[TF] Consortium 8/9

[dracoqueen22]

Consortium
Chapter Eight

If there’s one thing Optimus had not expected, it was that he’d spend the rest of the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon lazying around a berth with Starscream, the Seeker feeding him sips of coolant and energon goodies and chatting away about all of the good they are going to do. It’s a welcome and remarkable change from the waspish creature Optimus had first met.

It also helps him settle back into his spark. It’s an unusual sensation that words cannot properly describe, the feeling of eight different bonds spinning around his spark, pulling him in eight different directions. He can identify some better than others -- Ultra Magnus calm and steadying, Hot Rod an energetic twirl of endless curiosity, Ironhide strong and defiant, Ratchet constantly on the move, drawing closer to the other orbits as though testing their health.

Sunstreaker is harder to find. He hides, often in Prowl’s shadow, while Prowl and Starscream collide and ricochet, at odds even in the quantum space that is the layers of Optimus’ spark. Skyfire is kindness, humming and radiating warmth.

Perhaps it is coincidence that this quiet nurturing helps Optimus find his center once again, filling out the contours of his frame and reminding himself that he is Optimus, not eight other orbiting sparks. Or, knowing Starscream, he must have presumed Optimus would be struggling by now, and sought to be kind.

Optimus is eager to accept the kindness. He feels heavy and raw, and while the medical grade does much to stave off the exhaustion, it can’t help his lack of balance, or the odd sense of being outside himself.

He supposes he’ll eventually get used to the whispers that are his bond with each of his Consorts. For now, he simply doesn’t have the time to adjust to them at a reasonable pace.

No doubt part of the Senate’s plan all along.

Still.

Optimus doesn’t have the time to spend the whole day lazying around, so he escapes from Starscream’s nannying clutches a little past midday and wanders the estate instead. He still has Soundwave and Jazz to speak with, and he doubts Ironhide is pleased Optimus skipped their morning training session.

Fortunately, Ultra Magnus seems to have proven quite the distraction for the gruff soldier.

“You can’t just throw yer weight around and assume that’s going to be enough,” Ironhide says after he tosses Ultra Magnus over his shoulder and the larger mech hits the ground in a loud tumble of limbs.

Optimus winces sympathetically.

“Aren’t you some kind of genius?” Ironhide asks as he stalks over and offers a hand to Ultra Magnus to help him up. “It’s about momentum and balance.”

Ultra Magnus sighs and stands, brushing arena-grit from his armor. “My training neglected hand-to-hand. My instructors seemed to think that as long as I held a blaster, I would be fine. My size, after all, is threatening enough.”

Ironhide snorts. “You can’t assume that.” He pokes Ultra Magnus in the chassis, which makes a dull thunk of metal on metal. “I’ve fought bigger ‘n stronger than you ‘cause I had to. And I’m still standing here. Being big don’t make ya invincible. Get me?”

“I do.” Ultra Magnus dips his head, looking rather contrite, and Optimus hides a smile behind his hand. It is rare to see his dear friend so cowed, especially given that he’s half-again Ironhide’s height, and far broader at the shoulders.

Perhaps Ironhide reminds him of a caretaker or a former instructor.

“Good.” Ironhide scrubs a hand down his face and peers up at Ultra Magnus. “Maybe metallikato ain’t your style. I should drag Prowl out here, get ‘im to teach ya some of that circuit-su slag he loves. It might be more your speed.”

“I think the problem is that I am too much of a tactician,” Ultra Magnus says with a gusty sigh. “I deal with numbers, strategy, armies, not the single individual.”

Ironhide cocks an orbital ridge. “Ya wanna support Optimus like ya say, then ya better get a little more flexible. He’s gonna need it.”

“You’re right.” Ultra Magnus straightens and slides into a defensive stance. “Let’s try it again then.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Optimus quietly takes his leave without either mech noticing, or if they do, commenting on his appearance. Ultra Magnus has always been something of a loner, his friendship with Orion Pax notwithstanding. Optimus is glad to see him befriending some of the other Consorts. It makes him feel less guilty about the sacrifices his dear friend has made.

Inside, Optimus passes Prowl and Sunstreaker in the sunroom, up on the dais where the large windows provide the most external light.

"--want to learn the promenade next," Sunstreaker is saying as he stands behind Prowl, paintbrush in hand, eyeing the sharp lines of Prowl's sensory panels.

