Title: Camber Play
Chapter: 4/15
Continuity: G1
Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing.
Beta: ultharkitty

This Chapter
Warnings: crack, some angst, non-graphic smut of the p'n'p kind, comedy, general Blast Off-grumpiness
Characters: Blades, Blast Off, Vortex, Octane
Rating (Chapter): PG-13
Summary: Blades almost sees his team again, and Blast Off gets two visitors.

It had been a while since Blades had lost track of how long he had been on the Nemesis. It had to have been longer than two weeks already before he had been allowed to watch TV.

The human programs helped to pass the time, and it was easier to name the days now. Blades counted them using MASH episodes. Sometimes he watched them twice, just because nothing else aired that was worth spending time on - and maybe also because he wanted Blast Off to look at the TV.

So far, the shuttle hadn't asked what Blades was watching. He didn't seem interested at all in the console unless he had to use it.

Blades was a little disappointed.

Although he had entertainment now, and something that made him feel less alone, he'd have liked to talk to the shuttle. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried, but all Blades got in return were one word answers or huffs, followed by the demand to be quiet.

The daily routine had become a sort of ritual. Blast Off would leave after giving Blades the energon and the screwdriver, and when the shuttle had gone, Blades would turn on the TV.

When Blast Off came back, he would wordlessly glance at the console, then at Blades, who gave the tool back voluntarily.

No other mech had entered the room, and Blades had only gotten off the couch once to clean the dried energon from the fight that had been still on the floor. He'd used one of the many cloths on the desk, but when Blast Off had come back, he hadn't said anything.

Things changed the day when the cartoons Blades still didn't like to watch were interrupted by a newsfeed.

The Decepticons had attacked a nuclear power plant, apparently trying to cause a meltdown to use the immense power output to turn into energon.

Blades raised his optical ridges.

This was just stupid. Why did they always try to get energy by destroying power plants? If they stole the energy more subtly for a longer duration of time, they would get far more energon, and it would save them the battle.

Blades shook his head, and watched. It was a long dawned-out fight, and the focus was on where the human reporters were still allowed to be. They showed the evacuation of the nearby human city, and Blades perked up. His team would be somewhere. Maybe First Aid was near the main battle, but Hot Spot could be in the urban area.

Edging closer to the arm rest, Blades' optics flicked over the screen, searching for his fellow Protectobots. He reached out through the bond, but he was still isolated. Nothing came through. It hurt.

The realisation how much he missed his team hit hard. The TV had been a distraction, the acceptance of being held prisoner deep down on the ocean had numbed his urge to use the bond, but now it was back.

Blades wanted to sooth First Aid, to show him he did good, and that his work mattered. He wanted to apologise to Hot Spot for disobeying orders, showing his good intent in doing so. He wanted to help Groove helping the civilian humans and show he admired his determination to keep the aliens safe even in the middle of the battle. And he wanted to argue with Streetwise, with them both knowing that they didn't really mean it, and Blades being sorry, not being obnoxious on purpose when he dismissed the tactician's ideas.

Blades slumped, his rotors wilted. He missed his team so much, he had to suppress his intakes hitching.

For hours Blades followed the news of the battle, always looking for one of his team mates on screen.

He didn't hear the door opening due to the sound in his head. The corridor had to be dark, too, because there was no light coming in this time. There was only Blast Off's dark figure that blocked the screen as he entered.

Blades sat up straight, trying to cover up the depression that had hit him earlier.

Blast Off's engine revved to a dangerous growl that was even louder than the TV. Blades muted it completely.

"Turn that off!" the shuttle spat, the visor glowing bright.

They repeated footage of the battlefield.

"But I have it muted, it-"

"Turn it off!"

Blades tensed, and sent the command to the console. The screen went dark.

That evening, Blast Off didn't take the tool from Blades. He just went to the other side of the berth, and poked the wall. Like the first evening, and on a very few other days, Blast Off took out a cube.

The light was dim, but Blades still could see the scorched metal on the shuttle's side. There was no energon, but a freshly welded line on his upper arm, and some bits of white shimmered through the usually black heat shields on the lower arms.

Till then, it hadn't really occurred to Blades that Blast Off had probably been there, too.

He didn't know how to react. Should he say something? Should he give the tool back of his own?

With the mood the shuttle was in now, it was perhaps safer if Blades kept the screwdriver.

He watched the shuttle closely, tried to make out anything new, changes, things that the shuttle hadn't done before.

There was the faint clicking of ailerons that sometimes happened, Blades guessed when he was annoyed or confused. Like that one time when the device on the table had almost broken apart, or when Blast Of had first seen him with the screwdriver. There was the deep ventilation, and measured movements that indicated he was focused on something, sometimes staying calm. And there was the shifting of the dark panels on his back.

Blades had yet to figure out what that meant.

