[TF] Consortium 7/10

[dracoqueen22]

Consortium
Chapter Seven

“You look tired,” Ultra Magnus murmurs as they sit in the sun room, watching the simulated sun rise over the red-banded arch of simulated mountains.

It had been a brilliant idea, to turn the largest window in the sun room into a holographic display, but there’s a sense of uncanny valley to it. Optimus knows it’s not real, so the view doesn’t settle his spark as much as a real view might.

“It’s difficult,” Optimus admits, only to Ultra Magnus, here in the relative privacy of the early morning. As far as he knows, they are the only ones awake.

“Which part?”

Optimus sighs and rubs along his central seam. “Four spark merges in close succession,” he says. “I know the Matrix is built to support these bonds, but it still takes a toll on my spark.”

“I imagine it does.” Ultra Magnus frowns and leans in, pressing his shoulder to Optimus’, his field warm with comfort. “And worse, we do not have the luxury of time to space them out.”

“Yes.” Optimus swallows another sigh and shutters his optics, absorbing the peace Ultra Magnus offers. “Skyfire has already agreed to seal our bond tonight. That leaves four others to approach.”

Ultra Magnus hums contemplatively. “I would suggest Soundwave or Sunstreaker then. It will hopefully give Starscream and Jazz time to approach you on their own terms.”

“I agree.”

Optimus sips his mid-grade, and puts aside thoughts of his Consorts and their eventual bonding. He allows himself an hour of quiet companionship, a break in the political flood through which he’s been wading. The toll is not only physical.

If this is a small taste of what awaits him when he returns to Iacon and begins to fill his role as Prime, Optimus does not look forward to his future.

Often he wonders what Primus’ plan is to have chosen someone like Orion Pax at all.

The peace cannot last forever. Eventually, Optimus rouses and parts ways with Ultra Magnus, to their respective, self-appointed duties. Optimus has his morning training session with Ironhide, remarkably normal given their activities the night before.

“Y’know as soon as we get back to Iacon, Chromia’s gonna want to train ya, too,” Ironhide says in the aftermath of their daily routines as they share a bottle of coolant between them, and Optimus stretches to ease the ache in his cables.

“She will not consider your training sufficient?” Optimus asks.

Ironhide snorts. “How many times do ya think I’ve beaten her in a fair fight?”

“I suspect the answer is close to zero.”

“And you’d be right.” Ironhide tips the bottle back, taking a healthy swig, before passing it to Optimus. “She’s merciless, too. Just fair warning.”

“I appreciate it.” Optimus takes his own share and returns the bottle to Ironhide so he can finish it. “I only have myself to blame. I wanted the best.”

“You want to stay alive. She’s the best way to do it.” Ironhide grins, beaming with pride over the femme he loves.

Optimus hopes he can find a relationship like theirs some day. Maybe it will be with one of the Consorts. Maybe it will be with someone else. He doesn’t know. But he’d like to imagine he might have a chance in the future.

“I will not discount the invaluable skills you have taught me either.” Optimus straightens, ignoring the creak and crackle of cables and struts stretched to their limits. “Between the both of you, I will be the most trained Prime Cybertron has ever seen.”

“Good. Means you’ll live long enough to enact some of that change you keep talking about,” Ironhide says. He crushes the empty coolant can with a single fist.

The sight of it runs a little shiver down Optimus’ spinal strut. Ironhide is easily one of his strongest Consorts, and Optimus can’t help but find that more than a little appealing. His attraction to Ironhide is not feigned in the slightest.

“That is my hope,” Optimus says. His face flushes so he turns away, only to see Sunstreaker approaching with determination writ across his pretty features.

“Uh oh, here comes trouble,” Ironhide murmurs behind Optimus. “I think he’s got optics on you.”

“So it would appear,” Optimus replies as he tilts his chin and greets Sunstreaker with a smile. “I think you are a little late for the lesson, Sunstreaker, but I am sure Ironhide is willing to linger for more.”

Sunstreaker scowls. “I don’t need training,” he says. “But your paint looks terrible. Did you purposefully frag up the beautiful job I did on it?”

Optimus blinks and glances down at himself. Yes, he’s a little scuffed, and yes, there’s a long mark along his right arm, but that’s the usual wear and tear. There’s nothing outrageous about the state of his paint.

