[TF] Past Impending 02
Jun. 14th, 2018 06:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Past Impending
Universe: All This and Heaven Too
Characters: Rodimus, Starscream, Drift/Deadlock, Sunstreaker, Turmoil, Original Character(s)
Pairings: past Rodimus/Drift, Starscream/Sunstreaker, past Rodimus/Turmoil
Rated: T
Warnings: implied bad things including physical and sexual abuse
Summary: A shockingly familiar face shows up at Blue Sun, and Starscream learns how and why Rodimus is so deeply in debt.
Part Two
For two weeks, he managed to avoid Deadlock. Drift. Whatever he was calling himself these days.
Starscream’s little talk must have worked. Or maybe it just helped that Starscream was always around. And if not him, Sunstreaker was an effective deterrent. Probably even more so. Everyone knew how much sway Sunstreaker had around Blue Sun.
Rodimus did his job and pretended he didn’t know Drift. He felt the optics watching him. He let himself be curious for half a klik, until he looked around and remembered where he was. And who was to blame.
Blue Sun, however, was only so large. It was inevitable their paths might cross despite Rodimus’ efforts. All it took was a miscalculation – and Drift switching posts with someone apparently.
Rodimus came out of the library with a handful of vidtracks in his subspace. He intended to spend the rest of his off-shift parked in front of a vidscreen, a pile of unhealthy snacks beside him, before he had to get to the sales floor for the late night shift. He wasn’t at all on guard. Drift should have been on outside patrol duty. Rodimus had checked the roster.
Instead, Drift was in the corridor outside the library. Waiting. Arms crossed, braced on the wall, optics locked on the door.
Rodimus froze in the doorway, until the sensor honked at him to move his aft. Backing up would leave him trapped. At least the hallway gave him room to escape. Besides, he wasn’t afraid. He was stronger than this.
Rodimus stepped forward, the door clicking shut behind him. Drift straightened, optics focusing on him.
“Can we talk?” Drift asked, voice soft and gentle, like it had been those nights when he’d filled the gouges in Rodimus’ paint, and treated him so sweetly.
Rodimus scowled to chase away the unwelcome reminder. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” He squared his shoulders, whipping on a mantle of self-assurance.
He edged down the hall, away from Drift, toward anywhere that wasn’t here.
“Then you don’t have to talk. Just listen.” Drift moved with him, following him, predator after prey. He sounded earnest.
But then, Rodimus supposed he was a damn good actor. He’d certainly fooled Rodimus good enough. He couldn’t blame it entirely on being naive.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Rodimus spat over his shoulder and increased his pace. He wanted to put as much space between himself and Drift as possible. Just get somewhere Drift wasn’t.
“Roddy, please!”
Drift’s fingers wrapped around his arm, firm, unyielding, dragging him to a halt. Rodimus startled, his spark thumping in his chassis. He didn’t think; he reacted.
“Get your hand off me!” He jerked his arm free of Drift’s grip. “Don’t call me that either!”
Drift held up his hands and backed up a step. “Fine, I won’t,” he said, his tone oddly calm and quiet. “Will you just listen to me. Please?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I can’t apologize if you aren’t around to hear it.”
Rodimus’ entire frame froze. “Apologize?” His spark shrank into a tight ball, aching in his chassis. “Apologize? After what you did to me, you think you can just apologize and that’s enough?”
Drift scrubbed a hand down his face. “You don’t understand. I never meant--”
Rodimus’ engine growled as anger spiked bright and hot inside of him. “Frag you!” His vents heaved, and his hands curled into fists. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. You have no idea what Turmoil did to me. None! Your apology is worthless.”
He was horrified by the tremors in his voice, the heat in his optics. Damn it.
Drift’s intake bobbed. He shifted his weight, his armor fluttering over his frame. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t. But if you let me explain--”
“Boiler,” Rodimus bit out, interrupting Drift yet again because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand here and listen to Drift come up with some lie or some half-truth or even a full truth to explain himself. Not when he had no idea.
Drift blinked, confusion writ across his face, because of course. Why wouldn’t he be confused? He’d gotten away with the creds, with his dignity, with his own frame intact. He’d ran far and fast from Turmoil’s anger.
He’d left Rodimus behind to bear the brunt of it.
“What?” Drift tilted his head, optics cycling in and out.
Rodimus sucked in a shaky ventilation, his knees quivering beneath him, but he’d be damned if he slumped against the wall.
“Roughroad,” he ground out, his spark hammering so hard he swore he could hear every thump of it. “Cork. Antimony. Slicer. Playback.” He worked his jaw, his armor starting to rattle, from the tips of his feet to the tips of his finials. “Maelstrom. Gate. Spire.”
Drift’s optics grew wider and wider. He reared back, his finials canting backward as well, color draining from his face. “Roddy, you don’t--”
“Firestorm!” Rodimus almost shouted, were it not for the fact he didn’t want anyone to hear this, the list of his humiliation. His voice crackled, and he didn’t bother to reset it. “Hexic. Backfire.” His hands formed aching fists, the last name the worst of all. “Lode.”
Rodimus’ vents heaved. His optics felt hot.
Drift’s armor had drawn so tight against his frame, not a peek of cables could be seen. His optics bleached of color. His lips pressed together in a thin line. Rodimus couldn’t catch a whiff of his energy field.
Drift didn’t even have the decency to stink of shame.
“If I counted the mechs who were more than happy to help punish their boss’s whore, my vocalizer would fry,” Rodimus said, his tone so cold he surprised himself. He felt outside of his frame, like he was disconnected from it and this moment. Who even was he anymore?
Nothing. No one. Just the object Turmoil made him.
He shook. His armor rattled. He had to keep going; he couldn’t stop now. Drift had to learn. He had to know how much he wasn’t welcome.
“So you can take your explanations, your apologies, your lies, whatever you want to call them, and you can frag off,” Rodimus spat.
His shoulders shook. His vents heaved. His vision swam, and he should probably reboot his optical feed, but that was effort. More than he had to give. He felt drained, wiped of energy.
Drift had yet to speak. That was probably for the best. Rodimus was the only one who had any right to talk right now.
“I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care.” Rodimus took a step back, cold seeping through his internals. “Just do what you’re good at and leave me alone. Got it?”
Drift ex-vented, loud and rattling. “… I never meant to hurt you,” he said, so quiet Rodimus almost didn’t catch it. He stared at the ground, like he didn’t have the bearings to meet Rodimus’ optics.
“Frag you and your intentions,” Rodimus snarled.
He spun and stalked down the hallway before his composure failed him and he collapsed like a rusty support beam. Heat and ice alternately sluiced through his lines, and he thought he might rattle right out of his armor.
He couldn’t go back to his own suite like this. He didn’t want either of his roommates to see him in this state.
