A/N: Here are the equivalent Cybertronian time references I use for Transformers fics:
Cybertronian Second… .. Astrosecond/ Nano-klick
Cybertronian Minute…. Breem/ Klick
Hour… Groon/ Mega-cycle/ Joor
Day….. Solar cycle/ Orbital cycle
Week….. Quartex
Fortnight….. Orn
Month…. Deca-cycle/ Lunar-cycle
Year….. Stellar-cycle
Century….. Vorn
"Tracks has been giving me the evil-optic all rehearsal," groused Blaster and Jazz chuckled, packing his trumpet back into its case.
"All string players think they're above the rest of us. It's the natural order of things in an orchestra."
"Or it could be because you upstaged his solo and I cheered a little too enthusiastically."
Jazz snickered. "Well, there is that."
Blaster shook his helm. "Mech's got too much of an ego. It felt good to see him bein' brought down a peg or two by a 'mere trumpeter'."
Jazz grinned. "Ah still can't believe he fell for the old 'shake the horn player's left servo'."
"Reason number two why he hates me," smirked Blaster and they shared a quiet laugh before making their way out of the now-empty hall.
"Ya heard about the new cellist?" Asked Jazz idly and Blasted raised an optic ridge.
"I don't particularly pay attention to the string section, considerin' they don't particularly like us."
Jazz's optics flashed in amusement.
"Then yar gonna love this. New guy; Soundwave, Ah think his designation is, is apparently colder than ol' Shockwave."
Blaster grimaced. Their conductor was not a pleasant mech to know. One eerie golden optic held within a seemingly non-existent face-plate masked in darkness was enough to make even the boldest of players cower in their seats.
Jazz continued. "Constantly wears a face mask, barely speaks and when he does, it's in monotone. The mech supposedly has no friends; not even the string section want to talk to him because of how creepy he is. They say he's emotionless and that visor of his makes him look even more soulless."
Blaster winced. "I'm glad he's not up with us in the brass section."
Jazz nodded before smirking. "Ah thought horns weren't brass?" He teased and Blaster snorted.
"Well we do have a much larger range than the rest of you peasants."
"Why don't ya go and sip some refined, diluted, upper-class high grade on the pavilion with the rest of your snobby horns and Ah'll go with my section to the local bar?"
The boom box elbowed his friend with a mock growl.
The black and white mech laughed before leading them both to said bar, where the rest of the brass section (excluding the uppity horns) were happily getting overcharged after a good rehearsal.
"Good luck with your concert, carrier!"
"Show 'em what you can do!"
"That practise is sure to pay off!"
"Let everyone know why you're solo horn!"
Blaster chuckled at his creations' enthusiasm. They were very supportive.
"Thanks, my main mechs. Now, you sure you're gonna be okay for a couple of hours? You know to comm. me if anything goes wrong, right?"
He received four identical nods.
"Alright," he said, never partial to having to leave his creations on their own when he had a gig. Still, it brought in a steady income, and with his mate and creations' sire having left them to pursue 'other interests' (read: young, pretty femmes with no attachments), Blaster had no choice but to leave them at home whenever a situation like this arose.
"Don't answer the door to anyone," he warned and his creations rolled their optics, having heard his worries time and time again.
"We won't," they answered in unison before Steeljaw huffed.
"Go, carrier. You'll be late."
Blaster checked his chronometer and his optics widened in the realisation that his eldest creation was correct. He grinned at them once more before bolting out the door.
When he arrived at the theatre, there was supposed to be no audience as they had to set up before the doors could open to the public, which is why he was surprised to find six younglings hovering uncertainly in the front row.
He cocked an optic ridge. "You lost? I don't think you're supposed to be in here right now, little guys. Are your creators not looking for you outside?"
One of the younglings, a black feline, narrowed her ruby optics at him as she slunk protectively in front of (what Blaster assumed were) her siblings.
"Our sire is performing tonight. We have every right to be here."