To be fair, Sunstreaker by contrast is gleaming perfection.

Come to think of it, Optimus distinctly recalls seeing a general increase in the appearance of his Consorts. Most of them look freshly painted and detailed, with only the occasional scuff, which never lingers for long. This has to be Sunstreaker’s doing, as no one else has come across as vain enough to consider their paint a priority.

Well, perhaps Starscream and Hot Rod to certain degrees. They cannot match Sunstreaker’s dedication, however.

Is it a kind gesture or does Sunstreaker simply have such high standards, he can’t abide for the mechs around him to be in what he would deem a shoddy state? Or is it an expression of nervous energy? Optimus doesn’t know Sunstreaker well enough to guess.

“I apologize,” Optimus says. “I do not have your talent for maintaining my polish. I did not intend to malign your gift.”

Sunstreaker rolls his optics and locks his fingers around Optimus’ wrist, tugging him forward with an unexpected strength. “Come on. I’m going to fix it.”

Optimus stumbles along in his wake before he gets his feet under him. “I would have come if you had only asked,” he says, waving farewell over his shoulder to a snickering Ironhide.

“This is me asking,” Sunstreaker says as he tows Optimus into the manor and toward his personal quarters, though his pace slows to allow Optimus to walk beside him. Only then does he release his hold on Optimus’ wrist. “I see you’ve already been with Ratchet and Ironhide and... others.”

He can’t read Sunstreaker’s tone, whether it’s judgmental or jealous or something else entirely. Sunstreaker’s field is odd to him as well. It doesn’t flow quite like the others. Perhaps it has something to do with his being a twin.

“I’m required to bond with every Consort before we return to Iacon,” Optimus points out.

“And what if we don’t?” Sunstreaker asks.

Optimus pauses mid-step, and Sunstreaker stops with him, looking up with his jaw set. “What do you mean?”

Sunstreaker folds his arms, setting his stance. “I know what they’re holding over my head, the ones holding my leash anyway. I wanna know what the Senate does if any of us put our feet down and refuse.”

It surprises Optimus that Sunstreaker is the first to ask.

“I will likely have no consequences,” Optimus says after a moment. “I am Prime, and there is no such thing as refusal for me, but if one of my Consorts were to refuse, it would be considered a failure. I may lose credibility on the political stage. My Consorts however…”

“What would they do to us?” Sunstreaker demands.

Optimus scrubs his forehead, venting quietly. “I imagine it is an unpleasant fate. It would be considered akin to treason.” He cycles another ventilation. “And if we do not willingly complete the amica bond, it will be done by force.”

Sunstreaker’s optics widen, his field spiking with alarm. He stumbles, his back hitting the wall. “Force?” He visibly pales.

“It has not been needed before, but I have no doubt they wouldn’t hesitate. We are bonded by rule of law, after all. It is too late,” Optimus says quietly.

“It’s always too late,” Sunstreaker mutters, and his voice is bitter, sharp. “It was too late before the bonding ceremony.” He looks up at Optimus, mouth twisted in a sour grin. “There’s really not much difference between the Senate and a crimelord, is there?”

“Not when it comes to this, no,” Optimus says. His spark aches for Sunstreaker, but they are both trapped by these circumstances. “I promise you, Sunstreaker. I will do anything in my power to free you of your other chains.”

Sunstreaker lifts his chin. “So that you’re the only one holding the yoke?”

“So that when I break the ones compelling us, you will be fully free,” Optimus corrects. “Will you tell me what it is that binds you?”

Indecision wars in Sunstreaker’s face. He abruptly spins on a heel and starts walking again. “Not here,” he says.

"Lead the way."

Sunstreaker takes him not to his own hab-suite, but to Optimus'. He doesn't question it, only keys in the code to allow them entrance. Sunstreaker chooses to sit in the small sitting area, rather than on the berth, and Optimus joins him, seated across to allow the golden mech his space.

"You need say nothing if you do not wish it," Optimus says, but Sunstreaker gives his head a sharp shake.

"I'm telling you because they told me not to," Sunstreaker says, and his jaw is firm, his optics hard and determined. "I'm putting my brother's life in your hands. Understand me?"

