A/N: this ficlet is for KayleeChiara, part of the 100 reviews giveaway. Her prompt: "I was thinking Bee the matchmaker in this story deserves a little of his own. Could be amusing especially with Arcee (just from her squeals and girlishness)."

Somehow, I managed to dodge 'amusing' completely, but I hope you enjoy it! It's completely Mirage-free ;)

This fits into chapter 14: Reunion of "You had me at holoform", just after Bumblebee's dropped off Isobel to see First Aid again.

Warning for some mech/mech intimacy of the non-sticky kind. You can call it slash if you truly believe that Transformers have genders.

Slag the way things are

Bumblebee watches in exasperation as the little blonde vanishes into the medbay. Seriously. How much prodding is really necessary to get one little human to talk to the mech she's obviously in love with?

Then again, Optimus has been chasing Ratchet forever, and Jazz took ages to mech up and talk to Prowl about something other than work. Maybe that's just the way it is.

He turns, walks back towards the hangar. Maybe Blue's still there and will be up for a game or something. They're both still on light duty, gaming's pretty much the only safe choice.

"Hey, Blue, d'you –"

The words die in his throat as his optics land on the pair on the sofa. Fireflight's apparently done with his briefing already, and is getting his vents thoroughly examined by Bluestreak's eager glossa.

"Mechs, the tie thing," Bumblebee says, somewhat irritated. It's so slagging annoying to always walk in on someone. "You're supposed to hang a rope on the hangar door when you're busy, remember? To stop this kind of interruption from happening?" It was one of the better ideas the humans had ever had, in his opinion.

"Sorry, Bee," Bluestreak says, and he sounds properly embarrassed. "We got carried away."

Bumblebee looks around for the piece of nylon rope that Sideswipe's affectionately named the Frag Strap (and instantly had found a much better use for, up to the point that he's worn out three of them and Bumblebee keeps a coil of rope under his bed to replace them when they get too frayed) and, having found it, loops it around the hangar door pull. "There. Now you've got the place to yourselves."

"You don't have to go, Bumblebee," Fireflight says tentatively. "We can behave. Don't leave on my account."

Bee just shakes his head. He's got no desire to be the third wheel, not today. It's getting old. "Don't worry about me, I have to go do something for Jazz. I just came by to get something." He walks over to his berth, digs around in his locked drawer for a while before subspacing the signal scrambler that he knows to be broken but the others don't. "There." He flashes them a grin, making sure to make it convincing. Judging by the way Fireflight relaxes, he managed. "Enjoy your downtime, mechs. Don't do anything Jazz wouldn't do."

Bluestreak grins and waves at him before attacking Fireflight's shoulder vents again. Bee makes sure to shut the hangar doors properly behind him, leaving the blue rope clearly visible. Blue's deserved to have his fun.

Even if it makes Bumblebee all kinds of grumpy.

Not that it's Blue. His friend is just that – a good friend, a decent partner-in-crime, and a load of fun, but nothing more.

But yeah, kind of that it's Blue. Because it's one more person that Bee will have to share.

"Hey lil'Bee, where ya off to?" Jazz waves at him as he walks past command. "Ya off-duty? Want t'hang out?"

Jazz is fun, most of the time. He can get up to the craziest schemes, and Bee's usually protected from the fallout. Because Prowl is hesitant to hand out punishment to his own mate, and Jazz never gives any names.

Speaking of mates…

The other black-and-white exits command, rests a hand casually but oh so caringly on Jazz's shoulder.

"Hello, Bumblebee," Prowl says, giving him a small smile. "Enjoying being out of the medbay?"

It took them a while to get together, but when they finally did it was like two suns colliding – twice the heat, twice the energy, and felt in all directions. And Bumblebee just can't stand being near that nucleus of affection these days. Jazz by himself, yeah – but Jazz with the other half of his existence, with the small, loving touches, and the looks?

Pit, no.

"Yeah, I'm heading to the rec room," Bumblebee lies easily. Part of the job, being good at that. Even to his immediate superiors. Even to Prime, if necessary. "Thought I'd see if I could dig out a game for later."

"Sounds good," Jazz nods. "Lemme know if ya need another player, huh? Ah'm up for anythin'."

"Sure thing, Jazz," Bee nods, grinning widely. "I'll see what I can drum up."

He fools Jazz, too. Of course he does. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.

