Starscream had never seen much point in kissing. The pressing together of facial components seemed, at best, an antiquated custom. Something the likes of Graywing—chief mentor of Lore Studies at the Seekers Guild Institute—might get up to with the other two members of his trine. Not that Starscream even wanted to think about that. But certainly, kissing wasn't something worth bothering with if you were less than say, five hundred thousand vorns into your lifecycle.

It was true that the lips, glossa, and the other components of one's face were rich in sensors. Those were for things like smelling and tasting, though, not the kind of sensors that would get you any closer to an overload. Which was, after all, the whole point of interfacing. It wasn't that Starscream hadn't kissed. He'd tried it; he'd tried most things. And he'd found it every bit as slippery and claustrophobia-inducing as he would have thought. The viscid exchange of oral fluids, the wormlike probing of the other's glossa into one's mouth… he'd utterly failed to grasp the appeal.

The last time that someone—a slightly older Seeker, visiting Vos on a learning exchange from one of the smaller congresses in the south—had tried it, Starscream had seriously considered biting him. The only thing that held him back was his hope that the slagger might, with the right kind of encouragement, get around to doing something more interesting with his mouth. Which he did, eventually. Proving that Graywing's lengthy assertions about the value of patience were not so much wrong as tedious. It was an important life-lesson for a young Seeker, Starscream had thought. Yet one which Graywing had seemed surprisingly unimpressed with when Starscream had described it at the following lodge assembly. Which just went to show that there was no pleasing some people.

All things considered, then, it came as quite a surprise to Starscream when he found that he couldn't stop thinking about kissing Skyfire. To the point of distraction. To the point where he could barely hold a conversation with the mech, because he kept staring at his mouth.

Not that he didn't have good reason to stare. Skyfire's mouth was surprisingly, well… beautiful. Not in the glossy, dainty way that some mechs seemed to find so attractive in femmes, nor in the way that Seekers, like Starscream himself, were generally thought to be handsome. It was beautiful in a totally unique way. A way that was totally Skyfire. A way that went perfectly with the deep timbre of his voice, and the graceful movements of his big hands as he talked.

His mouth had a bold, firm look—like the rest of him. But also, like the rest of him, a gentleness. At times, when Skyfire was deep in concentration, he would bite one of his lips, and Starscream would catch a glimpse of his dentae pressing into the smooth protoform. Once the lip was released, there would be a little row of indentations that would fade, gradually, with time. Starscream wondered how it would feel to make his own set of indentations in that smooth metal. He wondered if Skyfire's mouth would have a taste, and if it would be in any way different from his own taste. He wondered if Skyfire liked kissing.

He would come up with questions to ask Skyfire, just so he could watch and listen as he explained the answers. He'd taken to showing up at Skyfire's lab whenever a gap came up in his training schedule, and Skyfire never seemed to mind his interruptions. He always seemed happy to set aside whatever he was working on and answer Starscream's questions in that patient, thoughtful way of his.

Skyfire's answers were quite different from those of Starscream's various mentors. Of course they were about science rather than legends, history, or the all-important Moral Virtues that Graywing was typically on about. But Skyfire's answers were never absolute. There was always space within them for disagreement. For debate, and further questioning. Starscream liked that. It was a relief after the stifling conformity of the lodge assemblies, during which everyone seemed to share the same opinion on nearly all matters. Or the Guild lectures, after which one was expected to simply regurgitate whatever Ageless Wisdom had been imparted during that particular lesson.

Being around Skyfire gave him a sense of freedom. He could say and think what he pleased. Skyfire would listen in that quiet, attentive way of his, and then ask him questions in return. Questions that never failed to provoke deeper thought and inquiry. They didn't always agree. In fact they rarely did, but that was part of the fun. Skyfire never got angry with him for having a different opinion. He never tut-tutted, never lectured. Never told Starscream that he'd never amount to anything. He always seemed interested in hearing what Starscream had to say. And Starscream was always interested in what he had to say. Really-he was. Though he suspected that Skyfire would be surprised, and probably disappointed, if he realized how often Starscream's mind had been drifting lately.

To the shape of Skyfire's wings, for example. How they framed the light. And the wide sweep of his shoulders, and his deep, powerful chest. And his hands. His hands, especially. Starscream had watched Skyfire's hands repair delicate circuitry and make minute adjustments the observatory's enormous telescope array. He'd seen them transplant tiny seedlings. But those hands were huge, and powerful, and their touch—on Starscream's arm, or his shoulder, or, lightly, along the edge of one of his intakes—always felt like a promise.

