C.M.D: For the uncensored version of this chapter, check out my Archive of our own account; link in profile.

Tracks woke warm and contently, optics onlining to beams of sunlight shining on the tiled floor. He reached shyly across the linen sheets for another figure, yet could find nothing there, and donning his glasses merely confirmed the fact that he was alone in the room. Perplexed, Tracks rose from the berth, giving his face a quick wash in the basin laid out for himself, before heading for the door leading to the private lounge. He opened the door with a beaming smile, feeling it slip off when he found the other room equally empty- worse yet, this one had clearly never been used. Sheets lay draped over all the furniture and a thick coat of dust sat on top of that. Slowly, the slave closed the lounge door, just as the berthroom's main door opened.

"Soundwave," he greeted breathlessly. The winged mech crossed the room to meet the freshly dressed Decepticon half-way, optics glancing at the servants bringing in a modest breakfast and setting them on the nearest table. There didn't seem to be enough food for both of them.

"Greetings: Good morn, Tracks," Soundwave said, gently clasping Tracks' fingers in lieu of a proper handhold as the serfs filed out of the room again. "Apologize: Will be very busy this morning, arranging affairs for Strika's return and catching up on missed duties. Hope that your orn will not be dull in my absence."

That stunned the slave. "Oh, but maybe-," he began.

He was going suggest that perhaps he could join the councilor on his duties that orn, but the blue mech cut him off before the question could even leave his glossa. "Tracks: Has plenty to do here, I'm sure. Status: Will not bore you with my work."

Soundwave was giving him no leeway for argument. Mutely, Tracks watched as the telepath lifted his fingers to his forehelm, before dropping them entirely and exiting the room. He had not given the Autobot a proper kiss goodbye. Filled with disappointment, the winged mech sank back onto the berth, optics warm as he stared at the floor.

xxXxXxx

Strika's contractors arrived three orns later. Soundwave was seated in the gazebo with Tracks, enjoying a late morning breakfast- the first, since earlier that week. The Autobot was gently peeling a citrus as he talked, the councilor sneaking bites of his meal when he sure no one was watching, basking in each other's presence.

"...and the soil is recuperating well. I think it will be ready for a more colourful foliage next spring," Tracks was saying, "Perhaps a type of hydrangea or lilac, instead of the-"

"E-excuse me, milords," a young femme interrupted, jogging to a stop before her lord and his partner, bowing hastily, "I apologize for the intrusion, but the masons have arrived at the Emperor's direction. They are waiting in the courtyard."

"Acknowledgement: received," Soundwave answered, rising to his pedes, his food forgotten. He turned to Tracks, bowing his helm contritely. "Apologize: Have to cut our meal short. Please, feel free to remain and continue without me."

Tracks wiped delicately at his mouth with a napkin, standing as well. "No, no, it is fine," he assured, "I have other things to attend to myself now. Dear," he addressed to the servant, "Would you please be so kind as to tidy this up. We would not want to attract the attention of stray birds or rodents."

The femme nodded happily, stepping up into the gazebo as the pair both exited -Soundwave leaving in one direction, Tracks the other. The councilor didn't question where the slave might be heading, surmising that he probably was going to spend time with Ravage, and thus was surprised when less than a cycle later, the Autobot was walking out onto the hillside beyond his estate, the matron in tow.

"Eh, the ground is a might difficult," the foreman agreed to Soundwave, grumbling as he watched his subordinates move about the rocks and grass, measuring out the square footage required and striking heavy spikes into the dry earth as they went. "But we can-"

"We apologize for the interruption, my lords," drifted Tracks' sensual vocalizer over the din, "But we bring you refreshments to ease your time under this scorching sun."

Soundwave turned his helm in shock to see the Autobot walking toward the group of contractors, his plating shining from a fresh wax and gorgeous robes hugging his curves. These were not the same clothes that Tracks had been wearing as they'd eaten breakfast not that long ago. The slave had traded in the simple white robe for a form-fitting gown of gold and turquoise in a scandalous design: the sleeves hung off the shoulder and the bottom hem of the dress flared loosely as he walked, which wasn't all so bad, but it was the fact that the blue material was so sheer as to be transparent, before fading into solid gold fabric that only protected Tracks' main frame from sight, that gave the councilor quite a start. A pair of bejeweled necklaces roped around the winged mech's neck, hiding his slave collar in plain sight and he had powdered his cheekplates and glossened his lip components so that his coy smile caught the light all that more. All work had stopped at the slave's approach, the labourers watching intently as the Autobot helped the servants set up a table for food and drink.

