Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What a miserable start to a miserable day. 

You wake up in your berth, alone, as you have for nearly a deca-cycle straight now. Your lovely partner, Starscream, is already out scheming, doing Primus knows what to get the upper hand on his enemies this early in the cycle. 

You get up, take a quick glance in the mirror, and get to walking to the mess hall. Along the way, you greet a few Vehicons that litter the hallways. 

Arriving at the mess hall, you get your ration for the day and walk to where your closest confidant is sitting by himself, sipping on warmed energon and scrolling through a data pad. 

“Good morning, Knock Out.”

You two hadn’t always been close. In fact when he and Breakdown arrived on the Nemesis, you were amicable at best. It wasn’t until Breakdown’s MIA status and subsequent passing that you two really connected. He was struggling a lot in his absence, and you gave him someone to talk to about his feelings on the matter. Their relationship had been hush-hush, for reasons you still don’t quite understand, so having to keep his grief contained from everyone else had been a major burden for him. 

He turns his attention to you, and gives a full grin at your presence.

“And to what do I owe your company this morning?”

You sigh, and take a sip of your energon. It’s ice cold, but you prefer it that way. “Starscream was out when I woke up again.”

“I see.” He puts down his data pad. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I would like to know where he’s off to at this hour.” It’s so early, hardly anyone’s in the mess hall or even ambling about in the halls. While Knock Out has always been an early riser, Starscream, as long as you’d known him, or really been with him, has taken to staying up and sleeping late. Normally you tend to wake up earlier than him. He used to insist on you spending the mornings in, too, so that he could enjoy a sliver of peace away from the war.

“I haven’t seen him around here, unfortunately. You might be able to inquire with the eyes of the ship, though.”

“Soundwave?” He keeps close optics on Starscream, as part of their odd rivalry. “Hm. Thanks, Knock Out.”

“Of course. You know where to find me if you need me.” He waves you off, and gets back reading through his data pad.

You down your last bit of energon, throw out the empty container into a nearby garbage receptacle, and walk off to the control room of the Nemesis. Soundwave might not be up at this hour, but it’s worth a shot. 

You give one knock to the door to let him know you’re coming in if he’s there. You input the code to unlock it, and you’re greeted to him hunched over the keyboard apparatus, typing in something on a large screen directly in front of him.

“Good morning, Soundwave.”

He turns to you briefly, nodding in greeting, but then jolts and minimizes whatever he was looking at. He hastily plays back your “good morning” in response.

“Sorry to bother you. Is everything…okay?”

All you get is one fake ass smiley emoticon on his visor.

“Alright…have you seen Starscream anywhere?”

A very suspicious noise comes from the monitor. One you’ve heard time and time again.

“Would you care to un-minimize the window you were just observing?”

His shoulders slump, and he types on the keyboard again. The window returns, showing what you assume to be Megatron’s throne room. Megatron is there, of course. The real interesting bit, though, the piece of visual (and audial) information that has your jaw slack, is Starscream perched on his lap, gripping onto your lord’s cabling. You can only assume what’s happening in the throne room based on the angle. The sounds coming from the speakers paint a fairly clear picture, however. 

Your fists clench tightly. You should’ve known. When has Starscream ever been the loyal type? If he betrayed his own leader time and time again, who’s to say it wouldn’t have been you eventually. 

You’re not sure whether to be angry or upset. Really, you just feel tired. 

“I am requesting that you send me that…footage, of all that has occurred within the past Joor.”

Soundwave nods, and begins inputting some command, presumably to send all that has transpired to your personal data pad.

“Thank you, Soundwave. I’ll be taking my leave now.” 

He doesn’t say anything (not that he ever does), and you walk off to you and Starscream’s conjoined private quarters. You get to putting your personal items into a spare crate nearby. Really all that is contained within is some wax and sealant, a buff pad, your collection of various media you kept from before the war, and, of course, your personal and work related data pads.

You lift up the crate, walk out of the shared berthroom, and make your way to the med bay. You walk in without knocking.

Knock Out swivels in his chair, turning to your form. Initially you’re greeted with a grin, but upon seeing your unphased and hazy expression, a bit of concern pops up on his faceplate.

“What happened?”

“Starscream took ‘suck up’ to a whole new level.”

“Yeouch. Alright. How’d you find out? Did you confront him about it yet?” He asks, motioning you to join him at his work desk. You set your crate down next to an empty chair, and sit down in the one you usually take when you chat with Knock Out while he works.

“So, I went to Soundwave, right? I knocked, walked in, and he seemed almost nervous with me being there. He closed something he was looking at as soon as I walked in.”

“Weird.”

“And then I heard Starscream’s moaning. Which is fairly fragging distinct, considering how many times I’ve heard it.”

He pauses polishing whatever he’s working on to look at you in disgust. “Didn’t need to hear that, but alright.”

“So then I asked Soundwave to bring that screen back up, and what d’ya know. My partner and Megatron are going at it in the throne room .”

“Wow.”

“Right? So then I got Soundwave to send me the footage, and here we are.”

“That is certainly a lot to unpack. What’re you gonna do?”

“Break things off with him. Duh .”

He scoffs. “No. I mean. What’re you gonna do in retaliation?” He sets his tools down and crosses his arms over his chassis. “With that footage and your status, you have a couple options.”

You’re intrigued.

“Like?”

“Why, public humiliation, of course! ‘Accidentally’ send it to the whole crew as an anonymous tip.”

“I could pretend like things are fine and watch him bend to my every whim to try and get into my good graces again. Interesting idea.”

“You could, also, aim higher.” He says, with a gleam to his optics. 

“How so?”

“Say, hypothetically, you go at it with those that Starscream holds the most distaste for. Send footage of that to him. Why, you could even go as far to get with Megatron!”

“Interesting idea. You came up with that very fast.”

“Perhaps I had been thinking about it longer than I care to admit,” he challenges.

You two stare at each other for an exceedingly long time. He takes occasional glances to your lips, and he licks his while leaning in.

“Wait!”

You put two digits to his lips, pressing him backwards. His optics widen in surprise.

“I’m not going to do this without officially breaking things off first!” While you’re all on board with the idea, you’re not a monster . It’s the responsible, level headed thing to do. While it could be argued that what you’re doing is the farthest thing from level headed, it’s the least you can do.

“Oh. Right. Yes, that’s probably for the best.” He scoots back a bit, his servos clenched on his thighs. You cough, and look away. 

“Well then, I suppose I should go ahead and set this up.”

You grab your personal data pad to send Soundwave a message. Knock Out attempts to take a peek, and you scoot back further.

Would you be a dear and let me know when Starscream is done with things? Thankies.

You put it face down, drumming your digits against the table. You don’t have to sit idle long, because you immediately get a message back.

Starscream is at your berthroom. Good luck.

*His. :)

You shut off your data pad, and stand up.

Knock Out snickers. “They’re done already? Seems they didn’t last long.”

You chuckle. While they were probably going at it for a good while long before you got up, you appreciate the sentiment in trying to make you feel better. 

“And you think you’ll last longer?”

“I’ll last longer and more.” He smirks at you, optics lidded as he eyes you up and down. “Go on, and you’ll find out later.”

“Hm. Then I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.”

He begins working on his project again, and you begin walking back to your formerly shared berth to confront your former lover.

Chapter Text

You arrive to the berthroom not much later. You sped walked all the way there, both in nervousness and excitement. You were afraid of Starscream’s reaction in all this, but you know it’s something that must be done. He can pretend all he wants that nothings wrong, but he’s a fool if he thinks you’ll put up with it. After all, you have at least one mech already lining up for their turn. You have better ways to spend your time than to entertain his delusions of grandeur. Such as being fragged by the very mech waiting in the metaphorical line, which is the other reason why you’re eager to get it over with.

With a sharp knock, you input the passcode to the berth and step in. 

Starscream stops mid pacing, turning to your form, and removes the claw he was gnawing at from his intake. 

“Oh, dearest, where have you been to? I had been looking all over for you!”

“Likewise, Commander. I was at the med bay. Where were you off to?”

Upon your tone, he straightens up, his wings angled up high.

“I was—I was on a mission, you see, yes, a mission.”

“Fascinating,” you say, with a scowl.

“Is there something the matter, dear? What were you in the med bay for? Did something happen?” He asks, full of undoubtedly practiced concern. He looks over your form, checking for injuries, tracing his digits along the seams of your plating.

“Several things, really. But no, nothing that concerns you. I was just conversing with Knock Out, is all.”

He narrows his optics. “What might that have been about?”

“Just catching up. Talking about things, as we usually do.” You snap your fingers to yourself, like an idea just spontaneously popped into your helm. “Oh! That’s right, you’ve just been so busy. My mistake, you’d have known that if you bothered to check in with me in between your…missions.”

He bristles, and is about to make another excuse, but you cut him off.

“If you really must know, we were discussing a rather interesting video our dear Soundwave sent me.”

“Oh.” He laughs nervously.

“Tell me. Is it part of your missions to sit on Megatron’s spike like the filth you are?”

His face falls, and he grips at your forearms.

“I’m sure you just didn’t see things right. I’d never do such a thing!”

You pry his servos off with a light yank of your arms, and hold up your personal data pad in one hand. “You say that, yet I have visual and audial proof of such a thing.”

He attempts to take it from your servos with a quick swipe, but you hold it close to your chassis. You click your glossa at his antics. “Ah ah ah. No need to get all up in arms about it. I don’t intend to use it as blackmail, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not anymore, at least. All I want is for us to end things on good terms.”

He takes a step closer to you. “We don’t have to end things! We can still make it work, can’t we?” 

You take a step back. “It’s for the best. Even if you didn’t, I was still miserable.” You sigh. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”

Before he can make any sort of comment or excuse or some semblance of defense, you walk out of his berthroom.

“Best of luck to you, Commander.” You turn your head and smile at him devilishly. “I’m sure you’ll need it.” You laugh to yourself, and the door closes behind you. The last thing you see is him nearly boiling over in anger, fists clenched tightly, and scowling at your retreating form.

You hastily walk back to the med bay, of course taking the time to greet any soldiers that cross your path along the way, but based on the way they quickly step out of your way as you pass, you must look to be in a hurry.

You nearly crash into the med bay doors, but you come to a skidding stop within, and Knock Out stops polishing and cleaning his tools.

“How’d it go?”

“About as good as I expected. Plenty of excuses, and not a single apology.” You walk over and sit down on your usual chair, setting your data pad on his workstation. “The absolute nerve. He tried to convince me I imagined it! And then attempted to snatch my data pad away when I told him I had proof.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Just glad it’s all over. I have better things to do than to entertain the notion that I am to be played a fool.”

“And am I one of those things?”

You chuckle, and drag his chair closer by hooking an ankle around the base. 

“I believe you’re on my list, yes.”

“I hope I’m first,” he says, leaning in. Finally, his lips meet yours. He sighs in contentment, a light and breathy sort of sound, and one of his servos cradles your jaw. One of your servos finds the back of his helm, and as his thumb strokes against your cheek, you smile into the kiss. You deepen it, pressing closer. Your glossa peeks out, just lightly touching against his lips, and he complies with your request. His intake opens, and your glossa slips inside to lick at his, turning your gentle kiss into something a bit sloppy. He doesn’t put up much of a fight, just letting you do as you please. Slowly, his servos snake down, and with a gentle tug to your waist you straddle his hips. The chair creaks slightly with your combined weight, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

You do, however, have one problem eating away at the back of your mind. You pull away, and a string of lubricant trails off, which Knock Out licks away. 

“Are you not worried about someone busting in?”

“Not particularly. I checked through the reports while I was enjoying my rations, and nothing too major today.”

You shake your head to chastise him. “You never know with the Autobots, though. And maybe not a higher up, but a squadron of Vehicons might be dealt the brunt of it. We could at least lock it so we’re not caught in the act.”

He lets go of your waist and groans. “Fine, go on ahead.”

You jump up quickly, and lock the door, immediately taking your place back on Knock Out’s lap. 

“How would you prefer to do this?” He asks.

“Well, since you’ve been apparently thinking about this for a while, how do you imagine this going?”

“Usually, it’s either you riding me or you taking me against this very workstation, but this is about you . What do you want?”

“I want…um. I don’t know.” You look off to the side, playing with the joints of your digits. “I don’t usually get to make that choice.” It hurts to admit that you’re usually never the one in control of anything.

He sighs, and shakes his head. “Stay just like that, then. I’ll take care of you.”

You smile shyly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Doctor.”

His hips jolt and you can hear his engine rev slightly. “Of course.”

His lips join yours once again, and you grind down against his interface panel. He groans into the kiss, bucking up into you, and his servos grip your waist tightly.

He pulls away once more, opting to bury his helm in the crook of your neck. “I imagine you’re a little bit pent up, so how about you open up that panel for me?”

“Are you sure you’re not the one who’s a bit pent up?” You drag a digit down his spinal strut, and he shudders.

“Nonsense. Did you forget how you arrived to the med bay just moments prior? Like the world would’ve ended had you not been there on my spike at that exact moment.”

“And did you forget how your spark nearly shattered when I told you this would have to wait till later?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’re both needy. Now would you open up that panel so I can remedy that!”

“Doctor’s orders?” You ask with a smirk.

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Very well,” you say, and you unlatch the panel, exposing your interface array. Instantly, your spike pressurizes, which Knock Out whistles at.

“Not bad. I’ll be sure to hop on it later.” He rubs a thumb against the tip gently, smearing the transfluid that’s seeping out. You groan, and his hand moves lower, two digits stroking against the lips of your valve. He gathers the fluids that are slowly dripping onto his thighs, and he plunges those digits into your awaiting crevice. “But right now, what I really want is this.” Your calipers cycle around them, and he immediately begins scissoring them. 

A gasp escapes your intake when he crooks his digits, their tips rubbing against the ceiling node. “There we go. Is that good?”

“Mm— yes. You—“ you moan when your node is immediately targeted by his now thrusting digits “—you found that fast.”

“Just the perk of being well versed in anatomy.” 

“I think I’d like to be well versed in yours now.”

“Hah. You will, just be patient,” he murmurs against your audials. His thumb then finds your anterior node, and you have to grip at this shoulder plating to keep from losing balance with how hard your back arches. 

“Please, Knock Out. I need you.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, I suppose I can indulge you.”

He pulls his digits out, and reaches down to open his own interface panel. As soon as it unlatches, his spike pressurizes, and he gathers the lubricant that’s made a mess of his thighs to slick up his spike. It’s about the same size as your own, if not slightly longer but a tad bit thinner. Either way, you have no complaints. He’d nearly made you overload with just his digits alone. You’re very excited to see what he can do with his spike.

“Lift up your hips for me. Don’t make me do all the work.” You comply, and he guides you over his spike. “Are you ready?” 

You nod, and slowly he drags you down to sink onto his spike. You both groan, and immediately you begin riding him for all he’s worth. His servos cup your aft to help you slide up and down, and as you do so, squelching reverberates through the med bay’s walls. Just another day to be glad that the thick metal walls of the ship work so well in blocking out sound. You’d hate for some poor foot soldier to have to listen in on what’s occurring as they walk past.

With every downstroke, a very breathy groan greets your audials, and Knock Out bucks up to meet you. It’s a pleasant change of pace, actually feeling desired and not left in the back of someone’s helm, only useful for releasing frustration and anger. He makes sure to let you know how good you’re doing.

“What a pity that he doesn’t get to be the one to fill you up like this, hm?” Reaching behind you, he grabs your data pad and flicks on the camera. “Who does it better, him or me?”

“You! Knock Out, you’re so much better!”

His engine revs noisily, and you can hear the faint whirring on his cooling fans kicking on. “Tell me how it feels, why don’t you?” He reaches down to rub a digit against the node that’s been pulsing wildly.

You throw your head back and moan, in a slightly exaggerated manner for the camera, but there's still an overwhelming number of sensations that you’re feeling while riding Knock Out like your life depends on it. “It’s good! So good. Oh, Primus, I’m close.”

“Overload. Let the camera hear it.” He holds the data pad out to get a glimpse of the face you’re making. It also captures how he’s grinning up at you, and how tightly your servos grip onto his shoulders. 

With a targeted stroke that rubs directly against your ceiling node, you’re seeing stars, and your valve cycles around his spike. He follows after you, dragging you down one final time to bury his spike in fully, his transfluid shooting off deep into your valve. His helm drops to rest against your shoulder, and he clicks one final picture, of him winking at the camera, and your back on display.

He sets the data pad back down, and you pull yourself off of his spike. Transfluid immediately begins dripping onto his thighs, which he scoffs at in disgust. 

Before he can comment, you climb off the chair and pick him up, placing him on his workbench. “What’re you–”

“This is what you wanted, right?”

“Yes, but–”

“Then I will do it.”

“That’s really not necessary, besides, people will start getting suspicious if it’s locked any longer.”

“I’ll be quick about it, I promise. Let me take care of you .” You just want feel like you're doing something right.

He sighs. “Oh, alright. But be careful with the paint. You’re buffing out anything you leave on me.”

A smile works it's way onto your faceplate. “I can work with that,” you say, as you gather up a generous amount of lubricant from your intake onto your servos, and spread it onto your still pressurized spike. “Get those pretty legs of yours spread for me, Sweetspark.”

His cooling fans, which still haven’t shut off yet, kick up even higher. He opens up his legs, and you slot yourself between them. 

You reach down, taking your spike in your servos, and you steadily sheath it into his awaiting valve. He gasps, his servos gripping the edge of the workbench. 

“You alright?” You ask, in amusement.

“Just fine,” he grits out, “get to moving. We don’t have all day, do we?”

“Geesh. Sorry.” You pull back your hips, and set a much faster pace than the one you previously set while using his spike. You thrust shallowly, making sure the head of your spike drags against the roof of his valve on its way out.

A high pitched moan leaves his intake, his jaw slackens, and his legs wrap around your waist.

“Good?”

“Yes,” he hisses out.

You thrust in deeper, your spike scraping against places he hadn’t felt in a fair amount of time. You push him back onto the bench so that his back is flat while you continue to frag his valve in earnest. With the new angle, you have a better shot at hitting his ceiling node. Unlike Knock Out, your job doesn’t revolve around your knowledge of anatomy, so you’re left with relying on experience rather than intellect.

It takes but four testing thrusts for you to find his ceiling node. His optics screw shut and he lets out what sounds a lot like a shriek. You smile and start targeting that spot. His servos abandon their spot clutching the edge of the bench to dig the clawed tips into your forearms, a resounding scratching and scraping doubt emanating through the med bay. Where his claws drag down he leaves scratches and marks in your paint job in its wake.

This time you’re the one to grab your data pad, shaking off one of his servos in the process. You open up the camera, and with your other servo, you begin stroking his pulsing spike.

“Let’s do this one more time. Tell me how it feels, Knock Out.”

His optics open hazily to make contact with the camera then up to the smirk on your face plate. “Good, Primus, you’re good.” His back arches off of the workbench, and his claws dig in deeper as you stroke his spike faster. “I wish Starscream cheated on you earlier!”

“Why?” You ask, in honest shock and confusion. Your pace falters.

“I’ve been missing out big time. Frag, yes, it’s everything I’d thought about. Keep going, I’m so close, please.”

Your cooling fans kick up a bit upon the admission. Never one to deny a request, you squeeze his spike tighter, and with a final targeted thrust to his node, he overloads with a soundless scream, one servo planted on the bench, and the other still gripping onto the arm that’s pumping his spike. Transfluid is now painted across his chassis and abdominals. Your overload hits you shortly after due to the aftershocks of his own. His valve tightens around you, milking transfluid from your spike.

You give a few more soft thrusts, and then pull out of his valve when you’ve stopped spurting into him. 

You let go of his softening spike, and he lets go of your forearm to splay out on the workbench. 

You take one last picture to fully capture his fucked out expression and messy appearance. Putting the data pad down, you go looking for something to clean yourselves up with.

“Bottom right cabinet,” he says, before you even ask.

“Thanks!”

You grab a couple of microfiber cloths from the suggested cabinet, and walk back to where Knock Out is still laying against the table.

Silently, you begin wiping him off, taking care to not rub too hard around his more intimate areas. He lets his helm fall back to the table, soaking up the care you’re giving him. You’re able to hear the slow quieting of his cooling fans as he lays content on the messy work surface. Along with every swipe of the cloth, you subtly check for any scratches and indents you might’ve left in his deep red paint. Fortunately, you had been pretty careful about how rough you were being. You, on the other hand, are pretty well cut up.

You must’ve been staring at the scrapes along your form for a bit, because Knock Out clears his throat. 

“Do you want me to buff those out for you?”

You consider his offer, but shake your helm anyways. “Nah, it’s fine. It didn’t hurt or anything. Plus,” you smirk, “it’ll kill Starscream to see ‘em.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.”

Once you’re done with cleaning him of remaining transfluid, you move onto yourself. Fortunately, there’s not much to clean off of you. Unfortunately that’s because most of it is on the floor.

“Mop?”

“Door to the right.”

“Thanks.”

You close up your interface panel and rush over to where he’s instructed, intent on making good on your promise of your speed. You open the door, grab the mop handle, and make quick work of the spattering of various fluids on the floor.

Knock Out sits up finally, leaning back on his elbows to watch you work. 

You catch him staring.

He eyes you shamelessly, still, even while you raise a questioning ridge at him.

“Something wrong?”

“No, just…observing.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so you continue mopping. Once you’re done, you put the mop back into its bucket and pick up the dirtied cloths.

“What about these?”

He jumps off the table, and snatches the cloths from your hand. 

“Just stop. I’ll worry about the rest. You should probably go check in with Soundwave about where you should be today, anyways, mechanic. You’re well past your usual start time.”

“Okay…”

He pats you on your upper arm, and then walks past you to finish what you’ve started.

“Hey Knock Out?”

He stops. “Yes?”

“Would it be alright if I were to stay in your room for the time being? I don’t want to intrude, but…” 

Your old old room had been turned into Shockwave’s when he arrived on the ship. No one really ever thought in hindsight that you and Starscream would have terminated your relationship, which was a major oversight.

“I think we’re a bit past that at this point. Yes. You may.” He turns to you, placing a spare servo on his hips, cocking them to the side. “You might want to work on your sheepishness. You’re not exactly giving off a ‘mech eater’ persona, here.”

“Maybe they’re into that, though. Maybe they think I’m just a sweet little thing, but then ‘surprise’! I’m actually able to fuck their processors out, like I just did with you.”

“Please, I was faking it for the camera.”

“Is that why you were laying down, unmoving and calming your cooling fans even after I shut off my data pad?”

He turns away, not dignifying you with an answer, and walks off to wherever he plans on putting the used towels. You attempt to hold in your laughter when you notice his limped gait. He growls and quickens his pace, which makes his limp worse, which, in turn, causes laughter spill out of your intake.

***

As Starscream walks through the halls of the Nemesis, he can hear several different bits of gossip floating around.

“…those sounds coming from the med bay? I wonder who got lucky with the doctor this morning.”

“Whoever it is, I need a shot with them. I heard him screaming!”

“I saw him limping.”

As if he wasn’t already agitated enough, he had to listen all about how good of a time Knock Out was having. His optics narrow at the group, and they all quiet immediately, but he walks past them not bothering to tell them to get to work. He has better things to worry about than Knock Out’s reputation. Namely, his own, that thanks to his own carelessness, could all come crashing down immediately.

The next group is equally chatty, but this time they snicker as he passes. He’s fed up, and marches over to the group. Their chatter instantly ceases.

“Would you care to inform me what’s so funny about my presence?”

“Nothing, sir!”

“No. Please. Tell me what has you all thinking you can freely laugh at me without repercussions.”

Starscream eyes them down, and they all wilt under his gaze. Finally, one dares to speak up.

“Well…your partner has been walking around the ship with um…marks of your coupling, sir.

“Marks of my…? What do you mean by that?”

“Their arms, sir. They had some pretty deep scratches along their forearms,” another chimes in.

Starscream’s processor nearly stops working.

Had that Vehicon been any closer, he would’ve been thrown faceplate-first into the wall.

He makes a beeline for the control room, walking in without knocking. Soundwave turns to him briefly, but then gets back to whatever it is he does.

"Have you seen our mechanic anywhere near the med bay this morning?"

Soundwave plays a clip of one of Starscream's very own shrill "no"s without pausing his work.

Starscream lets out a sigh. "That's a relief. Where have you sent them off to for today's repairs?"

Soundwave pulls up various map layouts. None which you were assigned to, but it'll still send him on a wild goose chase regardless, Soundwave postulates.

Starscream studies the locations, and without much else to say, he walks out of the control room.

As soon as the the doors close, he pulls back up a certain video feed detailing certain events in the very location Starscream had inquired about, which he watches with rapt attention.

He has got to get in on that.

Chapter Text

After your shift was up, repairing some minor damages and doing routine maintenance on the ship, and without much else to do besides hang around your fellow crew members for the rest of the evening, you decided to turn in.

You knock on your new living quarter’s door. You only have to wait but one moment before it’s unlocked and slides open, revealing Knock Out standing on the other side.

He steps aside. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Come on in. I took the liberty of moving all your stuff in here.”

“Thanks! Sorry to keep you waiting. I was hanging out with the Vehicons.”

He crosses the room to sit on the rather large berth in the center, laying down on one side. “What? You didn’t take the first available opportunity to come and see me?” 

You opt to sit on the edge of it. “No, I was just enjoying the attention I got from them. Gossip spreads fast, apparently.”

“What do you mean?”

“For starters, several compliments to all of these.” You hold up your arms to show off the reminders of the morning’s activities, which Knock Out rolls his optics at. “Apparently Starscream was irritable today. Well, more irritable than usual I suppose. And some very interesting stuff about you screaming this morning. I wonder what that was all about?”

“You’re already insufferable, and I’m the only mech you’ve hooked up with so far. I can’t begin to imagine what’ll happen down the line.”

“Probably not half as bad as you.”

“You wound me,” he says, one arm over his helm to block out his optics. 

“Good thing you’re a doctor, then. Patch yourself up.”

The next joor is spent like that, exchanging banter and talking about each other's day. Somehow, from sitting at the edge of the bed, you wind up laying down next to him on his berth. He’s laying on his back, and you’re laying on your side facing him, with a servo propping your helm up. 

“Really? That’s what they think about us?”

“Yes! You wouldn’t believe the imagination humans have.”