Except, of course, that it wasn't. Skyfire never looked at him in the way that so many others did. That wanting sweep along the length of him, from his helm to his pedes and then back up his legs and across his chest and wings and then—finally—down to his groin. Skyfire always looked into his face. His optics. And his smile always seemed directed to a deeper place in Starscream, something that went beyond his surface attributes. Something that never failed to stir in him when Skyfire smiled like that.

The notion that he might be falling into what he'd heard others call "love" had been on his mind lately. Of course there was no way to be sure. There was no way of properly testing it; no way to establish a control. No way to operationalize the state of being "in love" so that it could be meaningfully compared with the state of being "not in love." It was altogether too subjective to be worth thinking about. And yet he couldn't stop.

Just as he couldn't stop thinking about the cables that lay along either side of Skyfire's throat. And watching how they stretched and flexed as he talked. And wondering what it would feel like to softly bite them. And—at the very moment that he happened to be wondering that particular thing—Skyfire paused, mid-sentence. And looked at him.

"Starscream?"

Starscream, who was perched on an empty, overturned carton that had once contained planting medium, jolted upright. "What?"

Skyfire smiled. Not quite one of those smiles, but close. There was clear affection in it, and his voice held curiosity rather than irritation when he asked, "Where'd you just go?"

"Nowhere! I'm listening." Starscream had found that denial usually worked well in these situations. Except, not with Skyfire.

"Well good," Skyfire said, and his smile became teasing. "I'm sure, then, that you can tell me what I was just explaining about these spineflowers."

They were on the terrace outside the lab-observatory complex that Skyfire called home. Skyfire was planting a row of spiky-looking plants along the border of a newly-constructed, still mostly empty planting bed, while Starscream looked on and occasionally handed him things. Over the next orn or so, the bed would be filled with specimens from the Carinae system, from which Skyfire had recently returned. For now, though, it was just the little green spiky things. The… spineflowers. Starscream scowled at them as he racked his short-term memory processor for any hint of what Skyfire had just been telling him. All he got was throat cables.

"This species… uh, communicates with other plants," he hazarded, eventually. Because he had to say something, and that sounded right. Or at least, somewhat familiar. "They use a system of electrical impulses so elaborate as to be considered an actual language," he added, pleased that he'd managed to remember so much.

"Hmm, nope. That's the heliarus over there." Skyfire pointed to a nondescript bit of shrubbery at the far edge of the terrace. "I explained about that one last cycle. That's the one I need to return to its native environment due to the fact that it appears to be sentient."

"Right." Starscream remembered, now. Mostly because he desperately wanted to go on that trip with Skyfire, something which Skyfire had invited him to do provided he was able to get permission from the Academy. Which would mean getting into the Academy in the first place, which wasn't, as it turned out, the easiest task if you happened to be a Seeker. Seekers were known for their brilliant flying, not their brilliant intellects, and the admissions panel seemed content to judge his proposals accordingly.

"It's all right." Skyfire dusted his palms together, brushing off stray crumbs of planting medium. "I know botany isn't your thing."

"No, I… like plants," Starscream protested. "They're… uh, fine."

Skyfire laughed. "Oh, come on. Nothing in my garden moves fast enough, and there are vanishingly few explosions."

Starscream shrugged. Skyfire had a point, he supposed. But even if the garden held little fascination for him personally, he still enjoyed watching Skyfire tend to it. Technically, botany wasn't Skyfire's "thing," either. Skyfire was an astronomer and interstellar explorer, not a horticulturist. Yet he seemed to delight in watching things grow. His garden, which had started in a corner of his lab, had long since sprawled out into the common areas of the observatory spire.

This intrusion of greenery had earned him a steady influx of requests, some more politely worded than others, from the heads of the other departments that used the facility. Starscream had discovered quite a few of these, some with edges brittle from age, stuffed into Skyfire's "reply-to" mail slot. Others had drifted down to join the heaps of data-scrolls, scribbled notes and other bits of assorted paperwork that collected, snowdrift-like, on most of the lab's horizontal surfaces. Including its floor.

Skyfire's evident lack of concern for others' opinions was one of the many things Starscream liked about him. Being an exalted department head did, of course, give him a certain latitude in this regard. But interstellar exploration was a low-priority field of research, and there was always the danger that Skyfire's funding might get pulled. Which made his insistence on spreading flowers and foliage wherever he went seem rather daring. In a quiet, garden-y kind of way.

