#scriptjet

[seekingjets]

Anon asked: Soundwave trying to de-stress after a tough shift at work and just wants to see/call his husband?

cw: injury

The line is unstable. A skittering whine spills out and washes away in static, denying Soundwave the connection as once again the call fails and they’re left grasping at radio waves and imbalanced satellites refusing to obey.

It’s fine, they tell themself. It will be fine. The day was a troubling one, starting with the most heinous of Starscream tantrums to manipulated code going unnoticed by a distracted gaze. All while seekers and triple changers argued and squabbled over ration and attention. Petty things. But Soundwave kept their head, kept focused on the routine and perhaps because of that they missed the signs of something drawing closer in the dark of space.

Shockwave would call such a mistake “unacceptable”. He’d stand tall in the face of blustering error with strict shoulders and an even tone. A paragon of the logical.

Soundwave’s chuckle was cracked and broken from the split seam deep across their frame as they remember how very much Shockwave hated them those many years ago. How much has changed that above all others, he was the one Soundwave was using the last of their strength to reach across the stars. Just wanting a moment of connection before whatever was to happen would happen.

The signal is weak and fades quickly just as Soundwave finds something strains and struggles within. All the voices and once-soothing thrums of communications across this galaxy and the next fall to white noise as Soundwave tries once more to reach Cybertron. Servos clutching injuries now tacky with pink. How long have they laid here? Lost among the rubble and remains of the ambush. Forgotten by the charging forces as Autobot and Decepticon clashed. Would they always be forgotten here?

The connection chimes, a brittle hope trails across Soundwave’s conscious. Relief scatters pain far from their focus as a familiar voice answers, distorted with distance and desperation.

"Soundwave." Shockwave's voice is calm - but to Soundwave his conjunx might as well have been screaming. "Soundwave, your position is marked. A rescue effort will be retrieving you shortly. Remain where you are."

"Affirmative." Soundwave's response dances with amusement considering neither of their legs survived the initial crash. "Shockwave. Query?"

"Now is not the time for expending energy on questions." Shockwave begs, though it sounds no different than his usual tone.

Beneath Soundwave's cracked mask, they are smiling.

"Query: Shockwave's day, satisfactory?"

If their bonded could laugh, if Shockwave had the capacity, Soundwave wonders if it would be the last sound they heard.

"Only once you are safe will I deem it an acceptable day."

“Request: in case of failure to comply with such request...”

“Denied.” Shockwave cuts them off as the flaring lights of warning and panic take over Soundwave’s HUD. “There is no alternative course. You will return to me. Understood Soundwave?”

The line is weak and goes dark before Shockwave is given an answer.

[seekingjets]

(Some IDW for ya) “Are you alright?” 

Optimus Prime was the last creature in all the galaxy that Starscream was expecting to see.

Especially here, now. While all the world seemed to be falling in beneath the weight of a crown which never seemed to fit right. Which mocked him in the passing reflections as Starscream paraded across his new empire, hoping that if he pretended to be happy, maybe he would be.

Starscream had a lifetime of experience with that, he’s not sure why he keeps trying. It never works.

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs but it sounds as broken as it feels, claws digging into the balcony railing where he thought he was safe. How did Prime even find him? How did Starscream let this hulking mech sneak up on him? “Of course, I’m practically glowing aren’t I?!” 

Optimus doesn’t flinch at the scathing tone, in fact, his expression doesn’t change in the least from that open concern. Something bent and round and Starscream can’t handle it. He wants to throw something or punch something, he wants to fight! At least then there would be somewhere to put…*all* of this anger. Now he was left scrambling, no exit, no escape. It left him sputtering and drowning in his own frame.

So distracted by his own screaming nerves he doesn’t realize Prime is advancing until he’s being smothered. Panic rises as his body tenses with the weight of arms wrapping his body. The sudden warmth and nearness, the vibration of another’s form as Starscream is dragged into Prime’s embrace and held there. Pressed almost neatly against the hardline of the mech’s torso, his face tucked just against the angular frame where he knows the matrix once resided. 

“What are you doing?!” Voice is high, but he doesn’t fight as Prime takes the full weight of him. Holds Starscream still as large servos press gently down the length of Starscream’s back where the wings slump and fall heavy.

“Seeking comfort. It’s been a hell of a day.” Prime’s voice is a strange chuckle, a tender rumble against Starscream’s cheek where he finds it is impossible to fight this engulfing shadow of his former enemy. He feels hidden, swallowed whole, where none can take note of his failings and Primus help him - he didn’t want to fight it. “I hope you won’t tell anyone.” 

“You-” Starscream decides to swallow his words, almost shaking now as Prime holds him, hides him. Even spares his pride with a simple statement and how effortlessly the other does it too. It would be horrifying if Starscream didn’t need to scramble his own servos up the Prime’s body, find anywhere to cling to and shift his weight fully onto the other. Have someone *else* carry this for him if just for a brief second. “Fine. But only because I pity you, Prime.” He manages to strangle out as he buries his face deeper into Optimus’ side and pretends it’s not him who’s shaking.

“Thank you, Starscream.” Optimus holds him tightly, lets him burrow and shiver without asking for anything more of him.

[seekingjets]

He barely slumps before Megatron catches him.

Servos are gentle as they adjust, bringing Starscream’s frame upwards where he can better cradle the smaller form. After all these years Megatron is accustomed to wings jutting and trying to slip past his hold. Knows how to manipulate and fold them, keep them from being damaged or strained as Starscream consents to being carried.

Normally Starscream would fight such inappropriate action...but it’s been battle after experiment, after battle. Energon runs through unmarked routes, time apart and time cramped together in the haze of war and leadership. Where petty arguments are pushed aside for the time being to best serve their faction: their goals together. 

So he allows it for the sake of his own exhausted body and the fact that Megatron is the only one allowed to.

He doesn’t have to keep optics online as they travel, half fallen to recharge in the cradle of Megatron’s grip. The familiar warmth and trailing vibrations of the powerful mech like a barricade against his body from the world. Knows every churn and chirp of the other’s machinery beneath worn yet unrelenting armor and it plays like a song beneath where Starscream rests his cheek. Nuzzling into the crook of chest plating and letting his wings relax. 

Starscream recalls the first time he was carried like this by the other - injured and unable to move - but that didn’t stop him from reflexively slapping the face of the mech who scooped him up mid-battle. The horror of realizing who it was moments later as Megatron personally kept his squirming aft alive as the world erupted in chaos around them. Starscream laughs at his younger self now, how naive and bitter, how far he would come from that flinching little seeker.

“You should be resting, not snickering.” Megatron rumbles from above as they travel, his servo curled beneath Starscream’s body as a thumb pad finds the room to pet behind the hinge of his knee.

“Shh, I’m asleep.” Starscream’s mouth flickers with a smile and yet he still keeps his sights offline, knowing he won’t need them. Trusting Megatron to deliver them to their suite which opens with the sound of familiar doors and the awaiting stillness beyond. 

He’s expected to be set down but finds that’s not to be as Megatron’s hulking form travels the distance of the room, crowding Starscream’s frame to him as he settles across the berth. Letting the weight rest across his lap as he still remains holding to Starscream. Adjusting to sweep a servo slow and fond up the side of Starscream’s back just beneath wing joints. Comforting and gentle with lethal hands trained not to disturb the delicate mechanics of wings. Well-acquainted with all of Starscream now that the seeker doesn’t need to do more than relax, purr and hum pleased at the sensation.