Blaster frowned. He didn't know of anyone in the orchestra who had six younglings such as these, and he'd been a member for a good few stellar-cycles. Players rarely changed in the orchestra so either the little ones were telling lies or Blaster was missing something…
Wait… surely these couldn't be Soundwave's offspring? From the past two orns of being in the mech's company, he didn't exactly seem like the family type.
The rehearsal after Jazz had told him about the navy mech's arrival, Blaster had tried to see what all the fuss was about. The rumours, so far, had proven true.
The tape deck was distant at the best of times, focusing only on his music and wholly uninterested with socialising. He rarely spoke, stared unnervingly at objects or people for awkward lengths of time, and made even the brashest of mechs and femmes want to avoid his gaze.
There was also the recent discovery of him being a telepath.
Telepaths made most Cybertronians wary. Fortunately, they were uncommon, but every so often, a mech or femme would be created with the unique ability and nobody wanted to be around them for too long, lest they be controlled into doing something against their will like all the media stories forced them to believe.
Telepaths were dangerous.
Due to this and Soundwave's stand-offish behaviour, people were uncertain of his intentions. There had been talks of a war; a group of vigilantes who worked to scaremonger the public into rallying against the government. Amongst these mechs and femmes were volatile, unruly characters, with violence programming modified into their processors. Some had illegal weapons that even special ops didn't really understand and of course, there were the telepaths.
These vigilante groups targeted areas with large crowds, in hopes of forcing the government to back down.
To back down for what, nobody really knew.
Was Soundwave one of those mechs? There were certainly rumours.
However, many of the more rational members of the orchestra put it down to him being a string player. Most of them were antisocial anyway. Soundwave was just a bigger jerk than the rest of them.
So lost was Blaster in his musings, that he didn't recognise the quiet footsteps of another mech's approach.
"Desist," intoned a cold, synthesised voice and Blaster spun around to come face to face with the navy telepath, deep red visor boring into him.
Blaster scowled, offended at the obvious accusation that he was doing something wrong.
"They're not supposed to be here. I was tryin' to get 'em back to their creators."
Soundwave stared blankly at him and Blaster held back a shiver.
"Younglings: Under Soundwave's care."
Although surprised, Blaster didn't let it show. Though the clipped sentences irritated him to no end.
"They're still not meant to be here."
Soundwave took a step forwards and Blaster took one backwards. He wasn't immune to the concerns of being in the presence of a telepath. The mech could mentally break him if he so desired.
The red boom box was taken off-guard when Soundwave lowered himself to his creations' height. He patted the feline once on the head and the six younglings suddenly made their way out of the theatre and into the reception hall, but not before focusing a few distrusting glares in Blaster's direction.
Blaster shuttered his optics in surprise before noticing that Soundwave had turned on his heel and was making his way back to the changing rooms, where the rest of the orchestra was beginning to emerge to set up stands and chairs on stage.
Wondering if he'd just cursed himself at the hands of Soundwave, he joined them.
The concert was a success, earning them a standing ovation and two shouts of 'encore'. Jazz congratulated Blaster on his solo and Blaster congratulated Jazz on his. Nobody complemented Tracks.
Once again, Jazz and Blaster were the last ones to leave the theatre, having joined some of their fans at the theatre's bar to chat music (Blaster trusted his creations more than he let on).
Jazz offered his friend a lift back to his apartment and Blaster was about to happily accept, when he spotted a glimpse of blue in the empty audience of the theatre.
"I think I'll walk back. Fresh air might do me some good," said Blaster, shrugging at his friend's disbelieving gaze. The Polyhexian's face contorted into something like concern.
"Don't think too hard, mech. Ya won't get anywhere blaming yourself."
Blaster nodded and waved to his retreating friend and when the grand doors shut behind him, he sighed.
Jazz had helped him through his low point when Rhythm left. Blaster had thought everything was fine between his mate and himself, until he caught the other mech doing the horizontal tango with a petite, much younger femme.
