The skies were still grey when Soundwave awoke; the atmosphere heavy with the early cycle dew. Slowly, the councilor rose from the berth, stiff and sore, and noting shamefully how long it had been since he'd last woken before dawn. Exhaustion still clung to his shoulder plating and helm, yet the telepath forced himself to his pedes all the same. Tracks had insisted that the Decepticon return to his quarters for recharge the night prior, and the blue mech had conceded, even if he had wanted to do the exact opposite. A magnificent creature such as Tracks' ironically named pet, Ravage, was not the sort of being that you tempted fate with. So, leave, Soundwave had done, missing the smoothness of the Autobot's arms even before he'd exited the room.
Now though, it was morning, and the winged mech was sure to be out among the other staff by this time. After a quick face wash and change of robes, Soundwave exited the room and hastened to the nearest posted guard. "Inquiry: Where does the Autobot Tracks breakfast and when?"
To his credit, the sentry kept a neutral face, despite his frame oozing with trepidation at his lord's questioning. "Lord Tracks dines at the first morning bell; after he has seen to his pet," the mech answered.
Soundwave nodded. "Additional: Where?," he pressed a second time.
"In the kitchen, milord," the guard replied.
That stunned the councilor for a moment as he absorbed this news, thanking the servant and heading promptly for the kitchen. Tracks was not there yet at this point, understandably, so Soundwave addressed the cooks who were busy warming the ovens for the orn, instructing them to prepare the finest breakfast and bring it to the library where he and the Autobot would be dining that morning. Not waiting to see his staff's bewildered expressions, nor pick apart their less-than-kind thoughts, Soundwave next headed for his office to retrieve the library key; waving down a servant in the midst of dousing the night torches to order a set of cleaning supplies be brought as well to the library.
Orange streaked through the sky by the time the first morning bell rang from Iacon's centre, Soundwave dropping the filthy rag into its sudsy bucket. He looked over the library, his most neglected possession, pleased at how his handiwork made it gleam brightly in the rising sunlight. All in all, a lovely result, despite it being stellar cycles since the telepath had last done such a scrubbing. As he washed his servos and arms in a fresh basin, servants arrived to prepare the breakfast banquet upon the large table, after which, the councilor dismissed them to their regular duties.
Now, the blue mech sat, listening as the second morning bell pealed distantly over the hills; fidgeting with pillows and dishware, as he waited longingly for Tracks' arrival.
The rousing city bells continued their ringing in paces and by the seventh rendition, the library door gently creaked open. Shined wings and draping edges of lavender silk followed Tracks' subdued entrance, his optics trailing quietly from plates of exotic fruit and delectable pastries, up to Soundwave's concealed face.
"You wished to see me, Master?," the slave began, enunciating his position with his choice of title.
"Status: Do not need to defer to me as such," Soundwave informed. He rose with an excited spring, pulling out one of the table's chairs. "Request: Sit. Would enjoy your company this morning with breakfast."
Where the Decepticon had thought that the winged mech would immediately take a seat, considering the events of last night, he was greatly alarmed when Tracks did the opposite; instead taking two steps back towards the door, his helm turned away demurely. "I... No, I'm sorry, but I must refuse, Master," the Autobot announced.
Soundwave was, justifiably, flabbergasted. "Plea: Last night-"
"I will utter not a word of what transpired in that room, Master, if that is what you wish," Tracks interrupted. "But I am afraid you may have misconstrued the situation. The folly is my own, of course. I shall wait in my room for a befitting punishment."
Tracks was turning to leave. Again. The councilor felt rooted to the spot, servos squeezing the chair's back in agony, his mouth moving around soundless words. This could not happen! Never again! "Plea: Tracks... wait," his whisper echoed across the room, just as the slave grabbed hold of the doorknob.
An odd little click sounded and despite his convictions, the winged mech looked back, optics flashing in bewilderment. Soundwave hesitated, only a moment, before slowly laying the battle mask on the table top and facing his companion fully.
"Please: Remain. Do not go," he begged, resisting the urge to rub at his lip components. It was such a queer sensation, having the wind roll languidly across his mouth as he spoke, one he disliked thrice as much in this desperate situation. "Query: Tracks...?"