“I spoil you.” Starscream teases and battles the grin when Megatron snorts, both dismayed and amused at such a claim. Pressing to stroke a hand across the Decepticon insignia on Megatron’s chest that he can always find without looking. 

 Megatron answers with the smallest motion, engulfing Starscream’s form with more of his weight as the following sensation of reverent lips against his helm bring the seeker to sigh and press closer. Knowing no cruelty will ever befall Megatron when Starscream is in his arms.

He won’t allow it. 

[seekingjets]

Curious Cat Anon:  post-war starop. wherein they're (well, let's be honest, it's mostly starscream) confused and slightly surprised by how peaceful life has gotten. it's hard to forget the dangers that once stood at every corner. He rests with a blaster under the berth. Feels wrong to be disarmed, not that Starscream ever truly is. But weapon mounts are discouraged in this new society and Starscream can tolerate only so much.

He still hears sirens at night. Still locked in the memory of great ships rumbling fierce through open space, a lullaby of monstrous creations. He never sleeps through the night either, timed routine so deeply ingrained into his very core, pacing the humble home afforded to him as if hunting spies or an unseen threat. Always expecting the worst even though the past few years revealed no more than perhaps a messy greeting room or a shadow resembling a scraplet.

So has much has changed. Nothing more so than the great body which rests beside him most nights.  

Optimus Prime is a busy mech. Still seen as the savior of Cybertron, still their collective guardian and holy figure. Even former Decepticons who once sought to slaughter the Prime now bend the knee and vow allegiance to a new world. To peace in place of chaos and exhaustion. The war didn't end with a clear winner, more out of desperation and the slow dwindle of their population.

It was only right to stop fighting when Megatron fell.

Fast forward in time, somehow Starscream has grown used to Optimus Prime knocking politely on his door. Never messages ahead. Just shows up with a weary look and a gentle voice and even gentler servos. It should feel taboo but Starscream had always relished the obscene. Never felt more alive than when doing something terrible. Makes their arrangement funny that way.

Optimus Prime needing someone who wasn't blinded by his name, Starscream needing something to claw into. It wasn't romantic, at least not by the saccharine standards of old stories. Poetry had no words for them and he much preferred it that way. The only proof of their trysts after all were the marks left across Prime's bulky frame when he departed in the mornings - and the aghast expression of former Autobots when they managed to piece together what was happening.

Life was: stagnant beyond that.

He wormed his way onto the council now overseeing the redevelopment of their entire race. The endless battles of which culture should reign supreme almost nostalgic, Autobots thinking themselves better than their grittier counterparts. Decepticons refusing to surrender more brutal practices. It took awhile to make both sides understand that shooting first was no longer a lawful conclusion to problems. It had been a rough start, but only now were things beginning to settle. Well, as much as they could.

Starscream misses Megatron sometimes, like one might mourn a painful memory. Terrible to dwell on - but likely taught a lesson. He wonders who else misses the old bastard? If Optimus sometimes spends any amount of his day thinking about his /old friend/. Starscream never asks, he’s certain he won’t like the answer either way. Hasn’t said Megatron’s name in how long and would like to keep it that way honestly. Makes it easier to sleep at night, to relax and wonder what Prime was dreaming of in the berth beside him.

Horrible that he had to be so handsome. Ridiculous that even after everything Optimus was so kind to something who would have killed him any other day of war. Starscream isn’t sure why they fell in together. Maybe because Starscream wore the same rattled look at the beginning as Prime? Neither of them really knew how to exist outside of war. Starscream was a killer, an inventor of monstrous things and sinner. Optimus was hand picked by Primus himself to lead them through war, but now what? What use was a Prime in a democracy? A tie breaker?

He likes to watch Optimus when it’s unlikely he’ll be noticed. When the council gathers and argues and wages a diplomatic war against one another. Likes to take in the way blue optics dim in withdraw - boredom or anxiety over the yelling representatives who were charging one another on a battlefield not too long ago. There’s such a bitterness shrouding Cybertron, but only so many are willing to acknowledge it. He’s watched Prime flinch and reach for a weapon not permitted in the court when tensions rose - and there Starscream found himself.

In that startled and guilty look in Prime’s face that he simply couldn’t let go of where they once had been.

So he sleeps with a gun under his berth. It never seems to dissuade Prime from joining him. The first time a commotion of the airways outside of Starscream’s suite had the seeker rising from the bed - weapon drawn and snarling - Optimus had his servo on his wrist and shaking voice telling Starscream to calm down. Pretending he too wasn’t ready to fight off the next danger with a heaving chest and forgetting not to activate his mask in bed.

Starscream found him incredibly endearing in the moment. Seeing someone else as scarred as himself just trying to make it to the next day. Their thoughts told to be on property value and increasing trade with neighboring colonies - rather than whether bombs would drop or who of the two were intending to slit their throat in the night.

He asked Optimus once, waiting for privacy in the newly raised Tower of their democracy - a grand thing meant to imply unity whereas some only saw ghosts of the crude past. They didn’t touch when outside of Starscream’s home, and didn’t then. Optimus quiet, waiting as Starscream stood at his left (Never the right, he was none’s right hand.). Wing warmed by the Prime’s mere presence and Starscream wondered if he was allowed to touch him? If he wanted to?

“Are we happy?” He had to ask because someone had to know the answer, and maybe the Matrix would make itself useful for once and give a reply. Maybe Starscream just had to be honest and ask the right question and Prime would stop pretending to be just as hurt, and tired, and hollowed as him.

“I don’t know.” Was the unfortunate reply, but Optimus turned his chin downwards offering what best smile he could. Not the perfectly molded one presented before their unified assembly. Not the one Starscream couldn’t stand as it was just as fake and sickly as his own when Skywarp and TC tried to visit. Tried to suffer each other’s company though being near just felt….adrift without chaos.

Prime smiles and Starscream can’t believe he enjoyed the way it looked on him. Almost like he wasn’t alone, imagine that. The first time in - well - all his existence someone was actually there. Suffering the same. Cut in the same places.

Suddenly Starscream felt very envious of the years of war and anyone who might have seen this hurt side of Prime. He does hope it was his alone.

“But I think we can be, some day.”

Now they try. In their own ways. They still don’t tell anyone about them, whether /they/ are anything worth mentioning. Prime sleeps best when his left arm is swung heavy over Starscream’s waist - idly petting a wing until tripping off to an equally restless sleep. Starscream likes the feel of his weight nearby - the stability implied. The thought that if the fragile peace shattered in the night then at least Optimus would be close.

Strange that. Trust.

They play their roles. They speak for and against the chambers, try to put forth their best effort to redeem four million years of death and cruelty on either side. Starscream doesn’t scheme as much as he’d like and Optimus sometimes yield to ridiculous requests.

Then every now and then Starscream catches Optimus smiling at him. Small, private, his - and Starscream thinks that yes.

Maybe one day.

[seekingjets]

Request by twitter user robogirl28:

Soundwave/Shockwave and a battlefield confession. 

“Well, this is rather a mess.” 

Shockwave notes as seekers fly above. The rush of heat and sound enveloped in not so distant eruptions. Gunfire and destruction raging on past the borders of his vision.

Soundwave does not respond immediately, busy clutching the tender site of an injury. Freshly sealed by Shockwave but hardly healed, even the slightest movements would cause discomfort and it showed in their face. Mask missing, the visor cracked and useless in Soundwave's lap as they struggled against expressing pain.