His feet carried him upward instead. His spark drew him to the only place in the entire building that offered solace. He found himself in front of Starscream’s door without making the conscious decision. His hands shook so badly that when he rang the chime, he hit it more than once.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Starscream on the other side. It was Sunstreaker.
Rodimus’ spark dropped into his tanks. There was only one other person in Blue Sun he’d have preferred not to see him like this, and of course, it was the one mech currently standing in front of him.
“He’s with a client,” Sunstreaker said, optics dim as he rubbed at the corner of one. His plating was half-fluffed, and there was a smear on one of his armor panels.
He’d been recharging.
Rodimus stared at him, thoughts crashing like a thousand ball bearings. “Oh,” he said.
He should leave. He should turn around and go. But where? There was nowhere left. He felt lost, adrift. He should apologize and walk away, but he didn’t know if his feet would actually carry him anymore.
“Um.” Rodimus shifted his weight, heard his engine hiccup, which was all the more humiliating. There was an obnoxious rattling noise, too, and he realized much too late that it was coming from him.
“Come on,” Sunstreaker said with a sigh. He stepped aside. “You look like slag.”
“Yeah.” Rodimus swept a shaking hand over his head. “I need to… wash and wax probably. Was going to go back to my room. Was going to clean up, but then I got distracted and now I’m here and--”
“Rodimus.”
He flushed and ducked his head. He slipped into the room, his name like a chastisement sitting on his shoulders.
“I know. I’m babbling.”
Sunstreaker shut the door behind him. “What happened?” he asked, and his voice sounded strange. Soft. Concerned even.
Clearly, Rodimus was losing his mind.
“Nothing.” He planted a grin on his face and propped his hands on his hips, hoping he put a jaunty tilt to his spoiler as well. He was getting very good at pretending. “I even got a tip this time. Starscream’s lesson’s have really paid off.”
Sunstreaker stared at him. Optics narrowed. And then he crossed the floor, snatching Rodimus’ wrist as he did, yanking his hand off his hip. He towed Rodimus toward the washrack without a word, his grip as unyielding as duryllium cuffs.
“What’re you doing?” Rodimus spluttered.
“If I leave this mess to you, it’ll embarrass the both of us,” Sunstreaker said as he pulled Rodimus straight inside and swung him toward the stool in the center. “Sit.”
Rodimus obeyed. It was so ingrained in him now. He hated himself for obeying Sunstreaker, but sometimes, the older mech had a tone that allowed no argument. Now was such a time.
Rodimus blamed Drift. If he hadn’t left Rodimus feeling so off-balance, maybe he could have put up more of a fight.
Sunstreaker unspooled the extendable hose with sprayer attachment and circled around Rodimus as though examining him for the best point of attack.
“Be still,” he said.
Rodimus, who admittedly had been squirming, sighed and forced himself to freeze. Being still was not a natural state of being for him. He wanted to fidget, and the best he could manage without irritating Sunstreaker was to subtly tap his foot.
“So,” Sunstreaker said as the first splash of sudsy water spilled down Rodimus’ back. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Rodimus opened his mouth, another denial on his lips.
“The truth,” Sunstreaker added before Rodimus could get out a word. “It was Drift, wasn’t it?”
Sometimes, Sunstreaker could be fairly perceptive when he wanted to be. Oh, he was totally blind when it came to Starscream’s feelings for him, but he could figure out other secrets stupidly quick.
Rodimus’ shoulders slumped. He planted the heels of his hand on the stool between his thighs and leaned forward. “Yeah. He cornered me.” He stared at the tile, and the suds swirling down the drain.
“Why?”
He focused on the patter of warm solvent, the way it trickled over his cables, smoothed against tight joints and gears. “He said he wanted to apologize.”
“You don’t believe him?”
Rodimus snorted. His fingers curled around the lip of the stool. “Would you?”
Sunstreaker stepped to his side, spray gentle as it rinsed over Rodimus’ left arm and leg. “He came here for a reason.”
“Yeah, well, whatever it was, it wasn’t for me.” Rodimus’ spoiler flicked, the suds tickling over his hinges. “Slagger didn’t even know I was here.” He scowled at the tile.
There was a moment of silence. A long one actually. Sunstreaker moved to Rodimus’ right side, rinsing him down, and then he slid in front of Rodimus. Wordlessly, Rodimus straightened and held his arms up so the yellow mech could soak his front in solvent. He kept his gaze to the side, however.
He didn’t want to see the judgment in Sunstreaker’s optics.
Sunstreaker thumbed off the spray. In the silence, the drip-drip of the stream easing was all too loud.
“Did you want him to?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice oddly soft. Gentle. Like Rodimus was a stray voltaic cat hiding in the shadows of an alley.
Rodimus squirmed and forced himself to look at Sunstreaker, though it went against every grain in his frame. “Would you think less of me if I did?” he asked, and his voice crackled with static. He hated himself for betraying that weakness to someone.
Particularly Sunstreaker.
The other mech stared at him for a long moment, and then the next thing Rodimus knew, he was swept into Sunstreaker’s embrace, solvent-suds and all. He froze, not sure what to do, until Sunstreaker didn’t let go, and his engine turned over into a soft, comforting purr. His arms were gentle, and the touch of his field was light.
Soothing.
It was weird. But the last thing Rodimus wanted was for Sunstreaker to let him go. Maybe he should feel pathetic, getting comforted by Sunstreaker.
He didn’t.
“You are an exasperating newbie who talks too much and could use a Pit of a lot more training,” Sunstreaker said.
Rodimus sighed and knocked his forehead against Sunstreaker’s clavical strut. “Gee. Thanks.”
“I’m not finished.”
Sunstreaker slipped back from the embrace, and he cupped Rodimus’ face between his palms. “But I have never thought of you as less or worthless, whatever your reasons for coming here. You’re not to blame for loving anyone, and it’s never foolish to hope.”
For a moment, Rodimus wondered who Sunstreaker was trying to convince more.
He worked his intake, his optics unexpectedly hot. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because no one’s watching.” Sunstreaker grinned, more a smirk, just to show he was teasing.
He kissed Rodimus’ forehead and let go, picking up the hose again, but this time switching it to rinse.
Rodimus was touched, despite himself. It was so rare for Sunstreaker to be so kind. He intended to soak it up as long as he could.
“You can hide here as long as you want,” Sunstreaker continued as he rinsed down Rodimus’ frame in quick, efficient sweeps of the spray. “Starscream will be back later.”
“I have to be on the floor later. And I don’t think Streamline’s gonna buy another infection.” Rodimus didn’t really feel like trying to entice a customer tonight, but his debt to Turmoil wasn’t going to clear itself either. Not to mention he didn’t want Drift to get even a whiff of how much his presence affected Rodimus.
Sunstreaker whipped out a towel and started wiping down his armor with the sort of precision that professional detailers utilized. “Relax until then. Take a nap. Get yourself together. You’re a professional, Rodimus. Remember that.”
For once, it didn’t sound like a chastisement.