He watched Blast Off clean and polish his side, doing something to the heat shield on his arms that Blades didn't understand.

There was not a single word from Blast Off, and Blades didn't try to converse, either.

Right then, Blades didn't just miss his team, but also felt unwelcome. Just like in the first few days.

Blades waited for Blast Off to settle first.

It was still hard to go to recharge.

Blades wasn't sure what woke him up. It was either the static in the air that tingled on his rotor blades, or the muffled sliding of metal and whispering from the other side of the room.

It took him a few moments to reboot properly, but he was still dizzy as he turned his head enough to look over his shoulder. He shuffled a rotor down, and frowned.

It wasn't Blast Off on the berth.

At least not alone.

A few more astroseconds ticked by before Blades' optical sensors adjusted enough to make out what was happening.

He froze for the slightest of moments, and then hastily turned again, staring at the backrest of the sofa.

But the image had burned itself into his processor.

The image of Blast Off leaning over Vortex, pinning the heliformer's hands above his head. Vortex arching up, rotors visibly shuddering and energy fields creating that blue glow when they'd mingled and were charged during interface.

Blades heard the scraping of metal against metal, the buzz of fields and cables and the faint, suppressed moans of two mechs.

"Oh frag," Vortex gasped, louder than before, and the charge pooled in the room.

It smelled of heated metal, warm oil and energon. A mix that prickled in Blades' olfactory sensors, a mix that added to the tingle behind Blades' interface cover.

"Be quiet," Blast Off growled, metal squealed and the strong engine revved.

Two vocalisers uttered whispers under static.

Blades was glad that he lay on his interface panel. At least it wasn't exposed directly to the charged air. It was maddening enough with his rotors twitching, taking in the heat and sending all the wrong signals to all the wrong places.

Even without seeing them, his imagination caught up on Blades when metal created scraping sounds, sliding noises, and Vortex' scream was stifled. Maybe by Blast Off's lips, or one of the large hands covering the mouth.

Blast Off's engine rumbled again, mingled with the growl of a charged vocaliser that was all but possessive.

Blades knew he should deactivate his audial sensors. He was awkward, and his frame heated under the impact of the atmosphere around him. It was like having his gestalt bond wide open when two of his team interfaced – only the heat came from the outside, and there was no way of shutting it down.

And even though Blast Off repeatedly tried to stop them, Vortex' noises became louder, more desperate as he neared overload. It was then that Blades turned his audials off.

The static in the air was still intense, and suddenly peaked. It was unbearable for that moment, and Blades was close to reaching for his rotors, giving them some friction and relief.

He forced himself to be still, lying motionless and riding out the charge around and inside him. It'd take joors, he knew, but there was no way he'd give in to that urge.

His rotor blades kept twitching in arousal even after he went back to recharge.

Blades woke up late and exhausted. He felt like he could go back to recharge again the instant he onlined his optics. His lines were sore from charge that hadn't been released, and his rotors still tingled with an underlying ache.

With a groan, he heaved himself up, and sat up straight.

"You still have my screwdriver. I need it," was Blast Off's greeting.

"Yeah, good morning to you, too." Blades wasn't in the mood to hold back. He knew he should keep quiet, but today he didn't feel like being the nice quiet prisoner.

"It's afternoon already."

"Huh?" Blades frowned. Shocked, confused, and annoyed at Blast Off's questionable ability to throw him off like that, he covered his expression by rubbing a hand over his face.

"The screwdriver," Blast Off repeated, and got up.

Blades ignored the energon cube on the floor for now. "What? Is that some kind of hidden threat because I haven't given it back to you yet?"

The shuttle stood in front of him, casting a shadow over Blades as he blocked the ceiling light. Blades did his best not to raise his head. He didn't want to look the other in the optics, the memory from the previous night still too present.

"No," Blast Off said flatly. "I need this screwdriver for the repairs, and I'd prefer not to look for it on you by myself."

Blades preferred that, too. He didn't want Blast Off to touch him, not with those hands that had touched Vortex like that. He shook his rotors out and reached behind him. He handed it over with a huff.

Blast Off nodded, and went back to the desk.

"What's that anyway? That thing there?" Blades asked as he reached down and got his ration. It was more than the last few days. It looked like the Decepticons had stolen some energy despite being unable to blow up the power plant.

"It's a 3D-projector."

"And it does what?" Blades sipped, leaning back and looking at the shuttle.

Blast Off exhaled air loudly, probably on purpose. "It projects in 3D, as in holograms."

"Oh, okay." It wasn't that Blades couldn't understand what it was for, he just wasn't sure what needed to be projected as a 3D hologram. "Why is it broken?"

"Because it was dormant for over 50 thousand vorns."

Blades wasn't used to Cybertronian units of time even if he knew them. It was just that he lived on Earth, was built here, and never needed them. He did the maths. His optics widened.