“You stop that.” Shockwave moves to adjust the other, firmly denying the empath their attempt to sit up. Though only with one hand Shockwave has strength enough to guide Soundwave back into a lounging position against the rubble. “I've already contacted the necessary channels. Once this area is secure we will be evacuated. Remain at ease.”

“Understood.” Without their mask to guard them it's a strange experience - witnessing the movement of their expressions. The shifting gaze and pinched, pale mouth, neither settling as the war carried on across Cybertron without them. “You do not seem comfortable, is there additional pain - are your symbionts in danger?”

Soundwave shakes their head, chin lowered with a hand resting protectively over their chest compartment.

“Enigma.” They answer, watching Shockwave with a fluctuating focus. “Your actions. Illogical.”

“You think so?” Normally Shockwave's antenna would shift curiously at such a statement,  but currently he was missing one. Torn off in the skirmish which followed Soundwave's injury. Their armed escort through the city under siege had either been killed by the Autobot assault or had fallen deeper into the battlefield in the chaos. Of course what Soundwave was likely referring to was Shockwave's decision to engage with the Autobot force which had jumped their small entourage in order to prevent Soundwave’s potential destruction. Putting himself in grievous danger and even sustaining damages until they joint effort managed to overcome their shared enemy. (The body not too far away, already gone cold as the caravan moved on to join Megatron’s front lines).

“I would disagree, I believe my actions were quite logical.” Something erupts in the east and the distant rumble of collapsing buildings frame the moment. Soundwave watching Shockwave with emotions they cannot contain and that Shockwave cannot understand. “Inaction would chance a higher probability of losing you. Such would not  be acceptable.”

Soundwave makes a strange face, but then again, all expressions were strange to Shockwave. Like surprise, but brittle. Startled even before quickly shriveling into an awkward glance downwards. Bothered by something.

“Understood.” They respond, a firm nod and a militant tone. “To further the Decepticon cause.” No, that wasn’t right. No, that wasn’t only. But Shockwave struggled against the pull and push of crossed wires -  likely a concussed processor that short-circuited trying to make sense of his irritation at such a claim. Soundwave resting back against their makeshift bed of toppled building and peeled road, satisfaction so apparent on their features. Proving once more that emotions were messy things that should be drained out of the mind before they caused such troubles as Shockwave was having.

“I am not so war-born as our fellow Decepticons, but I do hope you can understand. My actions were out of a singular wish to protect you.” He explains with easy terms and a mannered tone overlooking the intelligence officer. “I do not afford others such considerations. Only you, Soundwave.”

Shockwave keeps himself from commenting on the rise in color across Soundwave’s paler features. A reaction to some stimuli Shockwave does not yet comprehend - turning with a look of alarm on the uncovered face that Shockwave fears something is wrong.

“Query: you care for me?” The voice is low with strain having nothing to do with injuries. How perplexing.

“That is a redundant question, I believe I have made myself quite clear that indeed. Yes. I do.”

Shockwave does not have a mouth, so the image of a smile is such a strange thing - how the manipulation of taunt fibers could change a face so minutely. Yet have such a devastating effect on Shockwave’s ability to process that Soundwave was indeed smiling at him.  There must be something malfunctioning with his fuel pump as it sped swiftly in reaction to the delicate visage.

“Permission to reciprocate sentiment?”  

“By what means?” Shockwave does not have a mouth, so the sensation of a kiss rests strange where Soundwave’s exposed lips brush the corner of his helm. The soft nature of the touch sending sparks and tangled data in a panic across his thoughts. Unable to shutter his optic from the sight of Soundwave’s proximity - or unwilling to miss even a moment as he greedily gathers and stores the sensation and recorded flush of his spark for his personal archives.

“Oh.” He responds once Soundwave withdraws carrying delight as comfortably as Starscream wears complaint, and it is not a terrible look. Oh dear. “Sentiment.”

“Sentiment.” Soundwave repeats, settling back into their resting position, watching Shockwave’s fluster with bright amusement. “Acceptable?”

“Well I suppose I will require further testing on the matter. But yes. I do believe we are in agreement.”

[seekingjets]

Curious Cat anon: “If you’re still looking for prompts: Megatron tries to give Starscream a surprise gift.”

—

The security deck is quiet for the most part - once you grow used to the background noise of chirping computers and humming radars pulsing back the make of the universe. Starscream scarcely recognized the sound of approaching steps, heavy and unguarded as they were, until Megatron was behind him. He was a weighty shadow in a room of dim lights and stillness beyond the hum of computers and his leader’s natural rumble.

“Do you need something?” Starscream doesn’t turn around until Megatron’s great hand brushes his shoulder. Guiding his attention until he feels wings press against the computer console - his body shifted to stare /up/ at his great and quiet leader. A look of fondness playing warm over optics which shine terrible in the poorly lit room.

“I have something for you.” Megatron’s voice vibrates through the air, drawing a low and pleasing hum through Starscream’s form in response. Starscream has to bite his glossa to keep from scoffing, letting his mouth curl pretty and amicable while he shifts weight. His own gaze drawing down the warlord’s posture. Confident and warm, here for a reason.

“Oh, do you now?” He purrs and watches the wear of wrinkles and repaired seams across Megatron’s face twitch. His own posture loosening to begin lowering to his knees. Hand grasping at Megatron’s hips. “Fine, just make it quick, I actually am on duty.”

He doesn’t get very far before Megatron is making a chuffed noise, heavy servos grasping at pale shoulders and dragging him back up from the floor.

“No not that,” He declines, annoyance apparent and Starscream rolls his optics.

“I’ve never known you to turn it down.” He pinches his mouth, curious then at Megatron’s meaning. “What do you want then?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the…” Megatron clears his throat, hardly a proud but strangely delicate on manners of debauchery. It was cute. Sometimes. “I actually have something for you.”

“Like what?” All Starscream’s tension pours into wings as Megatron looks /too/ proud of himself. Pulling back to retrieve something from subspace. A simple box of dark metal and no ornate wrapping. It looked little more than a flat cube - plucked from anywhere as innocuous as the rest of the ship.

“A surprise.” He smiles in his “not smiling but most certainly his face has changed” way.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why a gift?” Red flags raised as Megatron was not known for giving…gifts.

“Because I wanted to get you a gift.” Megatron explains, motioning with the object with a touch more urgency. “It’s for you. Take it.”

Starscream gives it three kliks…before trying to slap the “surprise”.

“No thank you.”

Megatron is fast enough to catch the box before it gets too far. Fingers wrapping protectively and smile gone, which wasn’t exactly a good sign, but neither was Megatron arriving with a surprise. Who knew what that could mean!?

“Starscream.” A warning, the way he draws out his name is practically a threat to behave. “Control your paranoia.”

“Is it a bomb?” He asks with all earnesty and doesn’t flinch when Megatron gapes in return.

“No it’s not a bomb!”

“Poison gas then? A hoard of scraplets waiting to chew out my optics?”

“You’ve gone mad.” Megatron flickers his gaze before shoving the box into Starscream’s chest. “It’s a gift. Just open it.”

“No.” Starscream pushes back, with absolutely no results. Megatron being a thrice reinforced steel wall: he only manages to scrape at the floor a bit with pedes. “I don’t want it!”

“Take it.” Voices raised and that fond little wrinkle turns to Megatron’s usual look of annoyance.

