[TF] Rain or Shine 01
Aug. 3rd, 2020 06:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Rain or Shine
Universe: IDW, A Perfect Storm Universe
Characters: Blurr/Ricochet, Jazz/Bluestreak, Ratchet/Drift, Original Character(s)
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest, BDSM Themes, Mechpreg, Non-Graphic Birth
Description: With another mechlet on the way, business at the bar waning, and a new Anti-Decepticon movement gaining steam, Blurr wonders if he’s ever going to get any rest. His relationship with Ricochet is put to the test when another storm rumbles on the horizon, threatening to tear them apart, this time for good.
There were too many empty tables in his bar.
Blurr plastered a fake customer service smile on his face, but inside, he frowned. It was peak happy hour, post-second shift, and over half his tables were unoccupied and his bar had only one stool with an occupant.
"A bit quiet in here tonight, isn't it?"
Blurr swallowed a sigh and picked up a pitcher, wandering to the lone occupied stool near the end of the counter. "Quiet's not a bad thing," he said as he topped off Quicken's glass, the bright and cheerful drink splashing up to the brim. "Can I get you anything else?"
"A date," Quicken said with a flash of denta in a wide grin. He braced his elbow on his chin, leaning in closer across the counter.
Blurr subtly slid a step back. "I'm bonded, remember?"
"Yeah, but a mech can dream," Quicken purred. His lips curved in a wider grin he probably thought was alluring. And perhaps, to anyone else, it would be. Quicken wasn’t bad looking, with his gray and red armor, slim lines, and broad shoulders.
Blurr, however, was happily spoken for, and in comparison to Ricochet, Quicken held no appeal.
"I mean, if you want to dream about something that's impossible, I can't stop you." Blurr saluted him with the pitcher. "Let me know if you need more."
He didn't run away. He was too professional for that. But he did ease into a retreat. He cast a gaze around the bar, saw Tall Tankor was running low on his brew, and decided to make a delivery. It wasn't as if he had much else to do.
Business was suffering and only luck managed to land Blurr at a spot in the queue where he was finally able to renovate the apartment above New Maccadams to make it a livable home for he and his family. Cybertron's economy was achingly slow to recover, and well, it didn't help that his bouncer kept throwing out customers for looking at Blurr funny. Or that his bouncer was a notorious former Decepticon who didn't even try to play nice.
'I can throw him out for you.'
Blurr sighed and glanced askance at the door, where Ricochet grinned back at him, noticing the look. 'He's a paying customer, which if you haven’t noticed, we’re running short on. Leave him alone.'
'I don't like the way he looks at you.'
'If it were up to you, I'd never leave the house so no one could look at me ever.'
'Mm. Now there's a thought. I could tie you to the berth, and then you'd always be right where I want you.'
Blurr shot a glare across the room. 'You should be working, not fantasizing about things that are never going to happen.'
Ricochet chuckled into the comm, but didn't respond. The heat of his gaze, however, never left Blurr. It was almost tangible, like a physical touch to his armor. It was a relief to know Blurr was still attractive to him, even with the... extra weight he now carried.
Because yes. Blurr was sparked.
Again.
Granted, this time was on purpose. Echo should have a sibling, according to Ricochet, and there were so few sparklings on Cybertron as it was. He really didn't have anyone to play with. Plus, they had the room now. And--
And Blurr didn't need to keep convincing himself of something he'd already agreed to do, and had already done. He didn't know why he felt the need to justify getting sparked. Especially to himself.
He swept up Tall Tankor's empty and replaced it with a full.
"Thanks, Blurr. This'll be it for tonight," Tankor said as he considered his hand, discarded two cards, and pulled two from the deck.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Got an early shift." Tankor smirked and laid out his cards. "Look at that. A flush."
Groans echoed around the table, mechs throwing down their cards with disgust, chugging their brews, a couple asking for refills.
Blurr busied himself by tending to them, tucking a few tips into his pocket, deftly avoiding a mech with a death wish who tried to grope him, perhaps heedless of the former Decepticon assassin staring with laser optics at the back of his head.
"Not cool, Cork. Not cool," one of the other mechs said to the orange and white one with the wandering hand. "Liable to lose that hand if you don't stop it."
"It's an age-old tradition, groping the waitstaff," said Cork, obviously three sheets to the wind. Blurr made a mental note to cut him off.
"Next time, you'll lose an optic," Blurr threatened. "And that try right there is a twenty percent surcharge." He flashed a grin and swept away from the table while Cork groaned, and his fellow players mocked him.
All was fair.
"And you better not skimp on the tip either," Tall Tankor said. "Or I'll break your finger, too."
Cork sank down in his chair.
Blurr returned to the bar feeling vindicated. He refused to look at Ricochet, who was probably already devising ways to toss Cork out on his aft.
"You ever think about closing this place?"
Blurr dumped the dirties into the sink and turned back toward Quicken. "Why would I do that?"
"So you can start racing again. I mean, I can't believe this is really what you want." Quicken gestured all around him. "You were a star, Blurr. Don't you miss it?"
"We've had this conversation before." Blurr turned on the tap, running the solvent to hot before he started to clean and disinfect the dirties before he set them out to dry. "That was a long time ago, before the war. Mechs change."
"Not that much."
"Yeah, well, I did. Besides, it's none of your business."
Quicken rapped his fingers on the table. "I was nothing before the war, you know. Too poor for anything. I always wanted to see you race in person. That was my dream."
"Time to find a new one then. You won't be the first." Blurr dried his hands and turned as the chime from the front door announced a new arrival.
He planted a grin on his face, ready to meet the customer, and genuine joy bubbled up in his spark. Not a customer, but family.
"Papa!" Echo laughed and made grabby hands as he leapt from Jazz's arms and into Ricochet's, who laughed and swept him up, peppering Echo's face in kisses.
"There's my big botlet! How was school today?"
"Stupid. Do I hafta keep goin'?"
"If you're gonna talk like that, then frag yeah, you do." Ricochet chuckled and started tickling their son, who dissolved into shrieks of delighted laughter. "No son of mine is going to sound like a doofus."
Blurr's lips curved into a grin. He busied himself by finishing up the dishes.
"C'mon, Let's go say hi to Mama."
"No! Wanna stay with Daddy!"
Blurr's grin faded. His shoulders slumped. And that, right there, was pretty common as of late. From the moment he and Ricochet sat down and explained to Echo that he had a brother coming, Echo decided that meant he wanted nothing to do with Blurr anymore. He clung to Ricochet, his favorite, and pretended Blurr didn’t exist to the best of his ability.
Ratchet said it was a phase. He'd get over it once Rebound was born. Bluestreak said he was just spoiled and used to being the center of attention. Both were probably right.
It still hurt.
Blurr finished the dishes and wiped his hands, turning back to face the room. Jazz had given up reaching for Echo with a shrug and was now approaching the bar, Ricochet trailing in his wake with Echo clinging to him, face buried against his neck.
"Give me the usual, barkeep," Jazz said as he pulled himself up into a stool, grinning from audial to audial. "Add it to my babysitting tab."
Blurr snorted, but mixed up Jazz's favorite blend and slid it across the counter "You should be grateful for getting to spend time with Echo, not demanding free drinks."
"Can't I have both?"
"I see being greedy isn't limited to Ricochet alone," Blurr said, rolling his optics.
"Who's greedy?" Ricochet asked as he slipped behind the counter, bouncing Echo on his hip. "Come on, botlet. Quit being a brat."
"Not a brat," Echo grumbled.
"Yes, you are." Ricochet shifted, holding Echo up by his armpits, squinting up at their son. "Tell your Mama hello, you little scamp."
Blurr sighed and scrubbed with half a spark at the counter. "He doesn't have to. Just put him in the playroom. He'll be fine." Said playroom was a new addition to the bar, a place where they could keep an eye on Echo and he could play, but they could both work if Jazz and Drift were too busy to sit.
Ricochet leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek as if in apology. "I'll be back."
"He's still going through that phase, huh?" Jazz asked as Ricochet vanished into the playroom.
"It comes and goes," Blurr admitted as he braced his hands on the edge of the bar, rolling his neck to ease the kinks. "I don't know if he'll be better or worse when Rebound finally joins us. I'm half-afraid to find out."
Jazz tipped back half his drink. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Echo's gonna love having a younger brother, almost as much as I love having a big one."
Blurr snorted. "Right." He glanced around the bar but no one needed him as best he could tell. "Where's your better half?"
"Working." Jazz scowled, his armor giving a flick of dissatisfaction. "Prowl assigned him to track down that growing anti-Decepticon movement."
Blurr frowned. "Sounds dangerous." He hadn't realized the murmurs had gained enough volume to merit investigation, but that was why planet-wide security was Prowl's job and not his.
"Blue can take care of himself."
"Oh, I believe that. Doesn't mean you can't worry about him." He tilted his head as Jazz snorted. "Or miss him while he's busy."
Jazz gave him a sour look, as if the implication he had soft feelings for his lover was an insult. "No one asked you."
Blurr chuckled and topped off Jazz's drink. It was the least he could do. "I'm a bartender. It's my job to listen to the woes of my customers." He leaned against the counter. "Come on. What's your sadness?"
Jazz's visor flickered, and he pointed at Blurr. "Don't you start. Else I'll have to point out how soft you're getting in that midsection of yours."
It became Blurr's turn to scowl. "I am not. I've still got a couple weeks before I start to show."
"You sure about that?"
"Don't rile him up, bro. He's self-conscious enough as it is." Ricochet's voice threaded into their conversation as he appeared next to Jazz, popping out of the shadows like all spies were wont to do.
Jazz, to his credit, didn't startle. Blurr had gotten used to it by now so he didn't either.
"I am not," he said.
"Are, too." Ricochet slung his arm over Jazz's shoulder, tugging his twin against him. "You look a little lonely. Is Bluestreak not treating you right?"
"He's busy." Jazz tried to squirm out from under Ricochet's arm, but it was a lot like moving a steel trap. Blurr would know.