"A good idea. The Iaconian promenade is the basis for many other dances. It will give you a good form to build upon," Prowl says, sitting perfectly still, his armor not so much as twitching.

Sunstreaker snorts. "It helps that the waltz is the preferred dance of the nobility, right?"

"There is that," Prowl admits. "I suspect we'll be attending many formal events in the future. Learning the proper dances is a matter of course."

"We can't make our Prime look like a fool," Sunstreaker says. "Well, we could. If we wanted to be snide about it."

Prowl hums a non-committal noise. "Is that what you want to do?"

Sunstreaker sighs. "It'd be easier if he was just a little bit cruel."

"Because then you'd have somewhere to aim your anger?"

Sunstreaker scowls at Prowl's back. "Don't psychoanalyze me."

"It's an honest question."

Sunstreaker chuffs a vent and goes silent for a moment, painting exquisite detail along the leading edge of Prowl's sensory panel before he continues. "Hating him would make all of this easier. I don't know how to..."

"Trust kindness?"

"Yeah."

Prowl doesn't move, but he must have done something with his field, because the tight clamp of Sunstreaker's armor loosens by a degree. "You are not alone in this, Sunstreaker. We are all desperately hoping the mech we've bonded to is not a monster."

Sunstreaker vents quietly. "Thank you."

Optimus quietly steps back and away, feeling guilty for having intruded in the first place. He doesn't know if either of them were aware of him -- Prowl perhaps, if he hadn't dampened his sensors too thoroughly -- but it still feels like a moment he should not have witnessed.

He knows trust will come slowly. He's prepared to wait as long as it takes. They've only known each other for a few weeks at best, and Sunstreaker has had a harder life than most. When his trust does come, Optimus will know it to be fairly won.

He hopes he proves worthy of it.

Optimus slips away. He peers briefly into the library, unsurprised to find Starscream and Skyfire ensconced within, heads bent over a large, historic tome. It is physical as opposed to a data-pad, where the information has been inscribed on thin sheets of duryllium in ancient glyphs. They appear to be working on translating it together.

Fascinating.

Any other time, Optimus would ask to join them, intrigued by what knowledge might be buried in the delicate pages. For now, however, he leaves them be, and continues his search for the last two he needs to bond -- Soundwave and Jazz, the two who have always been the most elusive.

They are not in the kitchens, the dining hall, the laboratory, the atrium, or the conservatory. Neither are they in the medical clinic, though he does find Ratchet who has finally cornered Hot Rod, much to the latter’s dismay.

"My savior has arrived!" Hot Rod says as Optimus walks into the room, giving Optimus a desperate look from his perch on the medberth. "Please tell me you need me for something very important."

"There's nothing more important than a routine maintenance check, kid," Ratchet says, rolling his optics. "Ignore the drama-bot here. All I've done so far is scan him."

"I'm fine!" Hot Rod insists.

Optimus chuckles. "Then let Ratchet prove you're fine," he says. "Ratchet is going to be our medic. As far as I'm concerned, what he says, goes."

"Awww." Hot Rod pouts, and as adorable as it is, Optimus will not relent. "But it's a beautiful day. I'd rather be outside racing Jazz or something."

"The sooner you settle and let me do my job, the sooner you can run free," Ratchet says, waving said scanner pointedly. It gives an indignant beep. "I'm tired of hearing that screech in your gears."

"Doesn't bother me," Hot Rod mutters.

"Have either of you seen Jazz or Soundwave?" Optimus asks, cutting into their playful banter. As much as Hot Rod protests, he hasn't actually tried to get away, which he most certainly could do. He’s faster and much more nimble than Ratchet.

"No, but if you've seen Jazz, let me know," Ratchet says as he sets his scanner aside and starts digging through the cabinets. "I haven't been able to scan that slippery mech the whole time we've been here."

Hot Rod shakes his head. "I haven't seen them, but Jazz likes to be on the roof, and Soundwave goes to the gardens a lot. Maybe try there?"

He should have considered the garden. He’s found both mechs there on occasion. It would be wiser to check the roof first, however.

Optimus thanks Hot Rod, ignoring the adorable mech’s plea for rescue, and leaves him in Ratchet’s tender care. He heads for the roof access, climbing through with several grunts of effort. He carefully picks his way across the roof, peering around the few parapets and arched gables, but Jazz is nowhere to be seen. The ceramic shingles creak ominously beneath his weight.