"Maybe it's time you showed me why you're really here," Skyfire suggested.

And for one horrifying moment, Starscream wondered if all the things he'd been thinking about Skyfire had somehow shown on his face. Or had leaked into his field, in spite of his best efforts to contain them. But then he realized that Skyfire was looking at the data-scroll which he'd set down on the crate beside him earlier. And then more or less forgotten about. Due to, well… throat cables, and such.

"That's it, isn't it?" Skyfire asked. "Your new proposal?"

He held out his hand for it, and Starscream passed it to him. There was a time, Starscream was fairly sure, when Skyfire would have simply reached for it. In fact, he'd placed it where he had so that Skyfire would have to reach across him to get it. And so that Skyfire's arm, with any luck, would brush against his thigh. But Skyfire had changed towards him lately. He seemed… careful. Starscream didn't know what to make of it, but he didn't like it. It made him uneasy. A feeling that was only compounded by the fact that Skyfire was now sinking down cross-legged on the grassy walkway and spreading the data-scroll open across his lap.

He watched as Skyfire traced a digit-tip across the glowing charts and diagrams, his lips moving silently as he read. Skyfire liked touching things. Starscream had noticed that about him. He'd watched him trace routes across star maps in just this way. And he'd seen him slowly trail a fingertip along the underside of a leaf, as if seeking to memorize its fragile curvature. Which just made it all the more vexing that Skyfire no longer seemed to want to touch him.

Not that Starscream liked being touched. Not particularly, unless it was the kind of touching that would result in a swift and sticky overload. But Skyfire was the exception to that. Starscream craved his touch. Whether it was an accidental brush of hands, or of his wing against Skyfire's arm, or the warm, easy touches that Skyfire used to give, such as a squeeze to his forearm or a light, affectionate cuff to his shoulder. They all resonated in some deep place in Starscream's spark. He missed them.

"It's a phase-shifter," he said eventually, when the silence became too much.

"I can see that," Skyfire answered, without glancing up.

"Like in the stories of the ancient Primes."

"Yes. I've read them." Then Skyfire did glance up. His face lit in a brilliant smile. "Don't look so worried! It's good. Really good. Like all your work."

Well, that was something of a relief. "Do you think it'll work, though?" Starscream asked.

Skyfire's optic ridges puckered in a light frown. "Well," he began slowly, "I'm not a physicist or an engineer, but it looks like it could. Have you tried building a prototype?"

"I'd need a luthentium displacement coil," Starscream said. "And access to a morphic dampening chamber, for testing."

"Which are only available through the Academy," Skyfire concluded. "I can see your difficulty." He paused, seeming to debate with himself. "Starscream," he said finally. "May I offer you a piece of advice?"

Starscream nodded. Skyfire was the only person he didn't mind getting advice from. Maybe because Skyfire's advice was actually helpful. And he always asked for Starscream's permission before he gave it.

Skyfire pulled a stylus from a hidden storage compartment in his arm. "Is it all right if I draw on your scroll?"

"It's a copy," Starscream confirmed. He leaned forward, trying to see what Skyfire was doing, but Skyfire waved him off.

"Do me a favor and go shut things down," he said, nodding in the direction of the observatory.

Starscream gave a growl of frustration, but complied. It was tempting to rush through the power-down, but he forced himself to follow the checklist. Primus knew, Skyfire would probably never speak to him again if anything happened to his telescopes. Or his precious plants.

He shut down the telescopes first, taking care to ensure that the data they'd collected during their sweep was safely uploaded to the mainframe in Skyfire's lab. The old storage room which Skyfire had turned into a conservatory came next. The green-beds were designed to emulate the various environments from which the specimen plants came. They basically ran themselves, which was lucky because Starscream wouldn't have had a clue how to fix things if anything had gone wrong. He checked to ensure that the generator was running properly, and moved on.

Skyfire's actual roost was surprisingly tiny, considering how large he was. It consisted of a recharge berth that looked too small for him, and a study area with shelves piled high with charts, maps, and reference scrolls. It also contained a Skyfire-sized desk and reading chair, which Skyfire had fashioned himself out of shipping crates and other bits of scrap. There was also a smaller chair, set next to the round porthole window. This chair, Skyfire had added more recently. For Starscream.

Cramped and cluttered though it was, Skyfire's place had started to feel more like home to him than the roost he was obliged to share with his trine-mates, Skywarp and Thundercracker. When he wasn't flying or studying, he was here. In fact, he often studied here. He opened the wall panel that controlled the terrace garden's lighting system and flipped the series of switches that would bring about artificial "night."