“Service with a smile,” Rodimus echoed. It had been one of Starscream’s first lessons. No matter what they were feeling inside, they treated their clients to the best of their abilities, and always with a smile.
“Even if you feel dead inside,” Sunstreaker agreed in a dry tone.
He’d added it back then, too, making Starscream roll his optics and turn his back on his roommate with a harrumph. Sunstreaker had flicked Starscream’s wings playfully, and it had almost devolved into more of their flirting-that-wasn’t.
Rodimus chuckled and let himself be pampered. “Because that’s the Blue Sun way,” he said.
That’s the Blue Sun way.
~
Sunstreaker slipped out of his room, leaving Rodimus napping in Starscream’s berth, sprawled out over the surface like it was his to begin with. He was cutest when he was sleeping, Sunstreaker decided. It made him look younger, softer, a little innocent.
It was when he was awake and opened his mouth that he was a lot less attractive.
Now.
To find Drift.
Sunstreaker had an idea of where to look. He and Starscream had been doing their best to keep tabs on Drift’s whereabouts to help Rodimus avoid the mech. But if Drift had cornered Rodimus today, he must have changed his schedule to an offshift. Which meant he’d be loitering in the guards communal quarters.
Sunstreaker rounded a corner, and abruptly stopped.
So did Starscream, who frowned with disapproval. “You’re supposed to be resting. Don’t you have a session with the senator tonight?”
“I do and I will,” Sunstreaker replied as he moved in close, catching a whiff of freshly fragged Seeker – and frustrated, too, going by Starscream’s energy field. “Got something to take care of first though.” He slid his fingers over Starscream’s shoulder, tracing a seam. “Good client?”
Starscream’s engine dipped into a purr. He leaned into Sunstreaker’s touch, like a Praxian crystal toward the light of Luna-1. “Sideswipe again.” He nuzzled under Sunstreaker’s chin, a cat demanding pets. “I really think I’m going to suggest he schedules you though. No one pulls off that humiliation kink better than you.”
Humiliation, huh? A pretty rare kink for the disgustingly wealthy. Usually those types wanted to be worshiped and adored, not degraded. Interesting.
“But he’s one of your highest paid patrons,” Sunstreaker said.
“And when he wants a pretty thing to writhe under him, I’ll still be here.” Starscream grinned and flirted his fingers over Sunstreaker’s belly.
There was something in his optics though. Something that didn’t quite settle right. It was more than wanting a client to have a better experience.
Something Sideswipe wanted was more than Starscream was willing to give. He was a good Dom when he put his processor to it, but clients rarely hired him for it. He was a Seeker. They preferred to see him on his back or on his knees. Flavors of humiliation had never been Starscream’s favorite, but whatever Sideswipe wanted, it must have been over that edge for his Seeker.
Very well.
Sunstreaker tilted his head against Starscream’s. “I trust your judgment. Send him my way and I’ll make sure he gets a slot.” Booked solid most of the time, Sunstreaker tended to only get new clients through recommendations.
Starscream pressed a kiss to the corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth. “Thanks, Sunshine.” His fingers walked up Sunstreaker’s chestplate, palm landing flat against it. “Now I have to get cleaned up before I hit the floor.”
“Your stray’s on your berth,” Sunstreaker informed him as he captured Starscream’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, lips brushing over the tips of his fingers.
“Rodimus? Why?” Starscream’s wings flicked as his face turned stormy, his field surging outward. “Did something happen?”
Sunstreaker kissed his fingertips. “Nothing I’m not going to handle,” he said, and added a growl from his engine, a pulse of his energy field. There were few escorts in Blue Sun with as much sway as Sunstreaker.
He would find Rodimus peace somehow.
Starscream chuckled. “I knew you had a soft spot for him.”
“Just don’t tell anyone.” Sunstreaker squeezed Starscream’s fingers, resisting the urge to draw them deeper into his mouth. They were yet in public. “Merge with me tonight?” He was going to need the boost after today.
A visible shiver rippled across his Seeker’s frame. His optics darkened in hue, field turning warm and silken. “I’ll save you some charge.”
“You’d better.” Sunstreaker leaned in, brushing his lips over Starscream’s, and was unsurprised when Starscream grabbed the back of his head and deepened the kiss. His glossa flicked out, teasing Sunstreaker’s, and he hummed in his intake.
Naughty Seeker.
Starscream nipped at his lips and drew back. “More of that later,” he purred, and teased his fingers around Sunstreaker’s helm vent. “I’m thinking the cuffs tonight. And your choice of accessory.”
A shiver danced up Sunstreaker’s backstrut. “It’s a date.”
Starscream drew away with one last kiss, and Sunstreaker watched him go, wishing he wasn’t on a mission and he could follow the Seeker back to their room. They’d boot Rodimus out of the berth, or let him watch, and Sunstreaker would ravish Starscream to his spark’s content.
It was not to be.
Sunstreaker swallowed a sigh and made his way to the lift, ignoring other escorts as he passed. He had few friends or allies here. His status was well-known, but it didn’t make for friendly encounters. Some loathed him. Others feared him. More distrusted him.
He didn’t talk about himself. He didn’t share his history, his future, his hopes, his dreams. He didn’t park his aft in the break room and gossip and trade gifts. He kept to himself, and that made him suspect.
Sunstreaker didn’t particularly care.
Blue Sun would always be here. The other escorts came and went. Sunstreaker stayed. He would always stay. He would never leave.
He couldn’t afford his medical care otherwise.
Sunstreaker sighed and folded his arms. He didn’t know why he bothered talking about hope to Rodimus when he had none of his own. Starscream would leave eventually, too. Just like all the others. There was little point in wishing for a different outcome.
And yet.
The lift donged, depositing him in the basement. Sunstreaker stepped into the dimly lit corridors. The guards were important to Blue Sun, but they weren’t directly involved in profits. They had the worst accommodations, but if you asked Sunstreaker, it was better than living on the street.
Just outside the elevator bay was a huge recreation room, a place for the guards to mingle, relax, refuel, entertain themselves et cetera. It was where most of them tended to gather when they weren’t recharging in the singlets, which better resembled closets as they were only big enough for a berth and the storage trunk beneath.
He found Drift easily. Turmoil’s former Blade was perched in the lonesome corner table. He had his swords laid out in front of him, and a sharpening and polishing set nearby.
If he thought it was intimidating enough to keep others away, he was sorely mistaken.
Sunstreaker crossed the room in several swift strides. He accumulated a fair share of confused and curious stares, but he ignored them all. They were unimportant.
He approached the table, keeping it between himself and Drift. The guard didn’t look up at him, but he did sigh as he swept a whetstone over the edge of one of his blades.
“Is it your turn to threaten me now?”
Sunstreaker silently pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. He stared at Drift, trying to read the mech’s expression. A trial in itself since Drift had yet to look up at him.