"Yes, I do."

"Good." Sunstreaker leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "I'm not going to give you a name, just the circumstances. You'll have to figure out the rest yourself."

Optimus cycles a careful ventilation. "Sunstreaker," he says, gently. "You are stalling. You do not have to--"

"Desperation makes mechs do dangerous things." Sunstreaker cuts him off, speaking to the floor over his clasped, trembling fingers. “Mechs like me and Sideswipe, we don’t have a lot of options, but we were stupid and desperate. We didn’t realize what we were getting into until it was too late. Until they owned us.”

They.

Optimus works his jaw before he finds the words. “There is a slavery ring in the bowels of Tarn.”

“Not just Tarn, but yeah.” Sunstreaker’s fisted hands creak. “We kill ourselves to entertain the rich, and think we’re better for it.” He looks up at Optimus, optics dark and haunted. “Me and Sideswipe were good. We survived. Until we lost, and then, we had a debt.”

“And it so happened there was to be a new Prime, and he would need new Consorts,” Optimus murmurs.

Sunstreaker’s grin is too crooked to be arrogant. “I’m beautiful. The pits told me that often enough. And they wanted a spy. I could’ve said no, but when they hold a knife to your twin’s spark, no isn’t an option.”

It is a unique cruelty to use one’s unconditional love for another as a means to cause harm. Optimus has no doubt that if it had been Sunstreaker’s own spark on the line, he would have never allowed the current circumstances. But for Sideswipe, his twin, likely the only mech he could truly trust…

Anger flushes through Optimus, sharp and vivid. “It is a monstrous thing they have done,” he says, vocals tight, armor drawn taut to his frame. “But then, the Senate is little better, putting mechs here who would have refused if given the option.”

Sunstreaker shrugs. “Cybertron’s rotten. Has been for a while. All of us at the bottom know it. No one else cares.”

Optimus leans forward, resting his hand over the tight knitting of Sunstreaker’s fingers. “I care.”

Bright blue optics look at him. “Maybe you do,” he sighs, shoulders sagging, fingers untangling to grab Optimus’ hand firmly. “I suppose it’s not going to be the worst thing in the world to be bonded to you. I mean, I’ve been bonded to Sideswipe my whole life.”

He snorts, clearly a reference to a private joke between them. The fond affection in his field rises sharply with a deep and urgent longing, likely for his twin.

“Were our circumstances different--”

Sunstreaker squeezes his hand, cuts him off. “Look Prime, I don’t deal in ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’. I deal with what’s in front of me, and we both know neither of us have a choice in this. Stop trying to reassure me so we can handle the reality of it, alright?”

Optimus cycles his optics. “You wish to complete the bond now?”

“Why not? You got something better to do?” Sunstreaker demands, and there it is, his shoulders squared, bravado pulled over him like a mantle.

Optimus lifts a hand, telegraphs the motion, and when Sunstreaker doesn't flinch away, gently touches the mech's cheek. "I wish matters could be different," he murmurs. "You deserve better than these circumstances."

"You don't know what I deserve," Sunstreaker says, but his voice softens. "Thanks for saying it anyway."

"I know that a mech deserves to be free," Optimus counters, but doesn't push the point. "If you feel you are ready, we can complete the bond now." He and Skyfire had not set a time, after all, so there's no harm in waiting until tonight.

Sunstreaker snorts. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." He leans back, Optimus' hand slipping from his face. "Just so you know, my spark is different. Comes from being a twin. I've been reassured the bond will still take." His mouth twists with anger.

"Reassured?" Optimus asks.

"It's how I tried to get disqualified," Sunstreaker says, scowling. "I said I was a twin, split-spark, no way I could support a bond with anyone but Sideswipe. So our owner went and got some spark specialist to prove me wrong."

Optimus frowns. "A reputable one?"

Sunstreaker shrugs. "He called himself Kaput. I looked him up later. He's licensed and everything."

"I do not know him, but perhaps Ratchet does," Optimus says. He gently squeezes Sunstreaker's hand. "If you'd like to wait--"

"No, I want to get it over with. No point in delaying the inevitable." Sunstreaker stands and sits next to Optimus, the heat of him tangibly inviting. "You should consider yourself lucky. I don't share my spark with anyone but Sideswipe."