"I suppose the grunts could use a break," the foreman huffed beside the silent Decepticon. "They certainly won't stay focused now in either case. Once the distraction is gone though, I'd say it'll be another four cycles for us to mark the ground. We'll start breaching the earth after, hopefully we can move the most of it before sundown. Lady Strika mentioned-"

The councilor was no longer listening. He couldn't tear his optics away from where his servants had set up a refreshment station for the masons, the dirty mechs one by one filing over to the waiting slave. Tracks greeted each of them with a gorgeous smile, tipping forward slightly as he poured fresh energon from a large jug, in doing so accentuating the generous curve of his chestplates. As if the teasing glance up to his thighs via a sheer skirt wasn't enough to entice lust in these strange mechs. Soundwave glared, hearing the swell of lecherous thoughts rise. What was Tracks doing, coming out here dressed like that, and mingling with bricklayers?!

"...Well, I see your attention is elsewhere, my Lord. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to verify that the markers are being placed correctly. Perhaps after, we can continue our discussion of the building plans," the head mason said, excusing himself and walking away from the inattentive Decepticon.

Soundwave waved a servo belatedly, trying to weave down the hillside toward Tracks, but finding the crowd of labourers had grown too thick to walk through. Irritable, he started to meander around the far side of the group, finding his path eventually blocked by the matron. "Status: Are blocking my way," he growled at the older femme. He did not have time for trivial matters or pointless conversations; he needed to remove his slave from the other mechs' sight. They didn't have a right to look on Tracks with such sexual desire, let alone talk to him or linger in his presence.

The matron did not move though. "Tense are we, milord?," she asked, servos folding before her apron. "You were in a fair mood earlier -is this change perhaps brought on by lord Tracks?"

"Query: Did you select this gown for Tracks and force him to come out here?," the councilor demanded.

"Dress him?," the femme scoffed. "My Lord, the Autobot has been master of his own wardrobe for quite a while. Though the seamstress makes them, not a single one is set in his closet if lord Tracks has not first given it his seal of approval. This outfit was also one of his choices. And as for forcing him... Well, it was lord Tracks' idea that we should bring the workers food and drink. He said 'it would benefit our reputation if we appeared wholly welcoming of the Emperor and any guests he sends our way, labourer or courtesan'. And I think he is right."

"Why... does this anger you, milord?," she continued, eyeing the telepath suspiciously. "Or is this jealousy I am seeing now?"

Soundwave tried not to appear affronted by the accusations, or the revelation that all of this had been the winged mech's own setup. He could not deny though, that he was feeling exceptionally jealous, an experience that was entirely foreign to the blue mech. "Status: Am not jealous," he lied. "Opinion: This is beneath Tracks. He should be in the estate, away from the sun and dirt."

The older servant looked unconvinced, and her pursing mouth only cemented that. "As much as you would like to merely shelf lord Tracks and admire him privately, I am afraid he is a very unique, vocal spark. He does best when kept busy, and unfortunately, despite your reconciliation, you have left him all alone while you've gone gallivanting all over Iacon," she said sternly. "I understand you are inexperienced in these sort of affairs, but you've spent three stellar cycles already running about in circles with that poor mech. I think it's time to move past these childish antics, or you must come to grips with the fact that lord Tracks may share his inextinguishable fire with others in the face of your lacking attention."

Was Tracks... unsatisfied with him? Soundwave shuttered his optics at the proposition, looking across the crowd to the winged mech, who was chattering quietly with the couple servants at his side, shooting polite smiles at the masons that returned for a second or third drink. He looked content, but reaching out shyly, the telepath could sense a loneliness within the Autobot. The councilor felt his shoulders begin to sag shamefully, his jealously fading away. He thought that their new relationship was going well, and that giving Tracks all of his space was making him happy, but he'd obviously been a fool. It was no wonder that the slave would prefer to be out here, among commoners and servants, dressed so finely as to catch every optic.