“Seems a bit far-fetched. I mean. One creature…alien…thing, whatever, slowly infecting everyone else in the research facility? And they literally explode out of their body? Surely, there’s some movies out there where the aliens are intelligent to some degree.”

“Yes, but those ones aren’t nearly as entertaining. Why watch some slice of life garbage when you could watch shock value horror?”

Laughter bubbles up from your intake. “I don’t know, it sounds fun to me.”

“I’ll just have to take you one time so I can show you true entertainment.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll hold you to it.” 

Eventually the laughter dies down, and a yawn escapes from Knock Out’s intake. 

“I think it’s about time for me to rest up.”

“Oh. Yes, right. Um…good night?”

“Good night.”

He turns over, with his back facing you, and you do the same.

Eventually you drift off. It takes a while, due to some nerves you’re not quite sure of, but you wind up sleeping well, all things considered. 

And then you wake up. 

Your arms, as far as you can tell with your optics closed, are wrapped around someone’s waist, and your helm is resting against their chassis.

You snuggle further against them, tightening the hold you have on them.

“Mornin’, sweetspark.”

“Good…morning?”

A voice that is very clearly not Starscream’s responds with a touch of confusion. Your optics snap open, and you’re brought face to face with Knock Out, who has one ridge raised at your shock.

You scramble away from him like he’s burned you.

“How long have you been awake?”

“I just woke up, actually.”

You let out a sigh of relief. That was horribly embarrassing, you wouldn’t be able to stomach having him witness you be all cuddly like that. Too much intimacy much too fast for you to be fully comfortable, even if it was unreasonably comfortable and pleasant.

“Great. Well. Shall we go ahead and get our rations for the day?”

“After I freshen up. It takes effort to look this good.”

“Sure, go on ahead. I’ll wait up for you.”

While he is up in his personal room polishing up his appearance, you walk over to your box of personal items that Knock Out was kind enough to bring over for you after you left them in the med bay. You take out both your personal and work related data pads. No messages, except one from Soundwave on your work pad.

Come see me before your shift starts.

Primus almighty. What’d you do this time? Did you accidentally repair something wrong? Or somehow made something worse? You two are pretty chill, all things considered personal relationship wise. It’s not like you really “hang out” after hours or anything, but he’s pretty decent. Due to your prior relationship with Starscream, you weren’t exactly allowed to get too close, as they seem to hate each other with a vengeance.

All things considered, if there was a problem he had with you, it’d be work related, hence the need to send it to your work line.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let’s.”

You drop your data pads into your sub space and follow him through the doors out into the halls.

“So what were you looking at?” He asks as the two of you make your way to the mess hall.

“Soundwave wants to see me before my shift,” you whisper. While hardly anyone is out and about, you’d prefer to not have your poor work performance out for the ship to hear.

“What do you think that’s about?”

“Beats me. I hope it’s nothing I did.”

“I’m sure you’re fine. Let’s not start the day off on a bad note.”

“If we do, that means it can only get better from here, though.”

He groans. “Must you make everything so difficult?”

“I’m just being realistic.”

“You’re being an aft.”

You smirk. “It’s what I do best. Besides you, apparently.” 

He lightly slaps your upper arm with the back of his servo, but he smiles slightly through his feigned irritation. 

The mess hall is, as it usually is at this time of day, empty. The two of you grab your rations, and after waiting for his to heat up a bit, you sit down at a table in the corner of the large room. Knock Out takes out his data pad to read through some reports.

“So what’s everything looking like today?”

“Just a few mining operations, as usual. Nothing too outlandish. Although, I have heard that there’s something happening with Shockwave’s big project.”

“Yeah?”

“Irritating that he immediately gets my place as the lead scientist role. I know I’m a pretty face, but that doesn’t take away from my processing power.”

“I mean, I hate to burst your bubble, but he was the lead even before you got into Megatron’s close inner circle.”

He sighs. “I know. It’s just annoying, feeling like a B-list.”

You pat him on the back. “I know what you mean.” 

After a moment of contemplative silence, just sipping on your energon, you look over at him in the optics.

“If you were on my list, you’d be S-plus plus.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“That’s how great you are, I had to make a special category just for you.”

Your combined laughter is cut short by the clearing of someone’s throat in front of you. Starscream is standing in front of the two of you, scowling, with his arms crossed over his chassis. 

“Can I help you?” Knock Out asks.

“What’re you two up to?”

“Just enjoying our Energon. You’re up awfully early, commander. Something wrong?”

“Just checking in, making sure everyone is accounted for. Didn’t want a repeat of yesterday, you know.”

“Come again?”

“Ah, I just heard our dear mechanic was a bit late to their shift yesterday. Strange.”

“Strange, indeed.” You didn’t think you were late. Even after fooling around before work, you were still there right on the dot.

“Perhaps that’s what Soundwave wanted to talk to you about.”

“You’re right, Knock Out! That makes sense. Easy misunderstanding cleared, and back to a casual workplace relationship.”

“See? I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

Starscream re-inserts himself back into the conversation, despite how hard the two of you are trying to ignore his presence. “You two seem close,” he says, not as an innocent observation that he’s pointing out, but to attempt to make you flustered and nervous. You know his little game all too well, because you’ve witnessed it from being by his side.

You casually take a sip of your energon, purposefully slurping as loud as possible to the irritation of Starscream, a noise you know he hates. “As close as you and Megatron?”

It’s as if a record stopped. Knock Out looks at you, dumb founded, and Starscream's face plate shuffles from confusion, anger, and contempt. He turns and walks away, not giving into your challenge and taunt.

“Wow. That was impressive. Terrifying, but impressive.”

“What is he gonna do? Threaten me? Get physical? I have evidence. Even though I said I wouldn’t, I’m not above blackmail, and he knows it.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t. You’re just along for the ride. But you’re not out of your element, yet.

“I’m gonna go on ahead and get to talking with Soundwave.”

“Alright. Good luck, roomie.”

“See you later.”

***

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

Soundwave turns to you, motioning you to stand next to him in the control room, in front of the large screen at the console.

He opens up a window, and within it contains something you were not expecting to be displayed on the larger than life main monitor in the control room. That being some very graphic imagery of you and Knock Out in the med bay.

“I didn’t know there were cameras in there…huh…interesting. If this is about me being late to my shift yesterday, it won’t happen again, sir.”

He shakes his helm.

“Then is it about it happening in the med bay?”

“Say, hypothetically, you go at it with those that Starscream holds the most distaste for.”

The quote that started it all. He’d been listening in then, too? 

“And what about it? You gonna tell him about my plot?”

He backs you into the console, his tall and spindly form boxing you in. “I want in,” he says, in a jumbled mess of various recordings and clips.

“Well, by all means, sir. You’re in.”

Those weird grabby hands things sprawl out from his back, grabbing your knees and pushing them apart. You reach down and unlatch your interface panel covering, and he does the same to his own.

He’s already pressurized.

“Have you been thinking about this all morning?”

His helm tilts slightly to the side.

“I ask because you’re so hard already. Been edging yourself, just waiting for me to come see you, hm?”

The room is silent, save for the whirring of his cooling fans. 

You smirk at the sound of it kicking up, as if he’s embarrassed from the realization.

Your smirk is wiped off just a nano klik later when he slams his spike into you, and all you’re able to do is gasp at the force of it. 

That fragging smiley emote displays on his visor, and he begins fucking you in earnest, pounding your valve with a ferocity that has you shaking in his grasp. You forget he was once a gladiator, and not just the silly guy you sometimes listen to music with (most of it being human EDM that he’s taken a liking to). 

It’s so much, but it’s so good all the same.

“Tell me how it feels, why don’t you?” The clip says in Knock Out’s signature velvety purr.

“‘S good. Primus almighty, Soundwave. Keep going.”

He does just that, not that he had any slight intention to stop, but your valve receives some increasingly harsh treatment, like he’s got something to prove.

Abruptly, he stops, slamming his spike as far as it’ll go into your cycling valve, and you feel the distinct warmth of transfluid seeping in. 

He pulls out, and before you can comment on the short round you just experienced, his feelers flip you over, and he begins fragging you frantically once more. 

From this new position, you’re able to look at the video feed he’s observing, which is now showing the current events happening in real time.

You’re able to see the intensity of his focus, that’s stuck onto your backside and where his spike disappears into your valve, where sparks have begun flying from the force of his thrusts. You’re definitely gonna have a few chips in your paint from all this.

This new position also allows his already lengthy spike to reach farther into you, reaching depths you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Soundwave! Frag, you’re long. I’m getting close.”

One servo, finally letting go of the grip it had on the console, reaches around you to rub a digit to your anterior node. 

“Overload. Let the camera hear it,” the clip he plays says in that purr you know all too well.

You moan, the sound spilling out abashedly from your intake as your optics screw shut. You overload just a nano klik later, your valve’s calipers tightening around the spike that’s still continuing to frag you through your peak.

A joor later, and you’re strutless laying on the floor of the control room, covered in your own transfluid with copious amounts of Soundwave’s oozing from your valve. He pulls out for the final time, and all you can do is groan at the emptiness it leaves. 

None of that overwhelming amount of transfluid is allowed to seep out, however, because he relatches your interface array cover. 

“Really?” You ask, dazed and confused, but all you get in response is a smiley emoticon.

He stands up, and hoists you onto your knees with the feelers. Once you’re stabilized, one of his servos grab at your helm, dragging you forward to his softening spike.

You look up at him and he tilts his head slightly to the side. “We don’t have all day, do we?”

You grumble a bit, but open up your intake anyway. He slips his spike inside, and you get to cleaning him of any remaining transfluid. His engine sputters, and he lightly drags you up and down on him. 

Once he’s clean, you take the liberty of moving farther down to his valve and swiping your glossa through his folds. 

He jolts slightly in surprise, but lets you work him open. 

You pull back away from his interface array, staring up at him with a smile. “All done.” 

His feelers let go of you, instead reaching up into his subspace. From it, they bring you a fluffy towel.

“Thanks.” You wipe your abdominals and thighs of any remaining transfluid. You get a light pat to the head in return for your gratitude, and after he latches up his interface covering, Soundwave moves to the console, once again resuming…whatever it is he does.

“Do you think you could send me a video of all that? For personal reasons, of course.”

He nods, and begins typing on the console. 

“Anything else you need from me, sir?”

He shakes his helm. You hold the towel for him, and one of his feelers take it from you, dragging it to his subspace to be cleaned later.

“I’ll be taking my leave, then.” You walk over to the door, and before stepping out, you pause. “Send me a message if you’d be interested in that again. That was…enjoyable, to say the least.”

He stands, watching you silently, as you walk out of the control room.

***

Knock Out’s walking back from some meeting in the throne room about some idle chatter about Shockwave’s little project he can’t even begin caring about (he secretly listened in on every detail, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it’s actually a really fascinating subject). Interestingly, Soundwave seemed almost perkier. A bit more reactive and emotive in his mannerisms. Conversely, Starscream, to his amusement, seemed rather on edge the whole time.

He’s no stranger to gossip. He adores it, in fact. It’s what keeps his spark going through all the boredom and dull days on board the Nemesis. When he’s not sneaking out to street race or watch flicks at the drive-in, he’s listening in on every juicy bit of information he can.

" The mechanic had a new set of scratches today. On their aft!”

“Who was looking that hard to notice?”

“You’d have to be an idiot not to.”

“About not looking, or not noticing?”

“Yeah.”

Fascinating. He passes on to the next group.

“Apparently the set they had yesterday wasn’t from the commander!”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he got super mad when someone pointed them out to him.”

“Wonder who it was, then.”

They take a glance at Knock Out, who greets them with a brief nod. As he passes, the two look at eachother and shake their helms.

“Nah.”

Equally as enthralling. 

He finally arrives at his room, and after he inputs the code and when the door opens he’s greeted by his new “roomie” laying face down on his berth.

Those Vehicons were right about the scuff marks, at least.

“You want those buffed out?”

You turn around to look at him wearily. “Please.”

How needy.

He walks to a corner of the room, grabbing the rotary buffer he keeps in his room. He climbs onto the bed sitting on his knees, facing where you’re moping. The buffer purrs to life with a press of a button.

“So. What’s with the pouting? You got lucky, right?” Knock Out says as he brings down the buffer. 

“Yeah, but ugh.” Your whole body shudders heavily. “Don’t really wanna share what the problem is. It’s gross.”

“You can at least indulge me and tell me who, can’t you?”

“Soundwave.”

Ah. That would explain his apparent exuberance at the meeting. Guess they really do have something to work with if they’re able to make Soundwave of all mechs in higher spirits. “Is that what he called you in for?”

You arch up into the buffer. “Yup. Got a little bit cocky, though. And I paid the price.”

“It would’ve happened eventually.”

“Are you saying you would’ve made me?”

“Perhaps. But don’t test me. I am the one that patches your sorry self up, after all.” He turns off the buffer. “Do you have any wax?”

“In the crate. I can’t use yours?”

He gets up and crosses the room to dig through your crate. “We may share a room but we will not be sharing personal products of this caliber.”

“We also share a bed and have swapped lubricant.”

He rolls his optics, grabbing the small jar of wax from the cluttered and disorganized crate. “Your point?”

“Nothing, just making sure everything else was factored in.”

He crosses back over and grabs a microfiber towel from the stack next to the entrance of his shower space. He sits back on the berth, and you turn your helm to watch him. Unscrewing the jar, he takes a dollop out with a claw and spreads it along the area he just buffed out. With the fine cloth, he rubs the wax in small circles, blending the new wax with your old paint job to create a seamless transition. 

You let out a hum of contentment, and close your optics, enjoying the treatment you’re receiving.

“Thank you, Knock Out.”

He says nothing in response, instead just polishing up your paint job, like he has to numerous others time and time again. For some reason, though, doing it this time lights something in his spark, and not just because of the area he’s buffing.

Just this morning, a similar thing occurred. When he woke up, he felt a weight on his chassis. As his optics opened, he was gifted a sight he didn’t think he’d ever see. Being embraced in such a manner by his…friend? Whatever your relationship is now, it was still strange to be awoken to that. He tried getting up so that he could start his day, but you insisted on him staying, just pulling him in tighter. He went from laying on his back, to being on his side, with your helm tucked underneath his. It wasn’t unwanted, just horribly unexpected. Not that he’d ever admit that.

That’s not even to mention every single bit of banter that seemed to lighten up his dreary days as the (in his humblest opinion) taken for granted medic. The one that lost his partner, who no one else seemed to give a shred of thought to after his passing. His torture . 

Along came you, just wanting to be his friend and to offer some support. 

That was the real kicker. 

He never quite understood why. Why you came to him. Why him, of all mechs. But after everything that happened with Starscream, it started becoming more and more clear.

You were just as lonely as him.

“Knock Out?”

He’s snapped out of his trance. 

“Hm?”

“Is everything good? Not that I don’t like what you’re doing, but you’ve been rubbing the same spot for the past few kliks.”

Right. He forgot about his patient. "Yes, everything is fine. You’re all done.” He slings the towel over his shoulder and caps the wax container, then getting up to go about putting up everything he’d taken out to rid you of your pelvic scrapes. You roll over to sprawl out on the berth.

“What does your day look like tomorrow?” He calls out to you from over his shoulder.

“Not nearly as exhausting, hopefully. Why?”

“You in to go to a drive-in?”

You snort. “Sure, as long as you tell more of those awful puns.”

“Awful and me do not go together.” He slides into the berth next to you. “Except you, of course.”

You break out into a giggling fit, which he, while your optics are closed, smiles at fondly.

Chapter Text

You wake up after Knock Out again. Perhaps due to lingering soreness from the activities of the previous solar cycle, or perhaps due to the apparent comfort of Knock Out’s berth. It’s much more padded than any previous one you’ve found yourself in, with at least two layers of foam (from what you can feel, at least). After a moment of soaking up the softness more, you finally get up and begin your morning routine.

It’s not long after you finish your business that Knock Out finishes his. He greets you with a simple “morning” as he moves to the door.

“Shall we?” He says, gesturing to what he’s standing next to.

“Yes, let’s.”

The two of you walk side by side, as usual, chit chatting about plans for today once you’re walking through the corridors of the ship, down to the mess hall where you grab your rations.

Knock Out has just finished warming his up when he utters a gasp.

“Slag, I’ve got to go! I forgot about an experiment I need to get running.”

He’s suddenly turning back, his rations spilling, and before he can rush out of there, you shout out his name. Knock Out stops in place, head swiveling back to meet your gaze.

“Yes?”

“You need it started so soon you can’t sit a bit for your rations?” You try not to look disappointed at not getting a little bit more time together.

He turns around fully to address you. “Well, I figured you’d rather have me later for our little outing rather than now.”

It takes a moment for the gears to turn in your helm. “Oh! You mean…” you turn to make sure no one’s overhearing “…the drive-in.”

He chuckles lightly. “Yes, of course. Head on over to the med bay after your shift, and we’ll be off.”

“Alright! Bye, Knock Out, good luck!”

“You as well. See you soon,” he says, and then he’s speeding back over to what’s most likely the med-bay.

You watch him leave, then turn back to your rations, deciding to chug it and leave rather than sit around and sipping. Good opportunity to just walk around the ship. If you wander enough, you’re bound to find someone to talk to.

You haphazardly wipe up the little spill Knock Out made in his rush to leave with a spare rag in your subspace and throw out your rations cup.

It is, of course, fairly quiet within the ship. You suppose that could be due to steadily shrinking size of Megatron’s army. War is without casualties and all that. It is also fairly early. You decide that even if you can’t find any clusters of soldiers to converse with, taking a bit of a walk would still do you good. Breaks up the monotony of the routine you have going.

While you’re thinking about how maybe things really aren’t all that monotonous, given the “encounters” you find yourself in, you hear a distant heavy thudding. That thudding is the gait of Shockwave’s proof of scientific ingenuity, the very predacon that’s been running amok the ship since that space bridge opened. He is making a full sprint towards you, you realize, and then you’re also running in fear. You make a good effort, but he’s much faster, judging by how much louder the thuds reverberating through the halls are becoming.

And of course, in that moment, you trip. You manage to break your fall with your servos, but when you turn around to confirm how close the predacon is, all you can really do is screech. Less than a third of a meter away from your helm he stands, breathing heavily with guttural growls thrown in.

Just a few solar cycles ago Starscream had been ranting to you about the creature, how unruly and unpredictable it is. Having heard all of that, your best option at this point is to shield your helm with your servos held out to get as much distance as possible.

Instead of being thrown around like a chew toy like you’d been told, the creature, living up to his unpredictable status, begins nuzzling your servos.

“Uhh. Well. Okay.”

You pet him gently, scratching at his snout, which has him…purring? 

Which encourages you to stand back up and fully scratch behind his horns, and from the thumping of his tail on the floor, he’s a huge fan of this development.

The petting party is then interrupted by a voice you would rather go without hearing ever again if possible. If not ever again, at least to hear him beg and grovel. But that’s all your poor processor would be able to handle before it’d self destruct in the accumulation of hate you feel.

“What’re you doing out all by yourself?” Starscream says from behind you with a tasteless amount of snark.

You turn but keep close to the predacon whose optical slits have narrowed into slivers at your present company. “Knock Out’s busy, so I’m wandering at the moment before my shift starts. Ah, I know! Perhaps I'll pay Soundwave a visit.”

You pause, humming thoughtfully.

“He’s been such good company.”

You can almost hear the steam from his temper boiling. Starscream attempts to get closer, but one rumbling growl your reptilian friend pushes him back a bit. More delicious salt in the wound. 

“Blasted creature. How poorly you behave.”

“Aw, that’s nonsense, he’s just a big sweetheart! He’s so friendly with me.” 

As if to accentuate your point, the predacon begins purring as you resume scratching just behind his horns. 

You smirk at Starscream. “Maybe it’s just a you problem.”

“Hmph. It’s my task to tame it anyways. You ought to back off.”

You do just that, and take a few steps backwards. “Well, if you insist on me going to see Soundwave, very well. I’ll leave you to it!” 

Before he can protest, you’re already sauntering off. “Bye, commander!”

He’s only given himself one moment before his heeled pedes are stomping on the ground. “Who do they think they are to act like that!” He says mostly to himself, but the predacon is still there observing. “Honestly, with all the talk floating around, I don’t know what to believe!” 

The predacon’s head tilts.

“Between Soundwave or Knock Out, who are they using to get over me? Based on how they speak about Soundwave, plus Soundwave did deny them being off in the med bay. Although, I would think Knock Out’s standards were a tad bit higher than just hooking up with one of the foot soldiers…” 

He begins mumbling to himself, while his audience begins licking at its claws.

“It would be a feat to deny those sounds that arose from the med bay. Plus, I don’t take Soundwave to bottom, especially for them. They’re not top material!” He scoffs. “I spent so long trying to mold them into something more exciting. Something grand and worthy of my presence. Always dull, that one.”

The predacon seems to raise an optical ridge.

“But then someone else swoops in, and with them causes enough intrigue to have the whole ship talk about them. It’s…it’s unfair, is what it is!”

He begins walking off, with the Predacon following slowly to the throne room. “I suppose I should do some meddling for good measure. Come now, we have things to do.”

It’s a long wait for Soundwave to leave his post, but in Starscream’s opinion, it’s well worth it. Well worth not having his pride torn to shreds. Well worth not having anyone else note his prying in his former partner’s life. 

What else is he to do around here, anyways? He’s made absolutely zero progress with the damned Predacon. In fact, if reverse progress is a thing, he might as well have made that. Being chased around by a being capable of snapping his wings off is not his idea of a good cycle. As a result of their shared tomfoolery, Megatron gave him a very thorough lecture on his incompetence. He’ll show him incompetence. All he has to do is be patient with the creature, much like he’d been patient with waiting for Soundwave’s break. 

He quickly punches in his access code, and slips into the control room, and immediately takes to accessing the control panel of the main monitor. A few dozen lines of code here, a few passwords there, and he has access to all the camera feeds he needs. Current ones, at least. All of that recorded stuff is, unfortunately, buried underneath walls of code that even he wouldn’t be able to crack. Not in the few cliks he has here, anyways.

He flips through the different feeds searching for you, optics grazing every bit of information he can find. Surprisingly, though, you’re nowhere to be seen. And when he searches through once more, a certain doctor isn’t anywhere either.

Curious. 

His energon lines run hot, but after a moment of clarity, another thought comes through to him. Certainly something worth saving for later, something that will be useful in putting you under the bus, so to speak.

***

“Wow. This is…incredible!”

This is your first time out of the Nemesis on Earth in a long time. The expansive deserts and badlands are a sight to behold. 

“While I’m not a particular fan of this planet, it does have some interesting terrain. And what you see here is just the surface…plus, there’s some fascinating machinery at work if I do say so myself.”

“It gets better?! We have to go then!”

“Right, right. So, much longer till we get to our destination?”

“Not much, just be patient.”

“Agh, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited!” You say as you swerve left and right. “Being cooped up in the ship for so long made me forget just how good it is to cruise.”

“And how long was that, exactly?”

“Mmm…about twenty stellarcycles since I’ve last gone out on business not mission related.” And even then, it’s been quite a long time since your last mission. You weren’t much of a fighter, but still, it’d be nice to get out more, just for the sake of exploring. “Certainly before you arrived.”

“I knew it was long given how outdated your scan is, but, that’s…”

“But it wasn’t so bad!” You tack on to ease his discomfort. And maybe a little bit to keep him from talking about how “old” and “tacky” your selected scan is. You’d already gotten enough of that as soon as you transformed out of the ship.

“Why didn’t you ever leave?”

“…orders, I suppose…”

The conversation awkwardly teeters off, so you decide to change the subject.

“Got any good Earth music recommendations? I’m getting a tad bit tired of Soundwave’s music.” Of course EDM was fine, but that’s all he seems to have on repeat. No one else on the ship seems remotely fond of Earth culture, and now that you’re actually going out and about, you want to learn more. 

“Hm. Well, I am a personal fan of what I believe is called 80’s pop. With a bit of new wave mixed in. One time I got the showing dates of the drive-in mixed up, so I wound up watching this musical. The movie was alright, but the soundtrack? The most delightful earworm.”

“Ooh, ok! I’ll give it a listen later.”

He goes on about some other New Wave artists he’s fond of, and you listen on, adding other bits as you two go. 

Your casual banter is then interrupted by his commlink powering on. “Knock Out, come back to the ship. Your presence is requested.”

“Slag. We were pretty close, too.”

“Rain check?”

“Yes, certainly," he says, and then responds to the commlink. " I am headed back. Open up a ground bridge, would you?”

You can’t help but wonder what he’s needed for this time as you two transform and then walk into the newly opened green portal in front of you. Seems like he can’t catch a break, between constantly playing scientist, doctor, and soldier all at the same time. Without any recognition, no less. Kinda makes you feel better about being just a plain old mechanic. 

Knock Out is the first one to step through with you following suit. While he looks relaxed, your strut is straight, and your hands are behind your back in a sort of drill rest. With a quick scan of who’s in the room, you see a vaguely smug Starscream, an indifferent (?) Soundwave, and a slightly perturbed Megatron, as well as a mixed bag of foot soldiers.

“Just what do you think the two of you were up to?”

Oh boy.

“Why, my lord, we were just out and about, tailing some leads on the fragments.”

“So why, pray tell, is our mechanic out with you?”

“My apologies for not informing your prior, but they were hoping to get a more well rounded set of skills. While they are excellent with their hands,” he says, almost in a purr as he briefly side eyes Starscream, which he gawks at, “and no doubt quite clever, they’re lacking in combat ability and field experience.”

You have to admire his quick thinking, not to mention his ability to smooth talk.

Megatron turns his attention to you. “Is this true?”

You jolt slightly, but keep your composure. It’s very rare that you interact with your leader. And while you may hold the slightest bit of ire for him due to certain revelations about his relationship with Starscream, he is still your boss. And can still behead you whenever he pleases.

“I had finished my shift for the day and wished to use my time wisely, sir. Since it had been quite a while since I’ve been out of the ship, I feared that I had gone rusty. We have been dwindling in numbers. While it is true we have gained Shockwave and his experiments, I feel it is in my, as well as my comrades, best interest to keep me sharp.”

Megatron studies you thoroughly, optics scanning over every possible detail. Almost peering into your spark, it feels like, and it shakes you to your very core. You do, however, keep yours just ahead, not looking at anyone in particular. 