The Autobot was staring. He hadn't left yet, which was in itself a good response, but Tracks hadn't moved either, beyond gazing in muted shock at the larger mech. As he continued to stare at the councilor in silence, Soundwave's discomfort grew; unaware, he fidgeted, blue lip components pulling into an uncomfortable line as denta pressed lightly into the soft, bottom mesh. In fact, most of the telepath's visible face looked youthful and plump, minus the few old scars that cut randomly about the plating. Shuffling his pedes again, Soundwave finally glanced away, looking at his pedes like a scolded sparkling.
"...you just can't apologize, or confess your 'real feelings', and suddenly that makes everything all better," came the slave's eventual words.
The councilor hunched his shoulders up in shame. "Attest: aware," he mumbled.
"You bought me, prepared me as any other concubine, punished me when I disagreed with you..."
"Fact: Saw Tracks, unusual and obviously abused, that orn and could not refuse to help. Decree: Never thought to keep you for sexual desires."
"You dressed me-," the Autobot began to seethe in accusation.
"Correction: The staff chose the materials. I never announced what your position would be. Status: Had not chosen a place for you yet, but would never force you or anyone else into servicing myself," Soundwave cut in, looking up with an offended scowl. He was met with a matching one on the Autobot's face.
"Then why would you let me be dressed as a courtesan?!," the winged mech demanded.
A soft magenta blush rose to the Decepticon's cheekplates and he turned his helm away hurriedly, staring anywhere other than the slave. "Tracks: Gorgeous. Opinion: Should only wear the best to match your loveliness," he murmured shyly.
An odd sound escaped from the slimmer mech's vocalizer; a peripheral glance revealed a most confounded expression on the Autobot's face. "B-but, my freedom- You never gave me my freedom!," he retorted sharply.
"False: Tried to free Tracks for weeks!," Soundwave argued, whirling back around to face the other, "Tracks: Refused my offer time after time!"
"You gave Arcee her freedom. Why not me too?!," Tracks protested loudly.
"Status: Was too late! Emperor: decreed a new law; could only choose two before the changes took effect and if I had not released Arcee and that guard, they would have been executed for partaking in intimate relations while collared!," the telepath yelled in return. "Arcee: Did not deserve that cruelty."
Those words finally silenced the slave for a lengthy klik and with sudden exhaustion, the Decepticon collapsed into the empty chair he'd pulled out for the other mech, struggling to keep his grief from rising. "Implore: Do not wish to do this. Not again," Soundwave spoke weakly to the floor, "Attest: Am a smart mech, but I am not a wise one. Attempted to aid Tracks as others, and could not alter methods well enough when they did not work. Fact: Failed you, repeatedly, and worse, became abusive in return after we..." He trailed off, unable to speak of that night, when he had been so close to having Tracks' spark, only to have it ripped away, leaving a gaping wound in his chestplates that still bled even now. "Blame: is wholly my own."
"...Yet you sold me to the Emperor," whispered Tracks.
"Protest: No. NO!," the blue mech bellowed, jumping to his pedes, pounding the table top. "Emperor: made his demands out of his own selfishness! Declaration: Would die first before ever seeing someone I love being shackled to his berth!"
The Autobot was staring in silence a second time. Venting rapidly from his angry outburst, Soundwave twisted to retrieve his battle mask with trembling servos, unable to bear being so naked in front of another's intense gaze any longer. There was no control of his emotions without the protective plating and he did not need his spark to be judged so callously after tearing open healing wounds. A slender servo touched lightly on his wrist before the telepath could set the mask back in place; Tracks, now at his side, gently pulling the metal away, his optics empathetic as he looked up into the other's visor.
"We have," the Autobot confessed softly, stepping closer into the councilor's space, his free servo cupping a cheekvent, "Both been fools."