The matron was watching her master still and she sighed as he came to his realization. "Milord, even little gifts are a kind way to show that you care. Perhaps, you can take lord Tracks with you to the centre square or have a walkabout in the garden," she suggested. "Anything that involves you giving your time to the Autobot is a sure way to make him feel adored. Now, we're just about finished serving the labourers, so we will be heading back inside. If you should decide upon some special plans with lord Tracks, do not hesitate to inform myself or any of the others. We'll gladly have something prepared for you both."

With that, the femme gathered up the bottoms of her skirt and trekked over the rugged terrain carefully, returning to Tracks and the other serfs. Together, they tidied up and began the walk back to the villa; sly glances following the winged mech's swaying hips across the hillside. Soundwave felt anger flare for a moment. He could admit that he was an idiot, missing how he'd been accidentally dismissive of Tracks' feelings, but that didn't mean he still couldn't be jealous of how others were thinking of his Autobot now. The telepath would need to find some way to make it up to Tracks, preferably before he strangled the contractors for delving into inappropriate fantasy involving the gorgeous slave.

xxXxXxx

Soundwave contemplated his next course of action regarding Tracks as the orn progressed, but he could not settle on a decision. He still mulled over the fact that he had been neglecting the slave since their reconciliation, his spark weighing heavily at the implication that, once again, his lack of inaction was hurting Tracks. He just wanted to enjoy these precious few smiles and lines of conversation, drawn out peacefully instead of spat with hatred. Yet the matron was correct: he'd had stellar cycles to play at childish courting rituals before now. This time should be the highlight of their relationship; to spill his passions upon the beautiful Tracks and bask in the other mech's desires in return... At least, until Megatron inevitably returned and stole the slave from the councilor. Recalling that only added to the tangled web of thoughts growing tighter in Soundwave's helm, making it all that more difficult for him to come to a decision. The telepath attempted to alleviate his building processor ache by focusing on the contractor's construction plans and found no relief in the plots or numbers scratched onto the parchment. He didn't need to glean the foreman's mind to know that the mech was infuriated with the councilor's abnormal spaciness. Still, the lead mason said nothing and Soundwave forced himself through this charade of project overseeing, following the others back to his villa, exhausted and no closer to solving his dilemma with Tracks.

He sensed, belatedly, the Autobot's presence as he mounded the dip in the hillside, finding the regal slave surveying the crowd of returning labourers intently. He stood with all the grace and power befitting a noble, dressed in that alluring gown still, this time with Ravage sat at his calves protectively. The added aesthetic of the dangerously exotic beast turned images of Tracks from depraved carnal whim into celestial sexual reverence within the processors of the passing masons. Soundwave's jealousy was absent for that moment as he shared the same opinion; chestplates swelling in the knowledge that it was this same deity that had chosen to share his spark with the councilor.

And look at him, leaving it abandoned in his ignorance...

Soundwave trudged down the incline, his mood worsening as his silent chastising became more colourful. He failed to notice that the Autobot's subtle searching came to a halt as his optics lighted on the councilor, the winged mech gliding through the last of the bricklayers heading for their little camp of tents outside the courtyard, fast approaching the distracted Decepticon.

"My Lord?," came the ever siren-like vocalizer.

Soundwave immediately came to a pause, glancing up, alarmed to see how close the slave had drawn during his distraction. Tracks smiled kindly at the blue mech's hesitance, his servos extending, one of the councilor's cloaks held between slender digits. "I brought you your cloak, milord," the winged mech informed. "A chill is setting in now and I know you still have a few duties waiting to complete with the contractors."

It did not escape his notice how Tracks returned to proper titleage- for show or not, it was another stinging barb in a long string of Soundwave's failures.

Since the Decepticon had not responded yet, the Autobot had taken it upon himself to sweep the cloak over the stalled telepath's shoulders; buckling it in place securely and smoothing a wayward crease here and there with a dutiful servo. Blue optics looked up at Soundwave when he finished, vibrant in their cerulean shade, even as Tracks spoke disappointing news.