He takes mercy on you, and before you can get much antsier, Megatron smirks. “Very well. I give you full permission to accompany Knock Out on any future endeavors you both pursue. I admire your dedication and commitment. So long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties aboard here.” 

“Yes sir.”

“And Knock Out,” he says, turning to your companion, “I praise you for your continued tenacity. You’re doing a fine job at fragment collection. Unlike someone else aboard this ship who has failed me time and time again.” 

Starscream’s face plate twists up into a grimace, his servos clutched at his side, pointedly avoiding Knock Out’s now smug smile.

“You two are dismissed.”

You both thank him, and trail out of the throne room together. As you walk past Starscream, your mask of calmness slips into something more haughty, but neither of you say anything to each other. 

As soon as the doors close behind you, you’re shaking Knock Out by the shoulders.

“Primus almighty, you’re incredible. I can’t believe you got us out of that. Better than we went into it, no less!”

“Never underestimate the power of communication.”

“I’ll say. And you put Starscream in his place, too. Did you see how smug he was? Knocked him right the frag out, Knock Out.”

“Oh please, you’re the one who went along with it. Give yourself some credit. I wasn’t lying when I said you were clever.”

Your servos slide down his arms to grip his, your optics avoiding his gaze.

“I know. You deserve more praise than you're given, is all. Is there anything wrong with a few compliments?”

His servos squeeze yours lightly. “No, but I wouldn’t mind if you were more intentional about it.”

When you look back up, his usual shark-like grin has returned.

“Which would you want me to start with? How attractive I find you, your intelligence, or how much I enjoy your company?”

“Okay, cool it. Wait until we get to somewhere more private for you to declare all of this to me.”

“Your loss,” you say, suddenly dragging him along with you by the servo.

“What the— what now?”

“Taking you somewhere more private, obviously.”

He stops attempting to pull away immediately. In fact, he begins walking in tandem towards wherever you’re leading him.

That wherever is his own berthroom. “Ah. Smart. Never know when our eyes and ears could be watching. I thought you were gonna drag me to any old supply closet.”

“Oh, yes, that’s totally why I did it. Totally not because your berth is exceptionally comfy and I had been longing to return to it all day. Yup.”

Knock Out’s free servo rests on his hip, and one optical ridge is raised.

“Anyways, open up, bub. I have some compliments to pay out.”

He rolls his optics, but then presses in the code to his berthroom. The door slides open, and once again you drag him inside.

As soon as the door shuts, you kiss him in earnest. The short moment of shock shifts to satisfaction, and he returns your affection with a smile that you can feel again your derma.

You pull away, but still hold onto the servo entangled with yours.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He replies.

“A lot of things. I think I’d like to wait a little while to share what those things are. But for now, thank you.”

He shows an expression that is unusually soft, eyeing you with something you’re not sure you want to describe. 

“No need,” he says, as one arm slithers up to wrap around your neck. “Now go on, lavish me with the praise you promised. I’m dying to hear it.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “If that’s what my narcissist wants.”

***

Shockwave is taking a short break from his work on the bone fragments. He was fully intent on continuing on through the day, but an alert of some meeting being held in the throne room from a data pad stopped his workflow. He was late to the meeting, but he didn't necessarily need to go. It’s not like he was directly called upon. It’d just interrupt his precious experiments.

And it did successfully, he realized. He hasn’t taken a proper break for the past solar cycle, nor has he gotten any sort of rations.

Which is why he’s slinking through the halls, taking a brisk walk before he gets back to work. Purposely not attending the meeting. It’d just be listening to Megatron berate Starscream in one way or another. It’d be illogical to waste his time there. 

“What the– where now?”

He’s alerted to the sounds of chipper laughter in a corridor over.

“Somewhere more private obviously.”

Judging from the voices he hears, that must be Knock Out and the mechanic he has yet to formally meet and converse with. Besides the occasional hearing, he doesn’t have an opportunity to see them. Of course, he has heard of a select bit of information from Soundwave. 

He doesn’t care for Starscream just as much as the next person. Hatred is not something he feels. It would be illogical to waste energy on such trivial things. Likewise, he is not quite keen on joining in on the mechanics little game that Soundwave told him about. But he can’t deny the allure of relief. It’s not a secret that Soundwave has been much more lax than usual.

As he’s about to turn the corner to the mess hall, past the throne room, he sees that very mechanic giggling and speed walking with a bewildered Knock Out, servo in servo.

Perhaps he’ll also ask them to pay him a visit.

Chapter Text

It’s a fucking wonder how the ship manages to become so damaged. Sure, it’s huge and it’d probably take you groons to walk it yourself, but some of these damages look almost like bite marks.

Can’t blame the poor creature for getting bitey when it’s all cooped up here. With Starscream as its trainer, it makes even more sense.

You’ve finished up the last of the welding finally, and the chewed through wiring is good as new. As far as you can tell, at least. You’re not an electrician. The lights are working in the control room again, and all the monitors are operational, so you’d consider it a success.

“Good as new,” you say to Soundwave.

“Bravo,” he says in a mimic of Knock Out’s voice.

“Anything else you want from me?”

One of his long noodle limbs waves you over while he gets all the monitors back up and running. Once one powers on, he begins typing on a console command prompt, and pulls up a camera feed. It’s of Shockwave at his workstation, working with some sort of titration system.

“Something up with his lab?”

“Yup!” This time in a copy of your own bubbly voice.

You laugh. “Alright, will do. See you around.”

You walk out, and he begins working on another monitor, but still leaves open the current camera feed.

***

You get to the lab, and knock on the door. A moment later it slides open, revealing Shockwave looming over you.

“Yes?”

“Um. Soundwave wanted me to come see you. Said you needed something fixed.”

He stands still for a moment and then steps aside. “Come in.”

“…okay.” You step past him, and the door closes. The tension is palpable, and it leaves you a tad bit antsy. “So what’s the problem?”

His single optic hones in on you, making you want to shrink inward. Like Soundwave, he’s entirely too hard to read. At least Soundwave gives it away with body language and emoticons, but Shockwave is an impenetrable fortress. Even with the gift of speech, you are intimidated. 

“You.”

It takes a moment for your processor to comprehend what he just said. 

“Me? Pardon me if I sound rude, but in what way?”

He stares at you again and walks to stand in front of you.

“Are you aware of the existence of the abrasions on your helm?”

“No? What are you—?”

Shockwave pulls out a data pad from his subspace, and before you can say anything else, snaps a picture of you. 

“This will suffice.” 

He then offers it to you, which you take hesitantly.

“Oh.” Long scrapes, which when you bring up a servo to feel around, emanate from the back to the very top, nearly to the crown. “Yes, I am aware now. But where did— oh .” Yesterday, Knock Out might’ve gotten a tad bit rough. It turns out he’s a huge fan of gripping you during oral, it also turns out he’s a huge aft for not telling you. 

And you know he had to have seen it because it’s totally not like he ogles you in the least subtle way possible, which is information shoved to the back of your processor.

“I saw you yesterday with the medic.”

“Did you?” You say meekly.

“Additionally, based on the distance between the indentations on your plating, it seems to be made by a servo.”

“Is that so?”

“You asking questions will not dissuade me from the truth.”

You’re starting to grow short with him. “What do you get out of knowing? It’s none of your business who I spend my time with.” Your words sound stern, but your voice shakes just slightly.

“It is when it concerns your work ethic.”

“Pardon?”

“You,” he snatches up his data pad from you and begins advancing towards you again, “have no subtlety in your revenge ploy.”

You take a step back but he follows.

“After I observed your sneaking, I listened to the audio logs and observed the camera feed of the meeting per Soundwave’s discretion. I also happened to view the footage just after you left.”

“Oh…” you laugh nervously, back now pressed up against the wall. “That’s something.”

“You seem to think this is a joke. I am capable of bringing up this matter with Megatron to show him neither of you had any intention on finding another bone fragment.”

“So then, I’ll ask again.” You take a deep in-vent to calm your racing energon lines. “If I do my job just fine, then what’s the problem? Do any of my actions directly affect you?”

“It does not. These are trivial matters at best.”

“Then?”

“I will not tell Megatron of your nonsense. I have one stipulation for that.”

“You need a test subject? Absolutely not.”

The last thing you need is to be injected with some experimental drug or turned into a mechanimal.

“No. You will service my spike.”

Your processor nearly crashes from that jump. You could have never in a billion stellar cycles guessed that that was what Shockwave would want as payment.

“You. Threatened me. All because you want a blow job.” Your voice drops, and you bristle up like you’re about ready to beat him down even though he clears you by several meters and is three times as heavy.

“Yes.”

“You’re a ginormous piece of scrap, you know that?” You drop down onto your knees in front of him, just barely able to make optical contact.

“I have been told worse.”

“Great, now were you planning on making me sit here, or were you gonna open up?”

He reaches for his spike covering and unlatches it. His spike is, interestingly, already pressurized. And very large. Which given his already large stature, is to be expected.

You drag your servos up his thighs, stopping just at the junction where his pelvis meets the top of them. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d been ready for me since I stepped in. Been thinking about me?”

“Illogical,” he says, but his spike throbs.

You move your servo to grasp the base of his spike. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” you say in a deep rumble and squeeze it lightly, sliding up along the heated protomesh. “You did plan this whole thing out. I wouldn’t take you for someone to not weigh out their options.”

“That is logical. What of it?”

“I think you saw me running around with our dear medic and wanted a piece of the action. Or, perhaps, you’ve heard another rumor…”

“I have heard nothing,” he grunts, and bucks his hips to meet your servo pleasuring his spike.

“Oh? You said you knew of my ‘revenge ploy’, I wonder who told you?”

“Stop speaking in questions. You are not going to coax an answer from me that way.”

You scoot closer to lick a long stripe along the underside of him, then placing small kisses along the ridge of the tip. For every kiss and lick you make his hips twitch, and when you lap up the pre starting to bead up he groans.

“I think a certain mutual friend of ours told you about an encounter of sorts we shared, and since you’ve been looking for an excuse to do the same instead of politely asking.”

“I—illogical.”

“I wonder if Soundwave sent me here knowing that this would happen, and if he did, is he watching?”

He’s starting to lose himself in the motions. His hips are fully thrusting up to meet your servo rapidly pumping his spike, pre-transfluid aiding in the glide. He leans forward to support himself against the wall, and based on how much he’s twitching, you’d estimate that he’s close.

Your hand comes to a complete stop. A sound suspiciously like a whine is uttered from him at the loss of contact, but then once he regains himself his voice returns to a steady flat timber.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Answer me.”

He bucks up his hips in an attempt to finish himself off, but you let go of him completely, instead putting your servos onto his knees.

“Yes.”

"Yes what?”

“Soundwave told me everything. I saw you running around with Knock Out, so I asked him to send you over, but did inform him of issues I had with the lab that needed fixing. He knew nothing of my intent to blackmail you.”

“Was that so hard?”

Your servo returns to his spike. 

He, however, grabs at your helm and tilts it up. “You said you would pleasure me with your intake.”

“Yes, but you lied. So we’re both even. But since I’m so gracious,” you scoot forward, close enough that he can’t see you underneath his chassis. You open up the aforementioned object of his desire, and slip his spike in, it’s weight heavy on your glossa.

Immediately he begins thrusting into you, intent on making up for his ruined orgasm. Every single thrust hits far enough that his hips scrape against your front, so rough on the mesh of your intake.

His hips stutter, and then stay flush with you as he unloads his transfluid into you. It feels like forever that he’s overloading, when realistically it’s only a few moments, but with how much transfluid settles into you it’s no wonder your protomesh starts to burn from the stretch of his length.

When he’s made sure that he’s emptied himself, he pulls out with a pop, and lets go of your helm. Fortunately you don’t think there’s any new scratches added to your collection.

You stand back up and wipe off your lips, smearing anything left into Shockwave’s chassis.

“Well, this has been a delight. But I probably have other things to tend to, so I need to be going. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

“I am your last job of the day. Everything else has already been tended to.

“And how do you know that? I didn’t know you were a psychic.” You say, mockingly.

“I specifically told Soundwave to send you to me once you were finished with all your other tasks.”

You groan.

Shockwave walks over to an already cleared off table. He really cleared his bases if he thought to have this done beforehand to not interfere with his meticulous work. “I am not satisfied with your performance yet. Come here so I can initiate intercourse with you.”

You roll your optics, but comply and mosey on over to stand next to him at the pristinely polished table. “Wow, you’re a natural at this.”

“Thank you,” he says, in the driest tone possible. “Part your legs and open your valve cover so we may begin.”

“Nope. You’re sitting up there. You’re requesting my services, so I will be servicing you.” You gently push his chassis, and he lays down on the table without a fight. “Very good.”

You then climb up with him, straddling his thighs. With this, you’re actually able to make optic contact. His gigantic chassis doesn’t get in the way, and you have control of the situation. 

You reach down and unlatch your valve cover. He has a full view of everything you’re doing to yourself at the moment, and it’s an intense stare you receive as you stuff two digits into your valve.

“Before we start I need to loosen up my calipers. I must admit, you’re quite thick, Shockwave.”

He says nothing, and watches as your fingers dip in. You moan lightly, slightly exaggerating the feeling. You’re (more than likely) putting on a show for two after all.

“Why don’t you go on ahead and start working up your spike?”

His singular servo reaches down and starts stroking. Your combined lubricant and his transfluid make a mess of his servo, which create a very obscene schick that has your calipers cycling down. 

“Just like that.” You slip a third digit in and spread them all apart, adding to the sounds of the otherwise quiet laboratory.

Once you’re loosened up enough to be sure you won’t be torn in half by him, you take out the digits and slowly you climb up to straddle his waist, with the rigidity of his length resting between your lips. His servo drops to his side, so you take over to hold him by the base. You rub the tip up against your entrance, using up any extra lubricant you have. 

“Proceed. I have work to do.”

Your optics snap up to his and they narrow. “You either do it my way or no way at all.” You sink down onto him and static laces the sound that emanates from his voicebox. “ Your choice .”

You sit on his spike, unmoving, willing yourself to relax just the tiniest bit while he stares on. You ex-vent heavily, impossibly angry at the nerve of this mech.

You make the slow slide up, and drop back down using gravity to ease it in. It’s light work for you. All the squatting you do while re-engineering and melding together sheet metal in the cramped walls of the nemesis makes your motions smooth and effortless. 

Still, you gasp, not used to such a size. 

“You don’t mind where I put my servos, do you?”

Before he can say anything you put them onto his chassis, giving you better leverage, and inadvertently bringing your faceplate closer to his helm when you lean down.

“Such a pity you can’t see what I can over your chassis. But you can feel it plenty though, huh?” 

You don’t get a proper response, just jumbled Cybertronian as you continually rise and fall on his spike.

You laugh airily. “Poor thing. Thought he’d call me up, thought he’d blackmail me into doing what he wants. And look at him now. Strutless underneath me. And I’m the one without subtlety.” A shame your digits aren’t as sharp as some of your other partners, because you’d love to give a few scratches to his paint. “Do you think Lord Megatron would enjoy seeing his trusted scientist put off his work so he can relieve himself? Consider this. All of my work is done for the day, but what about you?”

His servo slides up to grip your waist, helping you along. “It would not benefit you to do so.”

“How right you are. It wouldn’t benefit either of us, Shockwave. This would be a great lesson for you.”

“There is nothing you can educate me on. You are beneath me intellectually.”

“Perhaps in the manner of laboratory science. But you’ll never outplay me.”

Maybe Starscream did teach you some useful stuff after all.

You change the angle of your hips just slightly, and then with every drop, your ceiling node drags against the tip. You moan, and reach down to rub at your anterior node, doing everything possible to bring about your orgasm.

“I wonder if Soundwave is watching right now. Can he see how much of a mess you are right now?”

“H-he would observe how you are using my phallus to pleasure yourself.”

“Primus, yes, it feels good . If you weren’t you I’d have no trouble overloading on your spike as many times as I want. Just using you,” you moan the last part out while looking directly into his optic. “I bet you’d like that.” 

His servo keeps you seated on his spike and his helm tips backwards, tearing his gaze from yours as he releases thick streaks of transfluid into your valve. He unleashes a staticky near-screech when your calipers tighten around him in your own overload, and in response to his apparent overstimulation his servo tightens so hard you’re surprised nothing dents.

You take a moment to collect yourself, and then pull off of him, his transfluid instantly dripping down onto both your and his thighs. He’s entirely unphased by the mess, bordering on catatonic with how he just stares at the ceiling.

Taking out a spare rag from your subspace you wipe yourself clean (clean enough to step out into the hall without feeling like a complete p.o.s.) and set it down onto his thigh for him to use once he finally comes to. Once that’s done you refasten your interface array and step back onto solid ground, then making your way to the door.

You almost want to say that all your anger and other tensions have been sufficiently burned off. Almost.

Back to normal pep, you turn to Shockwave, who’s just now sitting up to observe your retreating form.

“Well, it sure has been fun! Next time if you want to do that again, just ask. Words go a long way. And don’t waste my time like that again. Either of you .” You have no idea where the camera in the room is, but make a guess based on the feed you saw earlier, and look towards that direction. “I’ll be back here on my next shift to fix whatever is actually wrong.”

Then you walk out and go about the hall, hoping that with the time in between your next shift you’ll be rejuvenated and ready to take on whatever the purple pieces of slag throw at you.

***

You’re lounging on Knock Out’s berth, taking a literal power nap when he walks in. You’ve already cleaned and polished yourself, and any remnants of him are gone from your helm. 

You open an optic, but then close it and flip over so you’re away from him.

“You’re done for the day this early?”

You say nothing, and he sits on the berth. 

“Hey. What happened?” He says, amusedly.

You turn your helm ninety degrees, not facing him but not away from him either, optics still closed in indignation. “Out of fear that I’ll wind up saying something unsavory, I think it is best I don’t talk to you right now.”

You turn back around.

"Please?”

You turn your helm briefly to look at him, eye him wearily while he is doing his best to remain neutral, but you turn around anyways.

“Ok. Spare me the dramatics, tell me what’s wrong. Is it me, or something else?”

You huff, and turn over completely to face him. “Both.”

“Lovely, now would you care to inform me what ?”

“You…didn’t tell me about the marks you left on my helm.”

“I thought they looked quite nice, personally.” He chuckles but shrugs. “Besides, you didn’t have any problems with them before, so I figured you didn’t mind having them.”

“I wouldn’t have, but then I was blackmailed by Shockwave, and he threatened everything I have going on here, you included.”

“So your anger is misplaced. Had nothing happened with Shockwave, you wouldn’t have even noticed they were there.”

“That…that is true, yes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. Now, tell me all the details, friend. I bet it’s a juicy one.”

“Okay.” You ex-vent, and try to think of the least raunchy way possible to tell it. “So after everything that went wrong from the Predacon’s teething, Soundwave sent me to fix up something in Shockwave’s lab. So I get there, and he starts asking about those scars you left.”

“Right.”

“Then he says he knows they were from you, and that he saw us running around yesterday after the meeting. Not to mention he said he’d tell on us to Megatron because we weren’t following protocol or some other slag like that.”

“That is…something.”

“That’s what I said! So then, I was like ‘it’s none of his business what I or anyone else does in my free time’. He agreed, and that he wouldn’t tell on one condition.” You turn to him seriously. “He wanted me to give him a blowjob.”

He stares at you for a moment, and is then literally rolling on the floor in laughter.

“You think that’s funny? I was fragging livid. I turned him into a bottom , Knock Out. Rode him so good I got him to admit everything, and had his voicebox malfunctioning.”

“It’s pretty hilarious!” He wipes lubricant from his optics, coming down from his bout of laughter when he sees you pouting at him over the edge of his berth. “Ah, that’s good. Wasn’t expecting that, sorry.”

He pulls himself back up and lays down next to you. “It wasn’t that bad though, right? You had some fun, sounds like you’re becoming the real deal.”

“It wasn’t fun. I was pissed. If he’d just asked like a decent mech it’d be fine, but everyone in this ship has zero manners. I don’t even ask to be taken to a tavern first. All I ask for is a ‘please’. But no ! I get threatened and belittled.”

“I mean, can you really blame him? That’s just how things are,” he says, nonchalantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Job security isn’t exactly the best here. Everything and anything about you is a bargaining chip, and can be revealed for the pettiest things.”

“Yet you’re fine with running around with me?”

“Because we have more bargaining chips. Soundwave’s been recording people fragging for who knows how long, which can easily be played off by accusing him of enjoying it. Starscream is a cheater, and his affair partner is Megatron of all cons. While we can’t exactly use anything for Megatron, I doubt he’d allow his pride to be tarnished by letting the whole ship know that he’s been with Starscream very well more than once.”

That last bit leaves a sour taste on your glossa.

“And Shockwave had me during his lab time,” you add, grimacing.

“There you go. That’s all the major players accounted for.” 

“So what about me then?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s your chip against me?”

He hums. “I hadn’t ever thought about it in all honesty.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want to sound crass with you, but you’re not exactly the most intimidating thing out there. The thought of you doing anything hadn’t ever crossed my processor.”

“I can be intimidating!”

“Please, you’re about as intimidating as a cyber mouse.”

“I’d say about the same, lately.” You attempt to throw out anything, but Knock Out keeps on swinging.

“We both know I’ve intimidated you plenty already, but you stood your ground, and here we are.”

You grumble a bit. “You didn’t really make it easy.”

He chuckles. “No, I most certainly didn’t, but you kept on coming back.”

A smile creeps up onto your faceplate. “You remember when I got into that freak accident while in the engine room and I just wouldn’t go under?”

“Yes, I couldn't forget even if I had my processor wiped. If I recall, I had to give you anesthesia because you were too stressed to undergo a processor shutdown. You literally kept onlining yourself as a preservation measure. Then you started crying because I told you I didn't want to be your friend.”

You ex-vent fondly. “And you only said that because I kept asking over and over again while my arm was nearly split in half.” 

“I think that was about the time I started becoming more amused with your advances rather than peeved. Very impressive feat, that was.”

“You were just a really cool dude. And it’s not like it was completely out of the blue. I was already friends with Breakdown, I figured you’d be next on my friendship chopping block.”

“He spoke so highly of you, I just didn’t get it at the time.” He says in a wistful sort of way, looking off in the distance.

“Oh, that reminds me! What about that one time where you and Breakdown came up to ask to speak to me privately while I was walking with Starscream. You looked a little out of it, and then when you finally did get me alone, both of you were so nervous.” 

It was exceptionally weird. The first time you’d seen either of them nervous, and the first time that Knock Out had been the one to approach you. Quite literally, all Breakdown said was ‘yeah, how was your day, bud?’ while Knock Out had his helm buried in his servos. Before you could answer, Knock Out must’ve had enough of Breakdown’s pede in his intake, because he dragged him out of there while he was still sputtering.

Knock Our creates a perfect recreation of that scene. This time he adds on a shaking motion to his helm while muttering out “Primus almighty” quietly.

“…we were going to ask you if you wanted to have a threesome.”

Your processor almost crashes for the second time today.

“What?”

“Breakdown had been trying to broach the subject for a few solar cycles, but came up short every time. So I came to help him, but then you kissed Starscream as you left and it all kinda fell apart.”

“Wow. I guess I’m just super dense, or he's just bad with words.”

“A bit of both more than likely.”

“You didn’t know we were together?”

“It’s not like he was super affectionate, right? It can’t be that surprising!” He says the last bit hurriedly, and buries his helm deeper in, almost muffling his speech. “Plus, he was a little out of your league.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re you, and he’s…”

You cross your arms. “No, I get it.” You know what he’s implying, but you’re not going to start an argument over it. “When we first got together, things just clicked. He was a big hotshot figurehead and I was simple and quiet. I cleaned up nice enough to look good on his arm during political events and whatnot, and knew when it was my turn to speak."

“You’re telling me you were even milder than you were now?”

“He rubbed off on me more than I care to admit.” 

It stings a lot, in fact, to admit that half the things not that you even have, but even are , are because of him. That’s a complex you can’t even begin to unpack. Not just your current place in the war, your job, your "friends", but even your interests, tastes, and personality all molded to better fit him.

You flip over to your back facing the air, arms folded for your helm to rest on. “Primus, I’m a mess.”

“We all are. Did you not hear my earlier list of bargaining chips, or should I go into detail on how everyone in this ship is verifiably insane?”

You turn your helm just enough to be able to peer at him with one optic. “I didn’t hear how you’re a mess, though?”

“That’s because I’m not . Someone on here has to be normal.”

“‘Normal’ and ‘mess’ aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“You wound me.” He arches his back with one servo splayed over his spark, the other arm draped over his helm in a perfectly dramatic fashion that only he can make endearing.

You turn to face him fully, raising one optical ridge. “It’s quite abnormal, and maybe even a bit messy, to be each other's rebound, isn’t it?”

“Touché.”

Chapter Text

You were expecting today to be tense. After yesterday’s ordeal, you’re pleased to say that all seems relatively well. Letting things just slide off of you and pretending everything’s alright, while certainly something you should add to your slowly growing mountain of issues, gets you out of most situations. Is it a learned behavior like all the other things in the metaphorical pile turned natural wonder that humans would pay to hike only to die halfway up the summit? Yes. 

But the saying “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” holds exceedingly true in this case. You wouldn’t have gotten this far without it.

So upon greeting Soundwave as usual in between odd jobs around the ship, he perks up ever so slightly. 

“Just wanted to check in on things. What’s new?”

Nothing is ever really new with him. You have no idea what’s exactly normal for him, but suddenly having Laserbeak perched on your shoulder is a surprise.

Typically, Laserbeak is attached to Soundwave like glue onto his chassis. You only get to interact with him when you specifically ask to. Otherwise if he’s not stuck onto him, he’s somewhere fluttering about the ship, undoubtedly spying where the cameras can’t reach per Soundwave’s request. Notably, it’s only when Megatron isn’t on board. At least you’re assuming that’s what he’s doing. Laserbeak doesn’t talk either, nor quite emote like Soundwave does.

Laserbeak’s wings compensate plenty. 

“Hey, bud! It’s been a while, how’s my little guy doing?” 

He jumps down onto your awaiting servo, tiny claws gripping onto your digits. Immediately you scratch the side of his head, where you’d assume his audials would be on his otherwise smooth and featureless body. His wings flap in little jitters, and he leans into your petting.

“What a sweetspark. What’s the occasion?” Your voice comes out in a horribly high pitched coo, way too happy to get to see the mini-con.