Blurr rolled his optics. "Stop pretending like you don't intend to drag him off to the storage room and do it already."
Ricochet grinned, bearing his denta. "But lover, if I were to do that, who would guard the door?"
Blurr gestured broadly to the bar, and the barely dozen mechs scattered around the interior. The amount of empty tables nearly outnumbered his actual patrons. "I think I can handle it."
"Who even said I want to be dragged?" Jazz demanded.
Ricochet turned his head and gnawed on Jazz's sensory horn, making him shiver and go a little limp under Ricochet's arm. "Am I wrong?"
"Shut up," Jazz groaned, but it wasn't very believable.
Ricochet chuckled.
Blurr waved them off and didn't watch as Ricochet grabbed Jazz and pulled him toward the storage room. If he watched, then he'd want to join in, and he couldn't because someone had to actually work around here. So instead, he pinged Ricochet to make video and contented himself with watching the replay later.
He swept Jazz's empty into the sink and made a round of the room, gathering up other empties and dirties, garbage, a few cred chips left behind as tip, et cetera. Breezy asked for a refill, so Blurr fetched that for him, and by the time he returned to the bar, Quicken was signalling for more.
"Four tonight? Celebrating something good or mourning something bad?" Blurr asked as he swapped the empty for a full.
Quicken gave him a solemn look. "I ought to be buying you the drink," he said, and his gaze slid pointedly to the left and the closed storage room. "Don't you hate having to share your lover?"
"It's not any of your business honestly," Blurr said, and planted his customer service smile on his lips. "I'm happy the way things are, that's all I'm going to say."
"But you deserve someone who wants you and you alone. Who would worship and adore you the way you are meant to be adored," Quicken insisted.
Blurr chuckled, and maybe it was more nervous than he meant it to sound. "I think you overestimate who I am, Quicken, but I appreciate the sentiment." He knocked his knuckles on the counter and shifted away. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"You'd be happier with someone else," Quicken muttered, and Blurr wisely pretended not to hear, leaving the other mech to his drink.
It wasn't the first time Quicken had flirted with him or insinuated he should leave Ricochet for someone else. Blurr doubted it would be the last. But Quicken was a steady customer and a good tipper, so Blurr was loathe to ban him, and well.
At least he hadn't tried to grope Blurr.
~
Jazz's back hit the shelf, rattling several jars of raw metallics. He froze; Ricochet did as well. They waited to see if any of the jars tumbled, and only when the rattling faded did Ricochet grab Jazz by the aft and heft him up, pinning him against the shelves.
"You're going to knock something down," Jazz panted as denta clamped on his intake cables with enough pressure to make him jerk. His thighs tightened around his brother's waist, his valve already slick and open.
"I'm sleeping with the owner. I think I'll be all right." Ricochet laughed and thrust up, his spike grinding hard against Jazz's rim but not piercing him yet. "He can put it on my tab."
"You're playing with fire, bro."
Ricochet chuckled again, grabbed his aft, and Jazz groaned as his twin fixed the angle and slid into him in one quick thrust, spikehead grinding against his ceiling node. Ecstasy shot electric flame through his sensor net, and Jazz sank claws into Ricochet's shoulders, hips rocking and rolling to ride the breadth of Ricochet's shaft.
"I'm gonna have a talk with that lover of yours. I think he's neglecting you," Ricochet panted as he bit Jazz's neck again, hard enough to bruise.
Jazz keened, visor fritzing, head falling back against a shelf. A box clunked. More jars rattled. His spike emerged, grinding against Ricochet's abdomen, and it was as delicious as it was a tease.
"He's... busy," Jazz gasped as Ricochet fragged him harder and faster, quick and deep strokes designed to bring him off hard and fast. Talons slid into his seams, pricking his cables, barely present pain that made Jazz shiver.
"That's not an acceptable excuse." Ricochet growled before he stole Jazz's mouth for a kiss, his glossa plunging inside as if laying claim.
Jazz moaned, lights popping behind his visor, his valve cycling down, charge spilling out to caress Ricochet's spike. The shelf rattled louder. He didn't care. Blurr could bill him.
Ricochet's field crashed over his, pulsing mine, mine, mine, and Jazz keened as he overloaded, drowning in the tidal wave that was his twin, his spike spurting and valve clamping tight. Ricochet growled his approval, bit Jazz's bottom lip, grinning against his mouth.
"That was quick," he said, and tightened his hips, pulling Jazz down onto his spike again and again, thrusting deep, seeking his own pleasure.
"S-Shut up," Jazz panted, and rode the thrusts, squeaks escaping him before he could stop them as each thrust raked his sensitive lining, pounded his ceiling node, until Ricochet fragged a second overload right out of him, and the following splash of his brother's spill made Jazz writhe.
He panted, spent, twitching, as Ricochet ground deep, denta locked on Jazz's intake cables, breathing hotly.
"Like you were made for me," Ricochet groaned and circled his hips as if savoring every twitch and quiver of Jazz's pleasure.
Jazz laughed, shaky though it was, and dragged Ricochet's face toward him for a kiss, a biting one, which left his lips swollen in the aftermath. The intensity eased until Ricochet pressed their foreheads together, lips curved smugly.
"Better?"
"I should be asking you that," Jazz retorted.
Ricochet squeezed his aft before lowering Jazz to the ground, setting him down on shaky legs. "Close your panel."
Jazz obeyed, trapping his brother's spill before it could slick his thighs. It was immediate, his obedience, too trained in him to think otherwise, unless he had the strength to be contrary.
Tonight, he didn't.
Ricochet cupped his face, swept a thumb over his swollen bottom lip, and Jazz licked it, because he could. Ricochet grinned at him, approving, before he gently patted Jazz's cheek.
"Now clean up your mess," he said, gesturing to his abdomen, and the firmness of his tone, the obvious command, sent a sharp surge of charge down Jazz's spinal strut.
Jazz's knees wobbled, so he sank down to them, his glossa flicking over Ricochet's abdomen, and lapping up his own spill. Ricochet's hand landed on his head, gentle, and he stroked Jazz's sensory horns, his field pulsing approval.
"Good," Ricochet murmured, and Jazz breathed a moan, relief throbbing warm and thready through his spark and sensor net.
Damn, he hated when Ricochet was right. He did miss this.
"Where is that no-good partner of yours if he's left you this needy?" Ricochet asked.
"He's busy. Prowl has him tracking down that anti-Decepticon group," Jazz answered in between licks, the taste of his own spill mingling with the familiar flavor of his twin's armor.
"Those idiots? They aren't worth the mechpower. They're outnumbered, and they know it." Ricochet snorted and gave a pinch to Jazz's sensory horn, making him jerk. "Meanwhile, you need to go back to work."
Jazz glared up at him. "I have a job."
Ricochet squeezed his sensory horn harder, and Jazz winced. "Working at the bar doesn't count. Stop sulking and talk to Rodimus, or even better, Starscream. They'll find a use for you."
Jazz opted to ignore him rather than retort, and focused intently on his task, until his brother's abdomen and spike were clean. Jazz pressed a kiss to the tip of Ricochet's half-pressurized unit, and looked up at his twin.
"Is that good enough?"
Ricochet's engine growled. "If I had the time, I'd heat your aft for that." He grabbed Jazz's sensory horn and hauled him to his feet, yanking him in for a kiss. "You're lucky I have to get back to work," he growled against Jazz's mouth.
"That barely counts as a job." Jazz flickered his visor and nipped Ricochet's bottom lip, squirming out of the other mech's grasp before Ricochet could bite in retaliation. He rustled a cleaning cloth from one of the shelves. "How is that going, by the way?"
Ricochet folded his arms, glaring. He hated being thwarted. "Fine. It's not like it's the first time I've dealt with Blurr being sparked. Echo's a bit bent out of shape, but he didn't have the luxury of having a baby brother born beside him."
"Luxury?"
"You know how lucky you are." Ricochet smirked.
Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor and finished wiping at his frame. There wasn't much he could do about the paint streaks, but he'd worry about those later. Maybe it would inspire Bluestreak.
A mech could dream.
"Echo will be fine. He's just used to having all the attention." Jazz looked around for the laundry bin and tossed the dirtied rag into it, making a mental note that the laundry needed to be done. Honestly, what would Blurr do without him? He couldn't get a different job. He was needed here.
Ricochet crowded him against the wall, gripping his chin and forcing his face up. "So are you, Jazz." He thumbed Jazz's bottom lip. "Tell Bluestreak to get his act together, or I'm taking you back."
"You've got your hands full as it is."
"I always have room for you." Ricochet kissed him again, a bit gentler this time, and it always made Jazz weak, to have a little bit of softness from his hard as steel twin.
Jazz leaned into the kiss with a quiet sigh. He was happy for Ricochet, he really was, but Blurr did get a lot more of Ricochet's time and attention. So Jazz supposed he could sympathize with Echo.
No one wanted to be the mech left behind.
~
Blurr had an armful of dirty dishware in one hand, and was scrubbing a table with another, when he registered a presence behind him. He whirled around, hand cocked, and was immediately pulled into a kiss, a wrist trapping his arm before he could strike.
Ricochet chuckled against his mouth.
"You're an aft," Blurr said, but he stopped fighting and allowed the kiss, brief though it was. "And you taste like Jazz."
"If anything, he tastes like me," Ricochet said, and pulled back, his visor fluttering in a wink. He looked pointedly around the interior. "Where is everyone?"
"My bank account wonders the same thing." Blurr tumbled the dirty dishware into Ricochet's arms. "Take those to the sink."
"Sir, yes, sir." Ricochet patted him on the aft and obeyed, whistling.
Blurr rolled his optics and finished wiping down the table. There were only a few patrons lingering, with the card game having finished up while Ricochet was occupied. It was too early for him to close, but at this rate, it might be cheaper to do so.
Jazz hadn't bothered to say goodbye.