Optimus nods. "I will treat that gift with the reverence it deserves. Thank you, Sunstreaker."

"Don't hurt me, and we'll call it even."

~

Optimus wakes to an inconsistent beeping, and the low mutter of vile curses better suited for the muck and mire of Dead End. He tries to power up his optics, but there’s a throb behind them, and in his temple. Fatigue drags along his cables, and his struts, and his spark feels too large for his chassis.

He doesn’t remember falling into recharge. It must have been after he completed the bond with Sunstreaker, because he remembers that much. Had it knocked him offline? How embarrassing.

Optimus groans and reboots his sensory suite, forcing his optics online, only to shield them from the too-bright light.

“Be still,” says Ratchet’s voice, grouchy and commanding. “You might have the Matrix and be an almighty Prime, but that doesn’t mean you can do five spark merges in such a short span without consequences.”

“It has been done before,” Optimus says.

“Yeah, and I’d have told the previous Primes the same thing I’m telling you,” Ratchet says with a snort. “Take a nap until dinner. You need it.”

Movement in his bleary peripheral gradually clarifies into the familiar, blocky shape of Ratchet, wielding his now-infamous scanner. He’s passing it over Optimus’ frame, lips curved in a thoughtful frown.

“What are you doing here?” Optimus asks.

“Sunstreaker called me. He wanted to make sure you were alright,” Ratchet says as his scanner beeps, and he makes a notation on a datapad. “He’s more familiar with the pull on sparkbonds since he’s a twin. He thought you might be having trouble with all the frequent spark contact.”

Optimus’ spark warms. For all his sharp-tongue and standoffishness, Sunstreaker can be quite kind.

“And how am I?”

“Fit as a fiddle, far as I can tell,” Ratchet says with a slanted grin. “Your fatigue is normal. Just rest as much as you can, and drink more midgrade. Not engex.”

Optimus slings his arm over his optics to block out the overhead lights, dim as they are. “Will I be able to support the rest of the bonds?”

Equipment clatters and rustles as Ratchet starts to stow it. “It’ll strain you at first, but I’m confident your spark is strong enough. I recommend resting between merges.”

“I am supposed to seal the bond with Skyfire tonight,” Optimus murmurs. His frame feels heavy, wanting to sink into the berth, and the layers of bonds around his spark almost have a tangible weight to them.

“And you still can. Just take it easy until then.” Ratchet pats him on the shoulder, his field excluding calm and comfort. “No one will begrudge you some rest, Optimus. Especially if it comes from me.”

Optimus hums, and returns the brush of Ratchet’s field with a warm flicker of his own. “I appreciate it, Ratchet.”

“I just hope this obedience continues in the future,” Ratchet says dryly before he throws the carry strap over his shoulder, hefting the heavy crate with ease. “Go back to recharge. I’ll see you tonight.”

Optimus makes a non-committal noise and rolls back into the cradle the berth had made for him.

~

Ultra Magnus fetches him later that evening, “Per Ratchet’s orders,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I think we’re all going to learn not to disobey him.”

Optimus’ chassis remains heavy, but the rest had done him good. His head no longer aches, and his energy levels have ceased dropping. Tonight’s refueling will help as well, though he will have to reluctantly avoid the engex. He hopes that does not extend to avoiding Hot Rod’s delicious treats.

“I’m pleased he’s comfortable enough to start bossing mechs around,” Optimus says.

“I think that’s his natural state,” Ultra Magnus says, wry. “You’ll be bonding with Skyfire tonight, I hear. That leaves only three more.”

“Only?” Optimus echoes with a snort. “Tell that to my spark. I dread to think what would have happened if the Senate felt more principalities deserved recognition. There’s only so much the Matrix can blunt.”

“Rumor has it Kalis was desperately trying to get their representative nominated. If they had succeeded, you would have eleven.”

Optimus groans at the thought. “Then I am glad they did not. Besides, under what grounds did they insist? Kalis is smaller still than Altihex and they do not have a Nominate.”

“Kalis has the largest population of minis on Cybertron. They feel they are unfairly underrepresented.”

“Minis only comprise ten percent of the population. They’ll never have the majority anywhere,” Optimus says with a sigh. “At least, not without some finagling on our part.”