“None,” Soundwave says with a recorded clip of yourself, then after a moment of fiddling with a terminal turns to you. “Just bring him along.”

“Along?”

“ Yes, work, work, work.”

“Oh! Well, I wouldn’t mind the company, I suppose.”

Definitely a great start to your day.

 “Well, let’s get this moving along!” You make your way back through the door with Laserbeak perched on your shoulder once again. “Thanks Soundwave. I’ll bring him back when I’m done.”

He waves one tentacle at you, and you step back into the halls of the ship.

With your new companion, you feel ready to take on the slag that will undoubtedly be thrown at you.

You were right in that assumption. 

You give a hearty knock to the door of Shockwave’s lab, and the door slides open revealing him looming over you.

This time you don’t bother with his suppressive aura.

“Hey! So what’d you need fixed?”

After a beat of silence he responds. “Why is the mini-con with you?”

“Ah, he’s my helper today. I hope you don’t mind.” Laserbeak is completely still on your shoulder, having a near stare down with Shockwave.

“I do not.” He steps aside and you walk in.

The “work” he has you do is menial at best. Anyone with a functioning processor can put two and two together and figure out that wires of matching colors probably go together. Especially when they very clearly were severed. It apparently takes a seasoned mechanic to figure out that the reason why the XRD machine doesn’t start is because the sample stage has been fractured beyond reason and trying to balance the slide on it is not proper protocol.

Even with your limited knowledge on X-Ray diffraction, all it takes is one look inside the chamber to safely say that’s the problem. Knock Out would probably have been a better guide on this, since he actually deals in science, whereas your field can be boiled down to banging two pieces of metal together and seeing what holds. 

Even with this, you sheath your servo for a blowtorch. 

“Alright, I’m gonna heat up the stage a tad to bend it back into place.”

Laserbeak moves to the opposite shoulder, wings flapping in wide arcs to settle himself.

Shockwave watches as you heat up the metal ever so slightly, and then meld the long prongs of the stage so that they’re parallel to each other. 

Thank Primus for the modifications to your digits. The tungsten lining prevents your servos from warping due to contact with the heated brass.

“And done. Anything else you got for me?”

“That seemed fast.”

You purse your lips. “Well, it wasn't that difficult. I just have the tools needed. Helps that I also have two servos to work with.” You sheath the blowtorch and squeeze the freed servo, testing its movement.

“That is logical.”

“I’m well aware. If you need nothing else, I’ll be on my way.”

He gives you no other commands as you make your way to the exit. With that, you move into the more pressing issues around the ship. 

All throughout each task, you talk Laserbeak through the processes, causing time to flow stupendously fast. Much like his master, Laserbeak’s presence is plentiful. You can just talk nonsense and he listens, occasionally offering a little hop in surprise or a tilt to his small helm when he’s interested in what you’re saying. Otherwise, he’s content to rest in the junction between your shoulder and your neck.

Even though you have to move a tad bit slower to accommodate him, you don’t mind.

You make it back to the control room to hand back Soundwave his deployer.

When you walk over to him, Laserbeak once again holding onto your digits, he’s observing video feed of the throne room.

“All done for the day. He was a delight as usual, a great conversationalist.” You can’t help the warmth that emanates through your voicebox.

Soundwave turns, allowing Laserbeak to take off from your servo and reattach to his chassis. A bright smiley emoticon displays on his visor.

You stand next to Soundwave, one arm braced against the edge of the counter where the input panel lies. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Meeting.”

You look on with him. The monitor displays Megatron along with Knock Out and the predacon. Amusingly, Megatron is passively petting the beast while conversing with your dear medic. From what you can pick up, it sounds like Knock Out’s been assigned a fetch quest after tracking down another energy signature, and since you’re done for the rest of the solar cycle, you’ll get to join in. Score!

“Knock Out, do not return empty handed.”

“Moi? Don’t know the meaning of the word,” Knockout replies to Megatron, a servo braced against his spark in mock indignation.

For someone that really hates “fleshies,” he’s sure taken a liking to their culture. His use of human vernacular and slang peppered in to his speech surprisingly fits his voice.

Then Starscream strolls in, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Isn’t empty handed two words?”

Knock Out turns to the seeker currently smiling smugly, and offers up a sneer of his own.

“You would know. Or did your missing armor turn up?”

You hiss through your dentae at that burn. You’re fortunate to not be on the other side of those insults anymore, otherwise you’d be scalded from his glossa even with your reinforced plating.

Before Starscream can go for a rebuttal, Megatron tells him off. To add insult to injury, Starscream’s now forced on monitor duty.

Of course you’re proud of your friend. However, proudness is at the bottom of the list of things you feel at the moment. The pettiness buried deep within your spark is clawing out, giving you an overwhelming giddiness at seeing Starscream knocked down a peg. In turn, at the tail end of it all is attraction.

Yes, you’re proud of Knock Out starting to rise back into Megatron’s good graces. Having his achievements recognized has been long coming.

But what’s been even longer coming is Starscream’s fall.

Sure, it’s not by your hand, but this is just the beginning.

A gnawing thought in your processor tells you that there’s no one better to share that eventual victory left.

Thought ignored.

You watch as Knock Out saunters away, and then you turn to Soundwave.

“I’m…I’m uhhh…gonna go. See you later.” It’s very awkward, but you absolutely couldn’t care less, with what’s riding on the line.

Today’s excursion is both an opportunity to go back into the wide open and to stick it again to Starscream and to rub his incompetence in his faceplate. Truly a blessed day.

You run out of the room, half walking half jogging to where you assume he’s at. Just to keep your bases covered, you open up a comm line to who you’re currently scouting out for.

“Hey, where are you at?”

His smooth voice responds not a klick later. “Why, just entering the med bay. Did you need something?” 

You skid to a halt, then turning towards the aforementioned sector of the ship, your pedes grating loudly against the floor. If Knock Out heard it, he didn’t say anything.

“I just happened to overhear you might be going on a very cool mission, and was very politely asking if I could come along? Since, I, you know, could use the experience, right? Among a whole bunch of other things that you said. Have I mentioned how gorgeous you are today?”

“Ah, yes. Why am I not surprised? I was just about to ask if you wanted to come along. That little bird of yours must act fast.”

“I just have good connections.”

He laughs, a warm sort of sound that filters in directly to your processor. “ Connections , sure. The joke writes itself.”

***

After arriving to the med bay and gathering up any supplies you might need, you two left through a ground bridge Soundwave set up near the approximate coordinates to the alleged location of the fossil. 

The two of you arrive in your alt-modes. You were about to question why remain in this state given how close you were to it, but the approaching view of some sort of human building eased your concerns.

It’s dark out, so it’s relatively still. Empty parking lot nearly barren of any trace of people. Except for the two just now leaving the building.

Knock Out comes to a slow stop and kills his lights. “Ah. Seems we’ve been beat out.”

You stop just a wire later. “What do you mean?”

“Those two are some of the Autobots’ pets.”

“Slag. What do we do?”

A beat of silence, and then he responds. “Stay behind me, I’ll take care of this.”

He stalks forward, and you follow right behind, almost bumper to bumper. He comes to a halting stop, and you narrowly avoid crashing into him. Thank whatever higher power is above, because if you did, you’d never hear the end of it. 

“I got a bone to pick with you,” Knock Out says, and out pops a blinding ray from his side. 

The humans attempt to run, but they fall to the ground unconscious.

“Well that was easy,” you say, as the both of you transform. “What do we do with ‘em?”

“We take them as hostages, obviously .” He scoffs. “Such a shame I have to be the pretty one and the smart one.”

“Well, what am I?”

“Funny one? No, actually, I’m also the funny one. You get to be the one that carries things.” He gestures to your incapacitated company. “I don’t want to have to touch them if I can help it.”

“They seem harmless to me.” You hold them in your servos. “When they’re not in a flight frame, at least. By themselves, they’re harmless.”

“You don’t know that! They’re so unsettling. Who knows what diseases they carry.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ve got ‘em.”

The two of you transform into your alt modes again, with your hostages stored in your trunk, just as they begin waking up.

“Welcome aboard!” You chirp out. “Please keep all limbs inside the vehicle at all times.” 

Instantly, the two begin arguing as you hit the road. Something about waiting for Optimus Prime, from what you can gather.

“Um. Would you guys like any music?” You say, timidly, interrupting their argument.

“What?” They chime in unison, turning their anger at you.

“I’m trying to get into human music. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Who in the Sam Hell are you?” From their conversation, you gathered his designation is Fowler.

“Stop bothering the happy couple. Primus almighty, how long have you been dating? Because you two bicker like an old married couple. I’d be able to hear you even without the comm link.”

“We’re not dating,” who you learned is June, says rather sternly. 

You can almost feel the wince the other gives.

“Frankly, I find it repulsive. The whole idea of you fleshies…interfacing. Ugh.”

If you could roll your optics, you would.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just xenophobic.”

“Rightfully so, and I’ve said it already, but it seems you can’t pull your helm out of your aft and listen.”

“The joke writes itself, Knock Out. I’d explain it, but I’m a good host, so I’ll pass on the obvious.”

“And they say we bicker like an old married couple,” Fowler chuckles dryly.

“It’s called having friends. You should try it sometime!” 

Before anyone can say anything, you cut off Knock Out’s comm link. Then, you turn on the radio, scrolling through channels. You listen to a few seconds, and then scroll to the next when you’re bored of it.

“So bad news. I’m not getting a word back from home base.”

“What? What do you mean you’re not getting a word back?!”

“I mean complete radio silence. Zip. Zilch. Zero.”

You groan. “So much for a good first mission.”

“First mission? So you’re a rookie?” Fowler asks.

“Ha! Rookie? I’m probably hundreds of thousands of times older than you. I’m just rusty. Been a while since I’ve been on the field and all that.”

“Why’s that?” He prods.

“Long story. Lots of drama.”

June pipes up after a few kliks. “Well, if your people aren’t answering your calls, you got time, don’t you?”

Fair point.

“I’ll just say the basics. Starscream is— was— a horrible partner.”

“Which one is he?”

“Scary and annoying plane guy,” Fowler supplies.

“Right. Sorry, continue.”

“I got hurt on the battlefield like forever ago, and haven’t left since. He pulled some strings with Megatron, I think, and had me stay aboard the nemesis as the full time mechanic.”

“So you what, broke up with him? Why’d you end it? And why wait so long,” all of which she asks very sincerely. You probably shouldn’t be sharing this stuff with your hostage, but it was nice to share with an outside perspective. 

“That’s…complicated. Very ‘messy’ as I’ve been told.” Among some other raunchier things. “So, that’s where I stop my story. All that matters is I’m here now, right? Dwelling on the past doesn’t solve anything.”

“Remind me about a certain overwhelming character flaw you have? Something to do with your penchant for revenge?”

Knock Out’s amused voice cuts through your mindful state, and you let out a few explicatives when he laughs at your small startled screech. You thought you cut his comm link after all of his previous sass.

There isn’t even a real fight, and you’re already scrambled. Maybe you really are a rookie. “I just can’t win, can I?”

“You certainly cannot,” Fowler says, far too close to your front seats.

Suddenly, he grabs ahold of your wheel, steering you off road towards a train station while Knock Out continues on ahead.

“What the—? Knock Out!”

“What?”

“Turn around, they got out of their binds and got ahold of, well, me,” you say frantically in Cybertronian, attempting to fight Fowler’s hold, leaving out the fact that this current exchange might've only happened because you were tricked into monologuing. 

Knock Out breaks hard, tires squealing against the asphalt, and careens towards where you’re now parked, doors opening as the humans scurry to the stopped train cars.

You transform into your root mode, going for whichever human is closest.

“That wasn’t very nice!” You point at Fowler while he squirms in your grasp.

“You probably won’t be a fan of this, then.” He pulls out a small device from his pocket and sprays it at your faceplate. 

“Wha—OW!” You drop him, digging the palms of your servos into your optics as the fluid stings at your visual receptors. “You fragging—OW!”

He runs off to somewhere further away in the train yard while you’re left rubbing your faceplate to ease the burning of it. It’s not till Knock Out comes back that you can finally see, albeit a bit hazy from the lubricant dripping from the corners of your optics.

“What happened?”

“Sprayed me with some sort of burning fluid. Can’t see scrap right now.”

He reaches up and turns your helm by the chin, supposedly doing a quick medical check. Must be fine enough, because he sighs, and then turns to the rest of the train yard. “Keep a look out as best you can, I’ll do the dirty work.”

You nod, and he stalks off.

He instantly is sauntering around, not at all in a rush to find them. “Oh! Are we playing a human game now? Because I’d be happy to teach you the Decepticon version, ‘hide and go shriek’.”

He laughs at his own joke. His ego and self love is truly a sight to behold. Of course, he could be trying to make his prey slip up by underestimation, but a strong case could be made for him just being overwhelmingly full of himself.

You ignore him, and keep your eyes peeled for your attempted hostages. Crunching of gravel can be heard underneath Knock Out’s taunting, but you can’t pinpoint a direct location of the footsteps.

Finally, you spot the afthole that burned your optics.

“Train car behind you!” You call out.

Knock Out turns, and immediately hones in on Fowler. “Ah hah!”

Knock Out’s sharp digits wrap around Fowler, this time around his whole torso to prevent any arm movement.

“Alright, little lady. Show yourself. Before I turn your snappy dresser into a sloppy stain on the tarmac.”

All sounds of gravel crunching stop. Instead the chugging of a train takes over. It’s the set of cars farthest from you.

“Last chance she-human. If you’re not out here with my prize in two point three seconds, your boyfriend here—“

The car pulls away to reveal June, fossil box in hand.

“First. Not my boyfriend.”

The rest of you share a look, you and Knock Out’s plain amusement, and Fowler’s of embarrassment.

“Second, you’re not laying a metal digit on him. Not if you ever want to see your precious talon again.”

She attempts to look defiant as she throws the wooden box onto the ground, but immediately loses that look when she’s yanked by Knock Out, the box all but forgotten in shards and miniscule splinters.

You narrow your optics and walk over.

You’re not the smartest con in the world, but putting two and two together warrants that it’s close to where she was. If she stopped at Knock Out’s threat, and hadn’t moved till the train car did, it makes sense that—

“It’s on the train! Here, save the dramatics and give me them.”

“What? How do you know?”

“We don’t have time for me to explain it. Just trust me. Haven’t let you down yet, have I?”

You place a servo on his shoulder, and he holds your pleading stare long enough for his apprehension to melt into acceptance.

“That’s…true. Fine.” He hands over the hostages and you both transform once more.

“You go catch up with it. You’re faster than me, but I’ll be right on your tailpipe. Just go.”

He falters, but ultimately speeds off past you, regaining ground lost while playing bad cop. 

You tighten up the steatbelts within and engage the locking feature, preventing the humans within your cab the chance of escaping as you ride behind Knock Out.

“I have to commend your thinking,” you say to the humans pulling at the belts within. Earlier you did say you were only worried about humans while piloting an empty flight frame. Now, you have reason to tread just a little bit carefully. You can’t, however, resist the urge to gloat. 

“But I regret to inform you you’ll never outplay the player.”

It’s the little things that matter.

They continue to attempt to pry themselves out, but you’ve locked them in tight.

“We have company! But I finally got in contact with home base.”

From far behind you, you hear engines revving and the beating of insecticon wings. You see them behind you, bots you haven’t seen in quite some time, and for different reasons. Your own engine revs harder, a momentary strike of fear which causes you to speed up just ever so slightly.

“About time! We’re in deep slag here. All we gotta do is figure out which car!” You say to Knock Out through your comm link.

A rumbling explosion sounds out from behind you, shaking your frame and your current occupants. Your engine sends pulses of pain through your frame, rumbling angrily from overuse, an almost deafening sound combined with the heavy thuds of rapidly dwindling insecticons.

A few moments later you get your next response. 

“The convertible!

“The what? ”

“The open-top! The car to your right.”

Spotting the train car he’s talking about, you speed up just past the car. Hopefully your plan works, otherwise you run the risk of not only missing the train and having to try again, but you also risk getting caught by those gaining on your trail. You transform into your root mode once sufficiently ahead, immediately grabbing onto the car as it rushes past you. It’s a quick maneuver, pulling yourself up top while you keep your hostages pressed against your chassis, and one that pushes the limit of your upper arm strength, but you just barely manage to swing up and steady yourself aboard the top of the train. Looking back quickly, your pursuers are far behind, but you don’t care to take your time digging through coal.

It takes just a second to locate the talon amid the mass.

“Got it!”

“Stop playing in the dirt, then, and get back down here! The sooner we’re out of here, the better!”

You set the hostages on the top of the car as a distraction to the white rally car gaining on you. 

“Well, this has been fun.”

Your former hostages look up at you in a combination of fear and awe that has your chassis puffing out. “Till next time!”

You jump off the train, waving, and then transform into your alt mode in mid air. A klik is all it takes for you to get back on track after swerving from the fast landing.

Instead of a rally car you get a rapidly accelerating two-wheeler on your tailpipe.

You wordlessly speed up to catch up with Knock Out, who’s just now entering a ground bridge.

You enter just a klik later, coming to a skidding halt in the throne room.

Your t-cog whirrs angrily as you transform for the final time that day, sending shocks through your hydraulics.

“Well?” Megatron says expectantly.

It takes a moment for you to collect yourself, willing your engine to pipe down while you dig through your subspace. You locate the desired item, presenting it to him with a bow for good measure.

“As promised, my liege.”

You received a sharp grin. “You have served me well today, both of you. Which is more than I can say for some .”

He turns to Starscream, who was standing right behind Megatron up until this point.

“If our mechanic did their job right, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Your plating flares, ready to retort and worse. Fighting protocols are still engaged from your prior excursion, so you’d have no problem wiping that pathetic look off his faceplate.

“Are we sure about that, or was it your poor job of training the beast that caused it. Again.”

“It’s not my fault the creature is incouritable and void of all but the most rudimentary intelligence! If you ask me, we should scrap project Predacon altogether.”

Megatron interrupts your bickering. “That will not be happening under any circumstances that the likes of you conjures up. We have come this far, and we are so close to achieving even greater things with Shockwave’s discretion.”

Starscream is about to retort, but Megatron fixes a hard glare on him. “End of discussion.”

He then turns to you and Knock Out again. “Knock Out, go see to it that Shockwave receives the fossil. And you,” he fixes his gaze on you, “confirm with Soundwave that there is no lingering damage. I do not want a repeat of today. We should count ourselves lucky that fortune favored us this time.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron,” you say in unison.

You both bow deeply, and scurry out of the throne room with Soundwave in tow.

“See you around?” You say to Knock Out before you part.

“Yes, certainly,” he replies, and then he parts to do his own side quest.

***

Joors later after making sure all the wiring is secure again you’re making the walk back to Knock Out’s habsuite. Your t-cog aches and the pain radiating from your spinal struts are killer. It was a long day, decidedly.

You’re incredibly lucky that there wasn’t any lingering damage like Megatron mentioned. Soundwave did a good enough job patching it himself, which you made sure to mention. Is it weird to think he, a former powerful political figure and gladiator, was just a tiny bit adorable when his faceplate displayed a smiling blush emoticon after you complimented his work?

Maybe.

Especially after you learned that Starscream definitely had something to do with it from a vehicon who observed the incident? Implying that Soundwave fixed Starscream’s mess? 

Probably.

You open up the door to the habsuite, entering in the code like second nature. What you’re greeted with makes you do a double take.

“Welcome back, sweetspark.”

Knock Out is laid across his berth, his helm resting up on one servo, the other draping across a propped up knee. He looks like a pin up, the kind that would be sent out in straight to personal file magazines. The dimness of his habsuite greatly compliments his glowing optics, and even though you’d just had a pretty dirt and grime laden day, his plating shines beautifully.

“What’s…up?” You say, lamely. His grin widens.

“I have some polish here that I can’t quite get on right. I think I need a little help from some very dexterous servos. Do you know anyone who fits the bill?”

“I think I could help with that.”

He beckons you over with a crook of a digit. “Come here, then.”

You hold up a servo, halting his ploy, which he looks overwhelmingly confused at, as if it's the first time anyone has ever done this to him of all mechs. It very well might be, but you feel horrible. “I’m gross. Let me rinse off first before I get into it.”

He groans, tossing his precious polish to the side. “I’ve been waiting this whole time. You really want me to wait more?”

“Unless you want to join me, yeah. I’d hate to get your berth all dirtied up.”

“I think we could make that work.”

“Don’t expect to be anything phenomenal, though. I’m tired and my t-cog hurts.”

“I always have to do all the work, don’t I?” Before you can say anything, he leads you to his personal wash rack.

While he goes about starting the water you lean up against the countertop, back to the large vanity mirror. You watch as he comes back over to take out a couple large microfiber towels from a cabinet underneath, folding them into a nice pile just out of your reach.

“See something you like?” He eyes you from the corner of his optics, catching you staring.

“Not sure.”

“Not sure?” He stops his folding, turning to face you fully.

“Yeah. This something is real pretty, smart, too.”

“Yeah?”

You grab his hips and pull him against you. “And he thinks he’s funny, but I think he’s kind of a dork. Maybe a bit of a jerk, too.”

He sets his servos on the edge of the countertop, caging you in.

“I think this someone thinks you’re even worse.”

“How so?”

“You’re kinda boring at first, but he always thought it was a ruse. He was right, just not in the way he thought initially.”

You raise an optical ridge.

“…but it makes you even more intriguing. He hates to admit it, but he likes having you around.”

“Guess I’ll just wait till he says it himself then. But for now, I think I’d like him to kiss me like he means it.”

“He will, gladly.”

He presses his lips to yours, and like every other time, you melt a little, your spark thrumming erratically when he places a servo on your neck. 

It’s a prolonged joining, but nothing graphic. Plain old smooching, and it may be boring, but when he parts you miss it all the same.

“We should probably hop in,” he says, leaning up into you, “Don’t want the water getting cold, do we?”

“I suppose not.”

***

The shower was, of course, luxurious. Even if you ignored how soothing it was for your sore hydraulics, it was one of the best showers you’ve had by far. Knock Out is not one to skip out on self care items, especially when related to his vanity, so it’s no surprise that the soap he brought out left you with no streaks to your paint, that he applied and rinsed off of you himself. To top it all off, he even reapplied wax to your plating. All without you asking. It certainly helps that the two of you got a little handsy while he wiped you down, adding to your current strutless self induced haze while cuddling in Knock Out’s berth. 

Your plating is now almost (heavy on the almost) comparable to his with how pristine it looks after the shower. You could visibly see the change in water color as it slid off your body, which your current partner made sure to proclaim his disgust at.

All that matters is now you’re relaxed and clean.

“This is…nice,” he says from above you.

You can’t see him from how you’re cooped up in the crook of his neck. You’re not particularly sure you want to.

“…yeah, it is,” you mutter after a brief pause.

A shiver races up him, and he starts tracing patterns in the grooves of your plating. You clutch onto him tighter when he starts running the tips of his talons in between the seams. 

You stay like that for a while. It’s sickeningly sweet, how gentle he’s being. How domestic it feels to be embracing him, like you’re something more than unlikely friends or an occasional (really nearly every day) hookup that leaves you dazed and confused.

You’re not sure what to make of that.

It’s the closest to true comfort you’ve felt in a long time, that’s for sure. For that, you’re content with leaving things unsaid.

You could really use a drink right now.

Wait.

You break the silence, a plan brewing in your processor.

“You know what’d make this better?”

“Hm?”

“Some high grade.”

He scoffs. “That would be a treat, for sure. But alas, we are without recompense for our hard work.”

You sit up on your elbows, now looking down at him. “We can remedy this.”

He narrows his optics. “Just say your stupid plan.” He senses your intentions, but doesn’t deny them yet.

The promise of high grade outweighs the promise of something stupid.

“I might know a guy on this very ship that keeps a very pretty stash of some high quality stuff.”

“Go on.”

You grin. “I just need you, my friend, to be a distraction.”

“For who?”

“Starscream.”

***

Soon after you’re sneaking through the hull of the ship, making your way to a room you know too well, inside and out.

You make it to the panel, inputting the passcode. Slightly surprisingly, you still have access to the room. Whether it’s due to forgetfulness or desperation, you can’t tell. Starscream was never one to forget, however, so you’re leaning toward the latter.

You ping Knock Out to let him know you’re in, then you slip inside. 

Everything’s exactly as you remember it, from a vague sweep of everything, at least.

All small collections of trinkets he’s collected over the years, some you even remember finding together. 

The pressed frond from the planet where you first said “I love you” is the most noteworthy (a gift you’d given dozens of stellar cycles after the fact).

It’s easy to be sentimental here.

He still keeps you around. Not out of laziness. He was never a lazy mech. 

It’s easy to reminisce.

About things that once were. 

It’s easy to pretend you’re fine. You’d known something was up for a while before that fateful day. You’d been unsatisfied with things for even longer. Which is why at the time it was easy to formulate that plan with Knock Out and present yourself to the world as something new. 

Someone that’s better alone than tied down. Someone unafraid of the future or their prospects or those around them. 

It was easy.

Now that you’re here, facing reminders of what once was, and the truths of what is, it’s hard.

That ever present mountain looms more.

Nothing the finest high grade this side of the galaxy can’t fix.

You shake your helm, as if clearing your thoughts and rethreading the pathways already formed, and press a button on the side of the sparsely cushioned berth. An unseen compartment snaps open, revealing a neat box full of various flasks of high grade. All of them are perfectly organized by purity, with groupings of different notable flavor profiles added in.

You browse through, and pick out a flask filled with a medium concentrate, just a tad on the sweet side. 

You’re not much of a snob for the stuff like Starscream is, but as long as it successfully distracts you from your distractions, it’s good enough.

You could’ve gotten something stronger. You briefly wonder if you should trade it out for something you would’ve sipped on while hanging off the arm of some other rich afthole before you went to engineering school, but ultimately decide against it. You’re not trying to wake up with a Processor-ache, thank you very much.

You slink out of the room, spoils hidden in the depths of your sub space, and send another ping to Knock Out to make himself scarce.

The trip back is uneventful, but it’s not long after you’re sitting on Knock Out’s room again, this time you opt to sprawl out on his berth, soaking up the plushness there.

“Took you a while to send out that message,” a very irritated voice cuts through the silence, subsequently rousing you from your power nap. “Care to inform me of what happened?”

