Night had settled deep over the Autobot base, the moonlight casting silver shadows across the cold floors of the hangar. The activity had finally died down, no training drills, no surprise decepticon attacks, and not even wheeljack, bulkhead and smokescreen around to cause mayhem. For once, it was still.

You sat on the edge of a stacked supply crate near the loading bay, the massive launch doors had been retracted, revealing a bit of the starlit sky that glittered across the forest horizon. And standing not far from you, like some immovable pillar of war forged calm, was Ultra Magnus.

He was in alt-mode earlier, running post shift diagnostics and scanning for perimeter threats. But now, he stood in his full bot form, tall, imposing, and entirely unaware of the effect he had just by existing. You watched as the moonlight reflected off his armor in clean silver lines, giving him the appearance of a statue carved by a very serious god of discipline.

Gods, he was gorgeous, if you liked the stoic, duty bound, “I am the law” types, which… you clearly did.

You took a breath, then glanced over at him. He hadn’t moved. Probably hadn’t even blinked. His optics were focused on the data pad in his servos.

It was too quiet, and he was too... You couldn’t help yourself. “So… is now a bad time to say I find command officers weirdly attractive?”

He exhaled a low, static, edged vent. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a groan. More like a sound he only made when dealing with something profoundly illogical and tolerating it. His optics flicked to you. Just slightly. “…Excuse me?”

“I said,” you repeated, flashing him a cheeky smile, “I have a thing for towering Autobots with a tendency to follow protocol like it’s a religion.”

A pause. A long, long pause. “That is an… unusual preference.”

“Maybe,” you mused, “but you’re an unusual guy.”

He turned toward you more fully now, and you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. Being dwarfed by him was nothing new, your head barely reached the height of his ankle plates, but that never stopped you from trying to fluster him.

It was becoming a sport.

“Your remarks are noted,” he said at last, “but I question the wisdom of such… distractions..”