When he returned to the terrace, he found Skyfire's pale form illuminated only by the stars and the hazy blue glow from the open data-scroll. The stylus he'd been using was now tucked into the crook of one of his audial pilons, and he was surveying his notes with a thoughtful expression. He glanced up as Starscream approached, and smiled.

"Well?" Starscream demanded. It came out more sharply than he'd intended.

Skyfire hesitated. "You know I'd never tell you what to do," he said after a moment. "But if I were in your situation, I would submit something more… like this." He held out the scroll, and Starscream took it. And for a long moment, just stared.

"But—this isn't even a phase-shifter," he said finally. "It's—"

"A variation on the Acturian capacitor array. Yes."

"But—what's the point?" Starscream had to ask. "There's nothing new about it, nothing innovative—"

"Oh but there is, actually." Skyfire rolled smoothly from his cross-legged posture and came to lean over Starscream's shoulder. Still not touching him. "Here," he said, pointing to one of the diagrams. "I've substituted the main conduit with a kryllium base plasma core, which should result in an efficiency improvement of oh… maybe two percent."

"One point five, tops," Starscream grumbled. "Why would I submit this? It's… it's…"

"Boring?" Skyfire suggested. His optics glowed with quiet humor. "Indeed. And it provides a modest refinement of Acturius's original design, which he will find flattering. Which is a good thing, considering that he happens to be on your jury panel."

"Wait—you know who's going to be on my panel?"

Skyfire's smile turned smug. "I might have done a little research."

"But—"

"Starscream. Every groon for the last ten, I've seen you submit a brilliant proposal to the Academy. And each one has been rejected. Has it ever occurred to you that showing off how clever you are might not be the wisest approach?"

"So… I should work on things like this?"

Skyfire laughed. "You can't tell me this would be work. You could dash off something like this in a breem or two, and spend the rest of your time on phase shifters. Or," he added, easing back down onto the grass, "anything you want."

"So you're saying I should lie," Starscream said. Impressed. The fact that Graywing would most certainly not approve of the idea just made it that much more appealing.

"Well," Skyfire said, considering, "I wouldn't actually call it lying. I would call it being strategic. The jury panel are old guard, interested in protecting their reputations. They don't want some new-spark usurping their positions."

"Especially if he's someone they don't think should even be in the Academy," Starscream concluded.

Skyfire's broad wings shifted in a half-shrug. And Starscream realized. Skyfire had been through all this. As a Carrier-class mech, his designated purpose was, as the name suggested, to carry stuff. He wasn't even supposed to be particularly smart, let alone brilliant. The Academy would doubtless have taken an even dimmer view of his application than they did of Starscream's. Seekers were at least considered glamorous; Carriers were anything but. Yet here Skyfire was, head of the Astronomical Division and able, if he saw fit, to allocate his resources to things such as returning sentient plant life to its native habitat.

He sank down next to Skyfire. The grass felt cool against his aft. And Skyfire was incredibly warm. Starscream shifted closer, and although Skyfire didn't draw away, his field contracted, pulling in tight against his body. Starscream sighed.

"This is… it's just stupid," he said, glaring at the scroll. "The system has to change. People should be judged by the quality of their work, not by their frame types."

"I couldn't agree more."

"It will change," Starscream vowed, after a while. The garden, now pungent with the scent of night-blooming flowers, was having a strangely calming effect on him. As was the warmth exuding from Skyfire's frame, and the gentle thrum of his engines. Up here on the spire, everything was so quiet. The noise from the city below was dampened to a murmur, and it felt like it was just them and the stars.

"One day I'll run the Academy," Starscream added, gazing up into the galactic core. "You'll see."

Skyfire glanced at him, and Starscream felt a shift in his field. When he returned the glance, he saw Skyfire's gaze soften.

"I would be amazed if you didn't," Skyfire said. With total sincerity. And then he smiled. One of those smiles. Filled with warmth and respect and admiration and… something. Something that made Starscream feel like his spark was about to go supernova inside his chest.

But then, Skyfire started to get up. "I suppose it's getting late," he said. "Calibrating the lens array on the main 'scope is going to take most of next cycle, so—"

"Skyfire." Starscream grabbed his arm. He wasn't quite aware of what he was doing when he leaned up and mashed their lips together. If he had been, he would have stopped himself. Canceled the gesture, or turned it into something innocuous.

As it was, he was kissing Skyfire.

