Note: we're fast forwarding another five stellar cycles from the end of the last chapter here.

Noblesse Oblige

Chapter Ten

Something was changing, Mirage could feel it. It had started gradually, but seemed to be building momentum as it went along. It had to do with his way of perceiving things, his body's reactions, strange new thoughts that would pop into his mind and leave his processors reeling, wondering, Where did that come from?

It wasn't just him, he was sure. He noticed it when he was hanging around with the Tower brats – they were all around the same age and something seemed to be affecting them all. The dynamic of their group shifted in subtle ways, strange tensions that Mirage couldn't explain arising from nowhere. Some of the other 'bots began to tell jokes that Mirage couldn't really understand, though he knew enough to realize they were dirty. Though the actual meaning of the leered insinuations and obscene hand gestures were generally above his head, Mirage laughed along with the others.

Increasingly it was feeling…as though he wasn't comfortable in his own skin. Not in pain, just…like there was a constant itch he couldn't seem to scratch. It increased in certain situations, such as when he was with the Tower brats. They'd been in each other's company since they were sparklings, and were used to a certain level of competitive scrutiny. Now, though, Mirage felt himself eyeing his friends with something more than objective aesthetic appreciation in mind. Details – the curve of a thigh, the shape of an aft, the strong cables working in another mech's neck – would elicit a tingling in his circuits, a skip in his fuel pump, a heat where his legs met.

More and more, he felt his gaze settling on Torchlight. He was the rebellious son of Nightlight, one of Oblique's closest friends. Unlike most of his compatriots, he hadn't taken on his sire's traditional dark midnight blue coloring. He was orange, a color Mirage normally eschewed as crass, but he was such a deep, rich, almost red orange… And he carried it well. He was haughty and mischievous, with an air of always being in on a joke that no one else was. His blue optics weren't the ideal for a noblemech, but they somehow worked for him, twinkling above his upturned nose and the curve of his smirk.

Mirage had been aware for awhile that things were going on behind the scenes. Connections were being made, semisecret liaisons… Nothing was serious, or permanent, of course, but Mirage couldn't help but feel a little left out. And then, one day, he noticed a new dynamic between Torchlight and Shade. Little unnecessary touches, subtly possessive smirks…They've been together. Mirage had no idea why he was so bothered by this, so…jealous, he realized. Mirage felt on fire with the need to do something about it, but the 'how' escaped him entirely, and so he did nothing.

Meanwhile, Cybertron kept turning, and life continued, seemingly as normal. Schoolwork, combat lessons, dance lessons, music lessons. Turbofox hunts, high society balls, exclusive energon parties, formal evening meals. As Mirage grew older, his list of social obligations grew longer. Fortunately, he had Jazz to rely on.

As Pacer managed Oblique's schedule, Jazz learned to manage Mirage's. They set up an audio interface with the scheduling program on the computer, but it turned out to be mostly redundant. Jazz memorized his schedule, setting up dedicated folders within his own processor. The computer served merely as a backup.

Thank Primus for Jazz. As the pressures of impending maturity increased, Mirage grew more grateful for the comfortable dynamic he had with his attendant. It had taken about half a solar cycle since Jazz's accident for things to return to normal, or close to it. His strength had returned, and he lost the brace and the limp. Rebuilding his confidence had taken longer. For a long time, the servant remained timid and unsure, and Mirage despaired.

Then one day Jazz announced that he couldn't give in to fear; he would do what he could to control his situation and leave the rest to the universe and Primus. Mirage secretly rolled his optics at Jazz's faith in placing his life in the hands of his deity, but said nothing. And it seemed to work. As if a switch had been flipped, things steadily got better. By now, Mirage was sure that no outside observer would be able to tell the difference between 'Jazz before' and 'Jazz after'.

He could tell, though the differences were subtle. Jazz was slightly less apt to wander and explore now, generally maintaining a closer radius around his master. He was showing his serious side more often, too. Part of that was a function of his increasing responsibilities as an attendant, and part of it wasn't. He hadn't become a downer – far from it. He was still friendly and funny and wisecracking, and he was still generous with his dazzling smiles.

But in private, if something bothered him, he would sometimes let it show, if only for a fleeting nano-klik. Mirage occasionally came across him in moments of silent, serious contemplation, which he'd shake himself out of with a grin when he realized Mirage was near. And there was something else, something less noticeable, something he almost couldn't define. If he had to put a name to it, he'd say it was a little bit similar to the strange tensions he was feeling with his peers from The Towers. But that was absurd.

One morning, Oblique summoned Mirage to his office, with express instructions to leave Jazz behind. Mirage agreed and clicked off. He and Jazz shared a puzzled look.

"What d'you think that's all about?" Jazz asked.