“You can’t make me!” Starscream tries to duck away, certain that whatever was in Megatron’s mysterious box was punishment for something he was planning on denying later. (the list was long and Starscream couldn’t be expected to keep track of his own treachery!). But Megatron was bulky and crude, a single servo was all it took to wrap Starscream’s waist. Effectively lift and relocate him across the console where buttons flared beneath his weight and Soundwave was likely going to have to fix something later.

“You little brat,” Megatron huffs, diving into his space with the grace of a building collapsing. “It’s just a gift!”

“A suspicious gift!” Starscream defends and childishly pinches Megatron’s chin - immediate reprimand for violating his personal space (of which they never respected of one another but Starscream would be irate when convenient.) “Is this punishment for the mess hall incident? Because I told Soundwave—”

“What incident?” By the dark tremor in his voice Starscream decided to shut his mouth, best not to play his hand too soon.

“Nothing. Nevermind. Forget about it.” Waves it off, choosing to release his claws on Megatron’s jawline in favor of cradling that massive fat head. Letting only a fraction of the weight of his leader’s helm rest in palm, frowning at him with lingering doubt. “So what’s in the box that you can’t tell me first?”

“Have you never heard of a surprise?” Megatron shoots back, resting the box on Starscream’s pale thigh between them, seemingly calm for the moment.

“Of course I have! I surprise Autobots constantly - with gunfire, chemical warfare and recordings of Blitzwing singing. It’s dreadfully effective.” He smiles, trying not to look at the box. A miniscule weight on his leg and yet an unknown danger as far as he could tell! What was he supposed to do, trust Megatron? Who knows what sort of nefarious and terrible things Megatron learned Starscream did and was upset about? Enough to present to him his own demise, the sadist!

“You’re unbelievable.” Megatron groans, his huff sending warm air across Starscream’s frame - trapped now as he cradles Megatron’s head.

“And you’re up to something - I won’t be tricked into it!”

Megatron stares for a klik, frown set deep, before the swerve of his optics streak in the dark. Servo returning to the box and lifting the lid without warning.

Starscream flinches, of course, expecting a great deal of terrible things. Even drops Megatron’s chin in an attempt to better cover himself from whatever horrors were about to burst forward from the small /surprise/. Megatron’s expression doesn’t change though, remains lingering on Starscream. Watching his reaction with a mixture of amusement and flat irritation for his theatrics. A commonly seen look in his leader…and one that Starscream didn’t appreciate now that he was faced with the so-called surprise!

He looked inside the box because he couldn’t resist and nothing had launched onto his face yet - confused at the contents.

“What is it?” He questions behind the cover of his servo, leaning back just in case it was a timed explosion.

“You don’t recognize it?” He sounded less disappointed, more amused, and that certainly annoyed Starscream.

“What? A lump of debris?” Snaps, reaching into the box as a show of confidence to retrieve the bent and scorched shape. The odd flat rock, or metal bit no larger than his own palm with pointed angles and — oh.

“There you go Starscream.” Megatron looks too pleased for his taste, but Starscream’s expression has gone slack in realization. “Unless you’d prefer a bomb?”

“This is your–” Blue claws cradle the disfigured Decepticon badge. The one Megatron war against the first battles of bitter Cybertron. The first badge of its kind which Starscream had believed was lost to a skirmish across Praxus where for a moment they all believed Megatron had also been taken from them. They had feeble resources then and to make such a hearty badge, one which could stand up against the flames and chaos of the blossoming war, Megatron had it cut from his own spark chamber.

A trend which thankfully wasn’t required but certainly made a point about loyalty.

“Now it’s yours.” Megatron’s softening expression was truly his greatest act of war. Something so dangerous, someone so terrible should not be capable of looking so…so….

“I don’t understand. Why?” Starscream fumbles with words, suddenly awkward and yet protective of the piece of Megatron he now holds. Trying to come up with a reason, a logical or at least acceptable answer to the spinning in his head over such an intimate gift.

“Because I want you to have it.” Megatron shifts closer, taking advantage of Starscream’s shock to brush a quiet kiss to his cheek. Something unexpected and altogether unlike his fearsome leader.

But not unwanted.

“You’re ridiculous.” He pulls a frown, watching Megatron’s smug face.

“If you don’t want it–”

“No!” He shrieks, slapping away a hand not even reaching to retake the gift. “It’s mine! What sort of mech are you, trying to reclaim a present! No class, no class at all!” Starscream pulls the object, broken and burnt as it was, to his chin. Holding it there to stare over the chipped and mangled crown of the Decepticon badge, his mouth brushing what once belonged within the innermost core of Megatron’s frame. Metal touched by his life, now belonging to Starscream.

“Do you like it?”

“No.” Starscream lies and clutches the gift all the more tenderly. “Not in the least.”

[seekingjets]

https://twitter.com/lesbian_robots/status/1136982853416345601?s=19

Starscream lands with a skipping pede at his left by the time the golden hue of flames reach them.

Megatron does not have to turn his chin far to watch the seeker's approach, the blaze before them casting the devilish creature in scorched orange and vibrant red. The colors of Starscream's form blending and molding into the heat, the inferno which consumes without pause or prejudice.

"It's done." Starscream has never been a silent mech, nor has Megatron ever been spared of the other's theatrical tone. But the two simple words barely make it past the seeker's mouth. Choked as if the pyre center of Iacon's political district was pouring smoke directly into Starscream's chest. Spilling out with shaken words and leaving the seeker breathless. Swollen on the sight before him as his claws, colored black in the overwhelming sight of destruction, twitch and grasp at nothing.

"We're free." Megatron echoes the true sentiment, the singular strand which unites his Decepticons past anger and hunger. Freedom. The desperation to feel it within ones hands and own oneself completely. A fantasy while these towers still held their shape. Towers filled now with the corpses of former senators and lawmakers - washed away by the purity of fire. Burning a foundation built across the broken backs of /his/ brood from the face of Cybertron.

Starscream nearly collapses. It startles him, reaching past the cradled haze of victory to push his servo across the seeker's torso. Hold him firm so he would not bow before the haunting spire of flame and cruelties. Starscream doesn't respond with indignation or a fight. He lets Megatron's hand bear his weight. Even drops claws to clutch at his thick wrist. Bracing himself against the immovable strength of the one to whom he swore his allegiance.

Who promised exactly this moment in return.

"Free." Starscream pants as a smile cracks open his face. Optics flaring to see through the inferno and watch the skeleton of their enemy burn. His delight shakes him, sends a quiver down his lean body and Megatron tracks it to the brilliant wings, blinding in reflection as his pale shape mirrors the war before them. Starscream wearing their moment of triumph as proudly as his badge.

A soldier truly forged in the fires of their deeds. Bathing in the flames at Megatron's side.

"It's beautiful." Starscream no longer stutters as seekers rumble and rage overhead, exhilaration and chaos mingled as one about them while all Cybertron stops to stare at the fires. The beginning of the universe's submission to their cause.

Megatron misses the city burning as he tracks the light across Starscream's face. Smoldering, wicked and relieved as a lifetime of pain spills off like broken chains.

Megatron seeing firsthand his actions saving one hurt like him.

"Yes," He mumbles through the deafening cries of destruction and rebirth, focus only on Starscream. "Beautiful."

[seekingjets]

request for @kurxo for Tarnma flirting “Dear Doctor, as always, it is a pleasure to watch you work.”