“I’ve added it to the list.”

Ah, the list. The ever-growing document of things Optimus intends to correct, from the largest inequality to the smallest grievance. Every conversation with his Consorts alone add more injustices to the list.

“What would I do without you?” Optimus asks, looking up at Ultra Magnus with an affectionate smile. Truly, he’d be lost and exceptionally lonely.

Ultra Magnus lifts his chin, pride in his optics. “Let’s hope we never need find out,” he says, and pushes the door open, holding it for Optimus.

He pats Ultra Magnus on the arm and steps into the dining room, only to be intercepted by Sunstreaker who tows him toward his chair and urges him into it. His field is one of swirling concern, and Optimus’ many-times-over banded spark thrums from the warmth of it.

“I am quite alright, Sunstreaker, though I appreciate your concern,” Optimus protests as he sits and finds himself in front of a tray of the choicest treats and two glasses of rich, viridian midgrade.

Treats, he realizes with much relief, are not off the menu.

“I know you’re fine,” Sunstreaker says, but he picks up Optimus’ hand and puts a glass of the midgrade into it. “Refuel.”

Optimus drinks, despite realizing much too late that it’s not, in fact, midgrade, but highly supplemented medical grade disguised to look like midgrade. The taste is foul, chalky on his glossa, but Sunstreaker’s staring at him, and Optimus is loath to refuse his kindness and concern.

He drinks. He swallows. He manages a thin smile.

“Thank you,” he says as the chalkiness lingers and coats the inside of his mouth. “Not only for this, but for sending Ratchet as well. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Sunstreaker snorts. “You didn’t.” He plucks the empty from Optimus’ hand and replaces it with another full one. “Drink this, too.”

Optimus’ tank gurgles hungrily, but his taste receptors quail. “In a moment,” he says, and reaches for the treats. “Perhaps one or two of these first.”

It is nudged out of his reach, not by Sunstreaker, but by Ironhide suddenly perched on his other side, two orbital ridges raised in challenge. Hot Rod will be devastated if either of them decide to stay and take his usual seat.

“Can’t have ya collapsin’ during our training tomorrow,” Ironhide says, and tips his head toward the medical grade in Optimus’ hand. “Energon first.”

Optimus swallows a sigh.

He appreciates their concern, though he does wonder if this is a trend that will continue. Can he expect to be nannied in the future or are they testing his reaction now?

Hard to say.

Optimus drinks the second glass under their watchful optics, and only then does Ironhide nudge the treats back into reach.

"Good job," he says, clapping Optimus on the shoulder. "Now you won't have any excuses for tomorrow." He winks and saunters away.

Hot Rod slides into the seat Ironhide vacated, looking grumpy. "This is my seat," he says, though Optimus isn’t sure if it’s directed at everyone in general, or more toward Ironhide’s departing back.

"Relax, kid. He's still all yours," Sunstreaker says as he plops down on Hot Rod's other side.

Optimus is amused despite himself. "I am for anyone who genuinely wants me."

"Right now, that's definitely me," Hot Rod says, leaning in toward Optimus with a huge smile. He pats Optimus’ arm. "But I can wait until you're feeling better."

"I appreciate your patience," Optimus says.

Hot Rod beams.

It's a quieter evening. No concerts, no games, nothing to cause too much excitement. There's soft conversation, trays full of treats, and a general air of companionship. It's a far cry from how things had started a couple weeks ago. Even Jazz has seemed to regain some of his prior zest as he openly chats with Ratchet and Prowl, a smile on his face, and gentle teasing in his tone.

Fatigue, however, leaves Optimus not as energetic as he'd like. He opts to bow out of the evening early, murmuring farewells to everyone until he pauses by Skyfire and Starscream, their heads bent in quiet conversation.

"I apologize for interrupting," Optimus murmurs as he leans in toward them. "But I need to borrow Skyfire if he is amenable."

Starscream looks up at him with a smirk. "Is that right?" he says, one orbital ridge arched. "Well, don't let him tire you out, Prime. I intend to stake my claim tomorrow."

This is the first Optimus has heard of it. Not that he's opposed. It's good news. It means he won't have to chase Starscream down. Trust Starscream to be full of surprises.