Ironhide and Chromia are on the training field. Bee stops to watch for a moment, but the way Chromia celebrates her every win by kissing the nearest part of Ironhide rubs him the wrong way and he moves on fairly quickly. He tries not to let his frustration show, giving them a cheerful wave as he walks past.

Yeah, nothing to see here. Just little baby Bumblebee, everyone's friend, walking through the base the way he usually does. Nothing of interest here to bonded pairs.

Nothing of interest here to anybot, really.

Sides and Sunny are sparring. That's always worth watching, if a little scary – they're like two deadly whirlwinds, crashing and twisting and spinning into and around each other. Bee knows he wouldn't last a minute against either of them in serious combat.

Thank Primus they're Autobots. Or Prime's soldiers would be in serious trouble.

A loud clang, a snarled curse, and the twins break apart. Sunstreaker is furious, examining a long gouge in the plating down one arm.

Bumblebee winces. If anyone but Sideswipe had caused that, the offender would already be en route to the med bay.

But since it was Sideswipe… Bumblebee watches as Sunstreaker shoots deadly looks at his brother, while Sideswipe touches the offended plating gently, softly, murmuring consolations and apologies, moving ever closer until he's close enough to press tiny kisses against his mate's jawline and cheek. Sunstreaker can hold out against the barrage of affection for a few moments, but then his expression softens into what Bumblebee recognizes as Sunstreaker's Public Smile – that is, a small quirk to one side of the mouth. Sideswipe, of course, takes full advantage, hunting down his brother's lip plates and pressing against him eagerly.

Sunstreaker can't resist, of course. Sunstreaker never can resist Sideswipe.

With one last look at what is looking to turn into something quite different from sparring but no less impressive to watch, Bumblebee walks away, his tanks churning.

Must be nice to be born with your mate at your side. You're never truly alone then, and there's always someone who can see past the façade and get what's truly going on inside.

Bumblebee forces a bright smile at Inferno as the fire truck passes him, giving him a wave.

There're bonded mechs everywhere around him today, it seems. He amends that in his head as he catches a glimpse of Blaster lifting a finger to run down Arcee's cheek before she transforms and speeds away, and of First Aid's alt mode barrelling down the path with a giggling Isobel in the front seat.

There are bonded mechs and pit-slagging lovebirds everywhere around him today, it seems. And suddenly it's all too much.

Taking a leaf out of Arcee's book (the humans have the most interesting expressions, he needs to thank Isobel for that one when he can stomach to see her next) he drops down into his alt mode and shoots out into the jungle.

The jungle's never quiet, but at least it's free of the lovey-dovey romance crap. This is supposed to be an army, for Primus' sake. Iacon's finest. Not a slagging family grouping.

Bumblebee sighs, a heavy ex-vent that shakes the leaves and grass around him.

It's not that he begrudges any of them the companionship. Or the deep, profound emotion. He just… wishes there was a bit more of it to go around.

Enough for him too, maybe. Not that he'll tell them that.

Okay, so he's jealous. Insanely so. Seeing everyone shack up with the same people day after day, meeting them for breakfast, seeing them wave at him cheerfully while they walk off with the mech who fulfils them better, being replaced like that over and over again – it hurts. A lot.

Bumblebee offlines his optics, focuses his sensors outward. The noises of the jungle are the first thing he hears – the birds and reptiles, the wind in the trees, the gentle wash of the waves against the shore.

And then he hears the rest.

Arcee and Groove, making good headway on the path around the island, engines similar but very different. Arcee's ahead by a good few meters.

The sound of sparring – or something similar yet very different – from the practice green. Probably sparring. Not even the twins would be that bold in public and in broad daylight.

Blaster, laughing at something, and his cassettes echoing him. That's a different kind of companionship.

When he catches breathy moans and someone whispering Bluestreak's name, he shuts his sensors down. Hard. Hard enough that he offlines his audios completely.

Now he's in effect blind and deaf until he chooses not to be.

It's… kind of pleasant, actually.

He focuses on the warmth of the sun on his plating, the gentle breeze moving across his sensor horns, the soft tickling of vegetation against his peds and legs.

He understands now, what Groove's talking about when he's spouting all that stuff about harmony with the world around them. This is very peaceful. So relaxing, man.

He doesn't know how long he sits there for. Long enough for most of the tension to drain away.

It takes him a few moments to notice the vibrations. They're not strong, not worrisome, nothing out of the ordinary, but the tension creeps back as they get stronger.