Blurr cleaned another table, grabbed the dirty dishes from it, and returned behind the bar, adding them to the sink. He started the solvent, and immediately felt a hot frame press against him from behind, a kiss landing against his audial.
"You should close up early," Ricochet murmured as he grabbed Blurr's hips and nuzzled the back of his neck.
Blurr fought down a shiver. "Didn't you get enough?"
"Never."
Another kiss pressed against his nape, and Blurr swallowed thickly. "I'm not closing early. Creds don't magically appear in our accounts, you know."
"They don't come from invisible customers either."
Blurr snorted despite himself. "Then maybe I ought to get out on the street corner and hustle."
A low growl of Ricochet's engine preceded him spinning Blurr around, crowding him against the sink. "Unacceptable," he said. "And wipe that smirk off your face."
"What? This smirk?" Blurr widened it and patted Ricochet's cheek, smearing solvent all over it. "Why don't you go take our sparkling upstairs and if our customers clear out, I'll close up early and join you."
"Fine." Ricochet swept in for a biting kiss, enough to make Blurr's lips tingle, before he withdrew. "And you're gonna pay for that later."
"If you say so."
Blurr spun back around to finish the dishes and heard Ricochet mutter, but didn't catch the words. He's sure it wasn't very charitable. Blurr chuckled.
Some things never changed.
A moment later, however, Blurr's armor prickled, like he was being watched. Not even years after the end of the war had his awareness faded. Especially since the incident with Whipstrike.
He glanced over his shoulder as he moved the clean dishes to the sanitizer. Quicken stared in his direction, and Blurr didn't know the mech well enough to read him, but Blurr hadn't survived the war by being naive. There was anger in Quicken's optics. Anger and something else.
"Do you need something?" Blurr asked, planting a customer service smile on his lips.
"I'm done actually," Quicken said. He hopped down from his stool and tossed a cred chip onto the counter. "Good night, Blurr."
"Have a good one!"
Blurr pretended to return to the dishes, but he kept an optic on Quicken, not that the mech looked back or at anyone else as he left. The door chimed as he disappeared past it. Blurr shook himself and went back to work.
Maybe he's just paranoid. Creepy, after all, was pretty standard here in this post-war Cybertron. War had changed a lot of mechs in a lot of ways, not all of them for the better.
His last couple of customers trickled out ten minutes later, and Blurr made the executive decision to go ahead and close up. Especially when he peered out into the empty, quiet streets. It wasn't exactly teeming with potential customers out there.
Blurr performed the closing duties quickly, a job made easier by the fact he'd been slow enough he'd maintained New Maccadam's over the course of the evening. He balanced the till, put the clean dishes away, and swept the floor before dimming the lights and setting the alarms.
At least he didn't have far to go. Through the newly installed playroom and up the back stairs to the apartment above, newly renovated for his family, growing as it was. He suspected Prowl had a hand in bumping Blurr up the renovation queue, maybe as a form of indirect apology to Ricochet for the spurious imprisonment.
He keyed himself into their apartment, fighting back a yawn. He shouldn't be so exhausted, it had been a slow day, but his new carry seemed to be more of a draw on his frame than he would have expected.
There was a mess in the living room, toys strewn across the couch and floor. Steam puffed out of the washrack, and when Blurr peered in there, towels had been left in a clump near the drain.
He sighed.
Ricochet's voice floated out from Echo's room, so Blurr peeked inside, smiling when he found them curled up on Echo's berth. Ricochet had a datapad in one hand, and their sparkling tucked under his other arm as he read one of Echo's favorite stories aloud.
Echo was enraptured, laughing as his sire echoed the character's voices, and gasping when something amazing happened.
For a moment, Blurr didn't do anything but watch, warmth in his spark and a smile on his lips. If someone had told him, eons ago when all he lived for was the thrill of a race and the next big thing, that this was his future, he would have laughed. Now, he couldn't imagine what he'd do without them.
"The end," said Ricochet as he kissed the top of Echo's head. "That's it, bit. Time for recharge."
"Read it again," Echo pleaded as he climbed into Ricochet's lap and grabbed Ricochet's cheeks with his hands. "Please, please, please."
Ricochet laughed and set the datapad aside. He lifted Echo up and turned, playfully tumbling him back into the berth. "No dice, bitlet. Mama will come in and yell if I don't get you tucked into bed properly."
"Nooooo." Echo giggled as Ricochet tucked him beneath the covers, a big smile on his face.
"Yes." Ricochet pinned him down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "You have school tomorrow. You know the rules."
"Aw."
Blurr pushed off the door and stepped into the room, making sure not to notice the mess of toys and datapads and paraphenalia strewn about the floor. He'd learned to pick his battles.
"I don't yell," Blurr said as he stepped over a damp towel. "I resent that remark."
Both Ricochet and Echo look up as he entered, though only the former showed any real happiness. Echo immediately dipped into a pout and rolled over on his side, tugging up the blanket around himself.
"You have a very loud glare," Ricochet said as he curved a hand around Blurr's waist and pulled him in for a nuzzle.
"I do not." Blurr squirmed free and sat on the edge of the berth, tucking the blanket tighter around his bitlet. "Good night, Echo." He bent to kiss Echo on the cheek, but Echo whined and burrowed under the cover, avoiding the affection.
Blurr swallowed a sigh. He patted his sparkling's blanket-wrapped frame and stood up. "I'm going to wash up," he said, and made his escape before Ricochet could reel him in, or before he could hear Echo respond to Ricochet when he'd done his best to ignore Blurr.
It would be a lie to say it didn't hurt. Blurr understood, of course he did. Echo was a child, and behaved like a child. He felt betrayed by Blurr, and the attention both of his parents paid to the oncoming Rebound.
Blurr was supposed to be the mature adult here. That wasn't much of a comfort.
He rubbed the base of his spinal strut and slipped into the washracks, picking up the dirtied cloths and tossing them in the laundry bin as he did so.
Don't you miss racing?
Quicken's words echoed at the back of his mind. It was a stupid question, honestly. Of course Blurr missed racing. It was in his spark. He missed the speed and the challenge and yeah, the adulation and the praise. He missed the life of wealth and glory. He missed a lot of things he didn't have anymore.
Wouldn't have again.
Blurr enjoyed his current life. He loved the bar, he loved Ricochet, he loved Echo. He wouldn't give up any of it for anything.
But if given the opportunity to have all of it, and race again? That would be the ultimate dream. A distant one, he reasoned. Entertainment was low on the list of rebuilding priorities. He doubted there was much interest in revitalizing their sports.
It was a shame.
Blurr sighed as he stepped under the hot solvent, bracing his hands on the wall to let it pour over his armor and to his substructure, washing away his stress as much as the dirt and grime. His back ached; his hips ached. He'd forgotten how much he hated the changes carrying made to his frame.
The moist heat helped. Some. More helpful would be a pair of strong hands to massage the kinks from his cables.
The washrack door slid open. Well. Speak of the Decepticon.
"You got started without me," Ricochet said, his voice echoing in the small space. He pressed up against Blurr's back, brushing a kiss against the side of his intake. "Mmm. Still got here in time though."
"Echo asleep?"
"He's in bed. He'll get there eventually." Ricochet's hands skimmed over his side and around to his front, cupping the small rise of his belly. "How's bit?"
"Fine as fine can be." Blurr reached for the sponge to scrub himself down, but Ricochet beat him to it.
Smart mech.
Blurr let himself be pampered, shuttering his optics as the warm solvent coursed over his frame, and Ricochet's hands followed the rivulets.
"How's Jazz?"
Ricochet chuffed a vent. "Twitchy. Bored. He never shoulda quit that job with Prowl. Even if the mech is an aft." He crouched to scrub Blurr's legs, paying attention to the sensitive juncture of his knees, and Blurr fought back a shiver. "Doesn't help that Bluestreak's neck deep in an assignment. I wanna knock some sense into both of 'em."
"You're such a good big brother."
Ricochet stood up and grasped Blurr's hips, nipping at his audial. "I'm the best big brother," he murmured, and rocked against Blurr's aft, heat radiating from his frame. "And Echo will be, too. Once he stops being a brat."
"He gets that from you."
Ricochet laughed and bit Blurr's neck cable, making his knees wobble. "There's only one drama queen in this relationship, Zippy, and it sure as slag ain't me."
"Really?" Blurr scoffed. "Who's the mech that throws a hissy fit anytime someone looks at me sideways?"
"I don't care about looking. It's the touching I got a problem with."
"It's the everything," Blurr corrected, and flicked the switch from solvent to rinse, before his armor started to get streaks. Sunstreaker wasn't around to make him pretty right now.
Ricochet chuckled and pressed harder against Blurr, one hand sliding around to cup Blurr's rapidly heating groin. "You're a gorgeous piece of aft. So what if I'm a little possessive? Mechs around here tend to be greedy." He rapped his fingers over Blurr's panel. "Come on. Open up."
Blurr obeyed, his spike emerging right into Ricochet's waiting grip. His knees wobbled, a groan echoing in the washrack, as Ricochet stroked him perfectly.
"You don't trust me?" Blurr asked as his fingers curled against the wall, his hips rocking into the tunnel of Ricochet's fist.
"I don't trust them." Ricochet rocked against his aft, the same rhythm as the slow, squeezing strokes to Blurr's spike.
"You keep throwing mechs out the way you do, not only am I going to lose business, but someone's going to take exception to it," Blurr grumbled, though it was hard to hold on to a gripe when Ricochet was thumbing the head of his spike and making his sensornet sizzle with arousal.
"I'd like to see them try." Ricochet's denta scraped the back of his neck, and Blurr shivered.
A moan escaped him before he could stop it, his spike throbbing, and his valve leaking lubricant against his closed panel. He pushed back against Ricochet again, unsure if he wanted to spill like this or with a spike inside of him. Being sparked confused his coding to no end.
"You're too... arrogant," Blurr panted as he reached over and slammed the button on the wall, cutting off the rinse and the rack. A recycling system had been put into place, but that didn't mean they could be so casually wasteful. "Take me to a berth."