Tarn’s voice inspires a low tremble at the cruel angles of Pharma’s wings, his approach highlighted in the sound of each footfall. One. Two. At Pharma’s side and within his sight, a towering figure of dark violet and black, that heinous mask glowing red and tragic in the quiet light of the room.

“And as always, I work best in silence.” Pharma answers the pleasant tone with something suffocated and denying Tarn the grace of a second glance. Setting back to work on the strapped form beneath swiftly moving hands. Plucking wires and shaving soft circuitry away from his goals, ignoring his company who decides now is the time to circle the exam table. Closer now. Thick servos like talons, the width of them almost equal to Pharma’s wrist, dragging along the edge of the metal table as he preens.

“Is my company distracting you, Doctor?” Doctor he says, like it’s a cherished word and Pharma refuses to look up. Only aware of the vulture’s shift of Tarn’s form. The warmth of him, even still so far, exhausting against his ever sensitive wings which reach for warmth in such a chilled room.

Pharma collects himself, sets aside a wet tool and retrieves another to burrow deeper into the infrastructure. Parting that which is unnecessary and delicate around the beginnings of his quarry. Peeking from the meticulously cleared region as fragile as a spring blossom, blooming early against the winter’s lingering hold. It was always winter in Messatine, always cold and bitter, always marked with the dark figure lurking on the fringes of his sight.

Pharma has grown to seek that terrible shadow on the horizon, leading him here where Tarn looms like a ghoul drawn too close. Watching. Expelling heat from his broad form all too near his own delicate body - which could easily break under the Decepticon’s touch.

“I’m not easily distracted by surveyors.” Methodical in his procedure. Knows what to bend, knows what to break - which leaves him fighting a grin when he tosses aside a fist of useless dermis and almost soils Tarn’s polished torso with flecks of fuel. “What distracts me is poor manners.”

“Poor manners.” Tarn mimics with a chuckle that carries across Pharma’s back. “My behavior doesn’t satisfy you?”

“I’m not easily satisfied.” The doctor answers, chancing to address his company and finding the stillness of Tarn’s form to be just as unsettling as ever. The optics behind the mask steady, unwavering as predator to its mark, the great body controlled with no motion out of turn. “Neither am I impressed with your morbid voyeurism.” With grace, and a wet squelch, he pulls the TCog free from its tethers. The component held between them, dripping pale fluid to the floor, like the offering it was. The only reason Tarn has not killed him yet in such a small shape.

And yet Tarn’s focus does not shift from Pharma, holding the doctor’s gaze. The gentle tilt of the mask as alarming as any great motion and almost startles him in return.

“Dearest Doctor, I can assure you my observations are for the motion of your hands - and not only the work they so expertly weave.” Tarn’s field brushes his own, a shivering weight of curiosity both warm and daunting where Pharma could only raise his chin in defiance. Only reaching the lower portion of Tarn’s chest in height, it took a great deal of arrogance on his part to stand equal against his company.

“And yet, you’re not staring at my hands.”

“So I am not.”

Pharma chooses to toss the TCog at him, disrupt the moment like pulling free of a tether winding its way across his wings. A slow trap he fears he’s taken too long to struggle against. But ah, there is a pull across his mouth in amusement watching Tarn flinch, catch the part before it can fall and bruise on the ground. Masked or no, Pharma thinks Tarn looks lovely flustered…

“If my hands are so lovely to you,” Pharma responses, tugging a cloth from a bench at Tarn’s side - ignoring the smallest touch of wing against unyielding heat standing so near the Decepticon. "You should be next on my table."

“Is that an invitation?”

“Are you so eager to be under my touch?” Dims the light of his optics with the smile, letting it unfold naturally. Scrubbing soiled hands clean while his benefactor watches with unfounded intensity that has Pharma questioning whether it’s only Tarn’s voice with the power to undo. (Questioning what he would do with Tarn stretched out before him. Willing.)

“I believe, were I so lucky to fall beneath your hands, you would eat my spark right out of it’s chamber.” Tarn purrs, and it’s a physical vibration that reaches across the small distance between them. That charming voice which hushes Pharma’s very system and sends shudders through every nerve, sensor, and seam.

“Only your spark?” Pharma’s answers without thinking. Or perhaps choosing not to.

“I’m not sure, Doctor, what else would you like to ea---”  A loud groan interrupts them both, Tarn and Pharma turning back towards the room’s entrance where the rest of the DJD stand. Waiting. Staring. Horrified.

“Please stop.” Kaon begs, covering Vos’ helm as if to shield them from the conversation. Whereas Helex seems rather invested, and now disappointed at the lack of conclusion.

Tarn withdraws and Pharma shrinks back, not having realized how close they’d been in the first place. Heat pouring off his face and his pride now built up like fortress walls to better shield himself while Tarn’s maks gives away nothing. Unfair. He’d very much like to slap it off his damned face -- see if he’s smiling under there.

[seekingjets]

Ultra Magnus/Rodimus

Post Lost Light ending

"Sometimes bad thoughts spread like wildfire"

[seekingjets]

Pre-War StarPrime(Pax) thought...

Orion Pax has run into Starscream before. More than once.

Unfortunately one time in particular was due to Ironhide and Jazz dragging Pax by the moral compass to the edges of Kaon. They want to celebrate his promotion. They want to spoil their favorite Sergeant with gritty energex in chipped canisters. They want to drown him in the sight of swaying frames drawn in organic lines (as is the fashion in Kaon) until Pax might actually slip and be normal for once.

No stuffy student, no longer a twitchy cadet. They want and hope some flirty mech, modified to vibrate under hand, can give their Orion a good time.

Orion is mortified, of course. He's citing regulations and code of conduct all the way past rusty doors. Tossed careless into the throb of overlaid beats. Flashing colors and swinging limbs as the (Bar? Club? Law suit?) carries on in full swing despite his objections. Orion only can sit back in a corner booth, wishing Ironhide could complete his paperwork as swiftly as he procures drinks. Bright, frothy vermilion in cups cold to the touch and static on the tongue.

Jazz is of no help and if he hollers to giggling patrons (with their colors rearranged to highlight obscene carved hips and decorative glyphs delving between glossed thighs) one more time to "come and get it" while motioning to Orion's pelvic area one more time...Orion is going to write up an official reprimand.

This has to qualify as kidnapping. Perhaps even attempted murder (as he will die if he's bullied into drinking one more chunky shot that slithers down his intake and sizzles the tanks.)

They won't let him leave until he's "having fun" but Jazz is quick to sneak off to the dance floor at the first opportunity. Wedged between a broad chest and someone with huffing smokestacks which leaves the cramped club hot and suffocating. Vents whining to filter the smoke and gasping exhales of folded bodies and sticky floors. Lamenting his pride now washed away in the funk and tact clinging to his frame as foreign servos find the audacity to grope what they can as they pass by.

"Ya havin’ fun?” Ironhide grins, mouth damp with drink.

“You’re under arrest.” Orion answers and doesn’t appreciate the deep guff of a laugh in return. No one should be able to make that noise, not when aiding and abetting a crime. He’ll suffer for now, but even as Orion slinks forward to dodge a friendly squeeze from a passerby, he’s preparing for the look of betrayal on Ironhide’s face come the next shift after Pax refuses to complete the administrative portion of their work for his dear friend.

