Chapter Text
When it came to conjunxing, in a few of Cybertron’s city states, public displays of affection between a bonded couple were considered severely ill-mannered, bordering on taboo.
Starscream envied them.
Vos didn't even have a term to distinguish public affection from any other type. Instead, Starscream was compelled to accept his fiance's advances or else be labeled an insufferable prude.
And, oh, did Emirate Airbright get his money’s worth. As he shamelessly patted Starscream’s aft for the hundredth time tonight, Starscream longed to slug the neighboring star system’s head of state into one of the crystal sculptures lining his ballroom.
With the help of several stern looks from the Winglord, he’d managed to suppress the urge for the duration of the party. An event which was also sprung upon Starscream without his consent, and that left him despising the institution of arranged marriage more fervently than before.
It was early in the next cycle when the party ended, and Starscream could finally escape, along with his sire and brothers.
As soon as their transport pulled up in front of Airbright’s estate, Starscream elbowed past Thundercracker and Skywarp to board first. He flung himself down across the upholstered bench with an exhausted groan. His brothers grumbled as they were forced to crowd into the opposite bench with the Winglord.
Starscream threw an arm over his optics. “Thank Primus that’s over. After he rubbed all the paint off my aft.”
“Don’t be vulgar,” said the Winglord, knocking Starscream in the ankle with his walking stick. “That’s the sire of my future grand-sparklings you're talking about.”
“Like I need a reminder.”
“That mech is like sixty million years old,” said Skywarp. “I don’t think he’s siring anything.”
Starscream sighed. “Limitations mean nothing to him. Have you seen the way his hands wander?”
The Winglord frowned at them. “He’s excited to be having an heir, and you should be as well, Starscream.”
“He could stand to display his excitement in a less tactile way. I’m not even sparked yet. He should save his energy for that. As Skywarp said, he’ll need it, at his advanced age.”
“I do hope you’ll show more grace and enthusiasm towards the emirate during the sparking ceremony than you did tonight. You’re going to humiliate this mech otherwise.”
“I’ll consider it.”
The party tonight had been an announcement of the date of the sparking ceremony, where the prominent nobility would gather to watch him and the emirate kindle an heir.
Producing bitlets, too, was an inevitability of his station as the heir of Vos. One which Starscream was mostly ambivalent about, though he hoped his old geezer of a fiance would expire before the ceremony arrived. He wondered what the odds were of Airbright dying in the next two weeks before the event.
Starscream winced as the Winglord jabbed him in the leg with his walking stick again.
“Stop scheming for his demise. If you haven't figured out how to get rid of him by this point, you never will.”
Starscream wouldn't be so sure. He was choosing not to see it as a personal failing that he hadn't yet succeeded in offing him. Airbright had simply been lucky that his energon-tasters had absorbed the brunt of his poisonings.
However, his lack of success thus far meant that he was still required to stand around at every tedious party at Airbright’s palatial estate, listening to his snooty friends’ bragging. Then, at night, pretend to be impressed as Airbright’s dainty spike missed his ceiling node.
When Starscream voiced his dissatisfaction with the match to the Winglord (far before their bond had even been secured), his complaints were ignored, on the grounds that Airbright had more shanix than god, and Vos’ royal treasury was looking wan as of late, in the aftermath of their most recent war with Tarn. Financial necessity came before personal happiness, and Starscream was the unhappy bearer of this burden, as the oldest and most attractive creation of the Winglord.
“Yes, scheming rather than doing your duty,” the Winglord continued. “It’s been months since the engagement was announced, with no talk of producing an heir. I had to set a date for the sparking ceremony. People were beginning to talk.”
Starscream let his helm loll against the window. “I’d mate with anyone else at this point.”
The Winglord stiffened. “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, as of late.”
“Oh, this again,” groaned Starscream. “It was one mech.”
“And a guard, no less! Starscream, you are getting conjunxed.”
“So? Everyone we know cheats. My only duty is to bear Airbright’s stupid spawn.”
“Starscream.”
“Skywarp,” said Starscream, demanding his brother’s attention. “How many of our acquaintance’s conjunxes have you slept with?”
“What?” said the Winglord, fixing Skywarp with a glare.
Skywarp was suddenly very interested in the datapad Thundercracker was reading. “Uh. It wasn't my fault. They approached me first.”
“Exactly,” said Starscream. “Affairs are rampant in court because they are necessary. If all of us were truly as upright and loyal in our relationships as we pretend to be, our court would implode.”
“You're not just any nobility, you're the heir,” said the Winglord. “You’re held to a higher standard of decorum.”
"Airbright should be held to a higher standard, as my soon-to-be conjunx. If he’s going to be useless in berth and ugly and unpleasant in general, I’m going to continue taking the matter of my personal satisfaction into my own hands.”
“No, you won't, Starscream. I won't hear about another incident. Primus forbid Airbright catches wind of your disloyalty and breaks up the union. If you disgrace Vos' good name, I’m disowning you and offering one of your brothers in exchange."
Skywarp gagged. “You love us too much to do that, right, Screamer?”
“Like either of you are in any danger of him falling for you,” said Starscream. “You're an unrefined hooligan, and Thundercracker is tedious and lacks sex appeal.”
Skywarp tapped his chin contemplatively, like this was new information to him. “Oh yeah, that’s true.”
“I’ll accept that,” said Thundercracker, not even bothering to glance up from his novel. “If it keeps Aribright away from me.”
“You three are so ungrateful,” said the Winglord, scoffing. “All of you have no idea how good you have it. You’ll do what’s necessary for our nation.”