You sit up to look at Knock Out, who has his arms crossed over his chassis. “I just got caught up with things. Not important. How’d it go?”

“‘Not important’— okay. If you must know, your plan worked swimmingly. Hardly any trouble baiting him, and I’m fairly certain it toyed with his processor tenfold.”

“Know thy enemy, Knock Out. Know thy enemy. But I couldn’t have done it without you, my friend.”

He half smiles, but then drops it, fixing you with a questioning gaze. “Might’ve been a bit much, though. You aren’t worried about anything bad coming from this, big shot?”

“Not at all. What’s he gonna do? Start stalking me? Let him see, then.” You pull out the flask from your subspace. “I’m fine with putting all my chips on the table.”

Knock Out pulls out two spare cups from the mess hall he picked up. “If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.”

You stand up and unscrew the top of the flask. “I don’t, but it’s too late to let up now.” Out pours ruby red high grade into the cups as you tilt the flask. The sight of your optics looking back at you from the liquid makes your tanks churn. You tear your gaze away to peer back down at Knock Out.

He looks at you with trepidation, something you haven’t seen since you were hopped up on anesthetics you couldn’t begin to pronounce on the operating table with energon pouring out to a slick mess that pooled around his pedes.

You stop pouring once you’re satisfied with the amount.

You take one of the cups from him.

This was supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be another distraction, but you suppose you didn't think this through fully.

You hold up your glass. 

“To fortune."

He holds his up half heartedly.

“To health.”

***

You spend the rest of the evening recovering the mood, giggling over forgotten stories and times from before the war. He tells you about how he and Breakdown met (he was his patient while still in med school). In turn, you tell him bits about life before being entangled with Starscream (the bills didn’t pay themselves was the key point of those stories).

Once all is said and done and the buzz starts to fade you both call it a night. You give him a parting kiss, and tell him your thanks. For taking you on the mission, for the shower, for the high grade run, and everything in between.

He doesn’t respond, and opts to sleep on his side.

Chapter Text

Things have been…weird…lately with Knockout. Not in the usual “your partner that I was friends with died and my partner just cheated on me so I should totally use you to get back at him” kind of way. 

But in the “maybe we should address what’s going on before it gets out of hand” kind of way. The kind that makes your helm spin, lost in confusion on what you should do.

Obviously, you’re grateful for his company and companionship. Outside of that though, you’re not sure how to feel.

He’s been distant. Much in the way he was before you began to be close: avoidant and elusive. Not harsh like he was then, but he is definitely avoiding your presence if he can help it.

Although, you’re remaining hopeful that it’s just because of whatever big project he’s been working on in the recesses of the med bay. It’s not a new issue, he works on it at very specific times of the day, so you try and work a schedule around it to go and visit with him while he works on more mundane things.

Otherwise, he’ll tell you he’s too busy to hangout.

You asked him a couple days ago if he’d like to go out to one of those drive-ins he likes, under the pretense that you’d be doing “reconnaissance”. It was a fine trip, a good opportunity to get out of the ship, and the movie was surprisingly entertaining. A little bit much for your tastes, but not too tank churning to make you want to leave.

You thanked him for taking you out, but as soon as you both got back, he immediately darted off.

You’ll give him a little bit of time to sort through whatever he’s got going on. In all honesty, that’s something you need, too. You just really don’t have the barings to bring it up today.

That’s a later problem.

Onto the pile it goes.

It’s fairly late, and all that’s heard is the echoing thump of your pedes. Even ignoring how silent it is now that most of the insecticons are off ship, it’s still quiet. No vehicons out, unfortunately. That’s why you’re stalking around, trying to find some way to spend your time, and you initially intended on asking a bunch of them that you usually hang with in your off time to watch something with you.

With plan A gone, you walk to the control room to initiate plan B.

You knock on the door once, and the faint sound of that music Soundwave likes stops.

“Hey, can I come in?”

The door slides open, with Soundwave as usual, standing at the monitor. 

“Just wanted to hangout here for a while, is that cool?”

He stares at you for a moment, then turns back to his work. “Sure.”

You sit on a counter of an unused terminal, getting out your personal data pad. After sending a quick message to Knockout that you’ll be late, you read through a few emails and other messages you’ve accumulated.

You’re glad that Soundwave has such an awful recharge schedule. As bad as it sounds, he’s reliable in the sense that you can always count on him to be awake, even at the most odd hours. Plus, you don’t have to talk. You aren’t expected to put up some big performance or be something greater than you really are. You can just be.

The soft lull of music kicks back on.

It’s less noisy than he usually prefers, a much more mellow track. Much less chaotic MIDI bass lines and more soothing synths, creating a very peaceful atmosphere for the control room.

You don’t know how much time has passed, just sitting there working on various mini projects and small tasks, but eventually Soundwave breaks the lull.

“I have to get going.”

“Oh! Really?” You shut off your data pad and slip it back into your subspace. “That’s a shame, I really enjoyed our time today.”

With a final prompt typed out, the monitor shuts off and the room dims. He then turns to you, with a ‘?’ on his visor.

“Would you like to join me?”

***

Never in a billion stellar cycles would you have guessed where you were about to be whisked away to. He laid out a couple ground rules for you before you left: be careful with how you talk and don’t get too touchy with anyone. It didn’t make sense at the time, but who are you to resist the opportunity to leave the ship?

Now, it does.

It makes too much sense.

When he bridges you into an abandoned overpass, you’re just a tiny bit confused. When he transforms into his alt-mode underneath, instructing you to do the same, and a human materializes in front of him, you start to understand.

You materialize your own holoform, and follow his slouched one all the way up to a shady building with a very present thrumming bass that gets louder and louder as you get closer and closer.

More things start clicking when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, walking past the long line of people standing at the door. His arm leaves a slight static, almost buzzing sort of feeling where it lies.

Soundwave fist bumps the bouncer, who looks at you with just a single eyebrow raised, and then leads you through the doors.

“No fragging way.” 

It’s a nightclub. He took you to a nightclub. It’s unfairly packed, and even through the muted connection between your main body and your holoform, you can still feel the dense atmosphere. If your olfactory sensors were working, you’d probably smell some sort of musk.

Soundwave pinches you on the shoulder.

“Right, sorry, slip of the— ouch! I didn’t even say anything.” 

He looks at you, tilting his he—head? “I was totally going to say tongue, for your information.”

You approach a winding staircase, and as he leads you up it, he absentmindedly rubs the spot on your shoulder. 

“Thank you. And thank you for taking me. This is an…interesting choice.” You can’t help but let your opt— eyes soak up the various characters that inhabit the nightclub. People of various covering styles and shapes and sizes all inhabiting the club. Many occupy the dance floor, some hanging out at the bar, and a few leaning against the railings of the balcony.

You reach the top, and it’s a lot less crowded, much more comfortable with a lot more breathing room to boot. Though there are people, it seems like the space up here is for talking or brooding. You can respect that.

You walk past the wallflowers, and reach the DJ booth. The current mixer looks up from his shitty laptop as you approach, brightening when he sees your companion.

“Hey, bro, long time no see. What’s been happening?”

Soundwave shrugs, letting go of your shoulders.

“Right on!” He says, with a surprising amount of pep for someone so unkempt. “I have a…couple minutes left on my set, then I’ll be outta your way.”

He holds up a hand, in a sort of “no worries” gesture. 

It’s funny how no one seems to bat an eye at his oddities, or how no discernible features are shown, or his awkward mannerisms. Based on how everyone else acts though, he probably fits right in.

“How long have you been coming around here?” You ask in a voice just quiet enough to be drowned out by the pitchy snares.

He makes a “so-so” motion with his hand.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

He shakes his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the outermost layer of his covering. It’s a thick organic material, likely a leather, that does a good job of hiding any distinguishing features his figure might give.

You wrap an arm around his waist, dragging him closer to you so that you’re pressed up against his side. “Don’t worry, your secrets’ safe with me.” You wink at him. “Eye for an eye.”

Does he even have eyes under there? 

He stares at you for an uncomfortable amount of time, then rests his "cheek" against the top of your head. You two watch everything going on below, the crowd moving rhythmically. It’s surprisingly nice, like watching the waves of acid pools or bubbling of tar pits, and the static from him accentuating the feeling.

For the first time in as long as you remember, which must be at least a few million years, you miss your home. Lost to war so, so long ago, you’d nearly forgotten what it looks like. All you faintly remember in the recesses of your files are faces of your friends, the oil house you’d populate after university was up, and a few other more unsavory locations when you still were saving up for it. Is it even really your home anymore?

You look up at Soundwave, watching the reflections of strobe lights bounce off his gas mask. 

“Do you think—“

“Done with my set, table’s all yours. See you next week, bro!”

Soundwave pulls away from you, your hand falling to your side, uselessly. He walks over to the booth, getting to work on setting up his equipment. All he plugs in is a usb drive into the mixer that was already on the booth. Much less work than the previous guy, who had to pack up a laptop and another boxy device you don’t know the name of.

You recover from your bout of longing and walk over to your companion.

“Is that all of your equipment?”

He fiddles with the mixer for a second, then pointing up to his head. So in the same way he controls ground bridges. Smart.

“That’s really cool, actually.”

He grabs a mic, undoubtedly for appearances and not for him to actually speak through. He then gestures for you to talk.

You look from him, to the mic, and finally settling back onto him as you get closer to it. You grin as you take it into your hands.

“Welcome!”

A heavily distorted drum fill begins playing, and the room cheers.

“I want to see you all on the floor tonight! Roof to basement!”

Soundwave’s hands flicking on switches and pressing dials, dexterous and moving with ease.

“ And by all means,” you say, voice dropping an octave. You try and remember the words to one of the songs you’ve heard him play before, the bass seeming to stretch out, drum fill accelerating.  “Do the Dance.”

The bass of the song breaks back out with the combined synthesizer, sending the floor into a frenzy. It’s a very industrial and heavy hitting sound, one that you can feel through your faux skin and nerves. It’s like the whole room vibrates with it.

You put the mic down, and find yourself hopping along to the beat. It’s infectious, hearing the people below sing what they can while they jump in tandem. 

Occasionally, Soundwave finds a moment in a song where he can let things loop so that he can bounce with you. He’s very awkward, and a little bit unpracticed in how he hops up and down on the balls of his feet, while you fully allow your feet to leave the ground while you jump in place. Like many things in life, you make up for your inept efforts with enthusiasm.

Eventually, somehow, you get tired of the nonstop dancing. You tell Soundwave that you’re gonna go take a short walk, which he acknowledges with a nod, so you make your way back towards the stairs. You stop, however, to look at the dance floor. 

The crowd has filed into a perfect circle, surrounding one lone person who’s dancing in the center. It feels like his feet almost move too fast to see, chaotic but clearly practiced.

“Damn. He’s good.”

“He’s been doing this a while, so it checks.”

You turn to the voice beside you. 

You have no idea of what human beauty standards are supposed to look like, but you think she looks quite pleasing. She’s looking down at the floor below, too, almost fondly.

“You know him?”

“He’s my…brother, of sorts.”

“Why’re you up here, then? Does talent not run in the family?”

She laughs half-heartedly. “It’s not really my thing.” 

You hum, acknowledging her statement.

“Never been mine, either, but I’m trying new things.”

“Yeah, he said I should, too. I’ve been having a pretty shit week, so he thought it’d be good for me to go out.”

“Tell me about it. My…friend,” you say the last part like a question, “invited me out. Things have been crazy for me.”

“Can’t be any crazier than my week.”

“It can, and it is.”

She turns to you, finally looking you in the eye, raising a challenging brow. “Try me.”

“My partner cheated on me so I, per the suggestion of another mutual friend of ours, slept with his coworkers.”

“Why coworkers?”

“We all work together.”

She sucks in a breath. “That is pretty…something.”

“So what about you?”

“Ah. It’s…complicated. Dealing with some trauma about losing two of my previous partners. We, my brother and I, are refugees of war.”

You lean down to rest your head in your folded arms. That hits a little close to home.

“I don’t want to say I completely get it, but I understand where you’re coming from.”

She laughs, dryly. “Yeah?”

“I’m not from here. My home…” your voice strains a little, almost feeling like it’s closing up. “My home was lost in the conflict.”

She stays silent.

“Sorry, I—“

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, sternly.

It’s your turn to stay silent for a moment.

“Tell me about your partners.”

“I don’t think I really want to bring up those memories right now. This is supposed to be a distraction from all that shit.”

“Right, sorry.” Don’t you know the half of it.

“Tell me about your escapades, though. Let me live vicariously through you.”

You look at her from the corner of your eye. Who are you to turn down the opportunity to gossip?

“Well it all starts when…”

***

Time flows smoothly. You get lost in your conversation, your short walk turning into an at least ten song intermission. She clearly has a very dense wall put up, but slowly you've been chipping at it. You're practiced in the art of conversing with emotionally constipate people, and it shows in how she's beginning to laugh at your jokes.

“How do you have a life while doing all of that?”

“Time management and being the only person good enough at your job. No one can question your methods if no one else can do it, babe.”

“Seems to me like the cheater did you a favor. Got rid of your problem, now you’re having the time of your life.”

“You’re so wise.”

She chuckles lightly, then rolls her eyes. “And here I was thinking you were just getting close and personal with your friend over there,” she gestures to Soundwave, who’s still partying it up at the booth.

You look her up and down, grinning. “Why, were you wanting to become a friend?”

She laughs just the tiniest bit, playing with the edge of her top covering, averting her eyes in the process. Maybe you do have a knack for this after all.

Suddenly, the bright overhead lights flicker on, illuminating everything perfectly, drawing it all in a powerful white light. You’re unphased, and neither is your companion, but plenty of people on the floor groan and shield their eyes.

At the same time, the strobes power off, and the lone dancer at the center of the ring, still going and completely unwinded, stops in confusion. He looks around, then makes eye contact with your companion, and waves.

She waves back, an amused smile on her face.

“Guess that’s your cue to leave, right?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Yes,” she says, as if distracted. Her eyes dart from you to somewhere just behind your head.

Then an arm is wrapped around your shoulder. You jump just the tiniest bit, thankful that your holoform doesn’t have any energy blades or blasters or blowtorches to protect yourself with, otherwise you would have completely blown your cover and melted Soundwave’s face off.

“Hey, ready to go?”

He gives you a thumbs up.

“Great…um. Well, guess we should leave, right?”

She nods, apprehensively, and with Soundwave at your side, you follow her down the swirling steps.

The boy from the circle comes running over, eyes bright, completely contrasting the sunken in and drab faces of everyone slowly filtering out. The lower half of his face is covered, but from the way his eyes squint, you can tell he’s smiling.

“This is my brother, uhh…Beau.”

He side eyes her, but quickly jumps back to his cheery disposition. He outstretches a hand for you to take. You look down at his hand, and offer your own, along with a smile and your own name.

When your hands touch, you get that same staticky feeling as before, and you yank it away.

Soundwave face palms, and with the force of it you’re surprised none of the accessories on his face are knocked off.

“I should’ve known,” she says, backing away slowly.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You said your designation, you dumbaft! Is it your first day on Earth?”

“Was I…not supposed to?” You look to Soundwave, who’s now just shaking his head while the visor of his mask is obscured by a hand. You turn back to her, now grabbing at her brother’s arm. He’s equally shocked. “And why are you talking like that—OH!”

You were never the smartest Con.

“What are the chances,” you say to the two in front of you.

“What if we just pretend this never happened? We’ll leave, and never come back again. You can do your little DJ gig, everyone leaves unscathed,” who you’re now realizing is Arcee, says calmly, but with a slight edge.

You and Soundwave share a look.

He advances forward, and they take two steps back.

“I’m not sure if my friend is a fan of that idea.”

“Why doesn’t he say that for himself then,” she says, challengingly.

“Why doesn’t your brother say anything, either?”

You all are standing in a showdown. It’s tense, and due to the club being almost entirely empty, it’s starkly silent. Just the squeaky sound of the bartender wiping up some glasses, which does nothing to dampen the intensity.

“Lights are on, take your argument somewhere else, dude,” the bartender says.

Your head swivels, yelling out an apology to her scowl, and then you hear the front door open with a deafening slam. Soundwave grabs the sleeves of your outermost covering, your apology tapering out into a yelp as you twist and stumble into a sprint.

You two push through the door, and with no one else outside to notice, you allow your holoform to fizzle out.

Transitioning that suddenly makes your processor spin a bit as you take off, this time while comfortably in your alt mode, towards the direction of the club. Your tires make a mess of the asphalt. Pebbles are thrown about as you skid towards the direction of the revving of who you are sure is Bumblebee.

Sand is kicked into a flurry as Soundwave flies overhead. In the pitch black sky he blends in perfectly. The only way you’d be able to tell where he is from the blotting of stars as he passes (completely ignoring the cloud of dust swarming around from how low he’s flying).

You’re far behind them all, but Soundwave is quite rapidly approaching the retreating party. He gets closer and closer, only faltering to dodge shots courtesy of Arcee, who's now crouched on top of Bumblebees alt mode. You have to give them credit, it maximizes the speed of his alt mode with Arcee’s marksmanship.

For once Soundwave is proved to be inferior, and a series of shots that push him closer and closer to the ground render him trapped, unable to dodge as effectively as he likes, and he takes a beam to his wing.

At the same time, in a split klik, a ground bridge opens up for them, closing just before Soundwave can get close.

He falls to the ground, gracefully despite the hole in his wing, right where the portal stood previously.

You don’t make it to him for a few moments after. You transform into your basal form, running over to where he stands, unmoving. He has a nasty gash, one that you’d like to get looked over as soon as possible.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

His helm swivels down to you, staring. No sooner does a ground bridge open up, and you walk through it with him, holding his servo gently as you lead him in.

***

You’re ground bridged right into his room, back into the stale and stagnant air of the ship that assaults your olfactory sensors. The same density of the nightclub, just without the musk.

It helps that the room is also barren of anything. No signs of life, or any inhabitants, which considering how long you all have been aboard the ship, is incredibly surprising.

There are more pressing matters to attend to, though.

You push him gently to sit on the edge of the berth, which he complies without hassle, his long legs bent at an awkward angle. Standing between them, you move his arm forward to look at the damaged plating. 

It’s a pretty good sized hit, but he has full range of motion as far as you can tell (from positioning his arm a few different ways), so nothing seems to be wrong internally. No hydraulics or suspension issues. From the little box in your subspace, you take out a cleansing wipe and mesh patch. There’s no leaking energon, another good sign, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

“I’ve learned a few things from our resident medic, thanks to my own batch of injuries, but if it gets worse you should probably go see him.”

With the patch smoothed over his wound, you stuff your supplies back in your subspace (the box Knockout makes sure you have on hand at all times now). 

“Unless you want to see me. Then the door’s always open.” 

You receive a :) for your joke.

You ex-vent, dropping your servo from his arm. “Well, thank you for tonight. Even with the whole fight, it was still fun.”

You turn to leave, but he drags you onto his lap by your waist, his pointed digits scraping against you slightly.

“Stay.”

You chuckle, and lean back against him. “Okay.”

His helm falls into the crook of your neck, pressed into your cabling. You can hear his engine rumble softly.

“Can I?”

“Sure?”

Two of his long tendrils sprawl out from his back, wrapping around your legs, small feelers tracing up and down the plating of your thighs. A shudder wracks up your frame, and you grab his servos, which are still planted firmly on your hips.

“Oh.”

That’s what he wanted.

You grind down onto him, which causes his engine to rev. It’s a horribly stark contrast from his usual silent disposition, nearly echoing through the room.

From behind you, you can feel that his plating is pleasantly warm, like a heat pad. He’s a verifiable mess, and if you couldn’t piece that together before, him trying to return the favor by bucking up into you paints a clearer picture.

“How needy,” you tease, “all for me?”

That picture becomes crystal clear when his spike cover snaps open, despite his servos still clutching at your hips. His spike is already pressurized, of course, but definitely a little too much transfluid smeared over the tip for it to be purposeful.

A smile breaks across your faceplate. “Aren’t I lucky?”

You reach down, servo wrapping around the heated protomesh. Despite him towering over you, despite him being a vetted fighter, despite his aura sometimes being nearly suffocating, you have him in a chokehold. 

Those feelers climb further up to rest against your pelvis, teetering the line between a caress and a gentle encouragement for you to open up your own interface array. One prong digs into the seam right where the latch resides, just lightly prodding at it, as if to remind you that it is in fact closed, and not open and willing for him.

You squeeze his spike. “Go ahead.”

Those prongs makes quick work of your covering, valve ready and spike pressurized from his display of desire.

Before you can tease him anymore, he’s lifting you up onto his spike, stuffing it inside of you with a very wet squelch. Your words escape you, and all you can do is grip onto his servos as he drags you up and down on him. 

You have no idea what’s got him so frenzied, so ready to frag you into a stupor, but you’re not about to complain. Especially not when he is letting you do the absolute minimum work required, but still making you feel like you’re both being used and the one using.

He buries his helm deeper into the junction, almost curling around you, engulfing you entirely. The finials and other sharp spines of his helm plating almost dig in, but you’re too lost now to care.

You reach down, attempting to try and stroke your own spike, but Soundwave, with another stray tendril, keeps your servo pressed down onto his.

An embarrassing whine leaves your intake. You try again, and he slows down his pace.

“Soundwave, please. ”

“Not yet.”

You let go, and he resumes his breakneck pace. It’s so much, and the tingling of your charge building doesn’t help, but it’s still not enough.

“Go ahead,” his voice box commands in the exact way you did not too long ago.

Your servo reaches your spike, finally, and your calipers cycle uselessly around him. You swear sparks are coming off of his frame from the corner of his vision. You shut your optics tightly, finally feeling your charge build, higher and higher, until—

The door to the room snaps open, as do your optics.

You let go of your spike, and Soundwave slows down just a tiny bit, but he still bucks up into you. You try and pry his servos off, but his grip is firm.

“Why…why are you here?” You ask the invader who takes very measured steps to tower over the both of you.

“It would be wise to ask yourself that question. This is my berth.”

You turn your helm to scowl at Soundwave, and he displays a shameless emoticon on his visor.

:P

You turn back to Shockwave. “I wasn’t aware of that. I assumed that when I was taken here, this was Soundwave’s. My sincerest ,” a lie, “apologies.”

He considers your statement for a moment.

Soundwave chooses that to be the right time to angle your hips just slightly up. Despite your best attempts to keep your intake closed a very drawn out moan escapes as his spike rubs up against your ceiling node.

“I will disregard this transgression,” he states, all too quickly.

You roll your optics. “Great, really appreciate it.”

“If you allow me to join you in your current pursuits.”

You laugh incredulously. “As long as you make me overload soon, I don’t care what you do.”

Instead of just joining in, he grabs you and removes you from Soundwave completely, then turning you around to face him.

“Soundwave, remove your other covering,” Shockwave commands.

He complies, his valve cover snapping open. Like his spike earlier, he’s almost gushing, transfluid already making him a slick mess.

Things start clicking into place.

“I get it now,” you say, as you slip your spike between his folds, collecting stray transfluid to slick up your length. “You’d been waiting for Shockwave to come back from the lab this whole time. You knew , and that’s why you’ve been so desperate.”

He isn’t the least bit embarrassed about being caught. 

<3

Your head catches on the entrance to his valve, and with a short thrust it slips in. You pin his hips to the berth, making sure he can’t move, despite his best attempts.

Shockwave comes up behind you, his own spike pressing into you, stretching you wide open.

Another whine from you, and he presses you into Soundwave. You’re sensitive already from your overload being denied, not once, but twice. It feels like any little thing could set you off. 

“I am not one to defend those that cannot defend themselves, however, I came here of my own volition. This was purposeful on both fronts.”

Then he pulls his hips back, slamming into you, and pushing you back into Soundwave again, and you almost collapse. 

“For future notice, I am not appreciative of receiving such depraved recordings while I am conducting my research.

Yet here he is. He could have blocked him. Could have taken care of his problem himself. Were you able to put it more eloquently, you would, but your processor is more focused on other things.

It takes an unreasonable amount of effort to not let yourself be consumed by your hubris. Instead you force yourself to concentrate on moving in tandem. It’d just be rude to Soundwave otherwise, who seems to be fairing no better than you are, judging by how his helm is tilted backwards with the visor screen off.

In an effort to bring about Soundwave’s overload, you grab his spike, giving him a few frenzied strokes. The sound of his engine is almost deafening. It climbs higher and higher with each thrust into him, until finally he clenches impossibly tight around you, transfluid spilling out onto his chassis. 

With that, you allow yourself to collapse while still sheathed within him. Your own chassis resting on both him and the mess of transfluid, but you can’t begin to care. If you thought Soundwave was brutal, Shockwave’s pace is nothing short of punishing . 

“Do you have nothing to say?”

It takes a lot of effort to respond. “What?”

“Your words were highly arrogant. In our past coupling, you spoke of many things, much of it brash and overtly baseless.”

“So?”

“I recall you saying quote ‘can he see how much of a mess you are right now?’” 

Soundwave returns to the realm of the living, helm tilting up to face you. From the reflection of his visor, you look like an absolute wreck. You try to look away, you try to bury your helm into Soundwave’s neck cabling, but Shockwave has other plans. 

The servo previously attached to your waist moves to your helm, engulfing the entire top with it, and pulling your helm back so that you’re forced to look at yourself again.

“Mess,” Soundwave repeats.

You hate that he’s right. Your jaw is slack, optics hazy, and you’re definitely not entirely there. You hate that you can’t come up with something witty, too overwhelmed with everything you feel.

Shockwave’s callous and clipped voice assaults your audials as your charge climbs higher. “Overload.”

With a final push into the heat surrounding you, your voicebox shorts, cutting out the shrill screech you let out as you’re punted into it. You feel like you’re on fire, sensor net sending erratic impulses. Even though copious amounts of transfluid was released from both of your interface apparatuses, Shockwave continues to ram into you. Mercifully, though, he does you the favor of pulling you out of Soundwave.

Not so mercifully, he shoves your helm down against where you just were previously. You really hope Shockwave doesn’t feel how your valve flutters when your glossa works it’s way in, tasting yourself in the process.

Your voicebox finishes rebooting after an unreasonable amount of time, and the only decent thing you can think to say is a whiny “please” while sloppily kissing at Soundwave’s anterior node.