Then Ironhide smacks his waist and it’s like a blunt weapon knocking into his frame, leaves him choking and reeling as his partner motions across the flashing lights and displaced bodies. Orion tensing. Expecting an obvious danger in their reach, ready to lunge at the closest threat...

Instead he spots wings.

The pale frame and violent shine of red effortlessly divides the floor with a confidence Pax is stilling trying to fake. Body paint bright and catching the colorful lights, casting a neon wildfire across strutting wings. The comfortable sway of red hips and matching optics which trail light as they gently survey the world before him.

Casting judgement and finding the offering of the universe wanting before a prideful sneer.

“Well damn, never seen a stock model look so...” ‘Hide trails off, likely because Orion’s mask has snapped shut with a startled hurry. Ironhide doesn’t have much time to question it due to the impending doom as the seeker draws near without much prompting.

“Hi.” Ironhide is a confident mech, strong and stubborn. But pretty things are blinding and he’s certainly distracted by the glossy thigh pressed against their table.

“Buy me a drink.” The seeker orders and doesn’t lift his gaze from Orion’s figure - which only gives Ironhide the wrong idea.

“I’ll take my time.” He winks and shuffles up and out before Pax can drag him back by the scruff. Awkward silence managing to fill the void between the newcomer’s cut smile and Orion Pax sitting at an angle in the booth trying to survive the scalding seeker’s stare.

“Officer Pax.”

“Starscream.” Pax shifts in his seat uncomfortable by far, looking towards the crowd for both Jazz and an exit...finding neither.

“Haven’t seen you since you tried arresting me not a few blocks away.” The seeker pressing pale blue servos on the grimy table, spreading elongated digits until the metal of the table sang with vibration and Orion withdrew further into the booth.

“Haven’t seen you since you shot me resisting arrest.” The bright quirk of Starscream’s smile shouldn’t send his spark to do a funny little pulse, wavering in response to the seeker’s amusement. Orion wasn’t seriously injured but showing up, blasted arm and no suspect in hand, had been a rough day at the station.

Starscream decides it’s perfectly acceptable to sit down, likely realizing how uncomfortable it will make Orion Pax. Body moving in a neat shuffle before falling loud and heavy into the space at Pax’s left. Posture curved towards Orion who wasn’t and never will be a small mech. The edge of his elbow joint tickles the glass of the seeker’s canopy and it feels indecent with the undulating crowds of the dance floor not a stretch away.

“Of all the stuffy cops out there, you’re the last one I would expect to be slumming it.” Starscream speaks and the surrounding space quivers. Perfectly symmetrical face, literally one of hundreds, moving to rest a neat chin against the perfect curl of his own palm. “You know what this club is famous for? I didn’t guess you were into that kind of thing.”

“Not my idea.” Pax answers quickly, then recalculates. Always a danger not to consider each and every one of the criminal’s words before giving too much. Starscream was a mid-level crook with a magician’s touch for getting out of trouble. His rap sheet practically a history lesson in “what not to do”. Yet nothing sticks and nothing ever holds the seeker down. “What kind of thing?”

“Don’t worry,” Starscream and he have history the same way a splinter embedded deep into the under dermal layer has history with its host. Not too much a pain until agitated...but never truly forgotten. “I can tell you’re not having fun.”

“Why are you here?” Stupid question and the seeker finds it funny. Shifting to swing legs up and over Orion’s lap, leaning back into the curve of the booth as he watches with delight the expressions the masked-Pax can run through before settling on slightly disturbed and unsure what to do with his hands.

“Me? Just enjoying the view.”

“Starscream…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about getting shot?” Starscream’s glossa peeks from his mouth, teasing while Pax is left to catch Ironhide’s shape from the bar, giving him two thumbs up for all the wrong reasons. Starscream’s heeled turbine digs into the plating of Orion’s thigh and he wants to relocate the pedes to the floor - but shoving them away would be rude. Surely that’s his only reason for resisting the urge.

“It wasn’t getting shot that upset me.” He responds without thinking and that’s the worst thing you can do in the face of that smile. That all-knowing clever little devil disguised as something warm and pretty you can never own. Orion was distracted by that smile once, let the seeker curl in and hold tight as the loveliest snake in all Cybertron spilled a sob story that had his spark weeping and a flare of protective nature scorching his logical core.

Orion hadn’t noticed at the time of the arrest that Starscream slipped the cuffs. Hadn’t noticed because he was busy with a processor full of heroic acts and flashing white wings fluttering lovely and exotic before him. It was an interesting picture, bulky him with the curvaceous and venom tongued seeker whispering desperate and beautiful all the things a would-be savior wants to hear.

Rookie mistake.

Highlighted by the fact Starscream shot him the moment Orion shuddered with the brush of a mouth against his jaw.

“Oh? That?” Starscream seems to know Orion’s shame, pulls himself closer by the anchor of his legs across Pax’s lap. He’s clearly no more than an obstacle course for him, he’s sure. Orion still allows it somehow, still bewitched by that pretty thing in the wild night who whimpered for his help with a stunning act. “You can’t still be mad about that?”

“I’m off-duty.” Orion tries cutting him off, face guard secure across his features and hopefully that gives a sense of disinterest. Of false fortification against the seeker who is all but curled in his lap, knees brushing intimate and familiar against Orion’s side. “But were I not…”

“Oh officer!” Starscream gasps and a few lingering patrons turn their gaze in voyeuristic curiosity. “I’ve been good little jet, I promise.”

“You?” Pax chuckles despite himself, wondering if Starscream can see the grin he so desperately wishes to hide from the world. (Not the world. Just from Starscream who has a way of looking at you with the promise of wanting and enjoying anything he sees.) “Unlikely.”

“You’re handsome when you smile.” Optics flicker to the mask and dim when it remains in existence. Gathering himself up and wings stretch wide against the cramped space. Red lights of his gaze blurred and streaking across the flowing lights causing him to appear ethereal in the flashing room. “You know, it’s a shame you won’t come to play without your friends dragging you. I think we could have some fun.”

“I’m still an officer of the law.”

“We all have our flaws.” He purrs and Orion can feel it against his field which settles hungry over the seeker’s frame. Resonating and responding. Sending a gentle pulse to work its way up Orion’s back and nestle deep into his over-extended processor. “Maybe next time.”

“Likely not.” Orion finds his voice lacking as the other rises to stand, heel digging into the seat between Pax’s thighs with expectation. Forcing him to accommodate the change and out of instinct Pax reaches to cup the backs of blue detailed knees and ensure the jet’s stability.

Starscream stands tall and warm above him, a bouncer or bartender yelling in his direction to “sit the frack down” as the pede between his leg ghosts intimate plating. Devious and curled smile worn like a crown, just as dangerous as the rest of him.

“Well then, you better get me in cuffs next time.”

He almost answers eagerly, slouching grip as the seeker dips and hops down from the booth - ignoring the bartender’s scathing reprimand for walking on the furniture. Giving an impolite motion to emphasis how little he cares. The thrumming crowd and blinding lights agree with Starscream, all chaos and motion as he gives a final glance over the delicate wing before parting the crowd once more - vanishing from sight in the shifting bodies and hungry stares.

Orion exhales a sound he hadn’t known he was clutching, both proud and mournful of the brief encounter. The officer in him knowing what a danger the seeker was...the dreamer thrilled by it. He hardly acknowledges his partner’s return, Ironhide grinning from gear to gear as he plops down in the booth. Elbowing Pax with a proud laugh that is nothing compared to Jazz’s struck expression when he’s finally reeled from the dance floor to ensure Pax survived.