“We wouldn’t have to have this conversation if Screamer didn’t try to bang every guard in sight,” said Skywarp.
“You're one to talk about banging everyone in sight," said Starscream. "And it was just one.”
“You liar. It was just the one you got caught with.”
“Never mind that,” said Starscream quickly. “Airbright can't get enough of me. He’d never cut off our union even if he discovered my infidelity, because there's no one half as perfect as I whom he could use as a replacement. You worry too much, sire.”
With this, Starscream turned to glare out the window, leaving the Winglord shaking his head and harrumphing. They all sat in awkward silence for the duration of the trip back to the palace.
When the transport began its descent, servants could be seen waiting below in the courtyard to greet them. They were all uniformly painted, adorned with the red crest of their royal house. Starscream’s optics trailed up to the palace gate, and something unusual caught his optic. Standing among the rest of the servants, towering head and shoulders over most, was an enormous, wingless silver mech. Potentially a tank or piece of heavy machinery.
A grounder residing anywhere within Vos was already an oddity. To see one in the vaunted towers of Vos’ elite, let alone the palace proper, was a spectacle.
Starscream peered closer, and saw the royal crest emblazoned in the center of the mech’s chest as well. He wrinkled his nose.
“What is that grounder doing down there, bearing our livery?” he asked, unceremoniously breaking the silence. “It’s an eyesore.”
“A grounder?” Desperate for a distraction, Skywarp and Thundercracker perked up and craned their necks to see out the window.
“Like a real life grounder?” asked Skywarp, pressing his nose against the glass. “I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”
“Ah,” the Winglord waved his hand dismissively in the direction of the window. “I got you a new bodyguard.”
Starscream’s mouth dropped open. He jerked around to stare at the Winglord. “That thing? Are you trying to punish me? Embarrass me? I can’t be seen with that!”
“I thought you might stay in one piece with this one.”
That got a cackle out of Skywarp. Thundercracker more gracefully hid his smirk behind his datapad.
Starscream set his jaw. It seemed he wouldn’t be escaping the topic of his recent affair just yet.
The reason he needed a new bodyguard was because he’d slept with the last one, the Winglord had discovered the affair, and had his unlucky lover executed forthwith. They had only been caught due to a minor miscalculation on Starscream’s part, regarding the capacity of his valve. As he often did when placed in close proximity to a huge, handsome mech such as his late bodyguard, Starscream had become… afflicted by the inclination for a hard spiking. Array incompatibility be damned.
Anyway, he wouldn’t have tried to take spike from a shuttle if he knew it would break five sets of calipers and alert nosy servants to his activities with his agonized screaming.
Well, this new choice of bodyguard made sense now. Vaguely, assuming the Winglord had picked a grounder specifically so Starscream wouldn’t be interested in him physically. And even if this mech were a flier, there was nothing attractive about him. His armor wasn’t exactly stylish, or even up to date. He looked vintage and purely functional, and like his previous guard, probably too big to spike him.
“Not accounting for taste, are you?” asked Starscream.
“No, Starscream. I did not pick this one, nor any of the guards you've tangled with, based on how attractive you find them,” said the Winglord. “This mech was a famous Kaonite gladiator. He cost a lot to procure.”
“You scraped up a random pit fighter to be my personal bodyguard?” asked Starscream, gesturing at the mech lumbering around below like a huge, silver bulwark.
“Not random. He's the most decorated fighter this side of the planet. And you know Kaonites aren't afraid of anything. I do hope this one doesn't fall short of the mark.”
“Yes, if it doesn’t fall to its death off a balcony first. What use is a guard in Vos that can't fly?”
“That shouldn't matter, as you shouldn’t be flying anywhere on your own wings. Summon a transport and he’ll accompany you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I don't want to hear any more about you taking unauthorized flights, going who knows where with who knows whom. Fluttering around wherever you please, alone and unchaperoned. It’s not proper.”
“Well, I don't want that thing accompanying me.”
“You'll manage.”
“No,” spat Starscream. “It’s bad enough you hired a grounder, but a gladiator? That thug will never keep his hands off me.”
“Retired gladiator,” said the Winglord. “Trust that he’ll be more professional than that.”
“And when he’s not?”
“As is the case with everyone besides your fiance, he will also be deactivated if he puts his hands on you.”
“Oh, is that your contingency plan? To throw him in the smelter after he’s had his way with me?”
“Star…” The Winglord rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“Fine. I’ll trust you know what you’re doing.” Starscream hiked up his wings. “Just pray nothing unfortunate befalls your gorgeous, beloved creation due to your lack of foresight.”
“As long as you don’t go looking for trouble with this one, there’s little risk of an incident occurring.”
“But there is some risk.”
“You’re being surprisingly cautious,” said Thundercracker.
“Yeah, weirdly cautious,” added Skywarp. “Like you didn’t beg your last guard to bust your valve open like a can of energon biscuits.”
“Will you shut up about that?” snapped Starscream. “Obviously, this is not the same situation.” He scowled. There were some lines one just didn’t cross. No self-respecting Vosian would ‘face a grounder. Especially one from such an obviously low caste background. A pit fighter. Really…
Starscream slumped further down in his seat. What a shame, about the shuttle. He’d at least been educated. And had wings.
Fortunately, no one cared about a grounder. He could make him disappear easily enough with a few drops of poison.
Starscream drummed his fingers on the arm of his seat and glared out the window. He was not about to spend another moment getting leered at by some oversexed, ancient crankshaft.