He onlines his audios again to hear the two motorcycle engines on the road behind him. They're coming closer, reaching the last quarter of their patrol route, their progress echoing in the ground underneath them. Arcee's still keeping ahead of Groove – her engine's running a little hot.

Until she stops on the path behind him, just where he knows she can see him if she looks in the right direction.

He doesn't move, doesn't indicate that he knows she's there. She knows that he knows, of course.

The other bike catches up, slows to a stop.

"Groove, you okay to take the last bit alone? I need to talk to Bee for a moment." Arcee's voice is soft, but he's meant to overhear. Meant to be able to walk away if he wants to.

He can't seem to make up his mind.

"Sure thing," the bike-former Protectobot replies easily. "I'll tell Prowl."

"Thanks." The sounds of a transformation, and then soft pede-steps in the soil behind him.

She sits down next to him. "Hi."

He onlines his optics reluctantly. "Hey."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Party-planning," he replies, shooting her a cheeky grin. It's worked on everyone else today. "Isobel says we can have a Christmas party, and Christmas is only a month and a half away, so…"

"So you thought you'd get an early start," she finishes for him. "Yeah, no, sorry Bee, I don't buy that."

He doesn't respond. Just looks at the waves meeting the shore. Washing up, draining away, over and over, erasing every trace of last time.

"Want to talk about it?" she asks quietly.

He snorts. "Does it seem like I want to talk about it?"

"Not hiding out here, it doesn't," she replies, and he doesn't need to look at her to know she's smiling. "Maybe you need to talk about it even so."

When he doesn't reply, she looks out to the sea. "Nice place you found here. It's very peaceful."

"Yeah." He hesitates, considering if he should continue the conversation or not. "I like the waves. And the wind."

"It's almost meditative, isn't it," she muses. "I could probably fall into recharge right here."

Yeah, he bets she could. He knows for a fact that she didn't get much recharge last night.

The walls aren't exactly thick.

"So how are things with you and Blaster?" he asks, not caring if the segue makes it painfully obvious that he knows what they've been up to.

"Oh, well enough," she responds, blushing slightly. "He's a good mech. The kindest spark I've ever encountered, I think, barring Prime. And maybe First Aid, but he's coded that way." She sighs, stretches her elegant legs down in front of her. "Not sure we're meant to last, but it's fun for now."

"Do you love him?" Awkwardly blunt, bordering on rude, maybe, but he can't find it in him to care.

"I… I don't know. Is that weird? To not know if you love someone or not?"

He mulls that over for a moment. "Nah," he replies finally. "Nah, it's not weird. It's probably more normal than you'd think."

"Well, that's a relief." She looks at him then. "What about you, Bumblebee?"

"What about me?"

"Someone special catching your eye?"

"No," he says, truthfully. "There's no one." Very truthfully, in fact.

"What about Wheeljack? Didn't you and he hit it off on Halloween?"

Bumblebee snorts at that. "You know 'Jack. Once he's hit the high grade, he'll kiss pretty much anyone. He did, too."

"It was a bit more than kissing, though, wasn't it?" Arcee pushes carefully. "You left with him, didn't you?"

It's no point denying it. She wasn't the only one who saw them leave together.

"So what happened?"

Not interested in talking about that, thanks.

Arcee's not that easy to deter, though. Stubborn femme. "Bumblebee, what happened?"

He sights, the warm ex-vent ghosting over both of their plating. "Let's say it like this. It wasn't really me he wanted to be with."

She takes a moment to digest that. "…Oh. Shouted for someone else, did he? I hear he does that sometimes. He's always very contrite afterwards, though. He's kind that way."

Bumblebee doesn't say anything. He'd known that, too. That's not the bad part.

"Bee?" she prompts after a while. "Did he at least apologize?"

He's quiet for a moment, then shakes his head. "He doesn't remember."

Arcee, to her credit, looks incredulous. And annoyed. "He doesn't remember?"

"Too much high grade." Bumblebee hugs his legs up to his chest. "He doesn't remember me that night at all."

"Pit, Bee, I'm sorry. That sucks," Arcee says, all sympathy.

Like that's what he wants.

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Not like it's important."

That was too much, though. He didn't manage to hide well enough, saying that.

"But it is, isn't it?" she says softly.

"I think I'm going to head back," he says abruptly, standing. "You're welcome to stay here if you want. It's a nice spot."

"Bumblebee. Wait." The tone isn't sharp, but it is firm, and he can't argue with that any more than he can with Prime.