He scuttles back to the hatch, and when he pauses to climb down, he catches Soundwave and Jazz in his peripheral vision. They're in the crystal gardens, sitting around the fountain, close enough that it is obvious they are talking to each other and not merely sharing space in mutual quiet.

From this distance, Optimus can't hear what they are saying, though he does find their interaction odd. What do they have in common? Did they know each other prior to coming here? Has Jazz opened up to Soundwave in a way he hasn't opened up to anyone else?

Curious.

Optimus climbs back into the mansion, and makes his way to the gardens, hoping to catch either mech before they vanish again. He's not so lucky with Jazz, but Soundwave is still present, perched on the lip of the fountain with Laserbeak on his shoulder. Of Ravage, there is no sign.

"This is a very large estate when you have to find someone," Optimus says. "Hello, Soundwave. Hello, Laserbeak."

"Hi, Optimus!" the avian cassette chirps, bobbing up and down on Soundwave's shoulder as if delighted to see Optimus. "Did you know there are a lot of secret passages, too?"

Optimus smiles at her. "I did not. Have you explored them?"

"No. But Ravage has. And Jazz, too." Laserbeak chuffs a vent, her wings flicking in a sign of irritation. "I don't see why I can't."

Soundwave makes a noise, but Optimus says, "Perhaps because Soundwave would prefer you keep him company."

"He does get lonely without me," she hums.

Soundwave scrapes a hand down his face before he drones, "Laserbeak, return." His dock pops open.

"Awww." Laserbeak pops, but she obeys, safely stowing herself within his chassis without argument.

For her protection or his own, Optimus isn't sure. Perhaps a bit of both.

“I did not realize you and Jazz were friends,” Optimus says once Laserbeak is out of sight and Soundwave seems to relax by an infinitesimal degree.

“Concern shared,” Soundwave says.

Optimus tilts his head. “About me?”

“In part.” Soundwave stares at him for a long moment before he turns his head and looks pointedly at the empty space next to him.

Optimus assumes it to be an invitation and sits next to Soundwave, feeling less like he’s looming and more like they are friends having a conversation. “Any way I can allay those concerns?”

“Time. Patience.”

“Fair enough.” Optimus cycles a ventilation. It’ll do him no good to push. Whatever Soundwave and Jazz had been discussing, it is not for him to know. He’s violated enough privacy today as it is. “If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to come to me with them. I will answer them to the best of my ability.”

Soundwave stares out at the crystal gardens as though tracing every glimmer and shine of the swaying growths. “Noted.”

“We will also be returning to Iacon soon. A little over a week, to be more precise. Do you understand what that means?”

A hint of light streaks across Soundwave’s armor. “Spark bond required,” he rumbles, and that’s when he turns and looks at Optimus, expression inscrutable behind both mask and visor. Maybe one day he will trust Optimus enough to remove one or the other.

“Yes,” Optimus says. “I do not intend to push. I know that it cannot be something to which you are eager to partake, but it must be done.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave says. “Optimus’ condition not suited for immediate bonding.”

Optimus sits back a little, surprised Soundwave has noticed. Optimus is not as visibly fatigued as he was yesterday, with most of the discomfort being internal.

“I assure you--”

“Tomorrow,” Soundwave says and pats Optimus’ knee in the most chaste, awkward gesture of conciliation Optimus has ever witnessed. “Prefer Optimus in peak condition.”

“I… thank you,” Optimus says, and he pats Soundwave on the shoulder, trying to mimic a touch that was somehow both impersonal and reassuring at the same time. “Yes. Tomorrow is fine. In the evening, perhaps, after dinner?”

Soundwave jerks his head in a nod. “Affirmative.” He withdraws his hand, and with a click, Laserbeak emerges from his dock, flying in a wide circle above them before landing on his shoulder. “Your hab.”

“I’m free!” Laserbeak sings as she bobs back and forth on Soundwave’s shoulder. “You know you could have just said you didn’t want to talk anymore instead of making me do it for you. Honestly.” She huffs before turning an expectant gaze on Optimus. “He’s really not good at this part.”

Optimus cycles his optics, a little taken aback, but recovers between one blink and the next. “But it seems you are, Laserbeak. How fortunate, then, that he should have someone he can trust in such a manner.”