The Decepticon did not resist the gentle lead downwards, uncertain lip components meeting shyly with a pair of unmarred ones; the pressure so soft to be nonexistent, until reality settled in that this was really happening, servos snapping to shapely hips as the delicate touch turned ravenous with passion. Moments later found the couple collapsed in a chair, Tracks sprawled across Soundwave's lap and torso, servos clutching fabric surely and mouths still lingering on each other's closest plating as they cycled intakes raggedly.
"Tracks: I-"
"Shh," the slave soothed, pecking his companion's forehelm crest, "I didn't mean to upset you, I-i... I needed to know. I love you, too, Soundwave. I only wish we'd come to this conclusion earlier."
Hearing his name -his honest, Primus-ordained designation- spoken from this beauty's vocalizer, without any malice or titles or hidden inflections, made the telepath's spark swell within its chamber. "Resolution: Never wish to be part from you again, Tracks," Soundwave admitted, pressing his face into the Autobot's chestplates, all thoughts of breakfast currently forgotten as he embraced his new lover tightly.
xxXxXxx
After a pleasant morning spent basking in the beautiful Tracks' presence, Soundwave eventually managed to drag himself away to his office -only at the other's insistence though. He never wanted to lose the warm press of the lovely Autobot in his arms, but the winged mech warned that Strika or Shockwave would return in a matter of orns to enact plans that Tracks himself had written in lieu of the councilor. If they were to maintain the lie that Soundwave was not absent during the last few weeks, it would be prudent for the Decepticon to familiarize himself with all of the slave's proposals. Tracks promised to have his copy sent to the blue mech's office at once; in the meantime, the Autobot had other things to oversee around the villa, among those being the caring of Ravage.
Reluctantly, the telepath had conceded, watching the winged mech depart from the library first before he too rose to his pedes and trudged off to his office. The moment he'd finished dusting his desktop, a servant arrived with Tracks' promised scrolls and Soundwave settled into a long afternoon of reading and comparing the notes written by both the matron and the Autobot. He only paused in his reading when a serf brought in his evening meal, resisting the urge to groan aloud.
What exactly were Shockwave's intentions?
Clearly, Megatron had not returned from whatever vague mission he'd disappeared into the night for -because Tracks had yet to be yanked from the villa and the councilor's possession- but the cyclops compiled actions of recent seemed to be madness. Denial to travellers to and from the west, an increased tax upon vegetation, eight extra sentry rotations, item screening at all city entry points, and now demanding a chunk of Soundwave's lands for the purpose of a new watch tower with attached barracks?! Granted, the chosen plot was dry, rocky cliffs outside the estate that the councilor never had need for, yet it did not change the fact that a new guard post would mean Soundwave and all of his staff would be visible to any and all observation.
If that wasn't already bad enough, Strika was also 'requesting' half of his villa for the sake of her soldiers until the new tower was constructed. The pair appeared to be plotting to see the telepath executed. Were they aware of his transgressions to the Emperor or did their suspicious actions stem from a general hatred for their colleague. And what of the watch tower's purpose: was it also a means to catch Soundwave in a crime, or did its future placement imply that an Autobot rebellion was certain to take place, rather than possibly?
Soundwave only wished this one time that a council meeting had been called, so that he'd have something concrete to work with instead of his doubts. Pushing the scrolls aside as a processor ache formed, the blue mech turned to his dinner to distract himself with these new set of worries, barely getting a chance to cut into his roasted quail before a knock rapped at his door.
"Request: Enter," he invited at once, spinning in his chair eagerly. He had hoped that Tracks had come to check in on the Decepticon and so he visibly deflated when his guest was in fact the matron and not the longed for Autobot.
"I apologize that I am your least favourite visitor," she said, giving the mech a knowing look.
Soundwave refused to acknowledge it. "Inquiry: What is purpose of visit?," he asked neutrally, taking a moment to fix the silverware he had dropped in his haste.
The matron walked towards her master, producing a tiny sheet of papyrus from one of her apron's many pockets. "The daily reports and a brief summary of other important details from earlier this week," she answered, holding out the sheet for the telepath. "I also wished to inform you that preparations have been made to milord's personal suite. It is ready for both yourself and lord Tracks to make use of tonight."