And then warm, slim fingers glide across his neck cables.

He spins. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Proving to you that you're not undesirable," she replies coolly. "That's the main problem, isn't it?"

Great. As if the sympathy wasn't bad enough.

"I don't want your pity, femme," he spits, spinning again and walking away.

"You're not getting it," she snarls back. "I don't do pity frags. But if you're going to act like a brat whenever someone propositions you, it's no wonder you're not getting any."

That stings. And he has no retort, no sharp comeback that will shut her up, no defense. He feels hollow, all of a sudden. He'd walk away, if there was any point to it.

He can feel her behind him again, moving closer. She goes for his hand, this time.

"Bee?"

"No one propositions me," he replies, trying for a chuckle and failing. "So why should you bother, right?"

"For how long?" she asks softly.

He turns, dares to look at her. "Huh?"

"How long has this been going on for?"

He shrugs. "Longer than I care to remember. Since we got to this planet, I think. It's just the way it is. Don't make a fuss about it." He straightens, pretends that it's okay. He can do that much. Maybe she'll forget about it. Then he can pretend that this conversation never happened. "I'm going to head back now. See you around."

He manages to take all of one step before she takes him by the hand and pulls him back.

He thought she might try something.

The kiss is a bit of a surprise, though.

He takes her by her slender shoulders, pushes her back. "Arcee, what are you doing?"

"Proving a point," she replies in a murmur. "You willing?"

"You're spoken for, though, aren't you?" he asks in the same soft tone. "You don't get to do this."

She snorts. "The day Blaster tells me that I can't prove to a friend how hot he really is is the day me and Blaster are through. Besides, I wasn't planning to exclude him." She leans in, gently nuzzling against his throat. "You're not against a bit of company, are you, Bee?"

Now what can a mech say to that?

Slag it if he knows.

"Good," she grins. "Come on."

He follows her back to the base proper, his alt mode shadowing hers on the narrow jungle path.

*I've asked Blaster to meet us at the hangar,* Arcee comms him. *And to have his cassettes busy elsewhere.*

Bumblebee doesn't reply. He doesn't need to.

The big red boombox is waiting outside the hangar doors, as asked. He smiles at them as Bumblebee echoes Arcee and transforms into root mode.

"Hey pretty, hey lil'Bee, what's up?"

Bumblebee looks down, then turns away. "This is a bad idea. I'm just going to go."

"Don't you dare," Arcee says, reaching out and catching his hand, pulling at him until he's facing her again. His optics meet the scrutinizing look in hers for an endless nano-klik.

"It's the 'little' thing, isn't it?" she says softly, not really asking. "You're tired of being everyone's little brother."

He shrugs, tries to pull away. "It's just a nick name. It's no big deal."

Arcee must have increased the tensile strength in her arm or something. He can't seem to pull his hand out of hers.

"Come on, Bumblebee," she says softly. "Let us prove to you that you're worth it." She pulls him along, snaps up Blaster on the way, and still manages to loop a piece of blue rope around the door pull.

Huh. Good to know that someone remembers to use that, at least.

Blaster looks from the rope, to Bumblebee, to Arcee. "So want to enlighten me?"

Don't tell him. Please, don't tell him.

"Bumblebee's been feeling a bit down," Arcee says, pulling him further into the hangar. "So I brought him back here to cheer him up a bit. You don't mind, right?" A pink finger runs down Blaster's chest, elegantly dancing over the plating.

Well, that explanation he can live with. It's accurate, if not the entire truth.

"Mind?" The boombox grins. "Honey, you know I don't mind." He leans in, kisses her softly. Bumblebee looks away. He would have left, if it wasn't for Arcee holding his hand in a death-grip.

He reluctantly lets himself be pulled along to the back of the hangar. This one's been modified somewhat, compared to the half he shares with both sets of twins and Blue – it's not much, but the plywood walls erected between the berths at least give the illusion of privacy.

And Arcee and Blaster have bolted their berths together. Fancy that. The mini bunk-bed arrangement across the hall – a hall only because of the plywood compartments – must be for the cassettes.

Blaster backs Arcee up until her legs hit the edge of the berth, pushing her down gently until she's on her back. Bumblebee's pulled along as she keels over, forcing him to walk up alongside the berth and stand next to her torso. As Blaster follows Arcee down, mouth moving on hers and hands already roaming over her body, she finally lets go of Bumblebee's hand. For a brief moment, she watches him, and he stands still – but then Blaster hits a particularly sensitive spot, and Arcee shutters her optics, gasping.