Laserbeak preens. “I am pretty trustworthy.”

"I would say so." Optimus flashes her a smile, and Laserbeak beams back at him, her field abuzz with delight. "Have you had much chance to explore while you have been here?"

"No." Laserbeak's shoulders hunch. She gives Soundwave an askance look before saying, hushed as if she's keeping it a secret, "He's overprotective. Which is unfair, if you ask me. Ravage gets to go wherever he wants, but not me."

Amusement tickles at the corner of Optimus' mouth. "In Soundwave's defense, there are a lot of very large mechs here, some of whom are quite... jumpy, perhaps is a good word. I would not want to see you harmed either."

"Isn't it harming me to bore me?" Laserbeak asks, hopping back and forth on Soundwave's shoulder, to which Soundwave makes a noise that only she can interpret because she twitches a wing at him. "Oh, you hush. If you're going to pretend to be a lump on a log, you can't participate in this conversation.'

It's a gift of trust to see them interacting like this. Optimus has little doubt Soundwave would have walked away if he didn't want Optimus to bear witness to their relationship. It's unreasonable to expect Soundwave will trust him in full by the time they return to Iacon, but this small measure of trust proves Optimus is making progress.

Soundwave is more than worth the effort.

"Perhaps Soundwave would be more comfortable if you had an escort," Optimus says, trying to catch Soundwave's gaze and invite him into the conversation. "I would not mind the company, and I would be happy to give you a tour."

Laserbeak chirps a gleeful sound as she swings around to look up at Soundwave. "Oh, can I? If I promise to keep in contact the whole time?"

"Decision yours," Soundwave says, but he looks at Optimus and adds, "Care demanded."

Optimus nods. "Of course. I would let no harm come to her."

Laserbeak hops in place, the tesselated plates of her wings ruffling up and down. "Right now?"

"I can think of nothing I would like more," Optimus says. Tracking down Jazz will simply have to wait until later, or perhaps while showing Laserbeak around, luck will be on his side, and he'll run into Jazz.

"Go," Soundwave says. "Rendezvous later."

Laserbeak cheers and immediately takes flight from Soundwave's shoulder, only to land on Optimus' instead. She is lighter than he expects, though her field is a comforting buzz of warmth against his own.

"We should start in the kitchen," Laserbeak says.

"No treats," Soundwave says, and that warning seems to go for both of them.

"He doesn't have to know," Laserbeak mock-whispers.

Optimus chuckles.

Soundwave ex-vents in a quiet rush, the exasperated hiss of a caretaker with unruly sparklings, but he doesn't demand Laserbeak return, and he gestures them on their way.

~

Laserbeak proves to be a charming companion.

She chatters non-stop as Optimus shows her around the manor -- with a brief pause in the kitchens where they mutually agree not to tell Soundwave about the treats Hot Rod gives them. Judging by the fact no one seems surprised by her presence, Optimus assumes Soundwave has already introduced his cassettes to the others.

Or Laserbeak at least. Ravage doesn't seem quite as social.

She doesn't leave him until it's time for the gathering. As soon as she sees Soundwave, she pecks a kiss on Optimus' cheek in farewell and takes flight, circling Soundwave's head once before landing on his shoulder. She nuzzles him, and Soundwave scratches under her chin.

The affection between them is evident, and Optimus feels a small pang of longing. He is lucky to have Ultra Magnus as a dear friend, and luckier still for the relationships growing between himself and his Consorts. But he admits if only to himself how lonely it is to bear the burden of the Matrix and the office of the Prime.

Perhaps one day he will be that comfortable with another.

Starscream makes it a point to stop by Optimus’ chair, leaning in between Optimus and Ultra Magnus, to say, “How’re you feeling?”

“I am well, thank you,” Optimus says with a smile. “I appreciate your care. I feel as though I have recovered much faster as a result.”

“Of course it is. I know what I’m doing.” Starscream pecks a kiss on Optimus’ cheek, before patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t ruin my hard work now.”

“I will try my best,” Optimus says, but Starscream is already gone, joining Skyfire at the other side of the table. He casts one glance back at Optimus -- a touch smug -- but then Skyfire asks him a question, and Optimus is forgotten.

Starscream is definitely going to be a fun challenge.

At least the atmosphere is light and friendly once more. Though, Optimus notices with a frown, Jazz is not present. Optimus has not seen him since the glimpse he caught earlier today, though now that he is aware of secret passages, it is no small wonder Jazz can move around without being seen.