Your processor can’t offer up what the plea is for, but you most definitely think it’s from the building overstimulation. He looks down at you and displays a ‘?’ on his visor. It takes effort to focus your optics to look at him while you eat him out.

“ Soundwave ,” you cry out, “so good.”

In order to keep yourself from blabbering anymore, you bury your glossa back in, stroking along the protomesh while a thumb rubs against the node just crowning it all.

From behind you, Shockwave’s own processor is starting to short out. “Do you enjoy being a common interface whore?”

You pull your glossa out. “Common?” The effort to keep your voice steady and not a desperate whine is tremendous. “Whore, yes, but common? That’s just insulting.”

“You take me without strain, it was a simple matter of comparisons.”

You laugh. “Didn’t know you were an expert on that. Do you speak from experience, or—“

Soundwave’s had enough of your pettiness. “ Please,” a replay of your voice just moments ago whines.

You smile up at him, giving him a generous lick, which he bucks up at. “Sorry, how rude of me. You were being so patient.”

***

Shockwave really let his overload draw out, but after what felt like forever, he finally came, flooding your valve with his transfluid, voicebox laden with static.

Afterwards, you focused on bringing Soundwave over the edge, which didn’t take much effort. A little enthusiasm goes a long way and all that, which you even expressed as you licked him clean.

You reached your own peak just kliks later, thanks to your own very dexterous servos.

After you let your frame cool off just a tad, you reach into your subspace to grab a few spare rags. You get yourself wiped down. You’re not so bad off, but you do have both of your current partners transfluid covering various parts of your frame, as well as your own puddle forming between your thighs. 

You move onto Soundwave, once you’ve closed up your ports, and he’s probably just as covered as you. His dried transfluid covers his chassis and abdomen. You’d already mostly cleaned up his array with your glossa, but there’s still a lingering stickiness that you make sure to clean. While you work you feel a prong tracing the seams of your shoulders.

“You feelin’ alright?” You ask after you’ve got most of it off.

A thumbs up is displayed on his visor, too spent to do it with his own limbs.

“Good.”

You move onto Shockwave, who really only has a slight bit on his spike. He grunts when you rub at him gently, but otherwise is content just laying on his berth, servos clasped just under his chassis.

You’d ask him, too, but you really don’t care.

You stuff the now dirty rags back into your subspace, and sit on the edge of the berth.

“Well, this has been fun.”

Their presence behind you is very apparent.

You drag yourself up, stretching your arms behind your back, inadvertently and totally not on purpose showing off your sculpting. “I’ll see you arou—“ 

Your legs buckle underneath you when you take a step forward, and you stumble a little bit. You regain your balance, and cough into your servo.

“Uhm. Anyways…see you?”

Before you can walk out of the door, a tendril wraps around your wrist. Quiet and stealthy as he is, Soundwave is now standing behind you.

“Come to— mine.”

“You sure, hon? I don’t want to keep you.”

“Yes.”

That’s probably for the best anyways. Knock Out is definitely recharging by now, and you don’t want to disturb him.

“Alright. Lead the way, then.”

***

After telling Shockwave goodbye, you take the trek to Soundwave’s habsuite. You managed to stay upright the whole time, surprisingly, and only once did you have to hold onto him (he was just a tiny bit giddy when you did).

Not once did he stumble, either, despite even his visor flickering during his overload. To be fair, he is apt at hiding those sorts of things (when he wants to). 

Through the neural pathways and command prompts of his own processor, Soundwave flicks open the door right as you walk to it, and as soon as you’re ushered inside, a little friend comes to greet you, landing on your shoulder plating.

“My goodness! Is that my little guy?”

You hold out your servo for him to perch on, and Laserbeak does without hesitation, hopping on and eagerly accepting the scritches you offer. From chin to cheek and helm to neck there’s not a single spot you leave untouched. 

He beeps in a similar fashion that you would hear from a nearly dead smoke alarm, compounded and followed by the sound of the jingle that plays from an advanced boot up. In Laserbeak language, he’s ecstatic.

Your faceplate, likewise, is bright. 

You say to him a jumbled string of words, all of which are said in some sort of high pitched cooing. The only words he can definitively gather are “cute” and “sweetspark”.

To think Soundwave would be jealous of his own deployer. It's not an isolated incident, of course. You were the same way with "the boys," as you dubbed them, just a tad more respectful. You are the same way with any interesting flora or fauna you come across. You are the same when he makes a big improvement or a break in a lead. Always a beacon of brightness, just not physically affectionate like you are with his combiners.

You stop once you’ve gotten your fill of petting so that Laserbeak can reattach to his master.

“There something wrong?”

It seems Soundwave was caught staring.

He says nothing, but walks over to his berth, sprawling out on the space there.

You don’t follow, and briefly let your optics wander, from Laserbeak’s cushioned pedestal to the collections of image displays along the vanity. 

You squint, assumedly to try and see what’s over there. It’s not like he has anything to hide.

“Go ahead.”

You jump slightly, but chirp out a thanks. With his permission, you walk over to the images there, in a very non nonchalant manner that gives away your intentions.

“Oh, wow.”

Ah, that one.

Part of his catalog of interstellar travels. A habitable terrestrial planet full of dense megaflora, and in that particular image, a sulfur lake in the center. An aerial shot, and that one was courtesy of Laserbeak.

“I recognize some of these!” You pick up another nearby one. “That’s one of the Gliese’s! So pretty, but deadly.”

Tidally locked, yes. That picture was a very high up aerial view from the habitable zone showing both the furnace and the freezer.

“These are incredible,” you say as you look between the different entries.

“And…” that one, yes.

That’s almost a keepsake at this point.

“This is you, right? I can tell that much.” Your eyes drift from the him that’s laying just meters away from you and the one right in front of your face. “You were built .”

His gladiator era magazine article clip. 

“I remember you being a bit bulkier, but slag . Guess it’s been a long time…” you avert your optics, dermas fighting against a grin. “…I used to have a little celebrity crush on you, ya know?”

That makes him feel more than it probably should. He really wishes his spark didn’t stutter hearing that.

You move on from that one to another portrait, for both of your sakes.

“Never seen this one before.”

That was an interesting era in Cybertron’s history.

“Boxy was the look, huh? I remember my frame then. I can’t believe that that’s what we looked like.”

He would like to look at your memories, too, but he has a hunch they are less vivid and present than his.

“…’s cute, though. Of course, that’s not to say you aren’t now , but, y’know. I think you’d be considered more ‘handsome’ or just…” your words trail off once you’ve realized you’ve broken into a ramble. 

His helm tilts.

“‘Cool’ is probably the right word. You’re…cool?”

That’s enough of that. He waves you over to come join him, another thing done in both of your favor. To save you the embarrassment and to save him from the bashfulness.

You put down the object, and walk over with your servos wringing together. He makes room for you, and you slide in against him.

He was under the impression you were content to lay there, but no .

Then you go and curl up against his side.

Soundwave is starting to understand all of the muttered rambles Knockout goes on while in the med bay. There is no possible way that you aren’t doing this on purpose.

“I meant it.”

His helm tilts again.

“You’re cool.”

That doesn’t mean he can’t take advantage of that.

It’s an awkward maneuver for his arm, but he grabs your wrist, moving it so that your servo cradles the side of his helm. 

Until you say what you want from him, he’s content to drag it out as long as possible. If you don’t, and continue to attempt to string him along, great. He can play that game, and better. He’s never been one for words, anyways, so in his processor he’ll be the one to hold out.

You look at him, bewildered, like you’re not used to such forwardness.

Have you met your match?

You scoot up so that you’re faceplate to faceplate and just stare at him. It’s a blank stare. Typically, when he sees you, your optics are brimming with warmth and a smile playing on your faceplate that brings him a guilty elation. Now though, there’s still a strange sort of affection, but it’s almost somber. There is a clear longing, but it’s so restrained that if he hadn’t been stuck with you for the past who knows how long as part of Megatron’s inner circle, it’d look blank and empty. Your thumb rubs against what would be his jawline, if he were to still have one, just soft enough so that he can barely register that it’s there.

“Sweetspark,” you say, so gently, “can I?”

His spark pulses just a little bit harder. “Sure?”

In a recreation of what transpired not so long ago, this time with him not being able to predict what “can I” could ever mean, you do what is unexpected.

You press your dermas against the edge of his visor, a quick peck, but still enough to set him into high gear.

For once, he almost wishes he didn’t get rid of his intake. All of the extra space of his helm can’t process why you would choose to do that, or why he thoroughly enjoys it more than he should, or why he wishes he could reciprocate.

“Are you alright?”

He regards your question for a moment. 

Yes, he thinks, he is.

***

After what is probably considered cuddling for an indeterminate amount of time, you fall into stasis against his side.

He can understand the gratification of such a thing, of allowing himself to fall with you in the stillness of his habsuite, but he does have more important matters to attend to.

He gently pries your hand off of his side, and begins the trek back to the control room.

He had undergone stasis two solar cycles ago, so he will be fine without doing so for another few. Laserbeak pings him to tell him otherwise, but that message is ignored.

He’s sure you’d also be disappointed when you awaken alone, but he knows what could make up for that.

He boots up the administration panel, and opens up a command log. Within the prompt box, he inputs a few commands to bring up a host of various systems. He selects your personal one, allowing him to view your file system. Out of respect for you, he glosses over your messaging programs and visual files.

He does, however, get to work on installing a few programs to allow you to be more savvy with some more human ordeals. First, a simple one (that he coded himself) to allow you to connect to Earth in the first place, followed by a bunch of other background programs to insure smooth access. It’s a lengthy process, but one that he’s done for a slough of cons aboard already, so it’s not too arduous. 

Onto what he has a hunch that you’ll be delighted to use: an internet browser, a shortcut to a video hosting device, and a “cracked” (read: pirated) mp3 player.

Once all of that’s done, he closes out of the window used to file share with your device and other tasks related to the miniature project.

He then sends you a message to ensure you won’t panic when you awaken.

I had to take my leave. My apologies, but I did you the favor of installing a few programs you might like. Enjoy.

Several joors later, while he’s scouring through private government documents of Earth to locate potential Energon deposits, he receives a message.

THANK YOU!!! You’re the best!!!!

He responds.

No problem. :)

Some time later, out of sheer curiosity, he looks through your search logs.

Most beautiful places on Earth

What does ‘<3’ mean?

Slang for foreigners

Who is Snooki

Best things to do when bored

Sudoku

All amusing, but the final log is a blunder.

How to forget all your problems

Chapter Text

Sorry I wasn’t there last night, it was pretty crazy. You slept ok? (1100)

Dr. Feelgood: Nothing to write home about. (1120)

That’s good I guess. (1123)

I have some crazy drama to share. Want the deets? (1124)

Dr. Feelgood: Change in schedule. Don’t come to the Medbay later. (1155)

***

You let out a frustrated sigh as you read the message you got a few minutes ago. Nothing’s really changed with the Knock Out situation. He’s just as weird as before. Which sucks, because you have so much gossip to dish out with him that no one else would appreciate the irony of. Since no one else aboard the ship substitutes as a decent enough conversationalist, nor is as privy to your need for privacy, you opt to consult the next best thing: Quora.

The site has proven very useful in both a cure to boredom and a solution to your troubles. Although, you do have enough media literacy to take what it says as advice rather than a definitive guide on all things relationships. You’ve been in your fair share of them over the years, and all of them unhealthy, so just looking at the first tip alone tells you enough about how to and how not to go about things. You just need to find out what to do if you actually want to heal, not fall deeper into delusion.

Your best bet is probably to just talk it out. Really get into the root of the problem without hurting either of you. That’d be your first time having the opportunity to do such a thing. Typically, you’re a huge fan of waiting around for your partner to make the move; whether that’s breaking up with you or giving you a definite reason for you to end things off. You tend to be the type to bend to another’s will, since it’s rare for you to desire these things in the first place, which was how the whole mess with Starscream happened, you suppose.

Just a lot of being unhappy until you hit a breaking point.

You intend to not let that happen again, for both your own and Knock Out’s sake. He deserves far better than that because Primus knows he’s already gone through enough. It’s all just a matter of getting the courage and finding the right time.

On a brighter note, the grapevine of the ship is just as lively as ever. News of you sporting two different colors of paint transfers on the same day spread like wildfire. You got a couple high fives from some vehicons, and Knock Out himself slyly commented on you being late that morning as you managed to pass him in the hall. But again, you never got the opportunity to tell him the whole story.

Another weird tidbit is rumors about your local giant Predacon. Plenty of vehicons swear that they’ve seen him walk upright, seen him use the consoles, and someone even said they heard Starscream screech about it talking .

Which is utterly terrifying to you.

You feel on edge thinking about what might happen with you, or even to you, with him around.

Your helm throbs in pain at the position you’ve found yourself in. You’re currently strung upside down with a pulley system so that you can work more effectively on the top of one of the generators. Just usual upkeep and wellness checks, making sure everything is in working order in the generator room. You can’t exactly go upright, as it’s hard to work on the unstable surface of the generator, and it’s too tall for you to reach its uppermost components, so you’re stuck like this for now.

At least you get a change of scenery. Something about a new perspective, as well.

The door to the generator room opens with a hiss. You take notice of it, tilting your head slightly to look while continuing to tighten up the bolts that hold together the energon tubing. Yet, no one enters your line of sight. Odd. Definitely wasn’t any mechanical whirrs or whoosh of depressurized steam from the generators and engine. You’ve been both on the ship and an engineer of your craft long enough to differentiate the two.

Confused, you stop manhandling the wrench in your servo. To keep yourself from swinging wildly, you grab ahold of the edge of a tube connector. With yourself mostly tethered and free of distractions you allow yourself to listen in. It takes a lot of effort, but distinctly, you hear a slow thud.

Thump .

Thump.

THUMP.

All of those movies Knock Out showed you are doing nothing for your nerves. Every single one you watch, he points out (goes on several tirades about) what the main character should and shouldn’t have done. Especially these sorts of scenarios. Unknowing protagonist hears a noise. Should they investigate? Should they run? Should they call out to whoever they think might be there?

Fortunately, you don’t have a basement aboard the ship, so you’re not going to die here. You haven't said “I’ll be back” to anyone in the past cycle. You’re not interfacing at the moment, either. There are certain aspects about your identity that make you a token target for any old horror movie, though, so it’s up in the air on whether or not you’re about to meet your untimely demise. 

The thuds get louder and louder, assumingly approaching your location. Then, you finally see it. Or, him.

The talk of the vehicons the past week. Shockwave’s creation, the reanimation of a species lost to time. The predacon.

He stalks forward, around the corner of the corridor you’re currently working on. He still hasn’t spotted you it seems. There’s no real reason for you to be afraid. Yet, you’re apprehensive about staying up here. He’s just exploring, right?

A high pitched whistle sounds out from you to get his attention. It succeeds, and he ambles closer to where you’re hung from the ceiling. Is it even worth saying anything? He does allegedly talk, so it’s worth a shot anyways. 

“Just letting you know I’m working here. Did you need anything?”

Your answer to that is him outstretching his wings. 

“What in the…?”

Without warning he takes off into flight and rises upwards to meet you. The flapping of his wings causes your strung up self to sway in your harness, almost causing you to bump into the generator. You yelp and try to steady yourself, but that problem is taken care of for you when the cabling holding yourself up is torn apart by an offending claw. 

Primus, you’re going to have another accident. Someone’s gonna find your mangled corpse in the crutches of the engine again, and you’ll have to be painstakingly put back together from your strewn about frame that’ll paint the cylinder working without fail. 

You should’ve listened to Knock Out’s musings. You shouldn’t have made yourself aware. This is it, you’re done. You’re a fool and you’ll never doubt his wisdom again. You pray to whatever higher power that if you die here, it’s quick, and if not, you hope that you’re not completely unsalvageable.

The generator is not what you meet as you fall, though.

Instead, you feel servos clutching your back and legs. 

Hesitantly, you open optics you didn’t even realize were closed, and you look up. Your jaw could literally fall off, plummet through the floor and bottom on the ship, and hit an innocent organic on the surface of the earth below you from how hard it drops. 

The rumors were true.

He can fucking walk . Not only that, not just standing on hind legs, no, he has a damn basal mode, too. Your eyes drift from the width of his chassis to his thick neck, all the way up to his faceplate, with eyes that are wickedly intense. You’d expect him to have a permanent glare from how it’s set.

You blink up at him owlishly.

Well, only one thing to do in this situation. It worked before, so you might as well try now. You reach your servo up, his optics following intently, and you place it between them. No objections, so you hesitantly pat him there.

That was the right call.

His optics close, and he slumps down onto his knees, clutching at you tighter. It’s kinda cute, so you continue on with it, allowing him to cuddle your form closer.

“So, would you care to tell me why you’re here and why you cut me down?”

“I came here to request your services.”

“Request my…huh? You… need something repaired?”

“I would like to indulge in you.”

You groan. It’s always that. Even a reanimated corpse can’t keep their servos off of you.

“How’d you find out?”

“Of your tendencies? I’m afraid I cannot divulge that information.” He speaks in a low rumble and, surprisingly, he is quite eloquent. “Fear not, I will make your coupling with me worth your while. I intend on providing utmost care to your form.”

You ponder your options. Pretend nothing ever happened and allow him to continue to be a cryptid among the halls of the Nemesis, or add him to your roster of cons used in your game. You are kind of winding down your options. There’s only so many named characters you can go through until you’re left with swarms of vehicons to bed.

“Fine. Can I ask for your designation, at least?”

“You may refer to me as Predaking.”

“Well, Predaking,” you say as you barely manage to stop yourself from laughing at the ridiculousness of his name, “you may use my ‘services’. Just please be gentle with me. I still have work to do.”

“As you wish.”

Surprisingly a gentlemech, also.

“I request that you open your panels so that I may begin.”

You reach down to unlatch them as he so politely asked. Without so much as a warning, Predaking hauls you up onto his shoulders, your valve positioned right at his intake. His large servos hold you steady, preventing you from falling backwards onto the floor. 

Oh.

That’s new.

You don’t know when the last time you’ve been on the receiving end for these sorts of things was.

Now you’re completely in.

You can feel your spike pressurizing and your valve beginning to excrete lubricant, which Predaking takes note of, collecting it with a swipe of his thick glossa. It glides through your folds, prodding your anterior node, then licking a stripe along the underside of your spike.

Primus almighty you couldn’t be more in.

You sigh, a very light and airy sort of one, and grip onto the horns of his helm to give yourself more purchase.

He does that a few more times, allowing yourself to become fully aroused, and by then the interior of your valve is completely slick with a bead of transfluid dotting the tip of your spike.

“Hold onto me tight,” he says, muffled against your port. One of his servos lets go of your aft, and instead slips in between his chin and your valve to work a clawed digit in. 

Even just one digit is enough to make you writhe, and his sucking of your anterior node certainly threatens to throw you off of his shoulders from your precarious balancing. He has such a large frame that just one of his digits feels like a little more than two of yours. He allows you to adjust before reaching up deeper, stroking your ceiling node.

You whine. You whine so needily as you feel your charge building along your nerve nets and thrumming through your wiring. You’re very fond of how thorough he is. You can’t say that’s something you’re used to, but you can absolutely appreciate it. It’s exceedingly rare, for some reason, to have someone on this ship not put their needs first. To not do something for you with the explicit purpose of doing it for themselves. Even if Predaking is just likely preparing you for what you can imagine will be a monstrous spike, you’ll take what you can get.

You take it very well, in fact. You take it so well that when he nibbles the sharp denta that occupies his intake on your anterior node, then lathing it with his glossa to make up for the slight sting, and then sucking on it, you fall apart completely. Your digits curl, and you fold your torso over his helm, uncaring of how his horns prick and press your plating. The excess energy you’ve built up disperses through your wiring, leaving you a buzzing and whining mess, thighs clenching over his shoulders.

For an ancient being that was resurrected from the dead just the other day, he was far too skilled at interfacing than he deserved to be. You’re already embarrassingly so, so close to an overload. Hopefully it doesn’t put him off from fucking you in the future and only turns him on more at how easy you were to toy with. You’re bracing for what was about to come (no pun intended) and the torrent of fluid that was sure to be unloaded onto his faceplate.

…But instead, he stops digit fucking your valve and goes about licking you clean, including tending to your sticky spike. Overtly sensitive, you try to squirm away, which he laughs at, lowly.

“There.” He sets you back down onto the floor.

“That’s…it?”

“Consider this a gift to you. An introduction to what I could be capable of, should you choose to accept more of my advances.”

He stands up. “Since you do have work to do, I do not wish to interfere. Good day.” He then transforms, resuming his beastly “alt-mode”, and stalks back out into the hall of the ship, where he will be the talk evermore.

You stare at the floor for a moment before you drag yourself back onto your pedes, and you close up your array.

‘What the slag.’

***

With your cabling snapped, you discover there’s not much for you to work on maintenance wise. You try seeing what you can do by just pacing on the edge, but there’s only so many things to inspect. You resign to walking out into the hall, intent on seeing if you can dig something up from Shockwave’s lab. Which, fortunately, isn’t a far walk from the engine room.

When you step out into the hall, nothing seems out of the ordinary. In fact, you can see a few meandering vehicons walking.

“Hey, guys, how’s it going!”

You innocently call out to them, greeting as usual. Their response to this is unexpected.

In unison they all turn around. They all seem to be in varying states of slouching and helms drooping to the side. Which is strange, because if there’s one thing Megatron prides himself on, it’s how “orderly” and “put-together” his army is. In the physical appearance sense, at least, not the literal sense. One could argue that constant infighting is not a sign of an army that’s put together. 

They amble forward in stumbling steps. Their gates are awkward and clumsy. Another uncharacteristic thing for the monoculture of vehicons. The closest of the four begins walking faster to you, arms swaying limply at their side. “Do you…need any help?”

As soon as the words are synthesized, he lunges at you, claws posed to grab for your neck and helm.

You narrowly dodge, and he crashes somewhere behind you.

“What’s your fragging problem?”

You don’t even get to turn around to see him before another of the group is going straight for your optics. Another dodge.

Another lunge.

Dodge again.

They’re starting to overwhelm you. 

You can only move so fast, and you’re not a fan of how close they’re beginning to get to clawing at your cabling. You slam a fist into the midsection of one as he sails past, and he crumples to the ground like dead weight.

You try a similar thing with the next, slamming them into the wall instead. Similar deal.

You’re trying to avoid using excessive force on them, trying to avoid anything that can’t be healed or won’t completely destroy their neural nets, but you quickly notice incapacitating them doesn’t work. They just get up no matter how hard you punch or kick, even in some of the most delicate of areas.

And you’re beginning to become tired.

Reluctantly, you switch out a servo for a laser cutter. It’s a little thing that’s proved useful during emergencies.

Brute force isn’t doing the trick, and melting their faceplates into scrap metal with a blowtorch would be too cruel for your tastes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, vocalizer cracking, as the one directly in front of you begins to rise. Energon is seeping from the seams of his crushed and oddly bent abdominal plating, but he does not falter, not in the slightest.

Your laser cutter pierces through his helm, and dark purple energon bubbles up from the wound, then spewing out like a faucet. 

He remains upright.

He is now frenzied.

He lunges at you with renewed vigor, and you shriek as he does. 

‘New plan,’ you think, as you resume your dodging strategy.

You bolt away from the small group of what would be accurate to compare to zombies. Another point for Knock Out. 

In classic zombie fashion, they can’t move much faster than a slow jog. You can deal with that, easily outpacing them and coming to a skidding stop to Shockwave’s lab.

You type in your passcode for access.

Doesn’t work.

You try again. Maybe you just got it wrong.

Nothing.

You curse quietly. They’re coming closer and closer, dragging pedes echoing and bouncing off the walls.

You open a comm link to Shockwave and pound on the door frantically. “Shockwave, please, open up!”

You don’t have to look to know they’re catching up, but you do notice you’ve managed to lure in a few more from your noise.

“Please, you fragging—"

The door slides open and you fall in. Shockwave’s servo grabs your arm and yanks you inside before the door can sever your spinal strut in half from how quickly it’s closed.

“I see you have managed to attract some unwanted attention.”

You stare up at him. “You think? What the Pits is going on?”

“I am not sure. I have tried contacting Soundwave, but all I have been told is to stay put.”

You groan, and fall back to the floor. “Great.”

Now you’re stuck with the world’s second most obnoxious afthole. You’re also exceedingly worried about how your favorite afthole is doing in all of this mess.

You open up a comm link just to make sure.

“Just checking in. Are you okay?”

You receive a response as soon as you stop synthesizing.

“Yes, I’m alright. I saw you on the cameras, very impressive fighting, you did.” Knock Out sounds so weary and tired, but you’re glad to hear his voice. Also with Soundwave, and who knows who else, so that’s a good sign.

You laugh dryly, and your tone slips into something just as plain. “Could you tell me what’s going on?”

“I…can’t tell you right now.”

“So it has to do with whatever you’ve been keeping from me in the medbay.”

“…yes.”

You sigh. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe. Let me know when you all figure out what to do about this.”

“I will.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Shockwave looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Something went wrong, I guess, with whatever Knock Out’s been working on in the medbay.”

“Intriguing.”

“No more information than that.”

He continues staring at you while you make yourself comfortable leaning up against the leg of a table. You close your optics, anyways, doing your best to ignore his stare.

“Are you planning on using this time to observe what the world looks like dimmed?”

You open one back up to look at him, optical ridges pinched up. “Haha, very funny,” you say dryly. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You could assist me in my research endeavors.”

You wave a servo dismissively, “Pass.” 

He stares at you more. His voice, as chilled as ever, sends shocks up your spinal strut. “It would not take much effort on my part to force you back into the hallway.”

You jump up onto your pedes, offering a mock salute, and you respond with the most kiss-aft tone possible. “Sir, yes, sir!”

***

“Boil this.”

“Okay.” One point for your digits, zero points for hot glass. 

“Mix in this.”

Suspicious red liquid, meet odd blue chalky substance.

“Continue to heat. I will tell you when to stop.”

A very easy cycle you’ve been going through. Not as tedious as you were led to believe, although that could be because you’re not doing any of the thinking required. It’s not like you wouldn’t be able to (without a small bit of direction), it’s just that the whole ship is in a crisis, yet Shockwave is totally unphased. Either he is that confident it’ll be taken care of, or this is his way of coping. No matter what, you do have to (begrudgingly) give him credit for his work ethic.