In their berth.
A shouting match had ensued, resulting in Blaster being devastated when the black and green mech revealed he couldn't stand being tied down with a family and that he had never wanted creations.
Unfortunately, Blaster's creations had heard every word, and had been crushed at finding out their own sire didn't want them.
Blaster threw the disgusting mech out of the apartment and held his creations close to assure them that they were wanted.
Jazz helped. He showed up every day to comfort Blaster as soon as he heard the news and he made sure the little ones were entertained and as happy as they could be under the circumstances. Blaster had never been more grateful to his long-term friend.
Especially when he'd broken through the walls his depression and self-loathing had erected and made Blaster see that he really could continue life without his slimy ex.
Slowly returning to the present, Blaster padded into the theatre, optics going wide when he realised Soundwave had taken his mask off and was communicating silently with his creations.
Soundwave never took his mask off. Not even when he was playing.
There was a long scar starting from his cheek and trailing to his jaw. By the looks of it, the wound wasn't exactly old, but it wasn't exactly fresh either and it would have been completely hidden had the telepath's mask been up.
Other than that, Soundwave's face was rather handsome. He had expected a hideous disfigurement after all the hype and whispers of why the tape deck's face was constantly covered, but the mech had a strong jawline and high cheek plates.
It was quite disappointing.
Suddenly, a little purple bat flew at the telepath and hugged his neck tightly, making Soundwave smile softly.
Smile. He actually smiled.
Blaster shuttered and un-shuttered his optics repeatedly to make sure he wasn't imagining things.
If that's how the mech smiled, why on Cybertron did he want to cover his face? The mech was like a model!
He continued to watch the family, touched by the scene of Soundwave being so relaxed around his creations. There were no actual words exchanged between them, but they seemed content just to be around one another and Blaster began to question why he'd been so wary of the telepath in the first place. Someone who cared that much about their family was someone to be respected, not feared.
Feeling like he'd pried enough, Blaster quietly exited the theatre and made his way to his own family, thoughts on the cellist completely changed.
The following rehearsal, Jazz and Blaster made their usual plans to visit the local bar with the rest of their section (excepting the other horns, who had turned their noses up and paced away). However, Blaster had an idea.
"Hey, mind if I invite someone along?"
Jazz was surprised but his curiosity was strong.
"Sure."
Blaster grinned and as the other brass players were packing up, the boom box managed to slip out the door and catch a certain cellist before he left the building entirely.
"Wait up!" He called and Soundwave either ignored him or didn't realise he was talking to him because Blaster had to physically grab his shoulder to make him stop.
Soundwave tensed as if preparing to be struck and Blaster frowned before letting go.
"I was just wonderin' if you wanted to have a drink with us?" He asked. "You never seem to stay with your string buddies, so I was wondering if maybe a bit of high-grade and some rock music was more your scene? I'm a bit of an outlier in the horn section, myself," he grinned.
Soundwave stared at him emotionlessly once more, but Blaster questioned whether it really was emotionless after what he'd seen at the theatre.
However, when the telepath didn't speak, Blaster lost a bit of his confidence.
"If it's not your thing, you don't have to come. I just thought you might want to get to know some of the orchestra a little. I don't think you were properly welcomed when you first came."
Soundwave's head tilted to one side slightly and Blaster shrugged.
"If you'd rather stay with the rest of the string section, that's okay too. We know what they say about us."
Most orchestras had a bit of rivalry between each individual section, the most prominent being strings with the brass, and horns with everyone else. Insults were often thrown around and Frequency Orchestra was no better. It was likely that Soundwave was similar to the rest of his section in that he hated any and all brass players.
"Suggestion: Acceptable."
Blaster's gaze shot back to Soundwave's hidden face.
"…You're coming?"
Soundwave nodded tightly and Blaster let a grin overtake his face.
"Awesome! C'mon, I'll go and get Jazz and we can be on our way. Blaster, by the way," he added as an afterthought, offering his servo and Soundwave gingerly shook it.