Skyfire rises, amusement rippling around him, but Optimus dips his head in a nod toward Starscream and says, “I am yours whenever you want me.”

“Then I expect you’ll let no one else claim you tomorrow,” Starscream purrs, promise shining in his optics. A little thrill races down Optimus’ spinal strut.

“You have my word,” Optimus says. “Until then, however, Skyfire has my attention.”

“Then you’d better not keep him waiting.” Starscream stands, sweeping his glass of fine engex from the table. He moves to join Hot Rod and Sunstreaker, tossing one last flirtatious glance over his shoulder.

“I am not sure you have any idea what you’re in for, Optimus,” Skyfire says as they leave the common room, tossing quiet farewells behind them.

“I am certain I do not either,” Optimus agrees with a half-smile. “Starscream is unpredictable. Which is not necessarily a bad trait, but it does make it difficult to know where I stand.”

Skyfire gives him a crooked smile. “Yes, that’s certainly the Starscream experience.” He rests a hand on Optimus’ shoulder, offering reassurance in the brush of his field. “Don’t worry. You’ve impressed him more than you know.”

“That is a comfort,” Optimus admits. “As is the fact you two are growing stronger in your friendship. If there is one thing these terrible circumstances have brought, your reconciliation is worthwhile.”

“Mm.” Skyfire’s hand slides away and he tucks both behind his back, at the base of his wings. “True. If I had not been forced away from my research and dragged here, it might have been centuries before we ever spoke again, if at all. We’re equally stubborn.”

“I will try not to give the Senate too much credit. After all, their intention was for the opposite to occur.” Optimus frowns, a low-grade anger still burning in his spark. The way the Senate continues to manipulate mechs and their emotions infuriates him.

“Fair point. But I promise you this, if you gain Starscream’s loyalty, you’ll have no one better to stand at your side and argue for change. He’s relentless,” Skyfire says.

“I am sure.” Optimus is more than inclined to agree. Though to be fair, he has quite the talented and varied group of individuals, all who have quietly agreed to turn their hatred and grudges outward, against the institution rather than Optimus himself.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Skyfire says as they arrive at Skyfire’s quarters -- by mutual agreement. After all, he has the largest berth. “I admit, I may need your guidance for this next part. I’ve never bared my spark to anyone.”

“You and Starscream weren’t--?”

“Not amica, no.” Skyfire’s voice softens, aches with a quiet grief. “There’s a certain level of trust involved, and I don’t know if Starscream has ever let himself trust anyone to that degree.”

Optimus sits on the edge of the berth as Skyfire perches next to him, the berth creaking a warning at the additional weight. “And yet, he has no choice but to trust me.”

“Yes.” Skyfire sighs, his vents puffing humid warmth against Optimus’ side. “Which means I’m trusting you to take care of him.” His vocals firm, his field pressing harder, as though in subtle threat. “If he’s hurt…”

Optimus is reminded of Ultra Magnus in this moment. Ultra Magnus who had set everything aside to put himself in a position where he can support Optimus, and care for him, who hadn’t thought twice about his own comfort. There is no romance between them, not in a way others might define it, but there is love.

Just as there is love between Skyfire and Starscream, though again, not romance as someone else might define it.

Skyfire has no bargaining power here. He has no political sway. His threats are empty, unless he’s willing to throw away his own life, his own spark, to see them through.

He and Ultra Magnus are a lot alike.

“I promise,” Optimus says. “It is not my intention to willfully hurt any of you. I may make a mistake, I cannot promise I won’t, but I can promise it will not be with cruel intent.”

“I believe you,” Skyfire says, and then he smiles, the heavy weight of his field abruptly lifting, as if a great mass has gone from Optimus’ shoulders. “But enough of that. Aren’t we supposed to be bonding here?”

Optimus chuckles and takes Skyfire’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate the kindness you’ve offered? It has been a blessing.”

Skyfire’s face colors while his field tingles warmth against Optimus’. “You haven’t, but I’m sure your spark will tell me soon enough. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“It varies with the individual,” Optimus says.

“Is that right?” Skyfire grins, with a hint of mischief so rarely seen in the demure scientist before he scoops Optimus up and effortlessly plants Optimus in his lap. “I suppose an experiment is in order then, isn’t it?”