At least you’re keeping your servos busy and your processor relatively occupied. Still, you can’t help but worry. Since you checked in with Knock Out, neither of you have gotten any updates.

“Cease.”

You allow your blowtorch to stop producing butane and pull it away from the bubbling, now yellow flask.

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re researching at the moment, or is this classified?”

“Classified.”

“But I’m allowed to be your desk jockey?”

“You do not understand the method. No risk of info leakage.”

“Who am I gonna tell? It’s not like we have contact with anyone else on this Primus forsaken planet. And frankly, that’s insulting. I could figure it out…eventually.”

“If all goes according to what I have laid out, you will find out eventually. That will not happen if you continue distracting me.”

“Prick.” 

“I have been called worse.”

Just as you’re about to take a momentary rest, your commlink chimes with your other favorite prick. “Hey. Want to do something more exciting?”

Finally!

“Is everything okay?”

“Not important. I’ll say it again, want to get out of that lab?”

“…depends.”

“You’ll be fine. You just have to act as bait.”

“For?”

“For what else.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“We’ve formulated a plan, and—“

“Who’s we? I bet Starscream wanted me as bait, the—“

“Let me finish.”

“Okay.”

“Starscream helped, yes, but both Soundwave and I were a part of this as well.”

“I’m listening.”

“Wow, you’re whipped.”

“Knock Out.”

“Sorry, can you tell I’m a little nervous?”

“You’re nervous!?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m only teasing. So, here’s the plan...”

***

Why you were chosen for this role is one of the greatest mysteries of all time.

Sure, you’re good at dodging.

But you do minimal damage.

You are not built to fight. Not just in a physical sense, but all of your modifications and attachments are meant for welding and construction. Not quickly and painlessly ending someone’s spark.

That’s where your current companion comes in.

Why Soundwave was forced out here is another mystery. He is arguably the most important mech on the ship. To hell with Megatron, if Soundwave was lost, you’re sure the ship would be in ruins in less than a cycle. Pits, the entire Decepticon cause would probably be in shambles. Soundwave is, however, arguably built to fight. He does also have control over the most important aspect of the plan: ground bridges.

The plan is, then, as follows: you catch the attention of some vehicons, or Well forbid an insecticon, then either Soundwave will puncture their spark (which, according to Shockwave, is the proper measure to take) or he’ll bridge them onto somewhere they won’t be a problem.

Totally foolproof.

And it is.

You expected no less from your ingenious comrades (who were all too quick to use you as bait) and your current battle buddy, who takes care of the vehicons with ease, punching out their sparks with the prongs of his long limbs.

Interestingly, you also make great bait. Perhaps it’s from how loud you can be, but maybe also from how perfectly you parry and dodge until you provoke them enough to vault right into a bridge portal. Or maybe because even the mindless wants a piece of your aft. 

You might be inclined to agree it makes you a coward for not wanting to do the actual fighting, but then again, no one else stepped up for your position. All in all, you make a great team. Who knew compatibility could be tested by fighting hoards of mindless undead. Someone needs to get on this idea.

You begin the dance again as soon as the next jumps through. Lure with a whistle or over exaggerated movement and Soundwave opens a portal as soon as they jump. Occasionally, he’ll have to use his long slithery limbs to take on the ones that sneak up from behind you, but he’s always quick to protect, dragging them away like an apex predator with prey in their mouth before they get close.

All is well, and in all honesty, you’re slightly stoked to be doing this. Ashamedly, it’s the most excitement you’ve had in quite a while. Ignoring the whole undead thing, you very rarely get chosen for a mission.

Then, your optic catches on something. A big something. A big blue hulking mass of something. Despite how fractured his jaw is and how uselessly his glossa hangs out of the jaw, you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Breakdown?”

Soundwave is looking to where you are as well, and he drops the vehicon he’s just disabled. 

He comes closer, optics unfocused and frosted like glass. The same gait that all the others share, too.

No. Why him? What happened to him?

You thought he had been laid to rest after being put out of commission by Cylas. You thought that was it.

“K—knock Out? Are you watching my feed right now?”

You don’t get an answer.

“Slag! What do we do?”

It was one thing when fighting lumbering vehicons or pesky insecticons, but fighting off the brute force of someone you wouldn’t dare call anything short of your friend? You can feel your energon curdling, sloshing around in your systems as erratically as the beating of insecticon wings just before they give out. It’s different, and you feel horrible to say so, when it’s mindless droves of the same faceplates and frames. It just became like a little game in your helm, following the same movesets and patterns to make it through, or like you’re just playing a character (which seems to happen a lot now). 

You can play the part of strutting Casanova and tragic genius all you want, but you’re a poor excuse for an action star. All the bravado leaves in a swift gust, and you’re left in a hunched shell, welding rod sending out pittering sparks that fizzle out in small plumes of smoke. You try and take a fighting stance, but you're stuck in place, affixed by the spark-wrenching thought of having to take him out, even as Breakdown’s corpse piloted by an undead psychopath moves ever closer.

The thin and wiry digits attached to Soundwave’s arm curl around the plating of your shoulder, pulling you behind him. He takes the offense, and does your job for you, perfectly posed, reminiscent of the clippings you’ve seen of him from what seemed like a lifetime ago. In a sea of fallen bodies and smatterings of energon covering the walls of the ship, he stands proud, an immotile monolith.

His limbs curl up, ready to send off a decisive strike to pierce whatever life force is left in the husk, like the coils of a snake lying in wait. 

Onwards, Breakdown comes, thundering steps bouncing through the long corridor, and you find your spark beating just as loud. You’re held in suspense, waiting for a point of contact, when much more hurried steps sound out in a cacophony.

“Wait!” A voice shouts out, frantic and static laden.

“Knock Out?”

He’s running towards the scene, cutting through the hoarde with his buzzsaw, right into their knee joints, disabling any that get too close. Right behind him is Starscream, who seems to just be enjoying the chaos, rather than helping. Knock Out doesn’t notice in the slightest, instead focused on parting the sea of undead blocking him from his goal.

He stops just beyond the piles of bodies formed courtesy of Soundwave, and now you can see how wrecked he looks. Pink is budding at the corners of his optics, matching what’s already splattered on his now muddled paint job. It’s the most unkempt he’s ever looked.

“You can’t.” He states.

He isn’t looking at you, but at Soundwave.

Soundwave doesn’t bother turning.

Knock Out takes a step forward. “Please.”

“It has to be done,” Starscream interjects with a slight snarl.

“He’s… He’s right,” you say, softly, which he looks surprised at. 

Knock Out crosses the line of bodies, still not looking at you, intending to walk right up to Soundwave. You move to block his path.

“Move.”

“Knock Out.”

“I will move you myself,” he says, harshly, “if you do not step aside this instant.”

“Do it, then.”

He doesn’t have time to push you aside. He attempts to leap past you, but you catch him before a digit can even touch Soundwave. 

They rake into your back, attempting to break your hold, do damage, anything he can to free himself from your grasp. You wrap your arms tighter around his midsection even as he starts screeching, calling you every undignified name in the book, writhing and wriggling and kicking and clawing.

You don’t see it happen, but you do hear a distinct schick, followed by a gurgle, and a sudden thump. 

Finally, he grows weaker, scathing remarks turning into heaving and glitched sobs and clenched servos dig into your plating. 

Several sorrys are processed in a chain, and you attempt to lower him down a bit for a more comforting hold, but what’s done is done.

Even as his claws dig deeper, you keep your hold firm. Energon filled with immeasurable sorrow puddles into your shoulder, matching what is more than likely copiously streaming down your back.

You look over his shoulder slightly and see Starscream still standing there, looking at you with pure contempt. The temptation to rise to his challenge is outweighed by your desire to comfort the grieving mech you’re cradling in your arms. With your optics offlined, you rest your helm atop Knock Out’s, listening to his sobs echo through the now quiet corridor.

Later that evening, you, Knock Out, Soundwave, and a swath of vehicons that you reckon Breakdown must’ve had an impact on in some way hold a memorial service. Knock Out stays in your hold as you all watch the molten remains of what was once his lover swirl.

Chapter Text

For what it’s worth, Knock Out is trying his best, he thinks.

He should be getting more credit for what he does. He regularly scours the ground below to look for more fragments, goes to look for said fragments, is working on a completely synthetic form of energon from just a dribble that he could hold with a claw tip, and is the medic to an army that can’t manage to not incapacitate itself for more than a few vorns at a time. 

On top of all of that, it’s not like he lost his life partner or anything, in arguably what’s worse than just falling to the tides of war. Humans and their knack for picking apart what they don’t understand.

Then it happened all over again, thanks to old Screamer’s meddling, and had the nerve to blame the subsequent outbreak on him.

And the one con that would reaffirm what he needs to hear is off doing their own thing. He wants to support them like they did for him, but he can’t help but feel a tiny bit jealous at how much fun they’re having, being adventurous and damn near a thrill seeker.

They also lost their partner (not in the same way, nor in nearly as tragic, but it still stings), yet they somehow bounced back just like that.

Unlike him, who admittedly went a bit off the deep end in the whole experimental torture he inflicted, and then lost it even more when his love’s corpse was offlined a second time. He’s had an increasingly tough time after having his work handed over to Shockwave. Something about him not being trustworthy or in the right mind, whatever that means.

One might be able to make a case that they’re doing better than before. 

Really, they should be thanking him for that. It was his idea to get into this whole debacle in the first place. Yet…it feels shallow.

When they’re conscious, they avoid anything that might slip past platonic, but after the lights are off, they’re on him like super glue, to the point that if he dares to get up before they do, he has to do some serious prying. And it’s so frustrating . The feelings that bubble up when they tell him just how important he is, then when he reciprocates they pull away, leaving those feelings to fester and turn bitter. It’s frustrating and confusing.

Even after he ruined a paint job– one he didn’t think could look any more dull or horrid– you were so patient and careful with him as he patched you up. “It could've been worse,” you said, so nonchalantly, only wincing slightly as he put on some sealant and mesh patches to the gaping wounds on your back. “Don’t worry about it.”

You’re currently sitting with him in the medbay, a magnifying optic slid over your faceplate to see a circuit board on his workstation.

He doesn’t have a problem with you using his workstation or anything, but it’s more the fact that you refuse to tell him what it’s for. All you said was “I messed up, so I’m making something” and heavily implied it had to do with whatever happened during the cycle you were out all night.

Which further sends pangs of jealousy to his spark.

You’re a hard worker, but you’re definitely not staying up late to work, so late that you don’t come back to him till the next day, only sending a ping the morning after.

He’s not blind to the many sets of paint transfers littered along your aft and thigh plating. 

Even through the frustration, he does admire how far you’re coming. He’s not jealous of you exploring your tastes, more so the fact that he’s not expecting you to be doing so much with cons that aren’t him. Though, he desperately wants to gossip with you about who and why. He could never be immune to such a thing, and he’s sure it must be a really juicy tidbit if it was in fact a late night excursion.

Unfortunately, despite your best attempts, he’s not exactly in the talking mood. Which leads you both to the contemplative silence you’ve found yourselves in.

You momentarily stop your workflow, sheathing your welding rod in favor of a servo to dig out your datapad from your subspace. When you set it down, the last thing he’d expect to happen is for that one artist (a human one at that, begrudgingly) he fancies to start playing through the small speakers of the device.

The intro to the song snaps him out of his thoughts and makes him perk up, looking at you curiously. “Okay, now I need to know. Did you get a recording of it from somewhere? Steal a CD?”

“I might’ve gotten a few upgrades to this,” you gesture to the datapad, “in short, I now have unlimited access to anything the humans have ever made. At least as far as I can tell.” Then you smile up at him, one that reaches your optics, squinting just a bit from how your upper half is equally lowered. “Is it alright if I listen while I work?”

“I suppose I can tolerate it,” Knock Out says, trying to not let himself get lost in the upbeat vocal melody, probably tacky synths, and delightfully punchy guitar hooks. 

“Sure, sure. If you want to sing for me, be my guest. I could use some quality entertainment.”

He scoffs, sitting next to you in another chair of the workbench so he can work on his own projects. “You’ll have to work harder than that if you want me to.”

You hum in acknowledgment, which he assumed meant it would be left at that. Your intake opens however, modulator dropping down an octave. “I think I’ve made you sing more than once already. Not hard work, either.”

Why he puts up with this, he has no idea. “You’re disgusting,” is the simple response he gives, pointedly keeping his optics on his work to avoid your gaze while his faceplate heats up.

You laugh, switching like you hadn’t said anything at all. It’s very boisterous and loud, and it’s something he’s starting to hear more and more of. He looks up, and you’re smiling at him again, optics shining and bright. “Sorry, sorry, I can’t help it. I’ll keep myself in check, though.”

He looks back down at the roll of mesh on the table that he was cutting into neat patches and more manageable strips. A huff, courtesy of him, is his first choice in response. “It’s fine,” he begins after collecting himself, “Do whatever you want, it’s not like I don’t like you stroking my ego a bit.”

And that stupid grin comes back full force. “Stroking, you say?”

He’s not sure when the paradigms flipped, when he went from being the flirt to the one that gets embarrassed by said flirting, but it’s not a dynamic that’s lost in him. This is what he asked for, isn’t it?

He’s not ready for that realization.

***

Eventually you hop up out of your chair, stopping the sound that you both have been subtly enjoying (him humming the melody, you following the downbeat with your pede). Knock Out looks at you indignantly, for your audacity to stop what’s lulled him into a steady workflow.

“Sorry, just got an urgent alert from Soundwave. Something major happened with the engine room, and I gotta fix it ASAP. ” You flick through your tablet, and then stuff it back into your subspace after you assumedly type out a response. “Will you be in here after I’m done?”

“…Perhaps,” he says, noncommittally.

You hum, tapping your digits together, like your processor is working overtime to figure out what that could mean.

“Well, if you are, I’ll see you then? Your schedule dictates you’re already done with your project for today, otherwise you’d have kicked me out by the time I walked in and all. Unless you’ve got an impromptu mission, but you’d totally invite me on one of those because we make a great team,” Knock Out visibly frowns when you say that, and the rest of your ramble dies on your glossa. You collect yourself, optics looking up and in different directions, like you’re trying to piece together what you should say. “If not, well…”

Your digits move rhythmically, undulating then double tapping on the index, then undulating again. “Maybe while I’m gone you could put together a list of things you’d like to listen to when I come back, and we could listen together?”

He sighs. “Sure, that’s fine.”

You smile half heartedly, and turn to leave. Right as you walk to it, the door opens. “Commander,” you say, steely and harsh.

With you stepping aside to allow him entry, Starscream prowls into the medbay, his servos clasped behind his hunched back and wings spread out wide. Both of your optics are trained on each other as he walks past, both narrowed, but whereas your dermas are pursed, his are upturned in a sly smile.

“Pleasure to see you as always,” Starscream says, with your name tacked on at the end in a hollow purr.

Knock Out sits in the corner, not sure if he should say something to alleviate the growing tension, or wait and watch for it all to unfold.

You huff, muttering something under your breath, and you stomp out of the room.

Once you leave, and the door shuts behind you, Starscream saunters over, taking a seat in the chair that has your aft print engraved in the mesh. Knock Out’s digits drum against the edge of the table, waiting for his forced company to make his intentions known.

“Interesting array of projects you have here,” he begins.

“Not all of them are mine,” he says in response.

“Then I’m sure you don’t mind if I make some room.”

He pushes what’s in front of him into the back wall, into an even more cluttered pile, disrupting your very meticulous arrangement. At least, that’s what you’d explained to him. To Knock Out, it looked like a mess of parts and tools. You assured him, though, that if you tried it a different way you’d wind up misplacing it. You’re a creature of habit.

All of that thought process gone in an instant, some parts disconnecting and the tools used to put them together reconfigured and disordered.

Knock Out winces slightly, but otherwise resists reacting, keeping the air about him casual and indifferent.

“Now that that’s been taken care of, I believe I’m overdue for a sharpening,” he says, as he looks at his long talons, examining them with more admiration than he’s ever seen him give for any being other than himself sincerely.

Not that he’s one to judge, but he can at least say that he has devoted himself fully to another, going as far to be spark bonded and conjunx endura. That’s your business (that he eagerly rips into for his entertainment), though.

“Of course. Let me get the drimmel.” Knock Out pushes himself backwards on the chair, then gets up to walk to the cabinets lining the walls. 

“Make it snappy, won’t you? I have some things I need to get done today.”

Knock Out quietly exhales in annoyance and opens up a very organized drawer full of various files and drimmels, right next to the space dedicated to buffers, which he also makes sure to take one of. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you in here longer than needed, would we?”

It’s an innocent enough statement, but the implication isn’t lost on Starscream, and he wouldn’t expect it to be.

With all of his chosen supplies, he sits back down in his chair, sitting comfortably in the crater left by its previous owner, and grabs the drimmel first. Starscream holds out his servo, talons extended, and Knock Out holds it in his own. With the other servo, he flicks on the power tool, and carefully brings it up to the index digit to bring it to a nice point.

“So, what’s new with you?” Starscream asks after a prolonged silence. Now that the doors open, Knock Out responds in kind. 

He very fragging well knows what’s new. It’s not like he was the cause , or anything. He nearly lets the drimmel clip more than needed off of the talon currently under his care, but manages to reign himself in. “Ah, the usual. Hard at work on fetch quests, managing the med bay, being the most attractive con on this ship. Truly, I do it all. What about you? How’s the single life been treating you?”

Starscream scoffs. “It’s about as great as you could expect when reminders of why you’re single are spread throughout the ship. It’s honestly so embarrassing to see our ranks muddled with such blabbering. Gossip is bad for morale.”

For Starscream’s, maybe. Should he mind his business, or should he dig deeper? What kind of question is that, of course he’s going to deepen the wound.

Just one little comment won’t hurt. And if it does? Who cares! Starscream has done far, far worse. To him and to many others in his close circle.

“I didn’t know the whole ship knew about you cheating,” came the witty reply.

He keeps his optics focused on filing Starscream’s digits, because if he instead tries to look up, he knows he’ll start laughing at how his Commander’s faceplate is screwed up, trying to land on something to say in response.

“I meant the ship talking about all those paint transfers they sport. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore! Helm to aft, not a single piece of plating doesn’t sport at least one.”

“I believe they normally don’t like to, but it was just out of convenience for today. They’ve been busy as far as I can tell.”

“So busy they had time to work on this!? What is this thing even?”

Knock Out shrugs. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

“I mean, come on, you’re not even a little bit jealous?”

“What reason would I have to be?”

“Don’t be coy with me. I know you’re in their arsenal.”

Frag just one comment. He’s going for the throat.

“In? You misunderstand,” he begins with a chuckle, “let’s put it this way. If they were to have a to-do list, I’d be at the top, underlined and circled, with at least twenty check marks next to my name.”

Starscream sputters just a moment, then continues on, grasping for any sort of ground on the matter. “Wouldn’t it feel good to get even though?”

“...Pardon?”

“We…could, you know, even the playing field,” Starscream proposes.

“It’s already even. I don’t recall them cheating on you, or is that video recording somehow doctored?”

“I mean. Since you’re clearly not the only con they’re with, wouldn’t it be a fine idea to even the score?”

“If I wanted to do that, I’d go and seek out some of the other occupants here. I’ve heard some good things about Shockwave.” 

Knock Out is a mech of principle. He’s flattered, of course, by the notion. Starscream is a very attractive mech, after all and was another candidate he considered inviting to the berth. But what would be better: the best servos he’s ever had on his spike in his life from the con that strokes his ego the best, or probably slightly better than average spike from the most selfish and pathetic mech he’s ever had the displeasure of knowing. 

He watches raptly with a strange satisfaction at seeing him get more and more peeved.

“Maybe even Soundwave? Though I think his visor might only be set on those you’ve already had before. But you knew that already, didn't you?”

Starscream abruptly pulls his servo away and stands up with indignant outrage, “I will not have you talking about things you don’t understand.”

“I have a first row seat. I understand plenty.” Knock Out looks at Starscream with a slag eating grin, too pleased to have stirred the pot.

“I shouldn’t have bothered coming. This was a waste of time.”

“I don’t know, I think your half done digits look great, and I’m sure they’ll look even better as you claw at that last bit of significance you have.”

Finally reaching a breaking point, Starscream storms out, pushing aside the chair into a wall.

“ Love the bitter loneliness on you! Does it also come in shade- …aaaaand he’s gone.”

***

Sometime later, you rush back into the medbay, engine sputtering noisily. “Are you okay?” You say, sternly, optics looking at Knock Out wildly.

“I’m fine,” he sighs, putting down the medkit he was currently restocking.

You rush to him, placing your servos on his shoulders. “Did he do anything to you?”

“Not at all. We just had a little chat. What was wrong with the engine?”

“Usual issues. Something slipped out of place and needed to be reattached.” Your optics drift to the disordered pile on the edge of the table. Your dermas form a thin line, and then you sigh, your engine now shutting off. Instead of pointing it out, you turn your gaze back to him. “Did you have time to think about what you wanted to listen to?”

“I’m afraid not. My apologies, but things just kept coming up.”

“That’s okay…” you say, in a small voice. “Knock Out.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I…there’s a lot I want to say, but I don’t know how. Or if I’m even ready. So I guess for that, first.” Your voicebox cuts out when you try and continue your word vomit. It takes several moments of you allowing it to regulate itself before you start again. 

“I’m not good with these sorts of things,” you mumble quietly. 

“Feelings?”

“Yes. Specifically of this variety.”

“What variety is that?”

You don’t answer. “What are we, Knock Out?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He says, as if it’s as simple as that.

“And what do you want us to be?”

His optical ridges bunch up together, and he crosses his arms over his chassis. “I don’t understand the question.”

“What do you want from me? From this. I’m already not good at reading people as is, and you keep giving me mixed signals.”

“Only because you do the same.”

“How am I giving you mixed signals?”

“You tell me such sweet things, to the point that ‘ego stroking’ is an insult to your craft. We cuddle, we kiss, we do things that most people wouldn’t do at whatever level of closeness you think we should be, and when I try to initiate, you pull away.” 

You reign in yourself. Arguing here feels like second nature, but you intend to not make the same mistakes you did with Starscream. You will be better.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I never had any ill intent, I am just new to the idea of healthy communication of boundaries. I’ll try and  do my best to do better going forward.” You pause, giving him an opportunity to cut in, but you’re met with silence. You continue, looking at him directly in the optics. “I don’t know what I want, but I like what we have now, and I like your presence. Until I figure out what I want, I will tell you how I feel at the moment. Is this fair?”

He takes a few moments of staring you down, as if to peer into you to search for any hint of a half-truth or falsehood to your compromise, but then he sighs, all the tension leaving his shoulders in relief. “I find this agreeable. I’ll stop being evasive and start asking for your consent before initiating.”

“Thank you.”

The corners of his dermas curl up just the slightest bit. “Glad that that’s sorted. I did just basically tell Starscream to go frag himself after he proposed that we should hook up to get back at you.”

“You did?”

“Oh, yeah. Implied some pretty salacious things about your character, and told him his claws are half baked and hideous.”

You grab both sides of his helm, which he raises one ridge at. “You. Are. The. Best friend a con could ask for.” 

He grabs your wrists, but doesn’t move your servos off of him. “I know, I’m truly a delight.”

“Do you want to have make-up ‘facing right now?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

It cannot be understated how vital Soundwave is to the Decepticon cause. While most will go several solar cycles without seeing him around, it’s clear his presence is still noticed. Everything, under his close and unending watch, runs smooth as oil. While you’d never wanted to join the rat race for second in command, there’s only ever been two possible candidates.

Starscream is the most vocal, yes.

But again, without Soundwave, it’d be a mystery how the cogs of the glorious war machine that you all constitute would continue to turn.

Unfortunately, that mystery hasn’t been solved.

No one is adept and perfected as him in such a task. Everything about him, even ignoring his personal vendetta against speaking, is meant for quiet. Even though his movements may appear clunky due to his build, he still moves with a practiced grace that one only gets while sneaking around the Nemesis at night. You realize, now, that that might’ve only been to make his way to the human world without being noticed. But still.

Miraculously, there’s never been a problem with him being gone, though no one else but you has even the slightest idea exactly how many times it’s happened.

What transpired next was an extreme set of circumstances that, to put it bluntly, resulted in one of the most impressive disasters in the past five hundred stellar cycles.

You had just been sitting in the Med Bay, as usual, hanging out and working on your mini project. 

“It’s been really quiet today,” Knock Out remarks from his side of the Med Bay. He’s currently in the back, behind where that separator used to be, attempting to clean off some unsightly stains on the floor and the operation table.

“What do you mean?”

He stops mopping and leans up against it. “I mean, neither of us have gotten any alerts today. Isn’t that a bit strange?”

“Didn’t think you’d be the one to complain about it,” you say, lightheartedly.

“I am not complaining. Just making an observation is all.”

You hum in response. Silence fills the space between you two. Yes, it is true that no one has pinged either of you. You hadn’t noticed up until he mentioned it. It seems like every other day, there’s something going on, but it’s a nice change of pace, to get as close to relaxing as anyone can aboard this hellhole.

Your optics drift over to watch him work. It’s no surprise he’s a bit of a neat freak. You’ve never seen the med bay in such a disarray before; every surface is usually shined and polished to perfection, much like his plating. A bit of worry worms its way into your processor. You’d never got to see what he was hiding back there until now. Perhaps he’s finally letting everything air out, or maybe he trusts you enough to see.

“Would you like me to help?”

It slips out without half a thought.

He stops mopping for a second, and his optics regard you with a touch of scrutiny. “That’d be welcome, yes.”

With that you abandon your circuit board and walk over to where he stands, handle outstretched to you. You take it from him, and get to work on cleaning.

Time passes, again, in silence, but it’s welcome. It’s melancholic, yes. You’re not blind to what blue and purple stains you’re cleaning. Still, it’s nice to spend time with him without any pretenses. You wonder, faintly, if he thinks the same. If he doesn’t mind you hanging around without a reason. If he truly doesn’t mind what you two have. If he is glad that you’re still around, despite everything, despite every single benign road block or insurmountable hardship.

Ifs don’t change anything, though.

Ifs only make your processor hurt, wondering if you should, or could, do anything different.

He doesn’t deserve any of that, either. You will trust him.

“I think that’s a good stopping point.”