He was aware he only had Rodimus’ side of the story. He suspected there was more beneath the surface. Some reason for events to have transpired the way that they did.
Drift, at last, scowled and looked up. “Are you going to actually say something or did you just come here to glare?” His optics flashed.
Blue, Sunstreaker noted, but an odd cast to them. As if they weren’t always blue. He was a handsome mech, too. Probably because of his rebuild, which he would have had to get to be relatively unidentifiable around here. Though Rodimus had recognized him easy enough.
Then again, they said intimacy bred familiarity.
“Why are you here?” Sunstreaker finally asked.
Drift frowned. “None of your business.” His hand lingered on his sword, but the motion didn’t seem threatening. More offhand.
“Right now, I’m the only one interested in giving you half a chance,” Sunstreaker retorted and sat back in his chair, effecting a lazy sprawl. “Do you actually want to throw that away?”
Drift’s scowl deepened. The whetstone scraped over the edge with a loud rasp. The background chatter seemed to quiet as though many audials were straining to eavesdrop. It was very rare for one of the escorts to venture down into guard territory.
Even rarer for it to be Sunstreaker.
“Ready to try again?” Sunstreaker asked.
A loud puff of a sigh burst from Drift’s vents. “It’s still none of your business,” he said, but it was less petulant this time. “It’s also best if you don’t know.”
Blue optics flicked up to Sunstreaker with warning, and then back down to his blade. He set the whetstone aside and exchanged it for the bottle of polishing oil and a thick cloth.
Hm.
Sunstreaker chewed on that for a moment before he tilted his head. “Rodimus has nothing to do with it, does he?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t know he was here.” Drift’s voice dropped in volume, conversational, too quiet for others to overhear but enough for Sunstreaker to pick it up. “It was as much a shock to me as it was to him.”
“What did you think would happen?”
Drift nibbled on his bottom lip – sharpened front denta, Sunstreaker noticed, though they’d been blunted – and glanced up at Sunstreaker. “What did he tell you?”
Sunstreaker lifted his orbital ridges. “It doesn’t matter. I want to know your side.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because right now, I’m the one you need to convince.” Sunstreaker folded his arms over his chestplate. “Starscream threatens.” He leaned forward, optics narrowed. “I promise.”
Drift worked his jaw and looked down at his sword. The oiled cloth slid over and over the length of the blade. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.”
He paused. His glossa ran over his lips.
“Go on,” Sunstreaker prodded.
However difficult this might be for Drift, it was a thousand times more for Rodimus. At the moment, Sunstreaker had no sympathy.
“Everyone knew Rodimus was Turmoil’s favorite. He had a half-dozen toys, not that Roddy knew that, but we all knew Rodimus was his favorite,” Drift explained, his optics downcast, his plating drawn tight. “I figured all the heat would land on me, and he’d be fine. Roddy’s a survivor, same as me.”
Sunstreaker’s lip curled with disgust. “You were Turmoil’s Blade. You should’ve known better. You honestly thought Turmoil would forgive and forget?”
He was a special kind of stupid, wasn’t he?
“Turmoil doesn’t forgive,” Drift stated flatly, his optics dim. “I really did intend to come back for Roddy, you know.” He sighed and looked up, his finials canting forward. “But my contact vanished, and it cost more to reframe then I expected.”
He nibbled on his bottom lip as though weighing the truth and a lie, before he settled on his answer, “I actually figured Rodimus would turn me over. I mean, he’s cute, and we had fun, but I thought that was it. I didn’t know he thought it was more.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” Sunstreaker growled. “And a fool.” He unfolded his arms and rose to his feet.
He’d heard enough. Yes, Drift hadn’t intended to use Rodimus and leave him to deal with Turmoil’s fury, but he was still to blame. The road to the Pit was paved with Intention, and Rodimus’ path was littered with it.
“You believe me?”
“I believe you were both prisoners in your own ways, and you both made terrible choices,” Sunstreaker started.
Drift had the audacity to look relieved.
Sunstreaker didn’t allow it for long.
“But I also think Rodimus suffered the most,” Sunstreaker continued. He braced his hands on the table, invading Drift’s space as he leaned forward, letting the weight of his energy field unfurl against Drift’s. “So if I were you, I’d give him space. He doesn’t want your apology right now, and it’s selfish to force it on him.”
Defiance flashed in Drift’s optics. “But--”
“But nothing,” Sunstreaker interrupted, and it gave him great pleasure to do so. “Your guilt is your problem.”
He paused and cycled a ventilation. Anger would only make him irrational. That was Starscream’s job. His was to be the cold fury who solved the problem.
“I don’t care why you came here,” Sunstreaker said in a quieter tone, lacing it with warning. “But leave Rodimus out of it. For both of your sakes. I think you’ve ruined his life enough, don’t you?”
He straightened, out of Drift’s fieldspace and into his own. It left him standing over the table, looming more like, with Drift’s grip on his sword too tight to be casual.
Drift gnawed on his lower lip before he ducked his head. “Understood.” His shoulder tires twitched.
There wasn’t much certainty in his reply. Sunstreaker stared at Drift for a long minute. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The weight of his glare was enough to crumple metal, or so Starscream had once told him.
Drift’s shoulders hunched inward. “I get it, I swear,” he said, and his engine gave a weak little rev. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. So I’ll stay away.”
“You do that.” Sunstreaker half-turned to leave. “If you’re lucky, one day, he might be willing to listen. But I wouldn’t hold my vents.”
“Would you?” Drift asked, and his voice was so soft, so aching, it echoed Rodimus’ question earlier, the despair in his optics.
Would you think less of me if I had?
There was a reason Rodimus and Deadlock had been drawn to each other. Sunstreaker didn’t think it was entirely for the reasons Drift listed. He also thought Drift was lying to himself if he thought there was nothing between he and Rodimus but interfacing and fun.
“No.”
Drift flinched as if Rodimus had been the one giving him that final refusal.
Sunstreaker took pity on him.
“But then, I’ve been told I don’t have a spark so I’m hardly a fair example. Rodimus, I know, is kinder.” Sunstreaker tipped his head. “Enjoy your day.”
He left, exhaustion seeping in the space around his spark. While not physically exhausting, today had already taken an emotional toll on him, and he still had the senator to service tonight.
Or was it the other way around? Sometimes, when it came to thoroughly dominating his clients, Sunstreaker was never sure where the service ended and indulgence began. He would lie if asked, but truth be told, Sunstreaker always got a secret thrill over grinding the elite beneath his heels. And getting paid for it.
In any case, Sunstreaker needed to rest before tonight, as Starscream had rightly suggested earlier.
He would pass on what he’d found to Starscream as well, and leave it up to his Seeker to decide how much to tell Rodimus. Sunstreaker did believe Drift was sincere, but it was still up to Rodimus whether or not he wanted to forgive and forget.
Sometimes, wounds weren’t that easy to heal.