"Solo horn designation: already known."
Blaster raised an optic ridge. Soundwave already knew his name?
Soundwave's visor didn't seem to quite catch his gaze.
"Blaster's performance: Excellent."
Blaster smirked. That wasn't what he had been expecting. Usually, string players scoffed at brass solos, calling them raspy and harsh, but it seemed as though Soundwave actually liked his performance at the theatre.
"Thanks," he said, once again wondering why everyone hated this mech so much.
He glanced at the door, noticing that some of his friends were beginning to make a move.
"C'mon then. Let's get you welcomed properly."
Three orns down the line and Soundwave had proved to be a quiet but loyal friend. Jazz had been wary of him at first, but it became apparent to both he and Blaster that all the rumours were a pack of lies.
Soundwave, whilst appearing and sounding like an axe-murderer, was a soft-sparked family mech. He cared deeply for his creations and his spark was rooted quite firmly in music. He was intelligent too, and Blaster found his conversations interesting as they had more in common than he initially thought.
Turns out that Soundwave was a single-creator just like him. He had never fully broached the subject however, after noting Soundwave's slight flinch at the mention of his ex-mate, Megatron.
It did nothing to cool his curiosity though, and he wondered who could leave such a kind-sparked mech such as Soundwave.
Then again, he'd thought that about he and his own family, yet look what had happened.
He still hadn't figured out the odd speech pattern, but it didn't really matter. If that's how Soundwave spoke, then that's how he spoke. For all he knew, it could be a glitch he'd suffered with since birth.
They were at the bar after an intense rehearsal, as was their tradition and Blaster came to sit beside Soundwave when it looked as though the other players were too drunk to hold a decent conversation. Jazz wasn't accompanying that evening as apparently he'd procured a date with a Praxian police officer he hadn't stopped gushing about for three quartexes.
Soundwave didn't generally drink and although Blaster enjoyed a cube every now and again, he didn't want Soundwave to be left alone, surrounded by overcharged mechs and femmes.
"Tracks: Holds contempt for Blaster."
Blaster chuckled. "He doesn't like me that's for sure. You overhear him gossiping about me?"
Soundwave nodded uncomfortably and Blaster grinned. "I'm surprised he has nothing better to talk about."
"Violinist: Petty mech."
Blaster had a feeling there was more to this story than Soundwave let on.
"He is," agreed the red boom box, warily. "He say something you didn't like?"
Soundwave was silent for a while and Blaster decided to drop the subject before the telepath finally continued.
"Blaster: mocked about past relationship."
Blaster felt his spark drop. Rhythm's betrayal wasn't a secret, per se, but he wasn't fond of it being brought up either; the memories were too spark-breaking to re-live. Especially when he thought of his creations' hurt expressions. He never wanted to witness them like that again.
Unfortunately, it seemed as though somewhere along the grapevine, Tracks had overheard the tragedy and took glee in it.
"What did he say?" Blaster asked, dismayed and Soundwave glanced downwards.
"Blaster: unskilled in berth. Not able to fulfil mate's needs."
The boom box clenched his servos in fury. And people wondered why he and Tracks didn't get along.
"That no-good pile of…" He heaved out a sigh. "That's… That's not what happened."
Soundwave nodded. "Admission: already known."
Blaster glanced up at his friend in gratitude. "I threw Rhythm out, not the other way around."
Soundwave stared at him patiently and Blaster suddenly had the urge to tell his friend what happened. Soundwave could be trusted; he was loyal and kind. He wouldn't hurt Blaster by knowing his secret.
So he told him about that night. About what he'd felt, what his creations had felt, how devastated they all were and how he'd never seen Rhythm again. He told the blue mech about his depression, about how he lost the will to get up in the mornings and how he hated himself for letting the other mech hurt his creations. He revealed how much he loathed Rhythm for earning their trust and betraying them all after so many stellar-cycles of being together, and in return (albeit hesitantly), Soundwave told him about Megatron.