A low thrum runs through Optimus’ engine before he can stop it. Orion Pax had always held an appreciation for being mechhandled, and that has not changed from his ascension to Optimus Prime. Better, still, that one of his consorts has the capacity to easily lift him.

“I am beginning to see why you and Starscream are friends,” Optimus says with a soft laugh. He performs a system check, telling himself to calm down. They are platonically bonding their sparks here, nothing more.

Unless, of course, Skyfire should offer more…

A large hand rests on Optimus’ back, fingers delicately tracing the line of his spinal strut. A shiver runs across Optimus’ armor, despite his attempts to quell the thrum of interest rising within him.

“I have to keep up with him somehow,” Skyfire murmurs. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

~

Starscream is waiting for him when Optimus emerges from the washracks. He's holding a tray with what amounts to a perfectly balanced morning meal, complete with coolant and medical grade supplements.

"Good morning," he says, brightly. "I trust you rested well?"

Surprisingly, Optimus is not as drained by his merge with Skyfire as he would have expected. Perhaps it has something to do with Skyfire's spark, or the method they went about their bonding. Skyfire, after all, had expressed his interest in pursuing more than just a bond, and Optimus had allowed himself the weakness of that pleasure.

Has that made a difference? Optimus doesn’t know. It's a question for Ratchet, he supposes.

"I did, and I am fully prepared to complete our bond today," Optimus says as he accepts the tray, hoping to convey his gratitude and not his trepidation over the med-grade supplements.

"I'm a scientist," Starscream says as he trails Optimus to the seating area and joins him. "If you think I can't figure out how to make medical grade taste less like slag, then I wouldn't be much of one."

"That is a fair point." Optimus picks up the glass and foregoes the olfactory test, choosing to show his trust in Starscream instead.

Sweet, with a hint of carbonation, and endnotes of something spicy. Optimus is so surprised at how well it tastes, he finds himself draining the glass all at once and staring mournfully at the last few supplement dregs lingering at the bottom.

Starscream grins. "See?"

"Are you sure this is medical grade?" Optimus asks, though the truth of it resonates through his lines. A rush of vigor thrums through him, and Starscream laughs.

"Retrieved from Ratchet and modified myself," Starscream declares before standing. "Come on. If I have to do this, I want to at least put on the airs of doing it right."

Optimus cycles his optics. "What do you mean by that?"

"You'll see." Starscream's wings flick. "Follow me. And bring the tray."

He doesn't wait to see if Optimus obeys. He spins on a heelstrut and strides for the doorway, leaving Optimus a second to decide his own actions.

He gets up. He brings the tray. He follows, and only in passing does he wonder how Starscream gained entry into his habsuite in the first place. A question for later, perhaps. Security around the estate itself is heightened, but within the grounds, it’s marginal at best. It would hardly be a challenge for someone of Starscream’s caliber to find his way around the door locks.

"What is this about?" Optimus asks as they start to climb past the second floor to the third floor.

"You'll see." Starscream flashes a confident grin, his field swirling around him a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

Patience, fortunately, is something Optimus has in abundance. He steals only one of the delicious treats from the tray before they arrive at the largest of the upper floor balconies. Starscream flings the doors wide open, strutting toward the low railing without fear.

Optimus is more reserved, hanging several paces back, still clutching the tray.

"Keep watching, Prime," Starscream says as he climbs onto the railing and puts his back to the horizon, no trace of fear in his optics. "Don't take your optics off me for a second."

Starscream falls back, a smile on his face, arms spread wide, and Optimus' spark climbs up into his intake. Until he hears the distinct sound of a mech transforming and thrusters activating and Starscream's gleaming flight mode shoots through the air.

Optimus takes a few stunned steps closer to the railing. He couldn't move his gaze away from Starscream if he tried.

Speed and grace, talent and skill. Starscream soars through the sky in a complicated pattern of loops and twirls, rising and falling, tracing geometric patterns with his flight path. The false-sun catches his polished armor with calculated glints.

Each aerial stunt is more complicated than the one before, and Optimus is no flyer, but even he can tell that these are not easy maneuvers. The mathematical calculations to pull them off must be astronomical, and Starscream performs them with phenomenal speed.