***
Universe: All This and Heaven Too
Characters: Rodimus, Starscream, Drift/Deadlock, Sunstreaker, Turmoil, Original Character(s)
Pairings: past Rodimus/Drift, Starscream/Sunstreaker, past Rodimus/Turmoil
Rated: T
Warnings: implied bad things including physical and sexual abuse
Summary: A shockingly familiar face shows up at Blue Sun, and Starscream learns how and why Rodimus is so deeply in debt.
For two weeks, he managed to avoid Deadlock. Drift. Whatever he was calling himself these days.
Starscream’s little talk must have worked. Or maybe it just helped that Starscream was always around. And if not him, Sunstreaker was an effective deterrent. Probably even more so. Everyone knew how much sway Sunstreaker had around Blue Sun.
Rodimus did his job and pretended he didn’t know Drift. He felt the optics watching him. He let himself be curious for half a klik, until he looked around and remembered where he was. And who was to blame.
Blue Sun, however, was only so large. It was inevitable their paths might cross despite Rodimus’ efforts. All it took was a miscalculation – and Drift switching posts with someone apparently.
Rodimus came out of the library with a handful of vidtracks in his subspace. He intended to spend the rest of his off-shift parked in front of a vidscreen, a pile of unhealthy snacks beside him, before he had to get to the sales floor for the late night shift. He wasn’t at all on guard. Drift should have been on outside patrol duty. Rodimus had checked the roster.
Instead, Drift was in the corridor outside the library. Waiting. Arms crossed, braced on the wall, optics locked on the door.
Rodimus froze in the doorway, until the sensor honked at him to move his aft. Backing up would leave him trapped. At least the hallway gave him room to escape. Besides, he wasn’t afraid. He was stronger than this.
Rodimus stepped forward, the door clicking shut behind him. Drift straightened, optics focusing on him.
“Can we talk?” Drift asked, voice soft and gentle, like it had been those nights when he’d filled the gouges in Rodimus’ paint, and treated him so sweetly.
Rodimus scowled to chase away the unwelcome reminder. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” He squared his shoulders, whipping on a mantle of self-assurance.
He edged down the hall, away from Drift, toward anywhere that wasn’t here.
“Then you don’t have to talk. Just listen.” Drift moved with him, following him, predator after prey. He sounded earnest.
But then, Rodimus supposed he was a damn good actor. He’d certainly fooled Rodimus good enough. He couldn’t blame it entirely on being naive.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” Rodimus spat over his shoulder and increased his pace. He wanted to put as much space between himself and Drift as possible. Just get somewhere Drift wasn’t.
“Roddy, please!”
Drift’s fingers wrapped around his arm, firm, unyielding, dragging him to a halt. Rodimus startled, his spark thumping in his chassis. He didn’t think; he reacted.
“Get your hand off me!” He jerked his arm free of Drift’s grip. “Don’t call me that either!”
Drift held up his hands and backed up a step. “Fine, I won’t,” he said, his tone oddly calm and quiet. “Will you just listen to me. Please?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I can’t apologize if you aren’t around to hear it.”
Rodimus’ entire frame froze. “Apologize?” His spark shrank into a tight ball, aching in his chassis. “Apologize? After what you did to me, you think you can just apologize and that’s enough?”
Drift scrubbed a hand down his face. “You don’t understand. I never meant--”
Rodimus’ engine growled as anger spiked bright and hot inside of him. “Frag you!” His vents heaved, and his hands curled into fists. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand. You have no idea what Turmoil did to me. None! Your apology is worthless.”
He was horrified by the tremors in his voice, the heat in his optics. Damn it.
Drift’s intake bobbed. He shifted his weight, his armor fluttering over his frame. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t. But if you let me explain--”
“Boiler,” Rodimus bit out, interrupting Drift yet again because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand here and listen to Drift come up with some lie or some half-truth or even a full truth to explain himself. Not when he had no idea.
Drift blinked, confusion writ across his face, because of course. Why wouldn’t he be confused? He’d gotten away with the creds, with his dignity, with his own frame intact. He’d ran far and fast from Turmoil’s anger.
He’d left Rodimus behind to bear the brunt of it.
“What?” Drift tilted his head, optics cycling in and out.
Rodimus sucked in a shaky ventilation, his knees quivering beneath him, but he’d be damned if he slumped against the wall.
“Roughroad,” he ground out, his spark hammering so hard he swore he could hear every thump of it. “Cork. Antimony. Slicer. Playback.” He worked his jaw, his armor starting to rattle, from the tips of his feet to the tips of his finials. “Maelstrom. Gate. Spire.”
Drift’s optics grew wider and wider. He reared back, his finials canting backward as well, color draining from his face. “Roddy, you don’t--”
“Firestorm!” Rodimus almost shouted, were it not for the fact he didn’t want anyone to hear this, the list of his humiliation. His voice crackled, and he didn’t bother to reset it. “Hexic. Backfire.” His hands formed aching fists, the last name the worst of all. “Lode.”
Rodimus’ vents heaved. His optics felt hot.
Drift’s armor had drawn so tight against his frame, not a peek of cables could be seen. His optics bleached of color. His lips pressed together in a thin line. Rodimus couldn’t catch a whiff of his energy field.
Drift didn’t even have the decency to stink of shame.
“If I counted the mechs who were more than happy to help punish their boss’s whore, my vocalizer would fry,” Rodimus said, his tone so cold he surprised himself. He felt outside of his frame, like he was disconnected from it and this moment. Who even was he anymore?
Nothing. No one. Just the object Turmoil made him.
He shook. His armor rattled. He had to keep going; he couldn’t stop now. Drift had to learn. He had to know how much he wasn’t welcome.
“So you can take your explanations, your apologies, your lies, whatever you want to call them, and you can frag off,” Rodimus spat.
His shoulders shook. His vents heaved. His vision swam, and he should probably reboot his optical feed, but that was effort. More than he had to give. He felt drained, wiped of energy.
Drift had yet to speak. That was probably for the best. Rodimus was the only one who had any right to talk right now.
“I don’t know why you’re here, and I don’t care.” Rodimus took a step back, cold seeping through his internals. “Just do what you’re good at and leave me alone. Got it?”
Drift ex-vented, loud and rattling. “… I never meant to hurt you,” he said, so quiet Rodimus almost didn’t catch it. He stared at the ground, like he didn’t have the bearings to meet Rodimus’ optics.
“Frag you and your intentions,” Rodimus snarled.
He spun and stalked down the hallway before his composure failed him and he collapsed like a rusty support beam. Heat and ice alternately sluiced through his lines, and he thought he might rattle right out of his armor.
He couldn’t go back to his own suite like this. He didn’t want either of his roommates to see him in this state.
His feet carried him upward instead. His spark drew him to the only place in the entire building that offered solace. He found himself in front of Starscream’s door without making the conscious decision. His hands shook so badly that when he rang the chime, he hit it more than once.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Starscream on the other side. It was Sunstreaker.
