yet so strong. He could fight – oh yes, - and he was very brave. Why, Seaspray had explained how he’d stolen a Seeker’s gun and blasted them out of the energon prison on Cybertron. But he didn’t fight, unless he had to. Like First Aid. And just as Groove adored the medic he’d assisted for so long, drawn in the first place to his silent strength and commitment to life, Groove felt drawn to this powerful but quiet, gentle blue mech.
But he wished the animals would come.
“Hey – don’t be so sad …” There was a blue hand on Groove’s shoulder and he shivered at the touch, currents scintillating across his sensor net and right through to his spark. He longed for a lot more: for the mech’s arm around him; the thought of Beachcomber’s lips on his sent a warm glow radiating through his entire circuitry. But the hand was removed, and suddenly there was a fluttering sound and Beachcomber chuckled out loud.
“Here, look at this, now!” he exclaimed. “Told you they’d come ‘ventually”
Groove looked up to see a small green and yellow bird with a crested head settle on the outstretched blue arm. It ‘tweeted, ‘and Beachcomber made ‘tweeting’ and bird sounds back, the language he’d learned and earlier tried to teach Groove some of – although the Protectobot had found he didn’t yet quite have the knack. Groove could not help a broad smile from spreading over his faceplates. But he did not dare make a sound, or speak - or let alone try to tweet, - lest the bird should depart as quickly as it came.
“Here – hold out your arm!” Beachcomber said. Groove obliged. Beachcomber made a few tweeting sounds, and the bird hesitated, before hopping on to the beige and white arm. Beachcomber’s face broke into a warm smile. “There – told ya didn’t I?” he said.
And Groove could not keep the delight from his own face. The joy which surged through his circuits was almost as great as when Beachcomber had touched him moments earlier. He stared at the bird, inches from his face as it hopped a few steps uncertainly and then began to clean under it’s wing.
He’s beautiful!” whispered Groove. “Like the whole of this place. Like - you!”
Beachcomber did not reply. He simply chuckled and, putting his arm around the Protectobot, gave him a kiss on the cheek, his lips lingering on the white metal. “And we ain’t all that looks good round here,” he said.
“Cheep …” said the bird, approvingly.
Universe: G1
Rating: PG13
Characters: Beachcomber, Groove
Warnings: Extreme fluff, mild smexual references
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or any of the characters or scenarios from the series within this story.
Prompt: #2 “water”
Notes: set after the Protectobots arrive on Earth, at the site of the previous "Golden Lagoon" from Series 2. Groove has taken a shine to Beachcomber.
THE BLUE LAGOON
Groove could not get over this place. It looked like one of those picture postcard things humans sent to each other.
A green, grassed plain dotted with small trees and bushes stretched down to a thickly wooded valley, the deeper greens blending with a backdrop of lilac peaked mountains beyond. The vista was exquisite – but most beautiful of all was the deep, almost perfectly round pool filled with cool water in which the two Autobots now dangled their feet. The surface was azure blue, sparkling, in the sunlight, yet when Groove looked down he could see the bottom perfectly, rocks wavering in the clear depths as small fish darted between them.
The Protectobot took it all in with a kind of wonderment, his intakes softly sighing. And otherwise, only the sounds of the trickling stream, the lazy buzz of insects and the occasional birdcall permeated the silence.
The blue mech beside Groove was like a statue, gazing out across the scene, deep in thought. Groove could feel his warmth, his strength, an intensity to the mech as deep as the pool he had created. Everything within Groove was fascinated by him, warmed to him, yearned to get to know him better. It was hard to decide which was more beautiful. Beachcomber or the vista in front of him.
“Now if we sit here and don’t make a single sound,” Beachcomber had said, “we might just get some little winged and four legged visitors. And so they had sat – for what seemed like an eternity. But although a couple of rabbits had hopped tentatively into view on the other side of the pool, and a few birds had fluttered nearby, and once a deer had scampered out of the trees to the left, stopped half way and scampered back again, none of them, it seemed, were game to approach up close.
Groove could contain himself no longer. He had to know. “Is it ‘cos of me that they won’t come?” he blurted out. “I can go – if you like. Prob’ly should be getting back to base anyway.” Although Primus only knew, it was the last thing he wanted to do.