Blaster was disgusted by Soundwave's supposed mate and what he had done to the telepath and their creations. He wept internally when he heard about Megatron's abuse; how he had hit the telepath for so many stellar-cycles and how Soundwave had tried to hide it from his creations, despite their bond.
He felt sick about hearing how Soundwave and Megatron were one of the few couples to share a sacred spark bond and how, over stellar-cycles of abuse, the bond had crumbled, leaving Soundwave feeling empty and defeated.
He growled at hearing how the insane mech had finally snapped and turned on his own creations, punching the twins into unconsciousness, leaving the others terrified and confused, screaming for their other creator to help them.
He felt a bitter sense of victory when Soundwave told him of how he had barrelled into their home, fire in his optics as he managed to subdue Megatron and escape with his creations to a new city to start a fresh life, even going so far as to modify his frame to carry and protect his cassette-like offspring in case his demented ex tried to harm them.
When a single tear of energon leaked from beneath Soundwave's visor, Blaster dragged him into his arms, uncaring of any onlookers.
The two held each other for a moment, in search of comfort before a thought hit Blaster and he leaned back slightly to look into his friend's visor.
"Wait… is that why you wear a mask? The scar…?"
Blaster had already admitted (sheepishly) that the whole reason he'd first approached Soundwave was because of what he'd seen in the theatre. Soundwave had nodded acceptingly and that had been that, though he had never voluntarily released his mask (or visor) in front of Blaster.
Now Blaster understood why.
"Affirmative," confirmed Soundwave after a few long moments and Blaster couldn't help the snarl that escaped his vocaliser.
"Abuse: Part of history. Blaster: Cannot change the past."
Blaster deflated at the truth of those words. "Doesn't mean I can't be angry about it," he pouted.
"True," intoned Soundwave and Blaster was ninety-percent sure he was smiling behind that mask.
They stared at one another for a moment before Blaster tilted his head.
"You know you don't have to protect yourself with that mask any more, right? You're safe here. Megatron's far away and even if he tried to get to you or your creations, you know me and Jazz will have your back."
Soundwave pulled further away from Blaster, not quite catching his gaze.
"Mask: Not for protection."
Blaster pulled a face. "I hope you're not wearin' it because you're worried about that scar. 'Cos, mech, from what I could tell, you've got the face of any supermodel's dream."
Soundwave glanced at him in amusement before shaking his helm.
"Mask: Not a cover."
Blaster frowned. "Then what is it? You're kinda holdin' me in suspense here."
"Mask: Method of communication."
Blaster tried to work that one out before drawing a blank. "Sorry, you lost me."
Soundwave seemed to have an internal debate before ploughing ahead.
"Soundwave: Mute."
Blaster's processor stuttered on that one. That had to be the wrong word, surely.
"Uh… 'Wave… You realise 'mute' is when someone can't produce any sound whatsoever from their vocaliser? I don't think you're mute."
The telepath crossed his arms over his chest as if dealing with someone who was particularly dim.
"Mask: Provides functioning vocoder. Vocoder: Converts telepathic waves into spoken language."
Blaster let his mind turn that one over as his optics widened in shock.
"That would explain the broken sentences," he mused aloud before realising Soundwave could hear him and he glanced back to the telepath, apology written across his face. The navy mech shook his head in understanding.
Then a dark thought niggled at his processor and he slowly stiffened.
"'Wave… You weren't created like this, were you?"
The tape deck shook his head once and immediately, pure white-hot rage filled Blaster's being.
How dare Megatron cause Soundwave to suffer like this! How dare he hurt his friend in a way that would never be repaired and would cause his life to change forever! If Blaster hadn't spoken to the poor mech that rehearsal, Soundwave would still be being shunned by his co-workers all over something he had no control over and hadn't wanted. He would still be being punished for being abused by someone he had loved and trusted.