Rodimus’ spark dropped into his tanks. There was only one other person in Blue Sun he’d have preferred not to see him like this, and of course, it was the one mech currently standing in front of him.
“He’s with a client,” Sunstreaker said, optics dim as he rubbed at the corner of one. His plating was half-fluffed, and there was a smear on one of his armor panels.
He’d been recharging.
Rodimus stared at him, thoughts crashing like a thousand ball bearings. “Oh,” he said.
He should leave. He should turn around and go. But where? There was nowhere left. He felt lost, adrift. He should apologize and walk away, but he didn’t know if his feet would actually carry him anymore.
“Um.” Rodimus shifted his weight, heard his engine hiccup, which was all the more humiliating. There was an obnoxious rattling noise, too, and he realized much too late that it was coming from him.
“Come on,” Sunstreaker said with a sigh. He stepped aside. “You look like slag.”
“Yeah.” Rodimus swept a shaking hand over his head. “I need to… wash and wax probably. Was going to go back to my room. Was going to clean up, but then I got distracted and now I’m here and--”
“Rodimus.”
He flushed and ducked his head. He slipped into the room, his name like a chastisement sitting on his shoulders.
“I know. I’m babbling.”
Sunstreaker shut the door behind him. “What happened?” he asked, and his voice sounded strange. Soft. Concerned even.
Clearly, Rodimus was losing his mind.
“Nothing.” He planted a grin on his face and propped his hands on his hips, hoping he put a jaunty tilt to his spoiler as well. He was getting very good at pretending. “I even got a tip this time. Starscream’s lesson’s have really paid off.”
Sunstreaker stared at him. Optics narrowed. And then he crossed the floor, snatching Rodimus’ wrist as he did, yanking his hand off his hip. He towed Rodimus toward the washrack without a word, his grip as unyielding as duryllium cuffs.
“What’re you doing?” Rodimus spluttered.
“If I leave this mess to you, it’ll embarrass the both of us,” Sunstreaker said as he pulled Rodimus straight inside and swung him toward the stool in the center. “Sit.”
Rodimus obeyed. It was so ingrained in him now. He hated himself for obeying Sunstreaker, but sometimes, the older mech had a tone that allowed no argument. Now was such a time.
Rodimus blamed Drift. If he hadn’t left Rodimus feeling so off-balance, maybe he could have put up more of a fight.
Sunstreaker unspooled the extendable hose with sprayer attachment and circled around Rodimus as though examining him for the best point of attack.
“Be still,” he said.
Rodimus, who admittedly had been squirming, sighed and forced himself to freeze. Being still was not a natural state of being for him. He wanted to fidget, and the best he could manage without irritating Sunstreaker was to subtly tap his foot.
“So,” Sunstreaker said as the first splash of sudsy water spilled down Rodimus’ back. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
Rodimus opened his mouth, another denial on his lips.
“The truth,” Sunstreaker added before Rodimus could get out a word. “It was Drift, wasn’t it?”
Sometimes, Sunstreaker could be fairly perceptive when he wanted to be. Oh, he was totally blind when it came to Starscream’s feelings for him, but he could figure out other secrets stupidly quick.
Rodimus’ shoulders slumped. He planted the heels of his hand on the stool between his thighs and leaned forward. “Yeah. He cornered me.” He stared at the tile, and the suds swirling down the drain.
“Why?”
He focused on the patter of warm solvent, the way it trickled over his cables, smoothed against tight joints and gears. “He said he wanted to apologize.”
“You don’t believe him?”
Rodimus snorted. His fingers curled around the lip of the stool. “Would you?”
Sunstreaker stepped to his side, spray gentle as it rinsed over Rodimus’ left arm and leg. “He came here for a reason.”
“Yeah, well, whatever it was, it wasn’t for me.” Rodimus’ spoiler flicked, the suds tickling over his hinges. “Slagger didn’t even know I was here.” He scowled at the tile.
There was a moment of silence. A long one actually. Sunstreaker moved to Rodimus’ right side, rinsing him down, and then he slid in front of Rodimus. Wordlessly, Rodimus straightened and held his arms up so the yellow mech could soak his front in solvent. He kept his gaze to the side, however.
He didn’t want to see the judgment in Sunstreaker’s optics.
Sunstreaker thumbed off the spray. In the silence, the drip-drip of the stream easing was all too loud.
“Did you want him to?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice oddly soft. Gentle. Like Rodimus was a stray voltaic cat hiding in the shadows of an alley.
Rodimus squirmed and forced himself to look at Sunstreaker, though it went against every grain in his frame. “Would you think less of me if I did?” he asked, and his voice crackled with static. He hated himself for betraying that weakness to someone.
Particularly Sunstreaker.
The other mech stared at him for a long moment, and then the next thing Rodimus knew, he was swept into Sunstreaker’s embrace, solvent-suds and all. He froze, not sure what to do, until Sunstreaker didn’t let go, and his engine turned over into a soft, comforting purr. His arms were gentle, and the touch of his field was light.
Soothing.
It was weird. But the last thing Rodimus wanted was for Sunstreaker to let him go. Maybe he should feel pathetic, getting comforted by Sunstreaker.
He didn’t.
“You are an exasperating newbie who talks too much and could use a Pit of a lot more training,” Sunstreaker said.
Rodimus sighed and knocked his forehead against Sunstreaker’s clavical strut. “Gee. Thanks.”
“I’m not finished.”
Sunstreaker slipped back from the embrace, and he cupped Rodimus’ face between his palms. “But I have never thought of you as less or worthless, whatever your reasons for coming here. You’re not to blame for loving anyone, and it’s never foolish to hope.”
For a moment, Rodimus wondered who Sunstreaker was trying to convince more.
He worked his intake, his optics unexpectedly hot. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because no one’s watching.” Sunstreaker grinned, more a smirk, just to show he was teasing.
He kissed Rodimus’ forehead and let go, picking up the hose again, but this time switching it to rinse.
Rodimus was touched, despite himself. It was so rare for Sunstreaker to be so kind. He intended to soak it up as long as he could.
“You can hide here as long as you want,” Sunstreaker continued as he rinsed down Rodimus’ frame in quick, efficient sweeps of the spray. “Starscream will be back later.”
“I have to be on the floor later. And I don’t think Streamline’s gonna buy another infection.” Rodimus didn’t really feel like trying to entice a customer tonight, but his debt to Turmoil wasn’t going to clear itself either. Not to mention he didn’t want Drift to get even a whiff of how much his presence affected Rodimus.
Sunstreaker whipped out a towel and started wiping down his armor with the sort of precision that professional detailers utilized. “Relax until then. Take a nap. Get yourself together. You’re a professional, Rodimus. Remember that.”
For once, it didn’t sound like a chastisement.