Starscream’s gorgeous and talented, and Optimus is more than a little grateful the Senate was short-sighted enough to think he could only be a burden, because Starscream will be anything but. All at once, Optimus understands why Starscream is a bit arrogant.

He has every reason to be.

He stares, enraptured, as Starscream climbs toward the heavens, nose-pointed skyward, only to cut his thrusters and hang in mid-air, for a fraction of a second, before he starts to dive as if in a freefall. His thrusters come to life, one, then the other, setting him in a spiraling plummet that steals Optimus’ vents.

He doesn’t realize how close he is to the rail until his thighs bump against it. He’s clutching the tray like a lifeline as Starscream falls and falls and falls, only to catch himself at the last, spark-stopping moment, and surge upward, thrusters roaring.

Starscream flies straight at Optimus, pirouettes in mid-air, and transforms mid-fall, only to land on the railing to Optimus’ left without a single wobble. He grins, wings twitching, and lowers himself into a crouch, reaching over and neatly snagging the single glass of mid-grade from the tray. He holds Optimus gaze, downs it in a few swallows, and crushes the glass with his fingers, the fine particles drifting to the ground.

“You are amazing,” Optimus says, because he is suddenly struck dumb, unable to think of anything more diplomatic and clever.

“Yes, I am,” Starscream says with a smirk. He tilts his head and snags a treat from the tray, idly running his glossa over it as though to sample the flavor. “And what I gave you was a gift.”

“I underst--”

“No, you don’t.” Starscream’s voice turns a little hard, not out of anger, but gravity. “Seekers court one another through flight, and when one wants to ask for the other’s spark in bonding, they perform an engagement dance. We spend decades perfecting the steps, Prime.”

Optimus’ vents still. “Starscream, you did not have to--”

The Seeker slides down from the railing, landing light and graceful on his feet. “I’d always intended to save my dance for someone I actually love, and maybe I can someday, but right now, I’m sharing it with you.”

Optimus turns and sets the tray on the railing, balancing it carefully. He is far less graceful than Starscream. “It is a beautiful dance. I could not look away. It felt as though a part of my spark was flying with you.”

“Good. That’s what it’s supposed to do. Though in a perfect world, you’d have joined me in the flight, to show you reciprocated my interest.” Starscream vents a sigh before his lips curl into a half-smile, and he steps into Optimus’ space. “Don’t look at me with pity. I chose to share it with you because at least that way, someone sees it. And I’m trusting you’re not going to mock it.”

“I would never,” Optimus vows.

Starscream cocks his head and sweeps up Optimus’ hand, his lips brushing over Optimus’ knuckles. “I’m binding my spark to yours. That’s the agreement,” he murmurs. He holds Optimus’ gaze as he feathers the lightest kiss on Optimus’ thumb joint. “But you’re binding your spark to mine, too. And that, Optimus, is where the Senate has made their greatest mistake.”

Optimus cycles a careful ventilation. Starscream’s dance for him had been one of flight and beauty and grace. Optimus only has words.

“Their mistake is my fortune,” he says, and reverses Starscream’s hold on his hand, so that he might also hold Starscream’s gaze while he presses a kiss to the inside of Starscream’s wrist, the lightest touch of his lips. “Thank you for the gift. I shall never forget it for the length of my lifetime.”

“Flatterer,” Starscream breathes, but there’s appreciation in his optics. His ailerons flutter, his field giving a taste of how pleased he is. “Keep that up, and I won’t be held responsible for what comes next.” Implication warms his words, thick and sultry.

“Shall we go inside then?” Optimus asks.

Starscream smirks up at him. “What’s wrong with the balcony?” he asks. There’s challenge in his voice, in the cant of his hips. “Wouldn’t you rather have a pretty view?”

“I have you in front of me. What prettier view do I need?” Optimus asks.

Starscream snorts. “I can see I’m going to have to watch my words with you.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the curve of Optimus’ jaw. “This is the closest we can get to the sky. Our bond should take root in freedom, don’t you think?”

Oh, Optimus is going to have to watch Starscream’s silver-glossa as well.

“Yes,” Optimus says. “In honor of the gift you have given me.”

Starscream beams at him, and Optimus knows it was the right thing to say.

****