"How should I know?" Mirage shrugged exaggeratedly. "I'll find out, I guess."

"Good luck, buddy." Jazz turned back to his cleaning and gave him a wave over his shoulder as Mirage headed out the door.

Mirage's curiosity was well and truly piqued by the time he arrived at Oblique's offices and was let in. Oblique was, as always, seated behind his great desk and Pacer stood impassively in his nook in the wall. Oblique gave his son a small smile.

"Mirage, good morning. Thank you for coming." Then he turned slightly in his chair. "Pacer, if you would excuse us…"

"Certainly, Master." The servant glided out of the room without so much as a glance at Mirage. Confusion added itself to the curiosity in Mirage's mind. Oblique and Pacer were always together, at least until Pacer returned to Swing and Jazz at night. What could Oblique possibly have to say to him that couldn't be said in front of Pacer?

Whatever it was, Oblique didn't seem to be in a hurry to say it. He pursed his lips and folded his hands, then re-folded them. He opened his mouth slightly, then closed it and leaned back in his chair. After a moment, he sat forward again, stroking his chin.

Holy Primus, it dawned on Mirage. He's uncomfortable…nervous? He recognized the behaviors, but they were totally alien on his sire. He'd never seen Oblique act anything other than completely sure of himself. This was new. And somewhat unnerving.

Finally, Oblique spoke, though he didn't sound like himself. "Mirage, it has come to my attention…" He trailed off, and tried again. "I have become aware…" He looked flustered and frustrated. "Mirage, I believe you've come to an age when young mechs begin to experience…changes. New…feelings. Sensations. Desires. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Mirage did, and he understood why Oblique was so uncomfortable. This was weird. "Um, yes, sir." He managed.

Oblique seemed to relax a bit. "I know this seems strange to speak with me about. But these changes are important, Mirage. And they're perfectly natural. Tell me, have you…acted on any of these desires?"

"Um, no. Sir." Thank PRIMUS that was the truth. He didn't think he could have handled detailing something like that to his sire.

"And that's perfectly all right, too. Everyone moves at their own pace. But when the time comes, know that it's perfectly fine and natural. And fun." He smiled. "It's enjoyable. It's supposed to be. It's one of the great pleasures of life. And you have a fine crop of friends to play with. May I ask if you have your optics on any particular one? You don't have to tell me who."

"Um, yes, sir. I do." This just kept getting more and more surreal.

Oblique nodded. "Good. Just don't take things too seriously. Interfacing with another mech doesn't tie you to him, and it doesn't mean you owe each other anything. It's a pastime, that's all. A very…enjoyable and rewarding pastime, but nothing more. Don't make it out to be more than it is, that'll only make you look foolish."

"No, sir."

"Do you…" Oblique looked awkward again. "Do you have any questions? About it? I can try to answer them for you, and there are several excellent datatracks on the subject that I can recommend."

Mirage had been reading datatracks on the subject himself. They tended to fall into two categories. Some were flowery and used poetic language with lots of euphemisms. They were expressive, he supposed, but they weren't very helpful, especially when it came down to the 'how's of the matter. The others were precise and clinical, and while they provided plenty of specifics, there was certainly something left wanting. There had to be more to the experience than just the techniques the datatracks described, but he would burn forever in the Pit before he asked Oblique about that.

"Um, no. No questions I can think of. Sir."

"Well, if you do think of any, you just have to ask. I'm your father. It's my job to be here for you, as strange a subject as it seems." He smiled kindly.

"Thank you, sir. I – appreciate it."

"Just a few things more." Oblique looked serious again. "Don't finger other people's ports, and don't let them finger yours. It's crude. Stay in control of the situation – remember who you are. If you engage in sparkplay, for Primacron's sake, be careful. You don't want to end up bonded or some silly thing. Look at Pacer and Swing – let that be a warning to you."

"Yes, sir…no, sir." Mirage didn't quite understand that last one – Pacer and Swing were the only real-life bonded couple he'd ever heard of, so the same thing happening to him seemed unlikely, to say the least. And he wasn't sure what about Pacer and Swing was so wrong – except, obviously, that they were poor. But that didn't have anything to do with it. Did it? It was easier just to agree with his sire.

"One more thing." Now Oblique was wearing his most imposing expression, the one that sent mechs of all castes scurrying in fear. He leaned forward. "Do NOT let me catch you with that attendant of yours. Don't even think about it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. Completely."

Oblique relaxed and smiled again. "Good. I know this was a bit awkward, but thank you for listening. I'm always here for you. I trust you to make good choices, and I know you'll continue to make me proud. We're done here, unless you have anything to add. Have a good rest of the day – I'll see you at evening meal."