“Service with a smile,” Rodimus echoed. It had been one of Starscream’s first lessons. No matter what they were feeling inside, they treated their clients to the best of their abilities, and always with a smile.
“Even if you feel dead inside,” Sunstreaker agreed in a dry tone.
He’d added it back then, too, making Starscream roll his optics and turn his back on his roommate with a harrumph. Sunstreaker had flicked Starscream’s wings playfully, and it had almost devolved into more of their flirting-that-wasn’t.
Rodimus chuckled and let himself be pampered. “Because that’s the Blue Sun way,” he said.
That’s the Blue Sun way.
Sunstreaker slipped out of his room, leaving Rodimus napping in Starscream’s berth, sprawled out over the surface like it was his to begin with. He was cutest when he was sleeping, Sunstreaker decided. It made him look younger, softer, a little innocent.
It was when he was awake and opened his mouth that he was a lot less attractive.
Now.
To find Drift.
Sunstreaker had an idea of where to look. He and Starscream had been doing their best to keep tabs on Drift’s whereabouts to help Rodimus avoid the mech. But if Drift had cornered Rodimus today, he must have changed his schedule to an offshift. Which meant he’d be loitering in the guards communal quarters.
Sunstreaker rounded a corner, and abruptly stopped.
So did Starscream, who frowned with disapproval. “You’re supposed to be resting. Don’t you have a session with the senator tonight?”
“I do and I will,” Sunstreaker replied as he moved in close, catching a whiff of freshly fragged Seeker – and frustrated, too, going by Starscream’s energy field. “Got something to take care of first though.” He slid his fingers over Starscream’s shoulder, tracing a seam. “Good client?”
Starscream’s engine dipped into a purr. He leaned into Sunstreaker’s touch, like a Praxian crystal toward the light of Luna-1. “Sideswipe again.” He nuzzled under Sunstreaker’s chin, a cat demanding pets. “I really think I’m going to suggest he schedules you though. No one pulls off that humiliation kink better than you.”
Humiliation, huh? A pretty rare kink for the disgustingly wealthy. Usually those types wanted to be worshiped and adored, not degraded. Interesting.
“But he’s one of your highest paid patrons,” Sunstreaker said.
“And when he wants a pretty thing to writhe under him, I’ll still be here.” Starscream grinned and flirted his fingers over Sunstreaker’s belly.
There was something in his optics though. Something that didn’t quite settle right. It was more than wanting a client to have a better experience.
Something Sideswipe wanted was more than Starscream was willing to give. He was a good Dom when he put his processor to it, but clients rarely hired him for it. He was a Seeker. They preferred to see him on his back or on his knees. Flavors of humiliation had never been Starscream’s favorite, but whatever Sideswipe wanted, it must have been over that edge for his Seeker.
Very well.
Sunstreaker tilted his head against Starscream’s. “I trust your judgment. Send him my way and I’ll make sure he gets a slot.” Booked solid most of the time, Sunstreaker tended to only get new clients through recommendations.
Starscream pressed a kiss to the corner of Sunstreaker’s mouth. “Thanks, Sunshine.” His fingers walked up Sunstreaker’s chestplate, palm landing flat against it. “Now I have to get cleaned up before I hit the floor.”
“Your stray’s on your berth,” Sunstreaker informed him as he captured Starscream’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, lips brushing over the tips of his fingers.
“Rodimus? Why?” Starscream’s wings flicked as his face turned stormy, his field surging outward. “Did something happen?”
Sunstreaker kissed his fingertips. “Nothing I’m not going to handle,” he said, and added a growl from his engine, a pulse of his energy field. There were few escorts in Blue Sun with as much sway as Sunstreaker.
He would find Rodimus peace somehow.
Starscream chuckled. “I knew you had a soft spot for him.”
“Just don’t tell anyone.” Sunstreaker squeezed Starscream’s fingers, resisting the urge to draw them deeper into his mouth. They were yet in public. “Merge with me tonight?” He was going to need the boost after today.
A visible shiver rippled across his Seeker’s frame. His optics darkened in hue, field turning warm and silken. “I’ll save you some charge.”
“You’d better.” Sunstreaker leaned in, brushing his lips over Starscream’s, and was unsurprised when Starscream grabbed the back of his head and deepened the kiss. His glossa flicked out, teasing Sunstreaker’s, and he hummed in his intake.
Naughty Seeker.
Starscream nipped at his lips and drew back. “More of that later,” he purred, and teased his fingers around Sunstreaker’s helm vent. “I’m thinking the cuffs tonight. And your choice of accessory.”
A shiver danced up Sunstreaker’s backstrut. “It’s a date.”
Starscream drew away with one last kiss, and Sunstreaker watched him go, wishing he wasn’t on a mission and he could follow the Seeker back to their room. They’d boot Rodimus out of the berth, or let him watch, and Sunstreaker would ravish Starscream to his spark’s content.
It was not to be.
Sunstreaker swallowed a sigh and made his way to the lift, ignoring other escorts as he passed. He had few friends or allies here. His status was well-known, but it didn’t make for friendly encounters. Some loathed him. Others feared him. More distrusted him.
He didn’t talk about himself. He didn’t share his history, his future, his hopes, his dreams. He didn’t park his aft in the break room and gossip and trade gifts. He kept to himself, and that made him suspect.
Sunstreaker didn’t particularly care.
Blue Sun would always be here. The other escorts came and went. Sunstreaker stayed. He would always stay. He would never leave.
He couldn’t afford his medical care otherwise.
Sunstreaker sighed and folded his arms. He didn’t know why he bothered talking about hope to Rodimus when he had none of his own. Starscream would leave eventually, too. Just like all the others. There was little point in wishing for a different outcome.
And yet.
The lift donged, depositing him in the basement. Sunstreaker stepped into the dimly lit corridors. The guards were important to Blue Sun, but they weren’t directly involved in profits. They had the worst accommodations, but if you asked Sunstreaker, it was better than living on the street.
Just outside the elevator bay was a huge recreation room, a place for the guards to mingle, relax, refuel, entertain themselves et cetera. It was where most of them tended to gather when they weren’t recharging in the singlets, which better resembled closets as they were only big enough for a berth and the storage trunk beneath.
He found Drift easily. Turmoil’s former Blade was perched in the lonesome corner table. He had his swords laid out in front of him, and a sharpening and polishing set nearby.
If he thought it was intimidating enough to keep others away, he was sorely mistaken.
Sunstreaker crossed the room in several swift strides. He accumulated a fair share of confused and curious stares, but he ignored them all. They were unimportant.
He approached the table, keeping it between himself and Drift. The guard didn’t look up at him, but he did sigh as he swept a whetstone over the edge of one of his blades.
“Is it your turn to threaten me now?”
Sunstreaker silently pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. He stared at Drift, trying to read the mech’s expression. A trial in itself since Drift had yet to look up at him.