Jazz can’t have left the estate. Optimus has no concern of that. There are simply too many places for a mech of Jazz’s particular talents to hide. Of greater worry is the fact Jazz seems determined to make himself scarce in the first place. They don’t have long before their return to Iacon, and the bond must be completed.

Nevertheless, Optimus tries to enjoy the evening meal, embracing the lack of tension and stress. Hot Rod is quick to drag out the crate of games again, insisting everyone play with different partners to maximize their bonding experience. Laserbeak is allowed to join the festivities, and without a single trouble, she charms everyone.

Optimus plays a rousing game of Triad with Prowl and Soundwave and Sunstreaker and Laserbeak and isn’t surprised when Laserbeak sweeps the table with them.

It’s calm and peaceful. Optimus finds himself smiling and laughing and relaxing, hoping that this is the future he has to look forward to, in between the fierce battles he’ll face before the Senate.

Optimus bows out early and no one protests, especially when Starscream points out how tired he must be. He makes a stop at Jazz’s quarters, on the off chance he might get lucky, but Jazz does not answer his pings or his knocks.

Optimus sighs a quiet ventilation and returns to his own quarters. He might have to beg Soundwave’s help if Jazz does not show tomorrow. While Optimus would like for his Consorts to come to him in their own time, there is a deadline, and Optimus does not want to be forced into a spark bond. He has a feeling it would be quite unpleasant.

“Lights, fifty percent,” Optimus says as he moves into his habsuite, the exhaustion returning in slow, steady drips. He was right to put off bonding Soundwave until tomorrow, as much as it pains him to admit.

He thinks about indulging in a short dip in the oil bath, but he worries he might slip into recharge during it. Straight to berth it is then.

Optimus turns and cycles his optics. His… occupied berth? Because lo and behold, his missing Consort is stretched out across the broad surface, looking quite comfortable. Jazz has his arms pillowed behind his head, and a light behind his visor flashes in greeting.

It takes every ounce of self-control Optimus possesses not to outwardly startle, though he swears his spark skips a few oscillations.

“We missed you at dinner,” he says, instead of the half-dozen other things he could possibly say.

Jazz grins at him, showing a bit more denta than usual. There’s something dangerous in the grin, something that sends a shiver down Optimus’ spinal strut. He suspects it’s closer to Jazz’s true nature than the easygoing, seductive smiles he usually offers.

“Soundwave’s gonna have to wait his turn,” Jazz says. “Your spark is mine tomorrow.”

Optimus cycles his optics. “I… what? Why?”

Jazz shrugs and lazily crosses one leg over his knee, foot bouncing to an internal rhythm. “It has to happen eventually. Might as well get it over with.”

His tone is light, but there’s a weight behind his words, one Optimus is wary of. He feels like he’s being tested. “Forgive me if that’s not an inspiring seduction.”

“It’s not meant to be.” Jazz’s foot bobs up and down. “This is business isn’t it? I have a job to do. You have a job to do. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“A job,” Optimus echoes, and cycles a ventilation. Jazz’s tone is nothing he’s heard from the mech before, and he wonders why Jazz chose now to show this side of himself. “Could I convince you to enlighten me what you mean by that?”

“Would it make ya feel better to know the sordid reasons behind why I got stuck here?” Jazz sits up with a redolent stretch, a low sigh of satisfaction. “Ya want me to tell you all about how I was on my way out? How I had my whole dream in front of me, but before my resignation could process, I had to do one last job?”

So.

Jazz is a spy then. Optimus doesn’t know which department, and he suspects he won’t know until Jazz decides to tell him. It must be an official channel, however, rather than a blackmarket or underground one. A way for the Senate or their affiliate to keep an optic on Optimus from the inside. Perhaps, even, have a ready-made assassin once they decide Optimus is too much trouble to keep around.

“Why you?” Optimus asks.

“Because I’m the best, and they didn’t want to lose their best.” Jazz says it matter-of-fact, as if there’s no disputing it. He rises from the berth, every step calculated and careful. “Pawns don’t get to live their dreams. They just move where they’re put.”

Optimus doesn’t move. He doesn’t think it would be in his best interest to do so. He prefers to let Jazz call the shots. “I am sorry that choice was taken from you,” he murmurs, meaning every glyph of it. “Were it up to me, such a thing would not have happened, and if I have anything to say about it, neither will it happen again.”