“It’s nothing.” Orion lies, shrugging off ‘Hide’s assumptions or Jazz’s disappointment that he didn’t follow the seeker out. “It’s not like that.” He assures, hoping the display at least would give him room to encourage their departure from the wild atmosphere.

“Hey man, I’m just glad he wasn’t causing trouble.” Jazz chuckles, chugging something bright and green from thin tubes brought to him by star-speckled fans of his dance floor performance. “Pretty thing like that? Seems evil.”

“No, he just...came to say hi?” Orion guesses. He’s not versed in what a  havoc-hungry seeker might get out of crawling into the lap of the very cop who tried to arrest him on multiple occasions. Perhaps there’s a challenge he can’t understand. Perhaps he’d like to. But just stopping in to “say hi” wasn’t a very Starscream-like behavior....

“He stole from you didn’t he?” Jazz waits until Orion checks his accounts, gagging at the multiple digits withdrawn and the lingering signs of a proximity hack subtle but still there. Like a rough edge against his coding as grating as the seeker’s voice.

“That...little…” Orion was already lunging over the table before the bartender could complain, heavy body shaking the floor as he moves broad and fast towards the direction of Starscream’s swift escape, Only hoping he can catch him before taking flight.

Handcuffs at the ready.

[seekingjets]

Unicron 6 spoilers - (Op/Ss ish) add on short

---

“Prime?”

“Yes, Starscream?”

“Are we on the moon?” 

“I think so, Starscream.”

There’s an ache deep in his...everything. Everything hurt. From the tips of his wings to the hinge of his canopy, all the down to thrusters dug into sponge soil of the dustball moon. Starscream groans and beside him Optimus Prime does the same, deep tone of his voice rattling where bodies touch in brief brushes of arms.

“So...not dead?” There had been a flash of light, the sensation of dying, then this. Some grand intervention of Primus at the last moment, or their sparks lingering to ensure their deaths were not in vain. He didn’t know. Hopefully Optimus did. He never was one to patiently wait for answers.

“I’m not certain.” Prime responds and Starscream can’t help but think he sounds exhausted by this. Maybe disappointed. Very much like a mech denied a long rest. He’d always found Optimus a morbid sort, perhaps he was right all along.

“How are we still here?”

“Hn.” It hurts to turn, look towards the other. Bright colors spattered with dust and scorch marks, battles leaving fractures across the great mech’s frame. He looks beat to hell and a tiny part of Starscream, the Decepticon in him, finds it absolutely hilarious.

The rest of him, the part that was ready to die if it meant putting a stop to this mess once and for all, feels the same exhaustion. A haunting question of “what now” trailing over his thoughts as the universe seems fine without them. 

Its only a little disappointing, whatever brought him back (if that indeed was what happened) seemed not to think highly of Starscream’s own valiant efforts to clear his name in death. It would have been such a wonderful story. Starscream, former Decepticon - once leader of Cybertron - fallen hero redeemed in selfless act!  All that tossed out the window because why? 

Please be alive, please be alive.

“Starscream?” Optimus Prime’s voice is strained and tired, his mouth moving in limited motion. Bright optics gaze above at the endless sea of stars and debris flooding within the pull of earth. Wretched planet. Starscream wanted to hate it. Couldn’t.

“What?” He needed to find his brothers, see who survived.  Windblade would certainly require his assistance bringing in this new era of Cybertronian life...perhaps Bumblebee would be happy to see him?

“Five minutes.” 

Starscream’s wondering where Megatron was in all of this?! What hole did he crawl into-where was HE hiding?! Starscream almost died (maybe did die) to save a universe he tried to destroy so why wasn’t he---

“Starscream.” He jumps at the feel of Prime’s hand curling around his own, holding tight as Starscream’s instincts told him to pull away. Prime didn’t let go.

“What are you doing?!” Snaps and it aches every joint in his body to struggle, yet weak and futile against even the tired strength of the Prime. “Let go of me I have to get back down there!” 

“Five minutes.” Optimus repeats, never looking away from stars above, wearing a look of peace Starscream can’t recall ever seeing before. Alive or dead, he’s content. Starscream can’t fathom the feeling. “Just play dead with me for five minutes. No scheming, no fighting. Just rest for five minutes. We deserve it.”  

“Death has cost you your mind.” Frowns, but stops fighting the grip firm around his servo. A gentle hold tethering him to the universe whereas seconds ago Starscream was nothing but light and pain and second thoughts.

He gives an indignant huff, settling back down onto soil both cold and uncomfortable. Pouting as he tries to turn off his thoughts, focus only on stars and the continuation of...well EVERYTHING. He can feel Optimus near, the radiating warmth brushing his wing and side, and it’s far too comfortable. 

“Five minutes then, Prime.” If he’s already dead, five minutes can’t kill him.

“Please, call me Orion.” 

“Absolutely not.” Refuses as Orion Pax chuckles beside him, hand giving his a gentle squeeze, and doesn’t let go.

[seekingjets]

They’re arguing when it happens. 

Starscream has been careless and she’s just being thorough trying to catch his mistakes before he lives to regret them. Nothing sets Starscream off like feeling one is picking at him, his pride more fragile than the precarious state of Cybertron. It’s almost impossible to get through to him when he gets worked up, wings high as his voice. Temper flared and panic peeks through the cracks of his distant and uncaring armor. Sometimes Windblade wonders if Starscream realizes just how scared he is half the time, and other times Windblade fears he truly has no idea…

But they’re fighting and Starscream is being impossible as usual and maybe, just maybe, Windblade just needs him to be quiet. 

So she kisses him.

Grabs him by the squawking face and pulls him into her mid-complaint. snapping his mouth closed beneath her own as she feels Starscream’s entire form stutter and tense in her grasp. The shocked noise vibrating where lips meet through the crooked, poorly timed kiss. Starscream’s mouth goes slack in surprise as Windblade holds him in place and kisses him to stillness. Tenderly, quietly, both things she knows he cannot comprehend and it works. He falls silent against her mouth with optics blown wide and bright when she finally retreats, victorious, and spiraling over her impromptu actions.

Her servos still encase Starscream’s wide and sticken face that watches her without the usual suspicion and all that’s left in it’s place is a very raw seeker struggling to catch up to his own processor.

“I like you much better like this.” She speaks, though not certain where the playful words came from. Her own thoughts wild with doubt and urgency to run - scrambling to recall exactly WHY she thought that was a good idea in the first place! 

Windblade goes to issue an apology, a justification? Were there any words she could utter that would make this alright!? 

She doesn’t get a chance.

With a softness one might not believe Starscream capable of, he bows to reconnect their mouths. Their lips brush light and quiet, the bright stare of before dimming as Starscream tests the space. Pushing forward with the smallest tilt when she doesn’t withdraw. 

His kiss is much better than hers. There is no rush or alternative motive that she can find while her own form falls prey to the warmth of a sigh. The almost feather light trail of a claw against her chin as Starscream edges her face closer. Pressing quiet and deepening the kiss with a simple nudge. It’s simple but startling as he doesn’t force or bite as might be expected of his usual behavior - an almost shyness overtaking her as Starscream brushes a knuckle down her cheek and –

“Lord Starscream! Are you in there?!” The door rattles with a bang causing them both to yelp, servos pushing and shoving at one another. Windblade stumbles back, but Starscream trips over himself. Falling graceless with a shriek over his own pedes, crashing into the nearest table. Datapads scattering as he curses, the one waiting at the door going suddenly very silent at the echo of Starscream’s ire.