Soundwave almost dropped the reports in shock. "R-request: re-repeat?," he managed to utter, praying that he might have misheard.
The older femme lifted an optic ridge at the councilor, crossing her arms sternly. "Though I know you despise having your private business talked about, it has not escaped anyone's notice the jovial mood lord Tracks has been in this morning," she explained. "And that's not even counting your noted visit to his temporary quarters last night or your arranged breakfast this morning."
The Decepticon wanted to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Had his relationship with Tracks been so perilous that this turnabout was such a highlight in a long-string of conversation?
"All fantastic news, I can assure," the matron continued, "But after such a long time apart, it would be in both of your best interests to spend a full night together. I'm sure the pet will be well enough in its own room."
To refuse the servant's expectations would be to open himself up to further interrogation and these were all secrets that Soundwave would take to his grave before he revealed them to someone with less power than himself. So, the Decepticon nodded his helm, feeling his cheekplates burn with humiliation under his mask, as the matron informed him of a couple more things she'd send to his suite while she left the room. Appetite lost now, the councilor grabbed his tray and exited the office, making his way to Ravage's room.
"You really should knock before coming in," the Autobot commented with a little smirk, glancing up at the door as the telepath entered. Ravage, whose helm was resting in the slave's lap while he received his pets, glowered up at Soundwave from his spot; his tail switching in silent warning.
Soundwave told himself he wasn't envious of the creature in the slightest.
Setting down his dinner tray, he circled the opposite side of the room, slowly approaching Tracks on the sofa. "I don't think he'll eat that," the winged mech said. Ravage decided to slide away from Tracks' lap just then, padding towards the food in obvious contrary to his caretaker's statement. "Hm. Or maybe he will."
"Announcement: We need to talk," the councilor began, drawing to a stop beside the sofa arm. The Autobot turned fully to face him then, optics glittering behind their frames and a welcoming smile melting Soundwave in astroseconds. Greetings like that were going to make this discussion even harder. Flustered, the telepath looked about in several directions, resetting his vocalizer nervously.
"Status: Seems t-that our, u-uh, morning meeting was noticed b-by many of the staff," he stuttered.
"Well, that's not too surprising," Tracks replied casually.
"A-additional: M-matron had had m-main chambers prepared... f-for bo-both of us. T-tonight."
Tracks shuttered his optics in silent expression. "Well...," he vented softly, after a klik. "I suppose this is in part to the fabrications you have made?"
Soundwave slowly nodded.
"And if either of us refuses, it may cast some suspicion on our supposed affairs?"
The blue mech nodded again.
The slave hummed thoughtfully, turning his helm to watch Ravage finish swallowing the last of the quail. After a lengthy silence, the Autobot rose to his pedes, stepping closer to the Decepticon and touching his servo lightly. "I have to take Ravage for his nightly stroll now," Tracks said, smiling into Soundwave's visor sweetly, "Why don't you forget this dilemma and just head for your room, okay? I bet you haven't even rested well enough since the other orn."
The councilor did feel exhausted, but if that was from his past weeks of self-destruction or the spiritual mending of the last orn and a half, he could not say. In either case, it was a comfort to have the slave absolve him of a forced night together, and so Soundwave took Tracks' invitation to have an early recharge, looking forward to burying himself in the plush bedding. And the blue mech enjoyed running through his nightly routine up until he heard the berthroom door click open from behind himself.
"Oh my... I think they waxed everything at least three times over! But I do hope that those flowers did not come from the garden... This many bouquets is a crime to the time it takes for such delicate buds to blossom."
Tracks turned away from his observations, optics meeting with Soundwave's flashing visor. "Sorry for the intrusion," he greeted mirthfully, walking further into the room. "I never realized how large this room was. It's quite something to see it under light. You have about four thousand square footage, yes? I'm surprised you paid to have the ceiling painted though, and with golden highlights no less."
Soundwave only stared on dumbfounded as the slave paced from one side to the next, fingers touching a myriad of aesthetic features (vases, statuettes, and other ornamental oddities made of metal and precious stone) laid out on beautifully carved, thin tables with golden inlay, optics rising from floor to ceiling and back again.