"The servants are on standby for your return indoors; they will serve your dinner immediately upon request. Several more guards will patrol the front hallways this evening, due to our increased populace. In the meantime, I hope my lord will excuse my departure; Ravage requires my attention now and his nightly walk."

Nothing about Tracks' behaviour seemed off... But Soundwave reached out, all the same, needing to verify the matron's earlier claims again. Uncertainly, he pressed on the other's processor unaware, finding a thrumming affection pulling the slave toward the Decepticon. Alas, he too found a rich well of unhappiness and unfulfilled longing resonating deep from the other's spark. So he was causing Tracks further suffering, Soundwave noted miserably. A servo raised instinctively but the Autobot was already walking away. The telepath clenched his fist.

He couldn't let this be the limit of their affair!

The councilor rushed through his last report with the lead contractor, hurrying inside after. A servant met him, inquiring if the Decepticon wished to eat, but Soundwave waved the question aside, demanding that the matron meet him at the library at once. As the serf hastened away, so too did the blue mech, grabbing a hallway lantern so he may see in the blackened room.

When the matron arrived several kliks later, Soundwave was scanning through his eighth book, tossing it aside on a table and browsing the shelves for another of its kind. "Assessment: Correct," he announced, continuing his search despite the femme's watchful gaze, "Tracks: unhappy. Have failed to reciprocate in a manner matching of the Autobot."

"I am glad that you have become aware of this, milord," she replied. "And your nightly reading is for...?"

The councilor ignored her question, preoccupied with the pages he was currently skimming, recalling her presence belatedly. "Query: how long will it take to make the sitting room presentable?," he asked.

The matron shuttered her optics in surprise. "Are you referring to your private lounge, milord?," she replied. A nod from the telepath. "Well, I... It has been unused for such a long time. I'm not certain that the furniture has withheld quite so well, even if we were to scrub from top to bottom."

"Repeat: How long to make the lounge functional again?"

The older servant looked the telepath over with a critical optic, but could find no hidden intent in his questioning. "I can send servants in the morning to begin the general cleanup," she hummed in thought, "Have the seamstress take a precursory glance at the sofas. If the repairs are minor, she should be able to fix them herself. If she deems them beyond her craft, we will have to send for an upholster." She paused to mull over everything again. "Tomorrow evening, at the earliest. Two orns from now if we must send for additional tradesmech."

"Timeframe acceptable," Soundwave conceded, dropping another book to the table. "Request: Order another desk and stationary set, for Tracks. Something... Eloquent, but functional. Additional: Reserve a spot for the pet, Ravage, in the lounge. A low berth, proper dish bowls and such."

"O-of course... My lord," the matron said, astonishment colouring her tone. She waited to see if the blue mech had any other orders for her but he remained engrossed in his reading, so she excused herself to return to the remainder of the nightly duties.

Alone again, Soundwave tried to further his research but found that he had run out of materials to draw upon. His library, though sizable, did not contain many publications of fanciful whim- very few of his collected legends and fables carried tales of romance and courtship. The councilor had hoped to find more examples of how to be a doting lover within the numerous pages; he didn't wish to rely solely on the matron's hearsay in this regard. Downcast, the telepath tidied up his mess, headed for the bath hall and a fresh scrub, before marching miserably to his quarters.

He was caught off-guard by the single lamp still burning in his darkened berthroom. A quick glance revealed Tracks' slender shape tucked away under the sheets, the sight easing some of his tension. Despite the telepath's complete ineptitude in this new territory, the winged mech had yet to deem it prudent to remove himself from the Decepticon's berth or presence. That at least spoke of hope for their fledgling relationship, yes?

Watching the slumbering slave for a few astroseconds longer, Soundwave grabbed the oil lamp and circled around to the Autobot's side of the berth; lighting a couple more lamps along the way, before he took a seat on the edge of the mattress beside Tracks' folded legs. It was a few kliks before the slave roused from recharge, noting the larger presence at his side.

"...Soundwave?," Tracks mumbled sleepily, sitting up slowly and donning his glasses. He yawned delicately. "I-is everything alright?"