When he came back to reality, Soundwave was watching him oddly. There was definitely curiosity, but there was something else there too; something Blaster couldn't quite grasp.
They fell into a comfortable silence before Blaster swirled his drink a couple of times.
"So… Can you sign?"
Soundwave nodded and Blaster cocked an optic ridge.
He moved his right servo to his chin until the fingertips brushed the metal before wiggling each digit quickly.
'How much?'
Soundwave froze before perking up in delight. He brushed his fingers against one another before pulling them apart and waggling them.
'Lots.'
Blaster chuckled before explaining, through sign language, that he once had a (short) relationship with a deaf saxophonist. Her music was beautiful, but that was the extent of their similarities and they eventually drifted apart through university. His hands were a little uncertain at times, not always forming the correct phrase, but Soundwave was patient and just happy that someone at least had made an effort to converse in a way he felt comfortable with.
It was easy with his creations because of their bond (although they had been horrified to learn that he had not always been unable to speak without a mask, thereby cementing their loathing for their carrier), so to find someone willing to talk to him through gestures was uplifting.
They conversed through sign language for the rest of the evening and when it was time to leave the bar, Blaster felt an odd pang in his spark he couldn't quite place.
"See you next rehearsal?"
Soundwave hesitated. "Blaster and family: Partial to accompanying Soundwave and cassettes to cinema tomorrow evening?"
Blaster's spark lifted. "Sure. We'd love to."
Soundwave nodded before walking in the opposite direction to Blaster.
"Arrival: 1800 groons."
For some reason, Blaster couldn't help but grin all the way back home.
Soundwave's cassettes got on really well with Blaster's own little monsters and so the pair had scheduled regular play dates or evenings out. It also gave them a chance to learn a little more about one another.
The plan had worked well for three orns now and didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon.
Blaster and Soundwave had become really close friends by now and Jazz often teased his fellow brass player about how they might as well be dating.
Blaster laughed the comments off, but couldn't help but wonder why his spark did sometimes feel a little lighter around the other mech. They were just good friends, right?
One rehearsal, Blaster got the time wrong, forgetting they had switched it to half a groon later and he groaned when he arrived to find no one in the hall.
Well, there was no point in going home, so he began to unpack his instrument, determined to get at least twenty klicks of practise in, when a rich, melodious bass floated to his audios.
He disappeared into the changing room to find the source of the beautiful sound, only to pause when he found Soundwave, completely lost in the music, making his cello sing.
Blaster was mesmerised by the way the mech poured his being into the instrument, manipulating it into doing what he willed it to, fingers leaping impossible distances to get the tone and pitch he wanted. Sometimes, he sawed hard with the bow, the sound vicious and wild and other times he seemed to barely touch the strings, the notes fluttering away easily as the musician wrung emotion after emotion from his instrument.
Blaster quietly pressed a button on his chest and his tapes dutifully (and silently) recorded the entire thing.
The solo was unlike anything the boom box had heard before and it was clear it was one of Soundwave's own creations, so who was he to blame when the telepath finally lowered his bow, only for him to raise his own instrument and perform a variation on a section of the solo he'd particularly enjoyed.
Soundwave startled, but quickly relaxed when he recognised the tonality of the horn and he turned to face Blaster, letting his mask down for the first time so Blaster could see his amused smile.
The boom box finished, but didn't lower his instrument and Soundwave immediately registered what he wanted.
A shorter, more playful version of the solo was plucked from the cello and Blaster grinned, ecstatic to see the other mech so teasing now that they were alone.
Soundwave let out a silent chuckle when Blaster turned the piece into a waltz and the solo quickly turned into a duet between cello and horn, each instrument harmonising wonderfully with the other.
They were having so much fun, it was a shock to hear footsteps entering the hall and they quickly made themselves look more professional as the other players appeared in the changing room.
Rehearsal went as well as expected under Shockwave's mechanical control, but if there happened to be a small data disk encrypted with the words: 'Soundwave's solo as recorded by a humble horn player' left innocently upon the maestro's stand, then who else would know about it but Shockwave and a 'humble horn player'?