You’re broken out of your thoughts by Knock Out. He sets down the rag he’d been wiping with, drenched and sopping, leaving a streak of purple in its wake. He tosses it unceremoniously into a waste bin, and picks up the bucket of cleansing fluid.

“You sure? I was getting into a nice workflow. Really streamlined, you know.”

He sighs. “I’m just tired. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

You set the mop down. “Would it be alright if I stay in here a bit longer? I promise, I’ll be back soon, I just want to get a little bit more work done.”

He waves you off. “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m perfectly fine going to bed alone.”

You frown slightly. His tone of voice indicates he’s joking, being a bit sarcastic. Still, you want to make sure. “I wasn’t coddling you. I was just making sure you’d be okay without me, and letting you know what I’d planned on doing.”

“I’ll be fine. Have fun with your little project. See you.”

He leaves, and you’re left to stand alone in the dim medbay, thinking about more stuff you can’t read into very well. You plop yourself back down in your chair, and get back to work on your project.

You were honest about what it was for. It was supposed to be an apology gift. For Soundwave. You felt just the tiniest bit guilty for his whole operation being busted, and for him getting hurt. Thus, why you felt the need to hide what it is. In all fairness, you don’t really know either.

You sought out to try and recreate a modular synthesizer. A drum kit. A turntable maybe. Just anything to make Soundwave look less suspicious/more normal while he’s out and about. You quickly realized, though, that you have no idea how that works. You’re a mechanical engineer, not a sound or software engineer, after all. It’s not like there’s any tutorials showing how to make one from scratch, either. No, as hard as you’d tried, no human would want to take apart equipment that is apparently rather expensive.

It keeps your servos busy at least.

You’re welcome to the distraction.

Quickly, you fall into a lull, and you find yourself tapping along to a song that was surely in Soundwave’s set. 

You’ve only been treated to the ship's emergency alarm twice. The first time was when a major core meltdown happened due to landing on a planet that was much, much hotter than expected. That had been a huge oversight on your part, though to be fair, any normal Cybertronian would feel like they were literally melting in that heat. The poor vehicons that were forced to venture onto its rocky surface actually had their rubber slough off their rims. In the confusion and scramble of that, the underbelly of the nemesis started reaching critical temperatures, and it wasn’t until that blaring siren started that you figured out what happened.

The second time was in the middle of an interstellar battle, out in the throes of space, where the loading bay’s doors were sautered open. It has some of the thinnest lining, so it wasn’t too surprising that it was taken advantage of. And normally, a minor cut like that wouldn’t have been a big issue, but since there were materials still in the loading bay, and very explosive ones at that, when the drastic pressure difference sucked out what was near the bay, something collided with something else, and an even bigger hole was blown into it. At least that’s the most plausible explanation. Anyone that was unfortunate enough to be there, and even the camera in the corner, was blown to scrap.

Protocol for hastily loading explosive material was changed after that.

This brings you to now, where you have the pleasure of being ripped out of your mindless work due to that very alarm ringing, seeming to reverberate endlessly. It perforates into your very being, shaking you alive and into a panic. You make a break for the door, and come to a harsh halt into the hall, nearly slipping from the force.

Droves of vehicons are running around in a panic.

“What’s going on?!” You attempt to yell out.

No one pays you any mind, they continue to scramble about.

“Knock Out. Do you know what’s going on?”

“No clue. Finally managed to fall asleep, and this is what happens?”

“That sucks.” You tell him, trying not to sound like you’re dismissing his thoughts, but not having the drive to comment on it further. “ Anyways. I’ll keep asking around.”

“I’ll meet you at the throne room.”

“‘Kay.”

You break off towards the throne room, weaving through the current of soldiers, trying not to bump into anyone.

“Soundwave. Do you have a read on anything?”

.

.

.

“Soundwave?”

Nothing.

Fantastic.

You’re out of options for cons you’d be willing to ask, or those that would have any clue as to what’s happening. Is it a short list? Yes.

Fortunately, you’ve managed to make it to the throne room, so you don’t have to dwell on how inept you are at making connections.

The door slides open, to reveal Knock Out, Starscream, and Megaton talking tensely. As soon as it does, their helms all snap to you. Megatron shouts out your name, and you scramble forward. “Yes, sir?”

“Do you have an inkling as to what’s going on?”

“None, sir. I tried asking around, but it seems everyone is in panic mode at the moment.”

“Hm. I suppose then our best choice would be to make them stop scurrying about and listen.” Starscream suggests.

“Fantastic idea. As soon as you think of a way to do that, feel free to share with the class, instead of pointing out the obvious.”

“You—!”

“Would you please stop. I get it, but there’s more important things to worry about right now,” you say, exasperatedly. You really do get it. You’d love to tear into him, start something, make a scene, but based on what happened every other time that droning has graced yourself with its presence, something that’s worth a small fortune in damages to repair happens. Or it would, at least, if money mattered significantly anymore.

“You’re in no position to tell me what to do.”

“If you’re all gonna sit here twiddling your thumbs, arguing about what to do instead of doing it, then be my guest. But I have a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I ain’t gonna do it.”

“Well what do you suggest we do then?”

“For starters, I’d like to say that Soundwave isn’t here at the moment, and getting to the cameras and figuring out where the problem is might be a pretty good start. Maybe run a diagnostic test or two, which is something I can’t do without the help of our operating system.”

“Soundwave is out on a mission I sent him on.” Megatron cuts in, matter of factly, and you stop yourself from shrinking in at that, ready for him to berate you for your overzealous planning and idea making. “Though, it is…interesting…that he is not back yet.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“A best estimate would say several deca-cycles now.”

You in-vent through your dentae. “That might be a bit of a problem.”

“I have an adequate knowledge of how to operate the cameras. I can get you inside of the control room so that you may be on your merry way.”

You nod at Starscream, who looks pleasantly surprised with your agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”

You both turn to head in the direction of the control room, neither too pleased at the turn of events, but still going along with it.

“Knock Out?”

“Yes, my liege?”

“It’d be a wise idea for you to tag along, lest they wind up at eachother’s throats.”

“Certainly.”

***

“You seem confident about this.”

“It’s not like I haven’t done this before— don’t raise your ridge at me. I wasn’t doing anything nefarious with the cameras.”

“Not any worse than Soundwave.”

You laugh with Knock Out at the statement he says lowly. Now that there’s at least a plan in development, you can appreciate his attempts in alleviating the tension. You’re fully ready to add on, but a glare from Starscream silences you both.

Starscream navigates the panels and various pop ups slowly, reading through everything carefully. After several commands are typed into the keyboard, a set of a few windows open, displaying various angles of the most important rooms of the ship. Starscream’s expression slackens, then shows harrowing fear.

A bored Megatron pacing back and forth in the observation deck, a barren mess hall, an empty med bay, Shockwave tiding away, unconcerned with what’s happening just outside his door, swarms of vehicons running about, and finally a single camera feed occupied only by gray with stark orange glows.

“…Where is that?” Knock Out asks, leaning over Starscream’s shoulder to try and see the little label in the corner

After a moment, he answers, almost timidly. “The engine room.”

“ Are you fragging kidding me?! ”

You don’t even realize you’re screeching before it’s already out of your processor, but Starscream and Knock Out both flinch.

“Uhm. How bad is that?” Knock Out asks.

“Considering it’s on fire , fragging bad. We’re talking blow a fucking hole the size of your ego into the ship bad.”

“That’s a pretty big hole, then.”

“No. Slag.”

“Okay. Okay. Calm down, we can fix this.”

“Ohhhh Primus what am I supposed to do?!” The tension from earlier rears its hideous helm.

“Great job. Really taking what I say to spark.”

Knock Out and Starscream both watch as you pace while muttering to yourself, with Knock Out vaguely amused and Starscream with growing irritation, arms crossed and pede tapping, like he’s just waiting for you to sort yourself out. Suddenly, you stop in your tracks and sharply turn to them. All at once, your tone completely reverses into a self reassuring bravado.

“Okay. I am going to go down there. And fix it. And then everything will be fine!”

“ How ?” Starscream asks, but it comes off more rhetorical than it should be, like a plea.

“I’ll figure it out when I get there. You all stay out of it, I’ll handle it.”

“L-like slag you are! You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Starscream says, with a degree of certainty.

You steel your gaze, and scoff at him. “I’ll manage. Haven’t I before?”

“Your memory seems to be failing, dearest, or did you forget your arm being torn clean off?”

“You don’t get to call me that!” You jab a digit into his chassis and loom over him, nearly touching olfactory sensors. “You don’t get to pretend to be worried, you piece of slag. If you were, you wouldn’t have done even half the things you did to me!”

Starscream is shocked at your outburst, but that quickly molds into a low anger. It’s a cold and calculating sort of thing, he does, he regards you like you’re worth less than the scuffs on his heel struts, where his optics narrow just a smidge more. His icy servo wraps around your digit, a tight vice which almost snuffs out your ire, which would bring a shiver wracking through you had liquid resentment not been surging your fuel lines. He pulls your servo down. You expect him to let go, but instead your fist is encompassed by his claws.

All throughout it, you’re both having an unnervingly intense stare down, not looking away for a second. Both looking at each other with a looming threat, all unsaid promises that will end in something more than crashing and burning. Knock Out, it seems, is finally reminded of why he was sent to tag along in the first place, no longer entranced by the drama unfolding.

He places a servo on each of your chassis, and pushes you apart. “Sort your problems out on your own time. You said it yourself, gather up your wits and let’s get this fire situated. We can’t afford to lose much more.”

A moment later, and you’re the first to break. You grunt, and turn swiftly to take heavy steps to the door. “See you on the other side.”

You’re out of the door, shaking your helm as if to clear it of any lingering emotion that might interfere with your work, and racing to the engine room before they can do much else.

Not much later, after weaving and dodging again through what little of Megatron’s droning army remains, you come to a sliding stop in front of the entrance to your life’s purpose. The door opens as soon as you punch in the code, smoke billowing out into the hall. You step in, wafting it away from your optics, and you slip on your welding mask. In your mind, you think this would be the perfect time to say some cheesed one-line like “let’s roll” or “time to lock and load,” but you’re better than that. 

You dig around in your endless well of items, and pull out a fire extinguisher. It’s far from the first time you’ve lit something on fire, but never anything this extreme .

You pull the pin with your denta, and begin spraying the fire retardant in sweeping arcs where the fire originates from. It walks a steady line, almost blocking you off from the rest of the room. One side of it leads to the middle, almost creeping to the dip where the drainage system lay. You spray there to halt it’s creep, and make your way to the opposite end, twisting through the machinery that could crush you to a pulp if you’re not careful.

“Trained personnel,” comes Megatron’s voice raring through the overhead comms, “report to the engine facilities to aid your comrades in quenching a fire.”

You finally reach the other end, and send another spray. When you approach the now extinguished pool, drops of energon trickle out of a sliced open pipe.

Well there’s the source.

Even with that cleared, there’s an unfathomable amount of fire raging. It’s all around you, everywhere you look is awash in an orange glow. Unending seas of flames lick at your heels and breathe warmly against your plating. It’s a wonder how no one noticed at all.

You feel like you’re swimming, processor beginning to lag and run slow. Thoughts are coming to a slow trickle instead of a raging stream of consciousness before, in the wake of fresh panic. Your limbs feel much heavier than they should be, like moving through a vat of boiling oil, barely able to swing through the air, forcing yourself to keep going. Someone has to.

Something bursts behind you. You feel the vibration of it first, and register that there’s shrapnel in your back next, tearing into your barely healed raking claw marks. You do everything you can to not topple over from the pain, adding to your once doubled vision, now tripling and quadrupling. You’d turn to see what it is, but you have to manage what you can.

“You rang?”

You turn around. Relief fills you ten times over at the crowd occupying the door. “St3v3!” You clasp his arm in greeting, glad you can at least manage to aim for that despite seeing doubles. “Glad to see you.”

***

Knock Out and Starscream are both peering at the monitor, watching as you direct your team to clean up the disaster. 

Knock Out would be the first to admit he was worried. Even though you went into it with sheer determination, even though your faceplate isn’t visible, you oozed confidence and control. In a proper fight, you tend to be a little lackluster.

Different cons have different talents he supposes.

Not looking too hot now, though. The camera gives an exceedingly graphic shot of you being pummeled with shards of a coolant tanker, and to an untrained optic you might look fine, but to him you’re four shots down, about to sling back another, wobbling like you’ve just discovered what legs are.

What wonders that’ll do to your already scarred back.

But you carry on, regardless. He was right to trust your judgement, to let you go helm first into it. He...he can trust you. He can trust that you'll see to your goals. A smile graces his faceplate.

He shifts his attention briefly to Starscream, who watches raptly, taking in every speck of information he could possibly gleam from the screen, absorbing it like the driest of sponge.

He’s also noticeably fidgety.

He very well could chalk it up to guilt. But what for?

“You doing alright in there?”

Back on screen, some vehicons are mopping up what seems to be a fuel spill while you and a few others tend to a pipe, and even more are quenching the fire.

“I’m more than alright,” Starscream responds, without so much as glancing at Knock Out.

“You seem stressed.”

“Of course I’d be! It’s my— our ship, isn’t it?”

“Not your job to fix it, though. I just find it fascinating how worked up you’re getting.”

After you flip some sort of lever, your team begins unattaching the damaged pipe. Together, they work, well, they work like a well-oiled machine. Everyone is doing something to help, finding something to do.

A degree of competence is seen in this fleet. A very rare feat. As an outsider— someone that only recently joined the crew— Knock Out has formed the opinion that something always goes wrong. He chalked it up to some sort of wiring issue, but seeing how friendly you are with them, perhaps it’s a familiarity you share. Again, though, he’s just an outsider, so who’s to say?

And who’s to say that there is something that’s eating at Starscream’s spark.

Oh, if only he could initiate another psychic cortic patch. The things he’d see, the truths that would unfold.

THUD .

Starscream jumps back, and Knock Out clutches at his plating, effectively using him as a body shield.

He babbles out some sort of greeting, and the figure approaches forward, warning lights casting haunting shadows on his already daunting form. Soundwave approaches forward, coming to stand behind them at the terminal. He seemingly stares, and then tilts his helm down to face the con that’s now drumming his claws against its edge.

“Yeah, you’ve missed a lot. Not sure what happened, but we’ve taken care of it.”

“Yes, precisely, we did great work today.”

Soundwave considers their statements for a moment. Then from his speakers, he replays a message. “ Tell them they’re no longer needed with that. I’m sure our technician can handle whatever it is that’s being thrown at them. Our new visitor is more important at the moment.”

“New…visitor?”

Soundwave steps aside slightly, presenting the red strobing hallway in all its glory.

“Right, yes. We’ll be going now.”

Soundwave, for all intents and purposes, gives them a death glare as they scurry out.

With Soundwave back handling the visual systems, all is right at Darkmount again, and the Nemesis itself awashes in a pleasant hum.

***

Your designation is called overhead, along with a short command. “Report to the observation deck immediately.”

Everyone else that you’re working with turns to you immediately. You sigh. 

You were so close to at least getting everything stable enough. But alas, peace is a rare commodity aboard here.

“Keep doin’ what you’re doing, I’ll be back soon.”

You walk through the frame leading to the dim observation deck. Sol is rising, peaking behind the horizon, casting the surrounding cliffs and low faring shrapnel in a hazy orange glow.

“You wished to see me, sir?”

Megatron turns to you, with his servos clasped behind his back. He regards you with a stern glare. “Yes. I wanted your take of what transpired today. Give me your…expert opinion on what went wrong.”

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to gather everything together so far. “As of late, there’s been more and more damage to various parts of the ship. Though the engine seems to be taking the brunt of it.”

“Yes, which is why we’ve had Soundwave take a more hands on approach to security, is that right?”

“Correct.”

“It’s interesting, then, that we have yet to find the culprit,” he says, side-eyeing you. “What did you see today?”

“I…I saw claw marks on one of the fuel lines! Normally, it’s something that’s just been pulled.”

“From what I remember, you casted it off as just wear and tear. But it’s an interesting pattern, don’t you agree?”

“…yes.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Are you suggesting there’s foul play?”

“I’m not against the notion,” he then turns to you, grinning wide, showing off all of his jagged teeth. “But before you get antsy, I heard all about your deeds today from Starscream. I must commend you for your dedication.”

You’re surprised he of all people would say anything. This feels like some sort of test. You force your tone to remain neutral. “Thank you, sir. It’s just my job.”

“Still, not many are willing to jump helm first into fire.”

“Ah. Yes, true. But someone has to, right?”

“Mm. Yes, precisely. How much more would you say you have until everything is cleared up completely?”

“Until it’s stable, not much more. Until it’s back to what it was before today, I’m not sure.”

“Then I’m sure you have enough time to accompany me today, yes?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” is what you respond with hesitantly, “I’d prefer to get it taken care of sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll make this quick, then.”

You expected him to maybe ask you to walk with him. Conspire about who might the culprit be, that’d be your first guess. Maybe spill what plans you have for ship upgrades. Before what happened next, you thought he’d ask if he could wax poetry to you. He is well spoken, and you did hear of him doing such from Starscream once. Plus, he seems like a very lonely guy. It’s not like you could really say no to that request. There are, indeed, infinitely worse things you could be wasting your time on.

For example, he could dip you down and shove his glossa down your throat. That would be pretty bad.

And that’s what he does.

He has you leaning back, with one massive servo clutching your neck, and the other arm around the smallest part of your waist.

You’re shocked for two nano kliks, and then his glossa, tasting of spoiled energon and something overwhelmingly sour, dips too far into your throat, and you place your servos on his chassis and heave .

His glossa pulls out of your throat, and he looks almost startled with how much your optics blaze, rampant with fury. It sends a twinge of satisfaction to your core.

“Forgive me for saying this…but excuse me!?”

“Is there something wrong?” He asks, casually, clearly uncaring of an discomfort on your part.

“A warning might have been appreciated. And a request for consent. You may think what you think about me, but that doesn’t mean I just leave my interface array open and waiting!” Had this not been a known psychopath that holds your life in his servos, you’d be using several more choice words for him.

“So you’re fine with this? I didn’t hear a no.”

Shocking that he’d take it in such a way, selfish as he is. “May I weigh my options for a moment?”

One ridge on his faceplate raises. “Yes…you may.”

Well. For starters, your whole body aches of exhaustion. You feel disgusting, covered in smoke and sticky energon that’s run along your back. You’d much rather take a nice oil bath and turn in for the night than deal with anything else. And that’s just the physical aspects.

He is your boss. He is a terrible mech. He’s treated you and those closest to him like they mean nothing but a pawn to use. And speaking of, he is the affair partner of your former partner. Although, would this make good blackmail? Would doing this hurt Starscream? Would it put even more tension between them?

The rapid fire questions that spill out of your processor do nothing to assuage the part of you that hasn’t been tainted by this place.

But it’s sink or swim, isn’t it?

Time to stock up your chips.

“I’m in.”

“Well, that’s wonderful to hear.”

Are you being played, or is he really that lonely? Either way, who cares , you win in this scenario.

“May I?” He says, up against your audials, in a small whisper that he all but hisses out. “I promise it will be worth it.”

“You may,” you say, and he wastes no time in lathing the plating on your neck with small bites, nipping at gently, making his way down the column. Your servos reach up to grip at the back of his helm, trying to push him against you, which he chuckles at, the sound reverberating seemingly down your spinal strut.

Eventually, he makes his way to the junction between your shoulder plating and your neck, where the small nibble turns into a harsh bite. Energon spills from where his denta have sunk in, a small moan leaving your intake. 

He groans, his glossa lapping at the wound. “Such a sweet flavor you have, my dear.” His servos move down to clutch at your hips, squeezing ever so slightly. “Would you care for a taste?”

You expect him to take what he wants, but his question hangs in the air, waiting for a response, unmoving against you.

“Please.”

You do taste a bit sweet, interestingly. It hardly masks his wretched taste, but you accept it all the same, far past the point of caring. If you did care, that would be a moot point, as you open up your intake wide for his glossa to invade again. Exploring, but not forcing. It worms in, prodding around, not letting a single point go untouched. You suck on the appendage, and only then does he retract it from your mouth, yet a string of fluids connects you to him.

He swipes it away with his glossa, and you can’t help but let your optics wander down.

“How would you like me?” He asks, while gripping your chin guard.

“As long as my back isn’t against something, I don’t care.”

He laughs earnestly. “I can handle that request.”

An idea works it’s way out of the depths. “On second thought, I think I’d like to ride you. On the throne, my lord .”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do all the moving? You worked fairly hard today.”

You smirk slightly and let one of your servos trace along his upper arm, digit lightly teasing the plating. “Could you not lift me up? I thought for sure a gladiator as powerful as yourself could handle that.”

You’re an expert in playing with fire, it seems.

He growls lowly, and picks you up to move you over to the aforementioned spot. First, he sits down, and drags you atop him. Your legs are barely able to fit over his thighs and between the hand holds of the throne, but with a bit of effort, you find a comfortable position.

Once that small task is done, you make haste in unlatching both of your coverings, and positioning yourself over his spike. You’ll certainly have your work cut out for you. You catch yourself staring. He grabs your hips and forces you down, pushing slowly until you’re hilted on him, a groan tearing its way out of your voice box from the pain. “I certainly can handle this.”

He proves that statement with ease. You’re left to go with the motions, allowing him to use you how he sees fit. You moan, and set your servos onto his sharp shoulder guards to give yourself leverage. He stretches you out wonderfully, feeling impossibly full, so full you almost forget and throw away your care for who you’re dealing with. But then you remember. You remember every little subtle thing he’s done to you over the years, and energon starts racing through your system, pounding through your helm, reverberating in your audials. 

You begin meeting him halfway, gritting your dentae, digits digging in. He’s none the wiser to you simmering underneath, and you cast a glance to look around for your beloved peepers. You see a little red light blinking up in the very top of the ceiling, pointing directly to you. You stare at it as you’re dragged up and down, making sure to stare as you’re brought to the brink.

You overload quickly, or at least you do when you bring your servo down to stroke your own spike. When you squeeze down on him, he fills up your valve with his transfluid. A sigh slips past your intake, feeling the warmth spread. His helm tips forward to rest on your shoulder, and he groans lightly.

***

Soundwave steps out of the room without making a single sound except for the plink of the door. Had Starscream not been used to such a thing, doing this same sort of routine several times over, he might have just thought it was a fluke. Soundwave, however, is surprisingly a mech that sticks to routines. Even if it’s a very odd one, seemingly alert at all times of the day, he still needs stasis like everyone else. Thus, for all of one groon once every few solar cycles, he more than likely crashes as soon as he arrives at his berth, probably cuddling with his beloved winged companion. It’s sickening.

Even though Soundwave was captured and interrogated for Primus’s sake, he’s sure that he’ll stick to that routine. Which is admirable. Makes this whole operation a lot easier on Starscream’s behalf.

After waiting a few kliks, he enters in the code into the door, slides open, and then he’s on the terminal, typing away to crack several passcodes and bypass firewalls, ignoring the drops of energon splattered there. He did just, again, come back from enemy territory. It’s probably just a fresh wound. There’s still some codes and firewalls he can’t manage, of course, but some he’s found access to after several deca-cycles worth of attempts. All looks as it usually does from the surface.

On the first monitor are the surface level items already displayed. On the second though, which is mostly blank, displays two items. The first, a chatbox to Shockwave with the message “I request your presence”. Disgusting. The second, is a folder labeled “Super Secret– Do Not Look At.”

That seems…odd. But he is curious.

He opens it up. No password needed, and what shows is a few video files.

Interesting.

He clicks on the first one, and he watches in confusion. 

It’s just you and Knock Out, what could possibly be– he almost falls back onto the floor below. Who knew Knock Out was so flexible. To be expected that this would happen, he supposes.

He hesitantly opens the next video.

Okay, that’s Soundwave, and yep– again, to be expected. You bent over this very terminal. Next.

More bizarre, he’s starting to see a pattern. Shockwave, and wow can your intake open. Next.

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. This one is just a highlight reel of you and Knock Out. There’s fragging captions , for crying out loud.

Oh Primus, why do you look like you’re enjoying all of this so much. Even when being fragged in such a way– by both Shockwave and Soundwave at the same time, you’re in pure bliss.

The Beast?? Where do you get the time to do all of this?!

And finally, with a grimace, he opens the final video, dated to just a few moments ago. He feels his energon run hot , fuming, but shamefully his engine revs, reverberating around the cramped interior of the control room.

You, staring at the camera with an equal amount of rage that he can easily recognize, feeling like you’re staring at him with such hate , a definite and suffocating and fiery malice that penetrates the into his spark, as you ride Megatron’s spike like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. Despite you being so far away, across the screen and hopefully across the ship now, he feels more terrified of you now than when you were staring at him from down the bridge of your olfactory sensor.

He is no longer sure that he’s going to win this one.

***

You limp back to you and Knock Out’s shared hab suite, alone. St3v3 offered to help you back after you’d managed to get everything running properly again, but you assured him that you could handle yourself. You’re glad he accepted that. Camaraderie never hurt anyone, but he deserves a break, not to have you with your arm slung over his shoulder and him supporting your weight. He did enough for you today already.

 As soon as the door slides open Knock Out is swarming your vision. “Is everything okay?”

You briefly turn to him as you walk past, optics bleary and half open. “Could be worse,” is what you grumble out, before promptly collapsing face-plate down on his berth. Half of your body makes it, half of it is left slumping off the edge. 

Knock Out joins you to sit on the edge, softly touching your back. You hiss, flinching away from his too curious digits. “I saw it happen, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“You looked mighty brave,” he comments while digging around in his subspace. You huff, and then he applies some sort of salve to your wounds that turns your soft laugh into a gasping hiss. “And that’s what happens when you’re too brave.”

You grit your dentae, prepared to try and bite the cushioning of the berth to prevent yourself from wailing, but he stops.

“I was worried, you know.”

You wait for him to continue, berate you, give you the worst.

“I know things haven’t been great for you, but you don’t have to do it all alone. We’re a team, yes?”

You turn your helm to look at him. It’s a look you can’t decipher, but if you had to, it’d be something so delicate you’d be afraid to give it a name in fear of it shattering before you. Your voicebox refuses to work, too choked up to say anything, somehow, and instead you offer up a pinky for him.

He looks at it, and then chuckles lightly, smiling and shaking his helm. He returns the gesture, interlocking his digit with your own. “Promise.”