"Not a lot of windows, though I suppose that is for more privacy," the Autobot remarked, grabbing a piece of fig from the golden tray left for their consumption; chewing quietly as he circled around the berth, fingers touching the sheets of purple silk cascading down around the towering chestnut posts. "You really didn't spare any expense but the mountain of pillows seems a tad much. Where does that door lead?"
The Decepticon followed the slave's pointing finger, to an ornate door matching the decor of the room, set into the right-hand wall. "Answer: Lounge area," he supplied robotically.
Tracks hummed in modest surprise. "I didn't take you for the sort to also have a personal sitting room. And that door?," he enquired, painting to a secondary one on the left hand side.
"Purpose: closet," Soundwave replied.
"Wow," the winged mech cycled loudly, sitting on the edge of the berth, "You live quite the luxurious life, huh?"
"...Correction: Extras have been... added... to quarters. Status: prefer a more spartan style," the councilor said. He'd forgotten that he'd removed his battle mask to wrap up his routine with a fresh face wash, and now his uncomfortable scowl was facing the Autobot. Tracks took notice, for he glanced away from the other's gaze, his optics dimming a tad contritely.
"I-i... I am aware of how things ended last we shared a berth," he began softly, "And I understand my cruel role in that conclusion. I am not here to force things along merely to please everyone's prying optics, even if you were ready to have me again like that. Surely though, we can just rest, together, no expectations or commitments?" Blue optics turned back to him imploringly, servos gesturing down his frame in demonstration. "See? No open clasps or sheer material. Just, simple. Covering. This is appropriate, no?"
True to his word, Tracks was not wearing anything showy or deeply sexual -he was especially not nude!- donning instead a calf-length cotton tunic usually reserved for wearing under winter robes. It was plain, unshapely and an unexpected choice for the gorgeous slave. The lack of required intimacy was a comfort, but still, the undergarment seemed unfitting on the Autobot. Torn, Soundwave only continued to stare on in silent contemplation, while Tracks waited in turn for his response.
"...You are already risking a great deal for me with everything you've done," the slave eventually continued, frowning a bit stubbornly as he attempted to reason with his companion, "The least you could do is let me do my part. Besides, this berth is large enough to fit six mechs your size, side by side. There's plenty of space to share and still avoid contact with me. Now, are you sending me out or am I allowed to stay?"
The telepath blushed a little, caught off-guard by Tracks' sudden fire. He didn't exactly want to start a row with his new lover after all the good in the morning, but... "Decision: V-very well," Soundwave vented weakly, stomping on the fluttering in his fuel tanks. "Tracks: Free to stay, if he wishes. Status: Must complete a few tasks before recharge myself."
"Thank you," the Autobot replied sincerely, getting up and circling the right side of the berth. He capped the oil lamps on his side as he went, before placing his glasses on the ornate side table and climbing into the berth. Soundwave -who had turned around to try and ignore the winged mech while he washed his face- found himself watching the proceedings through the mirror instead, and felt his spark pulsate heavily at the endearing sight. Tracks' actions were by no means extraordinary, yet seeing the slave dip into recharge, frame slid under the soft linen sheets, wings padded underneath by the multitude of colourful pillows, made the blue mech weak with adoration. He'd hoped but never really expected...
Wiping down his face and battle mask quickly, Soundwave extinguished the remaining lanterns, making his way for the left side of the berth in the darkness. He rested his mask on the side table, but hesitated on removing his visor, suddenly feeling very shy. Though he had revealed his lower face to Tracks, being this exposed was not a sensation he was well accustomed to, and Soundwave didn't think he was ready yet to bare his whole visage. He also didn't feel that he was all that ready to share a berth with the Autobot either, not since that horrible debacle many nights ago in this same room, but so long as he wasn't expected to... perform... the Decepticon was certain he could make do with the circumstances. In fact, he felt a little giddy just knowing Tracks was so close.
Glancing through the shadows to the winged mech's peacefully slumbering frame one last time, the councilor allowed himself a small smile, before he too raised the corner of the sheets and slid under. Sweet dreams were sure to be his that night.