Ricochet chuckled and gave his spike one last squeeze before he withdrew to retrieve a towel. "I'm confident. There's a difference." He spun Blurr around for a searing kiss before he started to swipe the cloth over Blurr's frame while Blurr struggled to keep standing on weak knees.
His spike throbbed.
"Do you think there's anyone who could actually pose a threat?" Ricochet asked.
Blurr twisted his jaw. "I think it would be stupid to assume they can't be." He swallowed thickly, thoughts firing on half-cylinders as most of his focus pooled in his groin. "Like Quicken. He can't stand you."
Ricochet snorted. "That Neutral fanboy? I'm not worried about him at all. If anyone, Cork's a bigger threat."
He tossed the damp towel aside and pulled Blurr in for another kiss, hungrier than the last, the arousal in his field finally falling over Blurr with hot intent.
"I'm not worried about some mech who ran away from the war and didn't have the bearings to pick a side," Ricochet said with a laugh before he picked Blurr up with stupid ease.
Sometimes, it paid to be as light as he was, even with the added mass of Rebound within him.
"Besides, I've killed one mech for you already. Don't think I won't kill another," Ricochet said.
Blurr swallowed thickly. A part of him felt he should be appalled by the murder in Ricochet's tone, but he wasn't. If anything, it made him shiver and grab Ricochet's head to kiss him, his glossa plunging into Ricochet's mouth, his sensornet aflame with need.
Thank Primus the berth was just outside the rack, and Ricochet only had to take a few steps to tilt them onto it. He pressed against Blurr's back, raining biting kisses over his neck and clavicular strut, pressurized spike nudging against the back of Blurr's thighs.
"Killing is... frowned upon," Blurr panted as a firm hand closed around his spike, stroking him again, and he writhed in Ricochet's arms, one hand twisted in the berthsheets, the other closed around Ricochet's wrist to keep him in place.
Ricochet hummed and rocked his hips, thrusting between Blurr's legs, gliding over the damp pleats of his valve. "Only if you get caught," he murmured against Blurr's audial and thrust again, teasing Blurr with the idea of penetration.
Blurr threw his leg backward, over Ricochet's, opening himself up. He canted his hips back, caught Ricochet's spike on the next rock, and groaned as he slid inside, the head of it catching the perfect angle to rake the bundle of sensors behind the rim of Blurr's valve. His spike throbbed, dribbling pre-fluid over Ricochet's fingers.
"Frag me, damn it!" Blurr hissed, trying to arch his hips backward, push Ricochet deeper.
"With pleasure," Ricochet purred and he rocked his hips, sliding deep as he stroked Blurr with a squeezing pull, lighting his circuits aflame.
Blurr moaned, frame drawn taut, charge licking across his cables. Ecstasy surged through his lines in an electric wave, his spike throbbing, and his valve clutching hungrily at Ricochet's spike. He pressed back, into the cradle of Ricochet’s frame, affection and need crashing over him, Ricochet’s mouth hot and wet on the back of his neck.
Between one thrust and the next, Blurr overloaded, the ecstasy flooding through him warm and tingling and on the end of a quiet moan. Ricochet worked him through it, stroking him gentle, thrusting deep and smooth, and the care he took never failed to make Blurr’s spark quiver.
Blurr sank into Ricochet’s embrace, the pleasure settling around him like an oil bath, as Ricochet continued to touch and tease, rocking into him at such an even pace that when he overloaded, Blurr did as well, less intense, but more extended, until it seemed to take every last bit of tension in him and utterly erase it, leaving him spent and sated, a wreck in the berth.
“Mmm, that’s much better,” Ricochet murmured as he nuzzled into the back of Blurr’s neck, his fingers gliding over Blurr’s plating.
Blurr hummed. “It’ll do.”
“You remain ever difficult to please, my racer,” Ricochet teased. “Good thing I love you for it.”
“Yeah. Guess I love you, too,” Blurr murmured, already feeling the sweet, sweet pull of recharge, trusting Ricochet to do the clean up.
He always did.
~
The apartment was dark when Bluestreak dragged himself home, but he knew better than to assume it was empty. Jazz had an odd habit of lurking in the dark, whether he was home or not, as if he existed better in shadow than light.
Bluestreak found it charming. It was part and parcel to dating a spy.
Jazz didn't so much as live with him as he didn't live anywhere else, so by default, the address to reach him was Bluestreak's apartment. Bluestreak knew he kept several boltholes scattered around Cybertron, and occasionally crashed at those when the mood struck him, but Bluestreak's apartment he'd made a base of operations.
To say that Jazz had commitment issues was putting it lightly.
Fortunately, Bluestreak knew all this coming into the relationship. When it came to their contract, to the trust Jazz placed in Bluestreak's hands, Jazz's commitment was absolute. Outside of that, well, it was shaky.
Bluestreak paused in the doorway, stretching out his sensors, and a quiet pingback echoed from the berthroom. Apartment not empty then. Good to know.
Best not to startle Jazz, who was probably not recharging, but lying alert in the berth, waiting to confirm it was Bluestreak who had entered and not an intruder. The war was years in the past, but lessons learned upon centuries of conflict did not easily slip into the night.
Bluestreak didn't bother with energon or cleaning up. He'd take care of both in the morning. Right now, he wanted to recharge, preferably with a nimble spy wrapped around him.
He slipped into the berthroom and sure enough, biolights dimly glowed at him, and a thin sliver of light reflected from Jazz's visor.
"Hey, babe," Jazz said, and the lights in the room popped on at twenty-five percent, highlighting the shadows and the spy in the berth. "You're home late."
"Secret societies seem to think that there's something unnatural about meeting at a normal time," Bluestreak grumbled and climbed onto the berth, over Jazz, who immediately curled in toward him. "As you well know."
Jazz snorted and slid his hands up Bluestreak's arms. "Any luck trackin' down the anti-Cons?"
"That's such a stupid name," Bluestreak muttered, but he nuzzled Jazz and in-vented, some of the tension easing from his cables. A familiar odor caught his receptors. "Mm. You went to see Ricochet, didn't you?"
"Guilty."
Bluestreak hummed a laugh and kissed Jazz, unsurprised to taste a bit of unfamiliar on his lover's lips. He supposed he had been neglecting Jazz as of late. It was hardly a surprise he'd gone to his twin for comfort.
"You taste like him," Bluestreak murmured.
"I'm a little amused that you can tell by a taste." Jazz laughed and nipped Bluestreak's bottom lip. "Uncle Jazz was on duty today. I had to pick up Echo from school."
Bluestreak shifted a little, tucking Jazz into the crook of his frame, and waited for Jazz to squirm away, but when the spy snuggled closer, Bluestreak grinned. "He still in a phase?"
"It is an utter betrayal of Blurr to get sparked again," Jazz declared, and broke into a quiet snicker, tucking his face into Bluestreak's throat and nipping a cable. "Bitlet's adorable. I don't envy Blurr or Ricochet when he gets older."
"Whatever menace Echo becomes, I'm sure Ricochet deserves it," Bluestreak said.
Jazz laughed against Bluestreak's intake. "You're probably right." His fingers tickled along Bluestreak's seams, not enough to titillate, but it felt good regardless. "Tell me about the anti-Cons. I need the good gossip."
Bluestreak snorted. "There's nothing to tell. There's a lot of chatter on the intra-net, graffiti popping up here and there, and a lot of grumbling, but the one tip I had for a meeting turned out to be false, and I spent the whole night scouring the abandoned shopping complex just to be sure."
He frowned, annoyed to his very core, and if the tipster hadn't been anonymous, Bluestreak would have had a few choice words to give to the mech. He now suspected said tipster hadn't been a friendly civilian, but someone determined to throw Bluestreak off the scent, despite the fact no one was supposed to know Bluestreak had been given this assignment. Officially, he didn't work for Prowl.
"Want some help?" Jazz asked.
Bluestreak tucked his chin on top of Jazz's head. "I might. If I don't make any progress and you're not too busy." Which, he knew, Jazz wasn't. A life of leisure and inactivity didn't suit Jazz, but he was too stubborn to go to Prowl and offer his services again. He'd rather pretend he was happy just being a bartender.
"I'll try and make time in my very busy schedule." Jazz's field wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and the lights cut out, bathing the room in the soft glow of the emergency runners. He'd even doused his biolights, as all spies could do. "Got a nephew to look after, you know, and he's pretty time-consuming."
Bluestreak grinned and stroked Jazz's backstrut, tracing the little divots in his armor, the multiple places where Jazz was more flexible than most. "Speaking of... are you sure you don't want a bitlet of your own?"
Jazz's engine thrummed a steady rhythm. "Absolutely. Being an uncle is fun, but at the end of the day, I wanna give Echo back. Taking care of one full-time is just not my idea of a good time." He paused, his vocals shifting in timbre. "You?"
"We're on the same page. I've never wanted sparklings, and as adorable as Echo is, I'm not keen on having one for myself either." Bluestreak nuzzled the top of Jazz's head, playfully nipping a sensory horn -- which had a few nibble marks in it already, no doubt courtesy of Ricochet. "You're about all the handful I can handle."
"Fair enough." Jazz laughed, and the minute tension in his frame vanished. He wiggled pointedly. "You could take a handful of me right now, if you want."
"Or in the morning. When I'll have enough energy to remind you that you belong in my berth just as much as you belong in your brother's," Bluestreak said with a gentle pat to Jazz's aft.
"Getting rusty in your old age, Blue."
"Hush. Recharge now."
Jazz snickered but obeyed, his limbs winding around Bluestreak like clinging vines as if in an attempt to keep him aberth. It was to be one of those nights, then, where Jazz wouldn't let go short of an emergency, which was a far cry from the nights Jazz preferred to sleep on the edge of the berth without an inch of their armor touching.
Jazz was complicated.
Fortunately, Bluestreak liked complicated.