Even half-awake, the Autobot showed so much concern for the blue mech. How deep the slave's affection did run.

"Soundwave?," repeated Tracks, the spell of lethargy lifting, worry deepening. Sat up fully now, the winged mech reached across for the councilor; white fingers cupping a cheekvent, anxious optics searching. When the other servo lifted, touching lightly upon his battle mask, Soundwave allowed it to be removed, baring his mournful expression to his companion's gaze.

"Tracks: is... unhappy, due to my own doing," the Decepticon stated softly. "Fact: Am not well acquainted with the right course of action to take in something of this matter, but I am still ashamed that I have left you feeling less than. Wish: to undo the hurt I've caused in ignorance and refrain from ever doing so again."

"Oh...," the winged mech sighed, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Really, it's..."

"No," Soundwave cut in firmly, pressing the smaller servo harder against his cheekvent, "Status: If I only have you for a short time, I don't wish to waste a moment of your love to trivialities and excuses."

Blue optics brightened at the unexpected words, darkening to shades of navy in the next astrosecond. The telepath only had a moment to notice the change before Tracks was stretching up, lip components melding against the Decepticon's mouth in one, perfect motion.

xxXxXxx

There was an insistent sound beating away at the edges of his processor. Groggily, Soundwave onlined his optics, finding himself staring at the canopy of his berth. Beams of warm sunlight stretched all the way up the wall behind the headboard, leaning to the far right instead of the usual left. Confused, the councilor sluggishly to piece together that puzzle, a sliding weight at his hip giving him a small fright. Only when he glanced down and saw that it was Tracks -beautiful, sensual, delicate Tracks- pressed up against the larger frame in recharge. The sound was back, revealing itself to be a soft rap against wood, coming from the lounge, of all things. Trying not to wake his companion as much as possible, Soundwave slid out of the berth, clicking his mask in place but realizing belatedly that he was undressed, grabbing a nearby pillow to cover his pelvic plating before opening the door.

"Query: Yes?," he asked with a heavy glossa, resisting the urge to rub at an optic beneath his visor.

A blushing servant struggled to speak for several moments, before finally finding his vocalizer after a hard reset and an obvious glance to the side. "T-the, um, lounge i-is ready f-for your use, milord. T-the matron w-wished for us to inform you that your r-requested items may t-take a few more orns before they can be added," he added. "A-as well, the matron n-noted that milord and the Autobot have not yet been seen or have received a meal this orn, and s-she wished to know i-if you were w-wanting to eat o-or if we s-should enquire a-again in the e-evening."

The news of a missed meal shocked the telepath to full attentiveness. "Demand: What time is it?," he questioned hastily, feeling a little knot of worry form in the pit of his tanks.

"W-well," the servant answered, trying not to look at the blue mech's bared plating and failing, "It is a full cycle past the midday bell."

Soundwave swallowed the groan that rose. He'd slept half an orn away? How could he have been so lax?! The contractors still required some oversight this early in the project and he had to wrap up a few reports that he had failed to finish in his distraction yesterorn. "Query: Where is the matron?"

"S-she is overseeing the masons as they work, ensuring that they have refreshments periodically. S-shall I call her, m-milord?"

Well, at least someone had the sense to complete the duties that the councilor clearly could not. "Answer: Negative. Matron: Should remain where she is currently stationed," Soundwave replied. He took a moment to pretend to rub at his temples, onlining his optics to find that the servant still remained standing before the Decepticon. Beginning to feel the awkwardness now, the blue mech clicked his vocalizer, remembering through his fluster that the serf had mentioned food as well.

"O-order: Send meal into the lounge," he said.

The other mech nodded, turning and crossing the sitting room before exiting out of the servant's door, painted to look like another section of decorated wall. Still somewhat embarrassed, Soundwave dropped the pillow and hastily located his tunic from the night before; yanking it over his helm and belting it, before returning to the lounge, pulling the door behind himself so as to hide Tracks from view, but not close the door entirely. As he did, the servant's door opened, a train of serfs striding through it, confidently carrying heavy trays in their servos. At their master's direction, they marched for the circle of sofas, laying the dishes neatly upon the crystal table in the centre, tidying up after themselves and taking their leave once more. In the silence that followed, the telepath took his time to survey the room, impressed how the matron and her team had brought the dull, darkened room to a vibrant rebirth. Even the furniture -long since forgotten by the councilor- gleamed almost like heated metal under the warm rays of afternoon sunlight pouring in through the half-wall windows, a gorgeous view of the garden and its best specimens easily visible over the short partition. Soundwave felt his chestplates swell; surely this would appeal to the Autobot.