“Yeah, I know. But I still gotta job to do in the here and now.” Jazz slinks closer, lazy grace and sensuality, which has to be on purpose. It’s as if he’s saying ‘this is why I’m the best’ with every performance. “But as Soundwave reminds me, I can’t quit the game, so I might as well make the next move and claim this.” He’s close enough now he can rap his knuckles on Optimus’ chassis.

Optimus stays very, very still. His ventilations are shallow. He tries not to twitch. For all that Jazz is the smallest of his Consorts, Optimus feels as if he’s the most dangerous. That he could be smiling and seductive, but slip a vibroknife into Optimus’ central seam, and pierce his spark between one ventilation and the next.

And he’d smile while doing it.

Optimus works his intake. “What would it take for you to trust me?” he asks, quietly.

“It’ll be a long time before I trust anyone, Prime.” Jazz smiles, his fingers dragging up and down Optimus’ central seam, a touch so light Optimus’ dermal sensors barely register it. “But keep doing what you’re doing, and you’re on your way to earning it.”

“I would like to be your ally. If there is anything I can do--”

“Yeah. You’ve said as much. Which is why you’re doing good so far.” Jazz grins, and his posture loosens, his smile turning more playful and lazy. “Don’t worry. I’ll behave myself.” His visor flashes in a wink.

Optimus doesn’t dare ventilate his relief. Which mask is the true one? None of them? All of them? A part of him is terrified to find out.

“I wish I could have known you in freedom,” Optimus says.

“With enough time, you still might.” Jazz chuckles and wriggles his fingers in farewell. “See you tomorrow, Prime.”

He leaves, the door clicking shut and locking behind him, with no clue as to how he’d gotten inside in the first place.

Optimus allows himself to ventilate relief at last, though now exhaustion wreathes around him, far more than had been present after bonding Starscream. Jazz makes him dance on bolts and brackets.

Optimus scrubs his forehead, cycling through a systems check, until his hands no longer tremble.

He thinks he’ll have that soak after all. He doubts he’ll be recharging anytime soon.

~

Optimus’ dreams are scattered, hazy, disorienting things. He sleeps past his alarm because his recharge does not feel restful, and it’s also an indulgence. Once they return to Iacon, Optimus will have so much work, he won’t have time to rest.

The Senate will encourage it, he’s sure, but Optimus won’t let himself be swayed by their false concern.

It’s nearly midday by the time Optimus rouses, and only because someone is pinging his door. He has less grace than he ought when he stumbles toward the door and keys it open, cycling his optics to clear the static from them.

“Morning!” Laserbeak chirps from Soundwave’s shoulder, raising a wing in greeting.

“Good morning,” Optimus says, though it’s a little too late for it to truly be morning. “I apologize if you were waiting for me. I intended to seek you out as soon as I was presentable.”

Soundwave shakes his head. “Unnecessary,” he says. “Bond to commence tomorrow.”

Optimus arches one orbital ridge. “Am I correct to assume Jazz informed you thusly?”

Laserbeak chitters a laugh. “First thing this morning. He appeared in our room. Scared the pit out of Ravage.” She grins as if secretly delighted by the feline cassette’s discomfort. “Not often someone gets the drop on Rav.”

“I see,” Optimus says. Should he be irritated that they discussed this without him or pleased they are friendly enough to have this conversation? Perhaps a bit of both.

For now, he’ll leave it be, as he does most things concerning Soundwave and Jazz and their interactions. It’s a battle he doesn’t want to fight when their various relationships are already tenuous. There’ll be time to work out specifics and particulars in the centuries of living together that await them.

“Jazz is gonna find you when he’s ready,” Laserbeak says. “In case you were wondering.”

Optimus manages a thin smile. “Thank you, Laserbeak. I appreciate the notice.” He glances between the both of them. “And what are you two getting up to today?”

“Training,” Soundwave says.

Laserbeak sighs and sinks on Soundwave’s shoulder. “Training,” she agrees, her tone glum and resigned. “Me and Ravage both. It’s so boring. I can’t get out of it no matter how hard I try.” She turns a pleading look up at Soundwave, which is studiously ignored.

“Perhaps tomorrow we can explore more if Soundwave is amenable,” Optimus says to try and cushion the blow.