Bumblebee stands still for a short moment, then quietly walks away.

"Whoa there, Bee, where are you goin?" Blaster's suddenly behind him, hands moving gently on Bumblebee's arms, mouth nuzzling at a sensor horn.

"I'm intruding," Bee replies, almost inaudibly. "I'm going to go."

"You're not intruding," Blaster murmurs. "I don't know why you would even think that." His hands, clever, clever digits, stroking up across his shoulder, his mouth leaning against Bee's neck cables and humming.

Clever, clever mouth.

He lets himself be redirected back towards the berth. Blaster pushes gently, fingers probing sensitive transformation seams and dipping into the gaps between plating to tickle at the cabling underneath. When the front of Bumblebee's legs hit the side of the berth, Arcee sits up and takes both of his hands. She uses them to pull herself up, letting her frame come into contact with every part of his, sucking at his lower lip.

"Come on, pretty Bee," Blaster croons, pushing him gently. "Let me enjoy that hot yellow plating."

Bumblebee twists with the fall, landing on his back next to Arcee. "Hot yellow plating?"

Blaster flashes him a grin that's downright evil. "Totally hot yellow plating. Do you know," a kiss to the inside of one leg, "how long," clever digits dipping into the gap on the front of his hip, "I've been wanting to do this?"

Bumblebee just stares at him.

"It's true," Arcee murmurs next to him, leaning over and mouthing at a sensor horn, making him shiver. "We have a list, you know. You top his."

"Yeah?" He turns his head, catches her mouth, as Blaster moves up into the bed with them. "Who tops yours?"

"Bluestreak," Arcee giggles, "but now that he's with Fireflight that's not happening." She kisses him, reaching down with a hand to pull Blaster up closer to them. "So it's a good thing we got you," she murmurs against his mouth. "Plus, bonus, we can make you forget."

"Forget?" Blaster says, running his fingers down Bumblebee's sides, static charge already sparking from plating to fingertips. Bumblebee gasps as his core temperature climbs several degrees and his cooling fans kick in. "Dunno what you don't want to remember, but we can make you forget, pretty Bee. Gorgeous, sexy Bumblebee." He nuzzles at Bee's chestplates, then moves up to hover over his mouth. "I can totally make you forget."

And then Bumblebee's kissed, thoroughly, ferociously, needily, as clever, clever digits caress every part of his plating, and the charge rises and rises until he forgets his own name, forgets Wheeljack forgetting him, forgets where they are. Everything is pink and red and white and gold. And it's better than anything has been since they landed on this planet.

Later, he sits at the edge of the berth, watching his own holoform. He changes it slowly – golden curls darkening, shortening, lengthening, straightening, cheekbones more prominent, less prominent, eyebrows darkening, eyelashes lengthening, shortening. Wider shoulders, narrower waist, more angular, more round, taller, shorter, slimmer, more muscular, more tattoos, less tattoos. It's a constant, gradual change, the holoform slowly morphing from one form to the other.

"I didn't know you could use that while in root mode," Arcee murmurs into his audial. She leans forward, rests her chin on his shoulder. "Most of the rest of us can't."

"It's a design spec version," Bumblebee replies, distracted by what he's doing. "It's not solid."

"Seamless coding on the fly? Very impressive, pretty Bee." Blaster kisses his way up Bumblebee's arm. "What are you trying to do?"

"He's trying to age it," Arcee replies, letting one hand glide around his waist components to trace the center seam down his chest. "He wants to look older, don't you, Bee?"

"You were right," Bumblebee replies, returning the holoform's original look and starting over. "I'm dead tired of being everyone's little brother. I'm fed up with being the third wheel, the spare, the friend. I want to be more."

"You are more," Blaster replies, moving to pull the smaller Autobot into his lap. "Haven't I convinced you?"

"You've helped," Bumblebee replies, turning his head and catching Blaster's mouth with his own, deepening the kiss as the boombox moans. Arcee presses up against his back, mouthing at his neck cabling. "A lot, actually. But the moment I leave here, it'll be back to the way it was. And I don't want that anymore. I want to change the status quo."

"Good for you," Arcee breathes, rising up on her knees to get at his sensor horns. "Do you really have to leave yet, though?"

"No," Bumblebee says, grinning against Blaster's insistent mouth, letting the taller mech pull him back down onto the berth. "No, I guess I don't."