"Oh wow..."

The blue mech turned about, surprised by Tracks' timely arrival, finding his own greeting die on his glossa. Slender frame was wrapped up in his cloak in an attempt to be modest, but dried flecks of pink fluid on black thighs, faint smudges and trailing lines where a glossa had travelled through the wax the night before did nothing to hide the reason behind the slave's poorly dressed state. Combined with that alluring sashay of hips and smouldering blue optics, Soundwave felt his frame thrum with another charge. How he would loved to grab that waist and pull that gorgeous mech closer...

"This room is... What a transformation," Tracks was saying, his slow gait finally bringing him to the councilor's side. "I never would have thought such a space could be so... so... Beautiful, I suppose, but honestly that seems so simple a term for how that abandoned room felt to now. Is there a reason for reviving this room's purpose?"

Cerulean orbs were glittering up at the Decepticon, full of tricks and knowledge. They were glorious to look upon and Soundwave could easily have found himself drowned in their depths if had nothing else to tear him away. "Greetings: Morning," he managed to squeeze out, grasping one of the slave's servos and leaning down to nuzzle the other's neck cables. The action was surprising and it certainly caught Tracks off-guard, still, he chuckled adoringly at the attention, tilting his helm to the side to allow the telepath more room.

"Query: Are you hungry, Tracks?," Soundwave asked, withdrawing slowly and holding a servo out to the sofas and their late lunch.

"Starving, actually," the winged mech groaned softly, moving to sit immediately. "If I had known we would be entwined all night, I would have asked the matron to leave behind a little snack to nibble on between overloads."

The councilor barely managed to cover the shiver that ran through him at mention of their nightly activities. He'd never pushed his systems so hard prior, but each connection had been so deliciously addictive, especially with such a showy companion who was both instructor and willing victim to the blue mech's newly awoken urges. Every moment had drained him, just as it revitalized the Decepticon, and even though right now his frame felt a tad sore in the joints and exhaustion tugged at the back of his processor, Soundwave would choose claiming the lovely Autobot over everything else. Seating himself on an adjacent couch, the councilor reached for a goblet, optics flaring in alarm as it was taken from his servos when he moved to sit back. Tracks smiled coyly at his master, drinking deeply from the cup whilst he slipped into the stunned telepath's lap.

Servos trembled just above white hips as Soundwave pondered exactly what course of action he should take next, trying to analyze how they had gotten to this situation unprovoked. He was distracted from his thoughts as slender digits gently clicked his mask free -a golden servo snatching the other's wrist, optics searching frantically for any other bot's presence. Both his optics and his mental reaching could find no one nearby; they were thankfully all alone. Assured, the councilor slowly released Tracks again, visor dimming contritely at his momentary roughness. The winged mech only smiled at the Decepticon kindly, placing soft kisses over his partner's exposed face in understanding. Spark swelling with adoration, Soundwave tried to capture the Autobot's mouth in a kiss, having a cold, spherical object pressed to his seeking lip components instead. Grapes, the telepath deduced, glancing down to the bundle held delicately in Tracks' servo.

He chewed, then hesitantly accepted a second when the slave placed another along his bottom lip component, repeating the process several more times before he began to grow comfortable with the action. With familiarity grew a different kind of hunger- this time stroking the faint charge into a raging inferno. "Tracks...," Soundwave mumbled lustfully, fingers gripping tightly at that slender waist.

Wings gave a short flutter, red lip components parting as they stalled on an intake. "Yes?," Tracks asked, a sliver of mischief bleeding through his innocent charade. "Is my lord dissatisfied with grapes? Perhaps some blackberries or some pastries would be more appetizing?"

It looked as though the rest of the orn would not be spent productively whatsoever.