***
Universe: IDW, A Perfect Storm Universe
Characters: Blurr/Ricochet, Jazz/Bluestreak, Ratchet/Drift, Original Character(s)
Rated: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest, BDSM Themes, Mechpreg, Non-Graphic Birth
Description: With another mechlet on the way, business at the bar waning, and a new Anti-Decepticon movement gaining steam, Blurr wonders if he’s ever going to get any rest. His relationship with Ricochet is put to the test when another storm rumbles on the horizon, threatening to tear them apart, this time for good.
There were too many empty tables in his bar.
Blurr plastered a fake customer service smile on his face, but inside, he frowned. It was peak happy hour, post-second shift, and over half his tables were unoccupied and his bar had only one stool with an occupant.
"A bit quiet in here tonight, isn't it?"
Blurr swallowed a sigh and picked up a pitcher, wandering to the lone occupied stool near the end of the counter. "Quiet's not a bad thing," he said as he topped off Quicken's glass, the bright and cheerful drink splashing up to the brim. "Can I get you anything else?"
"A date," Quicken said with a flash of denta in a wide grin. He braced his elbow on his chin, leaning in closer across the counter.
Blurr subtly slid a step back. "I'm bonded, remember?"
"Yeah, but a mech can dream," Quicken purred. His lips curved in a wider grin he probably thought was alluring. And perhaps, to anyone else, it would be. Quicken wasn’t bad looking, with his gray and red armor, slim lines, and broad shoulders.
Blurr, however, was happily spoken for, and in comparison to Ricochet, Quicken held no appeal.
"I mean, if you want to dream about something that's impossible, I can't stop you." Blurr saluted him with the pitcher. "Let me know if you need more."
He didn't run away. He was too professional for that. But he did ease into a retreat. He cast a gaze around the bar, saw Tall Tankor was running low on his brew, and decided to make a delivery. It wasn't as if he had much else to do.
Business was suffering and only luck managed to land Blurr at a spot in the queue where he was finally able to renovate the apartment above New Maccadams to make it a livable home for he and his family. Cybertron's economy was achingly slow to recover, and well, it didn't help that his bouncer kept throwing out customers for looking at Blurr funny. Or that his bouncer was a notorious former Decepticon who didn't even try to play nice.
'I can throw him out for you.'
Blurr sighed and glanced askance at the door, where Ricochet grinned back at him, noticing the look. 'He's a paying customer, which if you haven’t noticed, we’re running short on. Leave him alone.'
'I don't like the way he looks at you.'
'If it were up to you, I'd never leave the house so no one could look at me ever.'
'Mm. Now there's a thought. I could tie you to the berth, and then you'd always be right where I want you.'
Blurr shot a glare across the room. 'You should be working, not fantasizing about things that are never going to happen.'
Ricochet chuckled into the comm, but didn't respond. The heat of his gaze, however, never left Blurr. It was almost tangible, like a physical touch to his armor. It was a relief to know Blurr was still attractive to him, even with the... extra weight he now carried.
Because yes. Blurr was sparked.
Again.
Granted, this time was on purpose. Echo should have a sibling, according to Ricochet, and there were so few sparklings on Cybertron as it was. He really didn't have anyone to play with. Plus, they had the room now. And--
And Blurr didn't need to keep convincing himself of something he'd already agreed to do, and had already done. He didn't know why he felt the need to justify getting sparked. Especially to himself.
He swept up Tall Tankor's empty and replaced it with a full.
"Thanks, Blurr. This'll be it for tonight," Tankor said as he considered his hand, discarded two cards, and pulled two from the deck.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Got an early shift." Tankor smirked and laid out his cards. "Look at that. A flush."
Groans echoed around the table, mechs throwing down their cards with disgust, chugging their brews, a couple asking for refills.
Blurr busied himself by tending to them, tucking a few tips into his pocket, deftly avoiding a mech with a death wish who tried to grope him, perhaps heedless of the former Decepticon assassin staring with laser optics at the back of his head.
"Not cool, Cork. Not cool," one of the other mechs said to the orange and white one with the wandering hand. "Liable to lose that hand if you don't stop it."
"It's an age-old tradition, groping the waitstaff," said Cork, obviously three sheets to the wind. Blurr made a mental note to cut him off.
"Next time, you'll lose an optic," Blurr threatened. "And that try right there is a twenty percent surcharge." He flashed a grin and swept away from the table while Cork groaned, and his fellow players mocked him.
All was fair.
"And you better not skimp on the tip either," Tall Tankor said. "Or I'll break your finger, too."
Cork sank down in his chair.
Blurr returned to the bar feeling vindicated. He refused to look at Ricochet, who was probably already devising ways to toss Cork out on his aft.
"You ever think about closing this place?"
Blurr dumped the dirties into the sink and turned back toward Quicken. "Why would I do that?"
"So you can start racing again. I mean, I can't believe this is really what you want." Quicken gestured all around him. "You were a star, Blurr. Don't you miss it?"
"We've had this conversation before." Blurr turned on the tap, running the solvent to hot before he started to clean and disinfect the dirties before he set them out to dry. "That was a long time ago, before the war. Mechs change."
"Not that much."
"Yeah, well, I did. Besides, it's none of your business."
Quicken rapped his fingers on the table. "I was nothing before the war, you know. Too poor for anything. I always wanted to see you race in person. That was my dream."
"Time to find a new one then. You won't be the first." Blurr dried his hands and turned as the chime from the front door announced a new arrival.
He planted a grin on his face, ready to meet the customer, and genuine joy bubbled up in his spark. Not a customer, but family.
"Papa!" Echo laughed and made grabby hands as he leapt from Jazz's arms and into Ricochet's, who laughed and swept him up, peppering Echo's face in kisses.
"There's my big botlet! How was school today?"
"Stupid. Do I hafta keep goin'?"
"If you're gonna talk like that, then frag yeah, you do." Ricochet chuckled and started tickling their son, who dissolved into shrieks of delighted laughter. "No son of mine is going to sound like a doofus."
Blurr's lips curved into a grin. He busied himself by finishing up the dishes.
"C'mon, Let's go say hi to Mama."
"No! Wanna stay with Daddy!"
Blurr's grin faded. His shoulders slumped. And that, right there, was pretty common as of late. From the moment he and Ricochet sat down and explained to Echo that he had a brother coming, Echo decided that meant he wanted nothing to do with Blurr anymore. He clung to Ricochet, his favorite, and pretended Blurr didn’t exist to the best of his ability.
Ratchet said it was a phase. He'd get over it once Rebound was born. Bluestreak said he was just spoiled and used to being the center of attention. Both were probably right.
It still hurt.
Blurr finished the dishes and wiped his hands, turning back to face the room. Jazz had given up reaching for Echo with a shrug and was now approaching the bar, Ricochet trailing in his wake with Echo clinging to him, face buried against his neck.
"Give me the usual, barkeep," Jazz said as he pulled himself up into a stool, grinning from audial to audial. "Add it to my babysitting tab."
Blurr snorted, but mixed up Jazz's favorite blend and slid it across the counter "You should be grateful for getting to spend time with Echo, not demanding free drinks."
"Can't I have both?"
"I see being greedy isn't limited to Ricochet alone," Blurr said, rolling his optics.
"Who's greedy?" Ricochet asked as he slipped behind the counter, bouncing Echo on his hip. "Come on, botlet. Quit being a brat."
"Not a brat," Echo grumbled.
"Yes, you are." Ricochet shifted, holding Echo up by his armpits, squinting up at their son. "Tell your Mama hello, you little scamp."
Blurr sighed and scrubbed with half a spark at the counter. "He doesn't have to. Just put him in the playroom. He'll be fine." Said playroom was a new addition to the bar, a place where they could keep an eye on Echo and he could play, but they could both work if Jazz and Drift were too busy to sit.
Ricochet leaned in and pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek as if in apology. "I'll be back."
"He's still going through that phase, huh?" Jazz asked as Ricochet vanished into the playroom.
"It comes and goes," Blurr admitted as he braced his hands on the edge of the bar, rolling his neck to ease the kinks. "I don't know if he'll be better or worse when Rebound finally joins us. I'm half-afraid to find out."
Jazz tipped back half his drink. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Echo's gonna love having a younger brother, almost as much as I love having a big one."
Blurr snorted. "Right." He glanced around the bar but no one needed him as best he could tell. "Where's your better half?"
"Working." Jazz scowled, his armor giving a flick of dissatisfaction. "Prowl assigned him to track down that growing anti-Decepticon movement."
Blurr frowned. "Sounds dangerous." He hadn't realized the murmurs had gained enough volume to merit investigation, but that was why planet-wide security was Prowl's job and not his.
"Blue can take care of himself."
"Oh, I believe that. Doesn't mean you can't worry about him." He tilted his head as Jazz snorted. "Or miss him while he's busy."
Jazz gave him a sour look, as if the implication he had soft feelings for his lover was an insult. "No one asked you."
Blurr chuckled and topped off Jazz's drink. It was the least he could do. "I'm a bartender. It's my job to listen to the woes of my customers." He leaned against the counter. "Come on. What's your sadness?"
Jazz's visor flickered, and he pointed at Blurr. "Don't you start. Else I'll have to point out how soft you're getting in that midsection of yours."
It became Blurr's turn to scowl. "I am not. I've still got a couple weeks before I start to show."
"You sure about that?"
"Don't rile him up, bro. He's self-conscious enough as it is." Ricochet's voice threaded into their conversation as he appeared next to Jazz, popping out of the shadows like all spies were wont to do.
Jazz, to his credit, didn't startle. Blurr had gotten used to it by now so he didn't either.
"I am not," he said.
"Are, too." Ricochet slung his arm over Jazz's shoulder, tugging his twin against him. "You look a little lonely. Is Bluestreak not treating you right?"
"He's busy." Jazz tried to squirm out from under Ricochet's arm, but it was a lot like moving a steel trap. Blurr would know.