And it occurred to him—obviously much too late at this point—that he might not be very good at this. Because… Skyfire wasn't kissing back. He was making a muffled exclamation against his mouth, and trying to pull away.

Starscream recoiled, lost his balance, and landed on his aft. What had he been thinking? Clearly, he hadn't; that was the problem. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but found his vocalizer wasn't working.

"Starscream?" Skyfire stared at him with a dazed expression. "Did you just… kiss me?"

"Was it—" Starscream's vocalizer cracked. He tried again. "Was it that bad?" He realized, in that moment, that he was just like that Seeker who'd tried to kiss him. The only difference being that Skyfire would never think of biting someone. And suddenly, all he wanted to do was to leap from the terrace, fly as far away as possible, and never return.

"No," Skyfire said. And then, as if sensing Starscream's urge to flee, he dropped to one knee and reached hesitantly to touch his arm. "No, it wasn't bad. Just…" he paused, frowning. "You could have anyone. You must know that."

"I don't want just anyone!"

"What about your trine, then?" It was a reasonable question, coming from someone who'd never met his trine. Seekers, being notoriously clannish by nature, were well known for bonding mostly within their own trine groups.

"I don't want them, either."

"But…" Skyfire smiled. "You do want this glorified barge."

Starscream dropped his gaze. "I never should have called you that." Skyfire was referring, of course, to their first meeting. During which Starscream had been less than gracious.

"I've been called worse." Skyfire was stroking Starscream's forearm now, his fingers tracing unconscious patterns against his plating. Then he reached to cup Starscream's chin, and gently tilted up his face so their gazes met. "I think now would be a good time for me to mention that I'm in love with you."

"How… how do you know?" Starscream blurted. And then, guessing that the question sounded ridiculous, he added, "On what epistemological basis? How were you able to determine all the variables and—"

And, Skyfire's fingers—those big, wonderful fingers—were wrapping around his hand and pressing it flat against Skyfire's chest, right above his spark. "It's all here," he said.

Oh.

And it was.

Starscream could feel it.

Like a ripple of warmth blooming under his palm, soaking into him. It reminded him of Skyfire's descriptions of what sunlight felt like, and the scent of green things growing beneath alien primaries, and the flash of wings against brilliant, open skies. He found himself leaning forward, stretching toward that light in Skyfire. The light that was there for him.

"May I?" Skyfire was reaching back to him, mirroring the gesture.

Starscream nodded. He shuttered his optics when he felt Skyfire's hand against his chest. And then Skyfire was seizing him close. Holding him as if he was the most precious and wonderful thing. Skyfire's lips trailed the edge of one of his audials, pressing little kisses.

"I have one more question," Skyfire murmured after a long moment, during which Starscream arrived at the conclusion that he was most probably dreaming. Skyfire drew back and recaptured his gaze, then brushed his thumb lightly against Starscream's bottom lip. "How can it be," he asked, "that someone as vibrant as you, so filled with life and passion, has never been properly kissed?"

"I have!" Starscream answered, indignant. "I—I've kissed."

"Oh. Please." Skyfire leaned in.

His warm, smooth lips glided against Starscream's. It was the merest suggestion of a touch, delicate as a breath of wind. He then drew back, waiting. Leaving space. Until Starscream pressed forward, surprising himself with the tiny, choked noise that came from his throat as his lips molded themselves to Skyfire's.

They shouldn't have fit. Not really, considering the size difference between them. But somehow, they did.

Skyfire's hand slipped around to cradle the side of his face, and Starscream noticed that Skyfire wasn't holding his field to himself anymore. It was all around him now, rolling against his in slow, rhythmic caresses even as Skyfire's dentae nipped softly at his lower lip.

The kiss was playful. He hadn't been expecting that. When others had kissed him, it always felt like they were trying to put a claim on him. To own him in some way. This was the opposite. This felt like freedom, like flying. Terrifying and thrilling and perfect.

He pushed forward with his glossa, then wondered if he was again being like the Seeker he'd wanted to bite. But he needed to know. And Skyfire opened for him with a tiny, shivering groan, and his glossa twined with Starscream's in a gentle caress.

And there was a taste. A sweetness, a Skyfire-ness. It went perfectly with the warmth of Skyfire's touch and the soft, wanting groan that escaped both of them as they sank down in the grass together. Then and there, Starscream made the determination that he was going to live for five hundred thousand vorns—and longer—just so he could keep doing this. With Skyfire.

Because really, there was no point in ever stopping.