"Blaster: Cause of Soundwave's promotion."
Blaster grinned. "Nah, mech. Ol' Shockwave finally recognised your talent."
Soundwave crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for an explanation.
"I may have recorded our little duet."
Soundwave let his mask down once more, allowing Blaster to see his unimpressed smile.
"You deserve it! Lead cellist suits you."
'Tracks is unhappy,' signed the telepath and Blaster rolled his optics.
'Tell me something new.'
'I should not have climbed the ranks so quickly.'
'Yes, you should. You're better than most.'
Soundwave kept up the scowl for a few more moments before his face softened.
'Thank you,' he signed sincerely and Blaster shrugged.
"It's the least I can do for a friend."
Soundwave smiled softly before pulling his mask back up.
"Creations: Impatient for movie."
Blaster chuckled as he placed a hand over his cassette chamber.
"You're tellin' me."
They caught a ride in a taxi before letting their respective offspring out once they reached the cine-plex.
Immediately, each cassette went to greet their counterparts, playing and chatting excitedly with their best friends.
Soundwave and Blaster looked on with fondness before guiding them to the correct screen.
"Any ideas what this movie's about?" Whispered Blaster as they took seats directly behind their creations, in order to keep an eye on them.
The credits began to roll, lights dimming and Soundwave shrugged before signing his reply.
'Two brothers with Primus-like powers fight over a hammer? That's all I could get out of Frenzy.'
Blaster pulled a face. What a weird premise for a show.
Half a groon into the film proved to be quite thrilling. The younglings were on the edge of their seats and even Soundwave and Blaster had to admit it was difficult to look away from all the special effects.
When a character with strangely colourful optics appeared on screen, Blaster found himself wondering about the colour of his friend's hidden optics. Were they red, like his visor? Or something else entirely?
Blaster stole a glance at his friend only to find Soundwave looking at him too. They both whipped their helms back to the movie in embarrassment.
Deciding to be upfront about it (that was how their friendship had worked so far, why change now?) Blaster leaned close to his friend.
"Are your optics like that? All multi-coloured or are they red like your creations'? Maybe they're black like when Loki enslaves someone," he teased and Soundwave shook his helm in exasperation.
"What?" Whispered Blaster. "For all I know, you don't have any optics under that visor."
He thought about that for a moment before correcting himself. "I mean if you don't, that's cool too. I know plenty of people who wear a visor because of vision impairment- "
"Blaster: Cease ramblings," commanded Soundwave quietly and the tape deck made to apologise before glancing up to spot his friend remove his visor.
Amber.
Soundwave's optics were amber.
Blaster felt his vents suck in a large amount of air as his spark did little flip-flops in his chest. The telepath's optics were as beautiful as the music he created and Blaster found that those pools of sunshine granted him ample inspiration to compose.
"They're gorgeous," murmured Blaster without realising and Soundwave's face heated up, his gaze not meeting his friend's.
Blaster quickly recognised his mistake and was about to back-track (after a few internal curses), before Soundwave mumbled something in return.
"Megatron: Disagreed. Optics: Too soft. Weak. Emotional."
And that would explain why none of Soundwave's creations followed their sire's optic colouring, and also why Soundwave had chosen (read: been forced) to wear a ruby visor.
Blaster growled softly, glad when none of their creations turned around.
"Megatron's a piece of scrap. I think your optics are amazin', 'Wave."
Blaster was taken off-guard when a pair of lips crashed into his. He stifled his groans, lest anyone else in the cinema hear them, before relaxing into the surprising turn of events.
Soundwave was a passionate kisser, although that was to be expected considering the spark he put into his music, and Blaster quickly cupped the telepath's scarred cheek, giving just as much as he got.