Blurr rolled his optics. "Stop pretending like you don't intend to drag him off to the storage room and do it already."
Ricochet grinned, bearing his denta. "But lover, if I were to do that, who would guard the door?"
Blurr gestured broadly to the bar, and the barely dozen mechs scattered around the interior. The amount of empty tables nearly outnumbered his actual patrons. "I think I can handle it."
"Who even said I want to be dragged?" Jazz demanded.
Ricochet turned his head and gnawed on Jazz's sensory horn, making him shiver and go a little limp under Ricochet's arm. "Am I wrong?"
"Shut up," Jazz groaned, but it wasn't very believable.
Ricochet chuckled.
Blurr waved them off and didn't watch as Ricochet grabbed Jazz and pulled him toward the storage room. If he watched, then he'd want to join in, and he couldn't because someone had to actually work around here. So instead, he pinged Ricochet to make video and contented himself with watching the replay later.
He swept Jazz's empty into the sink and made a round of the room, gathering up other empties and dirties, garbage, a few cred chips left behind as tip, et cetera. Breezy asked for a refill, so Blurr fetched that for him, and by the time he returned to the bar, Quicken was signalling for more.
"Four tonight? Celebrating something good or mourning something bad?" Blurr asked as he swapped the empty for a full.
Quicken gave him a solemn look. "I ought to be buying you the drink," he said, and his gaze slid pointedly to the left and the closed storage room. "Don't you hate having to share your lover?"
"It's not any of your business honestly," Blurr said, and planted his customer service smile on his lips. "I'm happy the way things are, that's all I'm going to say."
"But you deserve someone who wants you and you alone. Who would worship and adore you the way you are meant to be adored," Quicken insisted.
Blurr chuckled, and maybe it was more nervous than he meant it to sound. "I think you overestimate who I am, Quicken, but I appreciate the sentiment." He knocked his knuckles on the counter and shifted away. "Let me know if you need anything else."
"You'd be happier with someone else," Quicken muttered, and Blurr wisely pretended not to hear, leaving the other mech to his drink.
It wasn't the first time Quicken had flirted with him or insinuated he should leave Ricochet for someone else. Blurr doubted it would be the last. But Quicken was a steady customer and a good tipper, so Blurr was loathe to ban him, and well.
At least he hadn't tried to grope Blurr.
Jazz's back hit the shelf, rattling several jars of raw metallics. He froze; Ricochet did as well. They waited to see if any of the jars tumbled, and only when the rattling faded did Ricochet grab Jazz by the aft and heft him up, pinning him against the shelves.
"You're going to knock something down," Jazz panted as denta clamped on his intake cables with enough pressure to make him jerk. His thighs tightened around his brother's waist, his valve already slick and open.
"I'm sleeping with the owner. I think I'll be all right." Ricochet laughed and thrust up, his spike grinding hard against Jazz's rim but not piercing him yet. "He can put it on my tab."
"You're playing with fire, bro."
Ricochet chuckled again, grabbed his aft, and Jazz groaned as his twin fixed the angle and slid into him in one quick thrust, spikehead grinding against his ceiling node. Ecstasy shot electric flame through his sensor net, and Jazz sank claws into Ricochet's shoulders, hips rocking and rolling to ride the breadth of Ricochet's shaft.
"I'm gonna have a talk with that lover of yours. I think he's neglecting you," Ricochet panted as he bit Jazz's neck again, hard enough to bruise.
Jazz keened, visor fritzing, head falling back against a shelf. A box clunked. More jars rattled. His spike emerged, grinding against Ricochet's abdomen, and it was as delicious as it was a tease.
"He's... busy," Jazz gasped as Ricochet fragged him harder and faster, quick and deep strokes designed to bring him off hard and fast. Talons slid into his seams, pricking his cables, barely present pain that made Jazz shiver.
"That's not an acceptable excuse." Ricochet growled before he stole Jazz's mouth for a kiss, his glossa plunging inside as if laying claim.
Jazz moaned, lights popping behind his visor, his valve cycling down, charge spilling out to caress Ricochet's spike. The shelf rattled louder. He didn't care. Blurr could bill him.
Ricochet's field crashed over his, pulsing mine, mine, mine, and Jazz keened as he overloaded, drowning in the tidal wave that was his twin, his spike spurting and valve clamping tight. Ricochet growled his approval, bit Jazz's bottom lip, grinning against his mouth.
"That was quick," he said, and tightened his hips, pulling Jazz down onto his spike again and again, thrusting deep, seeking his own pleasure.
"S-Shut up," Jazz panted, and rode the thrusts, squeaks escaping him before he could stop them as each thrust raked his sensitive lining, pounded his ceiling node, until Ricochet fragged a second overload right out of him, and the following splash of his brother's spill made Jazz writhe.
He panted, spent, twitching, as Ricochet ground deep, denta locked on Jazz's intake cables, breathing hotly.
"Like you were made for me," Ricochet groaned and circled his hips as if savoring every twitch and quiver of Jazz's pleasure.
Jazz laughed, shaky though it was, and dragged Ricochet's face toward him for a kiss, a biting one, which left his lips swollen in the aftermath. The intensity eased until Ricochet pressed their foreheads together, lips curved smugly.
"Better?"
"I should be asking you that," Jazz retorted.
Ricochet squeezed his aft before lowering Jazz to the ground, setting him down on shaky legs. "Close your panel."
Jazz obeyed, trapping his brother's spill before it could slick his thighs. It was immediate, his obedience, too trained in him to think otherwise, unless he had the strength to be contrary.
Tonight, he didn't.
Ricochet cupped his face, swept a thumb over his swollen bottom lip, and Jazz licked it, because he could. Ricochet grinned at him, approving, before he gently patted Jazz's cheek.
"Now clean up your mess," he said, gesturing to his abdomen, and the firmness of his tone, the obvious command, sent a sharp surge of charge down Jazz's spinal strut.
Jazz's knees wobbled, so he sank down to them, his glossa flicking over Ricochet's abdomen, and lapping up his own spill. Ricochet's hand landed on his head, gentle, and he stroked Jazz's sensory horns, his field pulsing approval.
"Good," Ricochet murmured, and Jazz breathed a moan, relief throbbing warm and thready through his spark and sensor net.
Damn, he hated when Ricochet was right. He did miss this.
"Where is that no-good partner of yours if he's left you this needy?" Ricochet asked.
"He's busy. Prowl has him tracking down that anti-Decepticon group," Jazz answered in between licks, the taste of his own spill mingling with the familiar flavor of his twin's armor.
"Those idiots? They aren't worth the mechpower. They're outnumbered, and they know it." Ricochet snorted and gave a pinch to Jazz's sensory horn, making him jerk. "Meanwhile, you need to go back to work."
Jazz glared up at him. "I have a job."
Ricochet squeezed his sensory horn harder, and Jazz winced. "Working at the bar doesn't count. Stop sulking and talk to Rodimus, or even better, Starscream. They'll find a use for you."
Jazz opted to ignore him rather than retort, and focused intently on his task, until his brother's abdomen and spike were clean. Jazz pressed a kiss to the tip of Ricochet's half-pressurized unit, and looked up at his twin.
"Is that good enough?"
Ricochet's engine growled. "If I had the time, I'd heat your aft for that." He grabbed Jazz's sensory horn and hauled him to his feet, yanking him in for a kiss. "You're lucky I have to get back to work," he growled against Jazz's mouth.
"That barely counts as a job." Jazz flickered his visor and nipped Ricochet's bottom lip, squirming out of the other mech's grasp before Ricochet could bite in retaliation. He rustled a cleaning cloth from one of the shelves. "How is that going, by the way?"
Ricochet folded his arms, glaring. He hated being thwarted. "Fine. It's not like it's the first time I've dealt with Blurr being sparked. Echo's a bit bent out of shape, but he didn't have the luxury of having a baby brother born beside him."
"Luxury?"
"You know how lucky you are." Ricochet smirked.
Jazz rolled his optics behind his visor and finished wiping at his frame. There wasn't much he could do about the paint streaks, but he'd worry about those later. Maybe it would inspire Bluestreak.
A mech could dream.
"Echo will be fine. He's just used to having all the attention." Jazz looked around for the laundry bin and tossed the dirtied rag into it, making a mental note that the laundry needed to be done. Honestly, what would Blurr do without him? He couldn't get a different job. He was needed here.
Ricochet crowded him against the wall, gripping his chin and forcing his face up. "So are you, Jazz." He thumbed Jazz's bottom lip. "Tell Bluestreak to get his act together, or I'm taking you back."
"You've got your hands full as it is."
"I always have room for you." Ricochet kissed him again, a bit gentler this time, and it always made Jazz weak, to have a little bit of softness from his hard as steel twin.
Jazz leaned into the kiss with a quiet sigh. He was happy for Ricochet, he really was, but Blurr did get a lot more of Ricochet's time and attention. So Jazz supposed he could sympathize with Echo.
No one wanted to be the mech left behind.
Blurr had an armful of dirty dishware in one hand, and was scrubbing a table with another, when he registered a presence behind him. He whirled around, hand cocked, and was immediately pulled into a kiss, a wrist trapping his arm before he could strike.
Ricochet chuckled against his mouth.
"You're an aft," Blurr said, but he stopped fighting and allowed the kiss, brief though it was. "And you taste like Jazz."
"If anything, he tastes like me," Ricochet said, and pulled back, his visor fluttering in a wink. He looked pointedly around the interior. "Where is everyone?"
"My bank account wonders the same thing." Blurr tumbled the dirty dishware into Ricochet's arms. "Take those to the sink."
"Sir, yes, sir." Ricochet patted him on the aft and obeyed, whistling.
Blurr rolled his optics and finished wiping down the table. There were only a few patrons lingering, with the card game having finished up while Ricochet was occupied. It was too early for him to close, but at this rate, it might be cheaper to do so.
Jazz hadn't bothered to say goodbye.