“We’ll finish this meeting later.” She utters quickly, ignoring the sorry state of Starscream trapped beneath his own work on the floor. Instinctively reaching to wipe her mouth with her hand, pausing at the lingering weight in her spark at what just occurred. 

“Promise?” She hears Starscream call after as she dashes past the doors, sounding like he was smiling just as she was beneath her hand.

[seekingjets]

Currious Cat ask: Starscream somehow gets hurt after pushing himself too far on an energon seeking mission and Megatron is really angry but he can’t figure out why. Complicated feelings ensue.

“He’s stable, for now, so I would graciously ask that any impending reprimand be delayed until he’s at least…you know what? Do whatever you like, my liege.”

Knockout’s words trail off at the low shifting hiss of Megatron’s vents. The gladiator’s mangled sneer all that was needed to send the doctor bowing. Politely excusing himself from sight while dragging his /assistant/ along by a servo hooked in Breakdown’s hip. Bullying his counterpart from their leader’s shadow with such haste Megatron questioned if they had something to hide.

But no. It was only Starscream who scattered like vermin into the shadows when faced with his own wickedness. Cowering weak within Megatron’s shadow to grovel - only to do it once more when the shroud retreated. Never once learning his lesson seemed to be Starscream’s favored pastime, wretched thing.

Such was never more apparent then now with the seeker stretched across the medical bed. A delirious arrangement of cords and damp tubing interlaced beneath his armor plates. The stench of weapon discharge and scorched metal heaving heavy from the stack of stripped away parts Knockout was forced to remove from the seeker. They lay nearby, hazardous and blackened beneath the extensive fire Starscream had taken just to return to the Nemesis alive.

Megatron is briefly startled by the medical equipment, chiming to alert of a scheduled round of whatever painless cocktail Knockout has brewing in sleek glowing canisters. The tubing worked through Starscream’s lean little body flooded in color and inciting a grimace from the slumbering seeker. A wing attempted to shuttered where it was bound to the table.

Starscream’s other  wing was currently being rebuilt elsewhere.

It was meant to be a simple energon fetching, something even his brat of a Second should be capable of. Leave it to Starscream to mangle even the simplest of orders.

Reserves were low, however. Perhaps the added urgency of their lacking supply is what pushed the seeker to drive into uncharted territories. Drag a caravan of mining drones and a scant guard into certain dangers. Reckless and unwise, just like Starscream.

The team was three days late from rendezvous and Starscream another two days from that. Dragging himself across the entry of the hangar, shocking blue splattered and streaked across his half crumpled form. Collapsing before any soldiers could reach him.

At least this is what Megatron was shown later by Soundwave after his silent spymaster ensuring no trouble followed Starscream. The seeker like a beacon to the chaotic, always ending in regret when one doesn’t search the shadows Starscream leaves behind.

The damage was extensive, which followed the story the mining team had shared upon return. An unfortunate clash with outlier patrols, foreign and organic and angry - enemies of Cybertron. By some miracle the team was successful in extracting a level of energon to sustain, but it cost few lives and left a seeker missing in the field, returned bent and scorched and silent.

“You always bring such troubles onto yourself.” Megatron snarls at the still form, half expecting the little shape to rise and slap him for the comment. Starscream wore defiance like a favored shade of red…but no movement followed. No rousing scorn from his Second.

It was disappointing.

The amount of resources currently being wasted on keeping Starscream alive was not unremarkable. His specialty soldier, his wicked and complicated frame meant for war and executioner’s thrill. It took three times the materials and certain skill to pamper the brat, to repair him. So unlike the rest of his army, efficiency over flare as was the Decepticon way. Brutality over complication. But not Starscream.

He should just let the fool die. Truly. No other soldier has been so time consuming, so maddening, so wretched and ungrateful. Truly Starscream from the beginning pledged loyalties to Faction only, never to Megatron - no matter how many times the creature purred /Master/ and bowed it was not for Megatron.

No matter that Megatron called Starscream /his/, he knew he did not truly own the seeker’s loyalties. Only his anger. Only his shared wish for reshape the universe by their demands did they truly aligned…and yet again Megatron wonders why he keeps the fool alive?

There is of course something most wicked about Starscream. Megatron can see it clear as the brand across the seeker’s chest, the ever warped smile of his pointed face (which seems like a ghost now as Starscream is lax in slumber. Unmoving.)

It’s how he makes silence feel wrong. Stillness a crime, dismounting and uncomfortable. The space around Megatron empty and cruel without a shrieking demon flooding the air with vibration. Life. Whether purring cruelties or mindless blather…even meager days without the seeker standing proud and twisted at his side filled Megatron with restless nights and anxious hours. Catching himself glancing right to address the creature only to be startled by its emptiness.

Megatron has suffered abandon before. That which was like minded and yet did not belong to him,  cutting itself away just to leave a gaping wound…he was unsettled by the vacancy now.

When Starscream strains himself for the cause, Megatron steps in. When the ambitious brat goes exaggerated lengths to achieve his goals, to gut a resource and refine their process - Megatron is the first to confront him. Scruff his collar and physically remove him from the labs if he must. Refuse to allow his Second to burn himself out and deny him the self destruction he so casually enjoys.

Just like now. Starscream pushing himself too far. Abusing his power and his body to accomplish his mission, threatening his life for his goals when losing Starscream would be a more devastating loss.

Megatron stiffens at the thought curling across his processor. Watching in the mocking silence of skittering machines and pulsing bio rhythms played across screens like a song. Watching his seeker struggle against injury and repair, even resting his face twisted in defiance. Ever fighting. Ever refusing to yield even when he might only benefit from the aid of those around him.

Megatron’s servo is garishly large compared to Starscream’s sleek little cheek - holding his knuckle joint a thought away from making contact. Stricken with the abrupt fear that the pretty seeker might break further at his touch…

Why did he come running when Starscream was hurt? Why does he struggle against a soldier who would gladly use his corpse as a throne? Why does he allow Starscream tp insight such wretched feelings in him when Megatron has gladly torn out of himself kinder emotions?

Megatron is not stupid. He knows the answers to all these questions as well as he knows Starscream will always scramble back to his shadow when embarrassed by his own faulty ambitions, or clamber to bow and pledge love and loyalty when his plans fail and his delinquency subsides under the weight of reality.

“Master?” Megatron retreats his hand before Starscream’s optics come online. Red tired color greeting with apprehension. A struggle against the hazy world under the influence of nanites and pain relievers coursing through his system.

He just watches Starscream panic then decide he’s too tired to grovel, letting body relax against the slab which holds him.

“I thought I’d dreamed making it here.” He sounds relieved, then hesitant as Megatron watches him. Clearly calculating his degree of trouble and choosing exhaustion and the spiral of influenced systems to let speech slip loose and unbothered, likely going to blame drugs for any mistake he makes in such a moment. “Should I not have returned home?”

Megatron let’s him worry for a minute, obscenely aware of how easy it is to forget all the trouble and grief this creature laid at his pedes so carelessly.

But Megatron knows Starscream will always return to him.

“You accomplished your mission.” He states and takes in the seeker’s surprise. “Rest for now. I expect you returned to my side with haste.”

And he knows /why/ he will always welcome him back.