Mirage stammered his goodbyes and fled. It took all of his self-control to remain at a dignified (if fast) walk instead of breaking into a run. What just happened? Mirage felt like yanking his CPU out and handing it over for Jazz for a good scrubbing. He reached his quarters and nearly staggered with relief when he was inside with the door sliding shut behind him.

Jazz glanced up from his polishing. "So? What was that all about?" he asked.

"Um, it was nothing, really. Not anything. Just…business stuff." While Mirage didn't tell Jazz everything, he wasn't used to lying to him. Apparently, he was bad at it.

Jazz gave him a look that plainly said 'you're full of it'. "Right. Whatever you say." He shrugged and turned back to his work.

Mirage thanked Primus, Primacron, whatever superior forces there may be that Jazz didn't force the issue. It was bizarre enough with Oblique. He frowned, remembering Oblique's last warning to him. He'd never thought of Jazz that way; such an idea had never entered his processor. Had it? But the idea was there now, and Mirage couldn't figure out whether it was all-new, or if hints of it had been there before.

He'd never consciously considered his attendant as a potential partner for interfacing, he was sure about that. But Primus help him, he was considering it now. On some level, it made sense, sort of. After all, there was no one he was more comfortable with than Jazz. If they hadn't been of different social classes, he would seem like a natural choice. And he'd always known Jazz was good-looking, for a common 'bot. Except for those strange optics, but Mirage had gotten used to them. He even found himself surprised at the shocked reactions other mechs had to the eerie white optics when he and his attendant were out in public. In any case, Jazz was far from unpleasant to look at. He wondered if the idea had occurred to his attendant. Such a thing would be wildly inappropriate and above his station, but… it would explain some of the strange tensions that had been arising lately.

"What? Do I have something on me?" Jazz was giving him a hard look. Mirage had been staring.

"What? Oh – no. Sorry. I was just thinking for a second. My processor must have glitched. Excuse me." Jazz raised his optic ridges but said nothing and Mirage escaped to the other room.

When had bath time gotten so complicated?

Jazz had been bathing Mirage since they were both barely more than sparklings – it was a part of his job, part of their daily routine. It was pleasant, of course. It was supposed to be pleasantly businesslike, but nothing more. Lately, though…he didn't think anything about the movement of Jazz's hands was significantly different, but the way his body reacted to those movements had changed. He had been trying to ignore it, but after a day of thinking of very little other than interfacing, that was no longer possible. What he could still do – HAD to do – was keep his body's reactions to Jazz's ministrations a secret.

It was getting harder, though. Jazz was working on his legs, his hands massaging as he cleaned. It felt good; it always did. It just felt a little extra-good now, comforting and relaxing and…! Jazz was rubbing at the insides of his thighs, and the sensation sent icy tendrils of sensation spreading out from the touch to the rest of Mirage's body. He shivered a little despite himself.

"Something wrong?" Jazz asked.

"No, nothing. Just got chilly there for a nano-klik. Keep going." Mirage gritted his dental plates. He retained control until Jazz worked his way up and began rubbing at the plating between his legs. The icy shivers returned, stronger this time, accompanied by a strange but wonderful heat.

"Hey, what's up?" Jazz pulled back again when Mirage trembled a little. "You going ticklish on me after all this time?"

"No. I 'm not – It's nothing."

"Mmmmm-hmmmm." Jazz resumed his work and Mirage did his best to think about unsexy things so he wouldn't give in to the delicious sensations that the hands were eliciting because it was wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong…

Jazz finished his back and came around to his right side, fingers working skillfully among the metal plating and into the sensitive wiring. Mirage was clenching his dental plates so hard he was afraid they might crack, to keep from voicing any yelps at the twinges of pleasure Jazz's hands were eliciting.

When the attendant came around and began to work on the front of his chassis, Mirage started to lose it. This was wrong. It was unthinkable. Even if Oblique hadn't said so, he'd have known it was wrong. But his body was sending him different messages, telling him the wait was over, the time was now. The heat was almost unbearable – couldn't Jazz feel it? He could hear the noise of his air vents as they attempted to cool him off; certainly the other mech had to hear them, too.

I can't. You can. He tried to ignore the touches, but then he looked down. It was the hands – the sight of those black hands spread out on his chest sent his processor into wild overdrive. And Jazz's face, concentrating on his body… What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do… Then he knew. Without allowing himself to think further, he reached out and grasped the sides of Jazz's head in his hands. As gently as he could manage, considering his overwhelming need, he pulled the silver face up and bent to meet it, covering Jazz's mouth with his own. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong…right.

What do you mean, leave you hanging? I wouldn't do that. Oh, wait, I guess I would.

Thanks, as always, to everyone who's been reading and commenting! I really, really appreciate it.