Blurr cleaned another table, grabbed the dirty dishes from it, and returned behind the bar, adding them to the sink. He started the solvent, and immediately felt a hot frame press against him from behind, a kiss landing against his audial.
"You should close up early," Ricochet murmured as he grabbed Blurr's hips and nuzzled the back of his neck.
Blurr fought down a shiver. "Didn't you get enough?"
"Never."
Another kiss pressed against his nape, and Blurr swallowed thickly. "I'm not closing early. Creds don't magically appear in our accounts, you know."
"They don't come from invisible customers either."
Blurr snorted despite himself. "Then maybe I ought to get out on the street corner and hustle."
A low growl of Ricochet's engine preceded him spinning Blurr around, crowding him against the sink. "Unacceptable," he said. "And wipe that smirk off your face."
"What? This smirk?" Blurr widened it and patted Ricochet's cheek, smearing solvent all over it. "Why don't you go take our sparkling upstairs and if our customers clear out, I'll close up early and join you."
"Fine." Ricochet swept in for a biting kiss, enough to make Blurr's lips tingle, before he withdrew. "And you're gonna pay for that later."
"If you say so."
Blurr spun back around to finish the dishes and heard Ricochet mutter, but didn't catch the words. He's sure it wasn't very charitable. Blurr chuckled.
Some things never changed.
A moment later, however, Blurr's armor prickled, like he was being watched. Not even years after the end of the war had his awareness faded. Especially since the incident with Whipstrike.
He glanced over his shoulder as he moved the clean dishes to the sanitizer. Quicken stared in his direction, and Blurr didn't know the mech well enough to read him, but Blurr hadn't survived the war by being naive. There was anger in Quicken's optics. Anger and something else.
"Do you need something?" Blurr asked, planting a customer service smile on his lips.
"I'm done actually," Quicken said. He hopped down from his stool and tossed a cred chip onto the counter. "Good night, Blurr."
"Have a good one!"
Blurr pretended to return to the dishes, but he kept an optic on Quicken, not that the mech looked back or at anyone else as he left. The door chimed as he disappeared past it. Blurr shook himself and went back to work.
Maybe he's just paranoid. Creepy, after all, was pretty standard here in this post-war Cybertron. War had changed a lot of mechs in a lot of ways, not all of them for the better.
His last couple of customers trickled out ten minutes later, and Blurr made the executive decision to go ahead and close up. Especially when he peered out into the empty, quiet streets. It wasn't exactly teeming with potential customers out there.
Blurr performed the closing duties quickly, a job made easier by the fact he'd been slow enough he'd maintained New Maccadam's over the course of the evening. He balanced the till, put the clean dishes away, and swept the floor before dimming the lights and setting the alarms.
At least he didn't have far to go. Through the newly installed playroom and up the back stairs to the apartment above, newly renovated for his family, growing as it was. He suspected Prowl had a hand in bumping Blurr up the renovation queue, maybe as a form of indirect apology to Ricochet for the spurious imprisonment.
He keyed himself into their apartment, fighting back a yawn. He shouldn't be so exhausted, it had been a slow day, but his new carry seemed to be more of a draw on his frame than he would have expected.
There was a mess in the living room, toys strewn across the couch and floor. Steam puffed out of the washrack, and when Blurr peered in there, towels had been left in a clump near the drain.
He sighed.
Ricochet's voice floated out from Echo's room, so Blurr peeked inside, smiling when he found them curled up on Echo's berth. Ricochet had a datapad in one hand, and their sparkling tucked under his other arm as he read one of Echo's favorite stories aloud.
Echo was enraptured, laughing as his sire echoed the character's voices, and gasping when something amazing happened.
For a moment, Blurr didn't do anything but watch, warmth in his spark and a smile on his lips. If someone had told him, eons ago when all he lived for was the thrill of a race and the next big thing, that this was his future, he would have laughed. Now, he couldn't imagine what he'd do without them.
"The end," said Ricochet as he kissed the top of Echo's head. "That's it, bit. Time for recharge."
"Read it again," Echo pleaded as he climbed into Ricochet's lap and grabbed Ricochet's cheeks with his hands. "Please, please, please."
Ricochet laughed and set the datapad aside. He lifted Echo up and turned, playfully tumbling him back into the berth. "No dice, bitlet. Mama will come in and yell if I don't get you tucked into bed properly."
"Nooooo." Echo giggled as Ricochet tucked him beneath the covers, a big smile on his face.
"Yes." Ricochet pinned him down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "You have school tomorrow. You know the rules."
"Aw."
Blurr pushed off the door and stepped into the room, making sure not to notice the mess of toys and datapads and paraphenalia strewn about the floor. He'd learned to pick his battles.
"I don't yell," Blurr said as he stepped over a damp towel. "I resent that remark."
Both Ricochet and Echo look up as he entered, though only the former showed any real happiness. Echo immediately dipped into a pout and rolled over on his side, tugging up the blanket around himself.
"You have a very loud glare," Ricochet said as he curved a hand around Blurr's waist and pulled him in for a nuzzle.
"I do not." Blurr squirmed free and sat on the edge of the berth, tucking the blanket tighter around his bitlet. "Good night, Echo." He bent to kiss Echo on the cheek, but Echo whined and burrowed under the cover, avoiding the affection.
Blurr swallowed a sigh. He patted his sparkling's blanket-wrapped frame and stood up. "I'm going to wash up," he said, and made his escape before Ricochet could reel him in, or before he could hear Echo respond to Ricochet when he'd done his best to ignore Blurr.
It would be a lie to say it didn't hurt. Blurr understood, of course he did. Echo was a child, and behaved like a child. He felt betrayed by Blurr, and the attention both of his parents paid to the oncoming Rebound.
Blurr was supposed to be the mature adult here. That wasn't much of a comfort.
He rubbed the base of his spinal strut and slipped into the washracks, picking up the dirtied cloths and tossing them in the laundry bin as he did so.
Don't you miss racing?
Quicken's words echoed at the back of his mind. It was a stupid question, honestly. Of course Blurr missed racing. It was in his spark. He missed the speed and the challenge and yeah, the adulation and the praise. He missed the life of wealth and glory. He missed a lot of things he didn't have anymore.
Wouldn't have again.
Blurr enjoyed his current life. He loved the bar, he loved Ricochet, he loved Echo. He wouldn't give up any of it for anything.
But if given the opportunity to have all of it, and race again? That would be the ultimate dream. A distant one, he reasoned. Entertainment was low on the list of rebuilding priorities. He doubted there was much interest in revitalizing their sports.
It was a shame.
Blurr sighed as he stepped under the hot solvent, bracing his hands on the wall to let it pour over his armor and to his substructure, washing away his stress as much as the dirt and grime. His back ached; his hips ached. He'd forgotten how much he hated the changes carrying made to his frame.
The moist heat helped. Some. More helpful would be a pair of strong hands to massage the kinks from his cables.
The washrack door slid open. Well. Speak of the Decepticon.
"You got started without me," Ricochet said, his voice echoing in the small space. He pressed up against Blurr's back, brushing a kiss against the side of his intake. "Mmm. Still got here in time though."
"Echo asleep?"
"He's in bed. He'll get there eventually." Ricochet's hands skimmed over his side and around to his front, cupping the small rise of his belly. "How's bit?"
"Fine as fine can be." Blurr reached for the sponge to scrub himself down, but Ricochet beat him to it.
Smart mech.
Blurr let himself be pampered, shuttering his optics as the warm solvent coursed over his frame, and Ricochet's hands followed the rivulets.
"How's Jazz?"
Ricochet chuffed a vent. "Twitchy. Bored. He never shoulda quit that job with Prowl. Even if the mech is an aft." He crouched to scrub Blurr's legs, paying attention to the sensitive juncture of his knees, and Blurr fought back a shiver. "Doesn't help that Bluestreak's neck deep in an assignment. I wanna knock some sense into both of 'em."
"You're such a good big brother."
Ricochet stood up and grasped Blurr's hips, nipping at his audial. "I'm the best big brother," he murmured, and rocked against Blurr's aft, heat radiating from his frame. "And Echo will be, too. Once he stops being a brat."
"He gets that from you."
Ricochet laughed and bit Blurr's neck cable, making his knees wobble. "There's only one drama queen in this relationship, Zippy, and it sure as slag ain't me."
"Really?" Blurr scoffed. "Who's the mech that throws a hissy fit anytime someone looks at me sideways?"
"I don't care about looking. It's the touching I got a problem with."
"It's the everything," Blurr corrected, and flicked the switch from solvent to rinse, before his armor started to get streaks. Sunstreaker wasn't around to make him pretty right now.
Ricochet chuckled and pressed harder against Blurr, one hand sliding around to cup Blurr's rapidly heating groin. "You're a gorgeous piece of aft. So what if I'm a little possessive? Mechs around here tend to be greedy." He rapped his fingers over Blurr's panel. "Come on. Open up."
Blurr obeyed, his spike emerging right into Ricochet's waiting grip. His knees wobbled, a groan echoing in the washrack, as Ricochet stroked him perfectly.
"You don't trust me?" Blurr asked as his fingers curled against the wall, his hips rocking into the tunnel of Ricochet's fist.
"I don't trust them." Ricochet rocked against his aft, the same rhythm as the slow, squeezing strokes to Blurr's spike.
"You keep throwing mechs out the way you do, not only am I going to lose business, but someone's going to take exception to it," Blurr grumbled, though it was hard to hold on to a gripe when Ricochet was thumbing the head of his spike and making his sensornet sizzle with arousal.
"I'd like to see them try." Ricochet's denta scraped the back of his neck, and Blurr shivered.
A moan escaped him before he could stop it, his spike throbbing, and his valve leaking lubricant against his closed panel. He pushed back against Ricochet again, unsure if he wanted to spill like this or with a spike inside of him. Being sparked confused his coding to no end.
"You're too... arrogant," Blurr panted as he reached over and slammed the button on the wall, cutting off the rinse and the rack. A recycling system had been put into place, but that didn't mean they could be so casually wasteful. "Take me to a berth."