He nipped playfully at Soundwave's bottom lip, sliding his glossa over the area before he was granted permission into the perfect mouth. As he explored the navy mech's mouth, he felt a hand slip to his hip, a thumb gently caressing a seam before another servo curled around his lower back.
Blaster smirked and ran a teasing hand over his friend's chest, before it searched for the buttons on his lower half.
He swallowed Soundwave's silent gasp and would have gone further if it wasn't for the energon goodie aimed directly for his head.
"Hey, watch it. There are younglings here," hissed a voice and both Blaster and Soundwave turned to find Jazz on the back row, smirking knowingly at them both as he popped another energon goodie into his mouth. Beside him was a Praxian enforcer who didn't know where to look.
The black and white mech snapped a photo of the resulting cherry-red faces.
Blaster awoke to a warm body and possessive arm wrapped around him. He smiled and stretched, sighing as some cables snapped back into place.
The arm around him tightened.
Blaster chuckled and rolled over to snuggle into his lover's chest.
One of Soundwave's beautiful optics powered up, trying to focus on his lover.
"Mornin'," whispered Blaster, quite content to lay there for the remainder of his function.
Instead of a reply, Soundwave tugged Blaster closer and nuzzled at a horn.
"Mmm," hummed Blaster. "I could get used to this."
'You have got used to it.' A slither of telepathy made its presence known in Blaster's mind and he grinned as he shuttered his optics.
"Four deca-cycles is a long time. You better believe I've got used to it."
'Good.'
Blaster smirked and wriggled closer, placing a hand over his lover's spark chamber.
"Can't believe you're mine. Love you so much."
Soundwave, unable to speak without his mask, merely kissed the top of the boom-box's helm.
They basked in each other's warmth for a few more breems before a conspiratorial whisper was heard behind the door to their quarters and they glanced at each other in resignation.
Abruptly, the door flung open and ten younglings burst inside to pounce on their creators. Both older mechs pulled a face and tried to throw the covers over their heads to no avail.
"Get up, get up, get up!"
"You have a concert today!"
"Score one for the team!
"Previous data shows you will not reach the theatre in time if you don't get up now."
"So, stop bein' so lazy and get your afts up!"
"Rise and shine sleeping beauties, ya got a big day ahead of ya!"
Both mechs made a fuss of being annoyed, but their creations knew it was all for show.
"Can't you little guys go one mornin' without tryin' to flatten us?" Complained Blaster, but his expression softened when Ratbat flew into his arms.
"You love it," huffed Ravage as she gracefully leapt to the floor.
"I do not," protested Blaster as he tickled the underneath of Ratbat's wings, making him giggle.
Ravage raised an optic ridge before settling next to Steeljaw.
"Yes, you do," drawled Steeljaw lazily.
Soundwave shook his helm in amusement as Blaster stuck out his glossa.
'They are correct. We must make a move if we are to be at the theatre on time.'
Blaster finally conceded defeat before following his lover to get ready for their big concert.
The one where they would perform a duet of Soundwave's solo from all those deca-cycles ago.
What Blaster didn't know (and all their creations did) was that Soundwave had a little surprise for him at the end.
So when the telepath, at the end of their performance and to a crowd of hundreds of onlookers, made his way up to Blaster's seat and dropped to one knee to offer his spark, it was understandable that Blaster's reaction was to freeze, then leap at him, peppering thousands of kisses to his bared face.
Soundwave held him tighter, spark finally healing itself after all it had suffered at the hands of Megatron, the audience clapped, a wolf-whistle was heard; presumably from Jazz, and Tracks looked disgusted.
After all he and Soundwave and their families had been through, this was the perfect ending to a not-so-perfect story.
And Blaster wouldn't have it any other way.
A/N: I've not written for the Transformers fandom in years, so this is going to be the place where I stick all my short TF fiction (G1) that may or may not become full length fics. Think of it as a place for me to practice writing! If you have any pairing requests (or OT3s) I will happily oblige (if possible) and plot prompts or word prompts are also welcome.
Happy reading :)