The mech beside him let out a chuckle in his deep, melodious voice. “Naa, not ‘cos o’ you in particular l’il buddy,” Beachcomber said. “These little fellas here – they’re just still a bit nervous of anyone, after what went down. Give it a while – they’ll get used to you.” He regarded Groove kindly, smiling that warm smile which seemed to melt the protectobot’s circuitry right to his very core. “Y’got a good spark – and Earth creatures can sense that.”
Groove nodded, looking down at the water, a sadness in his spark. He had heard the whole story earlier – how this pool had used to be filled, not with water, but with a substance called Electrum, which if mechs coated themselves in it made them invincible to just about any weapon. Beachcomber had told him how it had remained here undiscovered, unspoiled for eons, until mechs did find it. And those were, of course, the Autobots and the Decepticons; and they had both taken advantage of its unique protective properties.
Beachcomber had explained how after the Decepticons had discovered those 'properties,' he’d tried to save the pool by not telling the Autobots about it, hoping that with nobody to fight them for the Electrum, the Cons would just get bored and go away. Not a good strategy, now I think about it, but I just couldn’t think what else to do …. Then he’d been captured and ended up on Cybertron, where he’d rescued Perceptor and Seaspray and they’d all come back – but too late. A pitched battle completely destroyed the countryside around, and then the Decepticons - unwilling to let anyone have the Electrum if they couldn’t have it themselves - had blown the pool up.
And Groove had almost wept at the emotion in Beachcomber’s voice, the obvious strength of the feelings he had for this place as he described how this was one instance in which, in his view, the Autobots had been every bit as bad as the Cons, and how he had refused to go back to base, remaining instead to clear the burnt out stumps of trees, and bury the bodies of the little dead animals who he’d come to know as his friends.
“Mind you, Megatron doin’ that - prob’ly the best thing coulda happened,” Beachcomber had said. “Cos that way ‘least there was nothin' here anyone would want, and I could get on with fixing up the place.” And he’d gone on to explain how he’d diverted the stream from the rocks above to fill the pool, and replanted the grass and the trees, and made the place into the paradise it was now.
Groove felt his spark swell and flare in his chest. Beachcomber was so gentle and caring, yet so strong. He could fight – oh yes, - and he was very brave. Why, Seaspray had explained how he’d stolen a Seeker’s gun and blasted them out of the energon prison on Cybertron. But he didn’t fight, unless he had to. Like First Aid. And just as Groove adored the medic he’d assisted for so long, drawn in the first place to his silent strength and commitment to life, Groove felt drawn to this powerful but quiet, gentle blue mech.
But he wished the animals would come.
“Hey – don’t be so sad …” There was a blue hand on Groove’s shoulder and he shivered at the touch, currents scintillating across his sensor net and right through to his spark. He longed for a lot more: for the mech’s arm around him; the thought of Beachcomber’s lips on his sent a warm glow radiating through his entire circuitry. But the hand was removed, and suddenly there was a fluttering sound and Beachcomber chuckled out loud.
“Here, look at this, now!” he exclaimed. “Told you they’d come ‘ventually”
Groove looked up to see a small green and yellow bird with a crested head settle on the outstretched blue arm. It ‘tweeted, ‘and Beachcomber made ‘tweeting’ and bird sounds back, the language he’d learned and earlier tried to teach Groove some of – although the Protectobot had found he didn’t yet quite have the knack. Groove could not help a broad smile from spreading over his faceplates. But he did not dare make a sound, or speak - or let alone try to tweet, - lest the bird should depart as quickly as it came.
“Here – hold out your arm!” Beachcomber said. Groove obliged. Beachcomber made a few tweeting sounds, and the bird hesitated, before hopping on to the beige and white arm. Beachcomber’s face broke into a warm smile. “There – told ya didn’t I?” he said.
And Groove could not keep the delight from his own face. The joy which surged through his circuits was almost as great as when Beachcomber had touched him moments earlier. He stared at the bird, inches from his face as it hopped a few steps uncertainly and then began to clean under it’s wing.
He’s beautiful!” whispered Groove. “Like the whole of this place. Like - you!”
Beachcomber did not reply. He simply chuckled and, putting his arm around the Protectobot, gave him a kiss on the cheek, his lips lingering on the white metal. “And we ain’t all that looks good round here,” he said.
“Cheep …” said the bird, approvingly.