Ricochet chuckled and gave his spike one last squeeze before he withdrew to retrieve a towel. "I'm confident. There's a difference." He spun Blurr around for a searing kiss before he started to swipe the cloth over Blurr's frame while Blurr struggled to keep standing on weak knees.
His spike throbbed.
"Do you think there's anyone who could actually pose a threat?" Ricochet asked.
Blurr twisted his jaw. "I think it would be stupid to assume they can't be." He swallowed thickly, thoughts firing on half-cylinders as most of his focus pooled in his groin. "Like Quicken. He can't stand you."
Ricochet snorted. "That Neutral fanboy? I'm not worried about him at all. If anyone, Cork's a bigger threat."
He tossed the damp towel aside and pulled Blurr in for another kiss, hungrier than the last, the arousal in his field finally falling over Blurr with hot intent.
"I'm not worried about some mech who ran away from the war and didn't have the bearings to pick a side," Ricochet said with a laugh before he picked Blurr up with stupid ease.
Sometimes, it paid to be as light as he was, even with the added mass of Rebound within him.
"Besides, I've killed one mech for you already. Don't think I won't kill another," Ricochet said.
Blurr swallowed thickly. A part of him felt he should be appalled by the murder in Ricochet's tone, but he wasn't. If anything, it made him shiver and grab Ricochet's head to kiss him, his glossa plunging into Ricochet's mouth, his sensornet aflame with need.
Thank Primus the berth was just outside the rack, and Ricochet only had to take a few steps to tilt them onto it. He pressed against Blurr's back, raining biting kisses over his neck and clavicular strut, pressurized spike nudging against the back of Blurr's thighs.
"Killing is... frowned upon," Blurr panted as a firm hand closed around his spike, stroking him again, and he writhed in Ricochet's arms, one hand twisted in the berthsheets, the other closed around Ricochet's wrist to keep him in place.
Ricochet hummed and rocked his hips, thrusting between Blurr's legs, gliding over the damp pleats of his valve. "Only if you get caught," he murmured against Blurr's audial and thrust again, teasing Blurr with the idea of penetration.
Blurr threw his leg backward, over Ricochet's, opening himself up. He canted his hips back, caught Ricochet's spike on the next rock, and groaned as he slid inside, the head of it catching the perfect angle to rake the bundle of sensors behind the rim of Blurr's valve. His spike throbbed, dribbling pre-fluid over Ricochet's fingers.
"Frag me, damn it!" Blurr hissed, trying to arch his hips backward, push Ricochet deeper.
"With pleasure," Ricochet purred and he rocked his hips, sliding deep as he stroked Blurr with a squeezing pull, lighting his circuits aflame.
Blurr moaned, frame drawn taut, charge licking across his cables. Ecstasy surged through his lines in an electric wave, his spike throbbing, and his valve clutching hungrily at Ricochet's spike. He pressed back, into the cradle of Ricochet’s frame, affection and need crashing over him, Ricochet’s mouth hot and wet on the back of his neck.
Between one thrust and the next, Blurr overloaded, the ecstasy flooding through him warm and tingling and on the end of a quiet moan. Ricochet worked him through it, stroking him gentle, thrusting deep and smooth, and the care he took never failed to make Blurr’s spark quiver.
Blurr sank into Ricochet’s embrace, the pleasure settling around him like an oil bath, as Ricochet continued to touch and tease, rocking into him at such an even pace that when he overloaded, Blurr did as well, less intense, but more extended, until it seemed to take every last bit of tension in him and utterly erase it, leaving him spent and sated, a wreck in the berth.
“Mmm, that’s much better,” Ricochet murmured as he nuzzled into the back of Blurr’s neck, his fingers gliding over Blurr’s plating.
Blurr hummed. “It’ll do.”
“You remain ever difficult to please, my racer,” Ricochet teased. “Good thing I love you for it.”
“Yeah. Guess I love you, too,” Blurr murmured, already feeling the sweet, sweet pull of recharge, trusting Ricochet to do the clean up.
He always did.
The apartment was dark when Bluestreak dragged himself home, but he knew better than to assume it was empty. Jazz had an odd habit of lurking in the dark, whether he was home or not, as if he existed better in shadow than light.
Bluestreak found it charming. It was part and parcel to dating a spy.
Jazz didn't so much as live with him as he didn't live anywhere else, so by default, the address to reach him was Bluestreak's apartment. Bluestreak knew he kept several boltholes scattered around Cybertron, and occasionally crashed at those when the mood struck him, but Bluestreak's apartment he'd made a base of operations.
To say that Jazz had commitment issues was putting it lightly.
Fortunately, Bluestreak knew all this coming into the relationship. When it came to their contract, to the trust Jazz placed in Bluestreak's hands, Jazz's commitment was absolute. Outside of that, well, it was shaky.
Bluestreak paused in the doorway, stretching out his sensors, and a quiet pingback echoed from the berthroom. Apartment not empty then. Good to know.
Best not to startle Jazz, who was probably not recharging, but lying alert in the berth, waiting to confirm it was Bluestreak who had entered and not an intruder. The war was years in the past, but lessons learned upon centuries of conflict did not easily slip into the night.
Bluestreak didn't bother with energon or cleaning up. He'd take care of both in the morning. Right now, he wanted to recharge, preferably with a nimble spy wrapped around him.
He slipped into the berthroom and sure enough, biolights dimly glowed at him, and a thin sliver of light reflected from Jazz's visor.
"Hey, babe," Jazz said, and the lights in the room popped on at twenty-five percent, highlighting the shadows and the spy in the berth. "You're home late."
"Secret societies seem to think that there's something unnatural about meeting at a normal time," Bluestreak grumbled and climbed onto the berth, over Jazz, who immediately curled in toward him. "As you well know."
Jazz snorted and slid his hands up Bluestreak's arms. "Any luck trackin' down the anti-Cons?"
"That's such a stupid name," Bluestreak muttered, but he nuzzled Jazz and in-vented, some of the tension easing from his cables. A familiar odor caught his receptors. "Mm. You went to see Ricochet, didn't you?"
"Guilty."
Bluestreak hummed a laugh and kissed Jazz, unsurprised to taste a bit of unfamiliar on his lover's lips. He supposed he had been neglecting Jazz as of late. It was hardly a surprise he'd gone to his twin for comfort.
"You taste like him," Bluestreak murmured.
"I'm a little amused that you can tell by a taste." Jazz laughed and nipped Bluestreak's bottom lip. "Uncle Jazz was on duty today. I had to pick up Echo from school."
Bluestreak shifted a little, tucking Jazz into the crook of his frame, and waited for Jazz to squirm away, but when the spy snuggled closer, Bluestreak grinned. "He still in a phase?"
"It is an utter betrayal of Blurr to get sparked again," Jazz declared, and broke into a quiet snicker, tucking his face into Bluestreak's throat and nipping a cable. "Bitlet's adorable. I don't envy Blurr or Ricochet when he gets older."
"Whatever menace Echo becomes, I'm sure Ricochet deserves it," Bluestreak said.
Jazz laughed against Bluestreak's intake. "You're probably right." His fingers tickled along Bluestreak's seams, not enough to titillate, but it felt good regardless. "Tell me about the anti-Cons. I need the good gossip."
Bluestreak snorted. "There's nothing to tell. There's a lot of chatter on the intra-net, graffiti popping up here and there, and a lot of grumbling, but the one tip I had for a meeting turned out to be false, and I spent the whole night scouring the abandoned shopping complex just to be sure."
He frowned, annoyed to his very core, and if the tipster hadn't been anonymous, Bluestreak would have had a few choice words to give to the mech. He now suspected said tipster hadn't been a friendly civilian, but someone determined to throw Bluestreak off the scent, despite the fact no one was supposed to know Bluestreak had been given this assignment. Officially, he didn't work for Prowl.
"Want some help?" Jazz asked.
Bluestreak tucked his chin on top of Jazz's head. "I might. If I don't make any progress and you're not too busy." Which, he knew, Jazz wasn't. A life of leisure and inactivity didn't suit Jazz, but he was too stubborn to go to Prowl and offer his services again. He'd rather pretend he was happy just being a bartender.
"I'll try and make time in my very busy schedule." Jazz's field wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and the lights cut out, bathing the room in the soft glow of the emergency runners. He'd even doused his biolights, as all spies could do. "Got a nephew to look after, you know, and he's pretty time-consuming."
Bluestreak grinned and stroked Jazz's backstrut, tracing the little divots in his armor, the multiple places where Jazz was more flexible than most. "Speaking of... are you sure you don't want a bitlet of your own?"
Jazz's engine thrummed a steady rhythm. "Absolutely. Being an uncle is fun, but at the end of the day, I wanna give Echo back. Taking care of one full-time is just not my idea of a good time." He paused, his vocals shifting in timbre. "You?"
"We're on the same page. I've never wanted sparklings, and as adorable as Echo is, I'm not keen on having one for myself either." Bluestreak nuzzled the top of Jazz's head, playfully nipping a sensory horn -- which had a few nibble marks in it already, no doubt courtesy of Ricochet. "You're about all the handful I can handle."
"Fair enough." Jazz laughed, and the minute tension in his frame vanished. He wiggled pointedly. "You could take a handful of me right now, if you want."
"Or in the morning. When I'll have enough energy to remind you that you belong in my berth just as much as you belong in your brother's," Bluestreak said with a gentle pat to Jazz's aft.
"Getting rusty in your old age, Blue."
"Hush. Recharge now."
Jazz snickered but obeyed, his limbs winding around Bluestreak like clinging vines as if in an attempt to keep him aberth. It was to be one of those nights, then, where Jazz wouldn't let go short of an emergency, which was a far cry from the nights Jazz preferred to sleep on the edge of the berth without an inch of their armor touching.
Jazz was complicated.
Fortunately, Bluestreak liked complicated.