“Offer acceptable,” Soundwave says.

Laserbeak immediately perks up. “But only if I train properly today, right?”

“Affirmative.”

She hops back and forth on Soundwave’s shoulder. “Then let’s go! Now. I want to get it over with.”

Soundwave sighs, but dips his head toward Optimus, who can only chuckle and wave farewell. Laserbeak starts excitedly chattering about all of the different things they are going to see and do tomorrow. They make for an interesting pair, the laconic carrier-mech and his cheerful cassette.

Perhaps Optimus will befriend Ravage in time, but Ravage reminds him a lot of Jazz, and that is a relationship that will take effort, and allowing Ravage his space. Fortunately, Optimus is very patient.

He has enough time to bathe and down a few doses of medical mid-grade -- flavored with a few packets Starscream was kind enough to leave him -- before there’s a secondary ping at his door. Optimus can’t say he’s surprised when he answers it and finds Jazz standing outside with a big smile on his face, bouncing up and down on his heels.

He and Soundwave had to have planned this.

“You look rested,” he says as he slips past Optimus and into the room. “That’s a good sign.”

“Do come in,” Optimus says to the empty space where Jazz had been. He closes the door and turns to face Jazz, who seems to be full of odd energy.

His visor is bright, and his field is all over the place, moving lightning-quick, making it difficult for Optimus to read anything out of it. His expression is odd as well -- not the mask of false enthusiasm, nor the dark cast of thinly-veiled resentment either.

“So how’s this going to work?” Jazz asks as he struts around the room, looking at the various pieces of furniture as though he hasn’t seen them before, though he must have looked his fill last night when he broke into Optimus’ quarters.

Optimus takes a seat in the sitting area, trying to affect an air of composure. “However would make you comfortable.”

Jazz snorts and gives Optimus a peripheral look. “I think we both know that the optimal method would be to not do it at all.”

Optimus folds his hands in his lap. “Would it comfort you to know that once the initial bond is complete, there is no further need to be intimate? That I will share the bulk of the weight of the bond?”

“Mm. Marginally.” Jazz walks a slow circuit of the room before he comes back to Optimus, standing in front of him, hands on his hips. “I’m not meant to be known, Prime. This is a slagstorm of a situation.”

“Do you feel this is a punishment?”

Jazz’s lips curl. “For daring to want to be free? Absolutely.” He eyes Optimus’ position as though he’s considering the structure of it. “There’s no greater threat to them.”

“Them?” Optimus echoes.

Jazz chuckles and waggles a finger at Optimus. “Ah, ah. That kind of knowledge comes with trust, Prime. We’re not there yet.”

“You’re about to share your spark with me. Perhaps you might consider calling me Optimus?”

“I’ll consider it.” Jazz claps his hands and rubs his palms together. “So. No point in putting off tomorrow what can be done today.” He takes Optimus’ hand, and when Optimus expects to be tugged off the chair, instead he’s presented with a lapful of an alluring, but dangerous spy.

Optimus once again freezes, unsure where to put his hands, though Jazz solves that for him by placing Optimus’ hands on his hips.

“There, that’s better,” he murmurs, his own hands landing on Optimus’ chassis, his thumbs tracing the line of Optimus’ central seam. He tilts his head to the side. “I think we should forego the game. We both know why we’re here.”

“We do.” Optimus’ spark quickens its rhythm, heat flushing through his frame in a confused tangle of want-anxiety-need-resolve. “I am right where you want me. I will not move until you say when.”

Jazz chuckles and leans in, nipping the bottom of Optimus’ chin. “I don’t think you know how dangerous it is to give me that much power.”

“I am quite aware how dangerous you are, but if I want you to trust me, I should first trust you,” Optimus murmurs.

“You’re an absurdly gentle spark. Politics are going to break you,” Jazz groans, thumb still tracing Optimus’ central seam, up and down, up and down, making his derma tingle. “Good thing you got mechs like me and Sounders to do the dirty work.”

Optimus draws in a slow ventilation. “I would not, and will not, ever ask either of you to do such a thing.”

Jazz grins, and his vents are a puff of damp heat over Optimus’ audial. “Oh, sweetspark. That’s the thing, you don’t ask, we just do.” He pauses, right over the main divide in Optimus’ central seam. “Open up, Optimus. We got work to do.”

Primus save him.

Optimus is in over his head.

He obeys.

***