He was aware he only had Rodimus’ side of the story. He suspected there was more beneath the surface. Some reason for events to have transpired the way that they did.
Drift, at last, scowled and looked up. “Are you going to actually say something or did you just come here to glare?” His optics flashed.
Blue, Sunstreaker noted, but an odd cast to them. As if they weren’t always blue. He was a handsome mech, too. Probably because of his rebuild, which he would have had to get to be relatively unidentifiable around here. Though Rodimus had recognized him easy enough.
Then again, they said intimacy bred familiarity.
“Why are you here?” Sunstreaker finally asked.
Drift frowned. “None of your business.” His hand lingered on his sword, but the motion didn’t seem threatening. More offhand.
“Right now, I’m the only one interested in giving you half a chance,” Sunstreaker retorted and sat back in his chair, effecting a lazy sprawl. “Do you actually want to throw that away?”
Drift’s scowl deepened. The whetstone scraped over the edge with a loud rasp. The background chatter seemed to quiet as though many audials were straining to eavesdrop. It was very rare for one of the escorts to venture down into guard territory.
Even rarer for it to be Sunstreaker.
“Ready to try again?” Sunstreaker asked.
A loud puff of a sigh burst from Drift’s vents. “It’s still none of your business,” he said, but it was less petulant this time. “It’s also best if you don’t know.”
Blue optics flicked up to Sunstreaker with warning, and then back down to his blade. He set the whetstone aside and exchanged it for the bottle of polishing oil and a thick cloth.
Hm.
Sunstreaker chewed on that for a moment before he tilted his head. “Rodimus has nothing to do with it, does he?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I didn’t know he was here.” Drift’s voice dropped in volume, conversational, too quiet for others to overhear but enough for Sunstreaker to pick it up. “It was as much a shock to me as it was to him.”
“What did you think would happen?”
Drift nibbled on his bottom lip – sharpened front denta, Sunstreaker noticed, though they’d been blunted – and glanced up at Sunstreaker. “What did he tell you?”
Sunstreaker lifted his orbital ridges. “It doesn’t matter. I want to know your side.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because right now, I’m the one you need to convince.” Sunstreaker folded his arms over his chestplate. “Starscream threatens.” He leaned forward, optics narrowed. “I promise.”
Drift worked his jaw and looked down at his sword. The oiled cloth slid over and over the length of the blade. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.”
He paused. His glossa ran over his lips.
“Go on,” Sunstreaker prodded.
However difficult this might be for Drift, it was a thousand times more for Rodimus. At the moment, Sunstreaker had no sympathy.
“Everyone knew Rodimus was Turmoil’s favorite. He had a half-dozen toys, not that Roddy knew that, but we all knew Rodimus was his favorite,” Drift explained, his optics downcast, his plating drawn tight. “I figured all the heat would land on me, and he’d be fine. Roddy’s a survivor, same as me.”
Sunstreaker’s lip curled with disgust. “You were Turmoil’s Blade. You should’ve known better. You honestly thought Turmoil would forgive and forget?”
He was a special kind of stupid, wasn’t he?
“Turmoil doesn’t forgive,” Drift stated flatly, his optics dim. “I really did intend to come back for Roddy, you know.” He sighed and looked up, his finials canting forward. “But my contact vanished, and it cost more to reframe then I expected.”
He nibbled on his bottom lip as though weighing the truth and a lie, before he settled on his answer, “I actually figured Rodimus would turn me over. I mean, he’s cute, and we had fun, but I thought that was it. I didn’t know he thought it was more.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” Sunstreaker growled. “And a fool.” He unfolded his arms and rose to his feet.
He’d heard enough. Yes, Drift hadn’t intended to use Rodimus and leave him to deal with Turmoil’s fury, but he was still to blame. The road to the Pit was paved with Intention, and Rodimus’ path was littered with it.
“You believe me?”
“I believe you were both prisoners in your own ways, and you both made terrible choices,” Sunstreaker started.
Drift had the audacity to look relieved.
Sunstreaker didn’t allow it for long.
“But I also think Rodimus suffered the most,” Sunstreaker continued. He braced his hands on the table, invading Drift’s space as he leaned forward, letting the weight of his energy field unfurl against Drift’s. “So if I were you, I’d give him space. He doesn’t want your apology right now, and it’s selfish to force it on him.”
Defiance flashed in Drift’s optics. “But--”
“But nothing,” Sunstreaker interrupted, and it gave him great pleasure to do so. “Your guilt is your problem.”
He paused and cycled a ventilation. Anger would only make him irrational. That was Starscream’s job. His was to be the cold fury who solved the problem.
“I don’t care why you came here,” Sunstreaker said in a quieter tone, lacing it with warning. “But leave Rodimus out of it. For both of your sakes. I think you’ve ruined his life enough, don’t you?”
He straightened, out of Drift’s fieldspace and into his own. It left him standing over the table, looming more like, with Drift’s grip on his sword too tight to be casual.
Drift gnawed on his lower lip before he ducked his head. “Understood.” His shoulder tires twitched.
There wasn’t much certainty in his reply. Sunstreaker stared at Drift for a long minute. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The weight of his glare was enough to crumple metal, or so Starscream had once told him.
Drift’s shoulders hunched inward. “I get it, I swear,” he said, and his engine gave a weak little rev. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. So I’ll stay away.”
“You do that.” Sunstreaker half-turned to leave. “If you’re lucky, one day, he might be willing to listen. But I wouldn’t hold my vents.”
“Would you?” Drift asked, and his voice was so soft, so aching, it echoed Rodimus’ question earlier, the despair in his optics.
Would you think less of me if I had?
There was a reason Rodimus and Deadlock had been drawn to each other. Sunstreaker didn’t think it was entirely for the reasons Drift listed. He also thought Drift was lying to himself if he thought there was nothing between he and Rodimus but interfacing and fun.
“No.”
Drift flinched as if Rodimus had been the one giving him that final refusal.
Sunstreaker took pity on him.
“But then, I’ve been told I don’t have a spark so I’m hardly a fair example. Rodimus, I know, is kinder.” Sunstreaker tipped his head. “Enjoy your day.”
He left, exhaustion seeping in the space around his spark. While not physically exhausting, today had already taken an emotional toll on him, and he still had the senator to service tonight.
Or was it the other way around? Sometimes, when it came to thoroughly dominating his clients, Sunstreaker was never sure where the service ended and indulgence began. He would lie if asked, but truth be told, Sunstreaker always got a secret thrill over grinding the elite beneath his heels. And getting paid for it.
In any case, Sunstreaker needed to rest before tonight, as Starscream had rightly suggested earlier.
He would pass on what he’d found to Starscream as well, and leave it up to his Seeker to decide how much to tell Rodimus. Sunstreaker did believe Drift was sincere, but it was still up to Rodimus whether or not he wanted to forgive and forget.
Sometimes, wounds weren’t that easy to heal.
***