"Wow, that's a long time."

Blast Of shrugged. "It is."

The silence that fell over them was calm, but Blades didn't like it. He couldn't remember when Blast Off had ever said that much to him before, and maybe he could keep the conversation going.

"What do you need it for?" he tried.

"Why do you care?" Blast Off put his tool down, and looked up. "Don't you have any human shows to watch. I want to work here."

"It's Saturday afternoon, there's only bullshit on. So, what do you need it for?"

Blast Off's ailerons clicked. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, and every answer he could have given was interrupted by the door lock pinging.

Blades and Blast Off looked at it simultaneously.

It rang a second time, and with a growl, Blast Off stood up once more.

When the door slid aside, Blades couldn't see who it was, but he heard the other mech's voice.

"Hey, Blast Off. How're things going, old buddy."

"I'm not your buddy. What do you want, Octane?"

Blades was kinda amazed and relieved that Blast Off apparently spoke to his fellow Decepticons like he spoke to Blades.

"Heh, whatever you say, Blast Off. I was just wondering if you could lend me some creds. You know, me and Swindle have this deal with these humans-"

"No."

"Wow, dude, let me finish, okay?" Octane said in defence.

"Not okay," Blast Off replied, voice losing the flat edge as a stern undertone entered. "I doubt that Swindle would agree to you asking me for credits."

"Why not?"

"Because I beat him into medbay not that long ago. I highly doubt he'd dare aggravate me that shortly after."

Blades tensed at the memory of that incident, and drew his legs close.

"Well, okay, okay. It's not for Swindle and me. It's just for me. But you're an alpha, I bet you still have lots of creds somewhere. And not to mention the interest you've accrued while being in the box-"

"Enough," Blast Off interrupted the mech a second time.

"Okay, got it. No money from you," the shadow from the mech that cast into the room moved. "But I heard you have that Autobot there. Can I see him?"

Before Blast Off could answer, a head appeared in the door. "Hey there."

Blast Off blocked the way so that the mech couldn't get in further. "Leave."

"But he's a cutie, isn't he? You okay if I borrow him for a while? I mean if you get sick of him or Vortex gets all fragged of with you having another-"

"I said leave." Blast Off's cannons realigned and started humming. It was the first time Blades had heard the sound.

Blast Off pushed the button on the control panel, and the door slid shut.

"Aren't you cranky toda- Hey!" Just in time Octane was able to pull his head out. From outside, the muffled voice said something, but Blades couldn't understand it.

Blast Off typed on the control panel near the mechanism, and the light turned red again. He grumbled a curse, and sat down.

Almost two kliks passed before Blades' curiosity got the better of him. "What's an alpha?"

"I am not certain if you mean to annoy me or are serious with that question," the shuttle replied with a huff.

"I'm serious. They call Mirage an alpha sometimes, but I don't really get what that means. It has something to do with towers, doesn't it?"

Blast Off looked at him as though he measured if Blades was making fun of him.

"I was built on Earth," Blades tried to clarify.

Blast Off nodded the tiniest nod. "I see," he turned to his device again. "When your Autobot friends fail to educate their new builds well, it seems they have to get the knowledge from the enemy."

Hearing the condescending tone, Blades was close to spitting something very vulgar, but he resisted.

"Back on Cybertron, in the Golden Age, we had the caste system. Alpha is just a very bad human translation of-" Blast Off said a word in Cybertronian that Blades had never heard before. The language was unfamiliar in his audials, even though it was the language of his race. Blast Off continued while applying the tools to the 3D-projector. "It just described the highest caste, which was divided into several others. A Towermech is from Iacon, called that because they lived in the luxury towers near the political centre. I'm a shuttle," he shrugged. "Shuttleformers were always alpha from the day they were built. Even the shuttle working in the lowest departments was considered worth more than any of a lower caste."

"So Skyfire is an alpha, too?" Blades asked, and wondered. No one had ever had called the Autobot shuttle that, or had treated him different. Not how they sometimes did with Mirage.

"If he's a shuttle, he is alpha. Do I need to repeat my explanation?"

Wow, Blades thought, the shuttle really was grumpy. But he was also more talkative than he had been. The heliformer shifted a little on the berth, shuffling his rotors down.

"No, I'm good. So, you had like servants and stuff all the time?"

Blast Off vented air deeply. "No. I worked in science, and was glad when I could leave the planet and didn't have to deal with people. Is that everything?"

Blades tipped his head to a side. "What's 'the box'?"

Blast Off froze.

Blades hadn't expected that reaction, and he'd never seen Blast Off like that. It looked as though every joint, every wire was stiff. He'd stopped mid movement, the tool not touching the projector, it hung in the air.

When he started moving again, it seemed different, but Blades couldn't make out what had changed. He waited, but there was never an answer.

They were quiet for the rest of the day.