Sunburn

Rating: K

Genre: G1 – Pre-War

AN: Special thank you to yoong, cmdrtekk, Vivienne grainger, anon person, and jessie07. I appreciated the comments. Glad everyone enjoyed that, though I would like to add that I always type in bold print because I have problems with reading computer screens for extended periods due to work. Thankfully, has given us the ability to change fonts and sizes, which they didn't have when I first started coming to this site 11+ years ago. I hope this doesnt dissuade you from my stories and I apologize for any inconvience.

I hope everyone sticks around. I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine. If there's anything just GLARING at you, please let me know and I'll try to fix it when I get the time.

Thank you all again and reviews are most welcomed.

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Sideswipe skidded outside of a large, ornate building, transforming before he came to a full stop. He held back a grimace of pain as he mounted the stairs, his optics intent on his destination. Tall structures stood sentry over the much shorter, but more eloquently designed building. What it lacked in height, it made up for in glittering majesty. Every inch was compromised of gem stones, set in mosaics influenced from around the cosmos. The building was the Mecca of the art world, sporting ever known medium and a few unknown that were better left unidentified. The surrounding buildings were the apartment lofts assigned to artists and allowed them complete access to the gallery and specialty shops. Or for the more unorthodox artist, rare mediums that proclaimed both morbid genius and crazy invention.

Most artists preferred a single medium, but keeping true to foible form, Sunstreaker tried and applied them all. And now, after many years of study and multiple refusals, he finally relented in showing his work.

Sideswipe entered the building, concentrating on his twin. Sunstreaker was nearby and if his spark beat was any indication, he was about to spazz out of his plating. Sideswipe understood why, seeing how it was the grand opening of Sunstreaker's work. And everyone had showed up. Perhaps it was the prestige that went with being the only set of twins sparked, or maybe everyone was curious as to what Sunstreaker could do, but the place was filled to capacity.

Lords, Nobles, Senators and foreign dignitaries, even the Prime and his entourage were present, though set apart from the rest of the crowd by several very fierce looking Security Enforcement Response Detail.

All of the social elite were here to witness greatness. It was something not to be missed, except maybe by the lower classes who would have to wait another vorn before the doors would be open for their lowly scrutiny.

"Invitation?" a bot asked, his optics scanning through a datapad to match up any given designation. If your name wasn't on his list, you weren't allowed in.

"Brother," Sideswipe snapped, pushing past the bot who beeped in protest.

A couple of Noble Mechs gave Sideswipe a sneer, clearly finding his actions to be distasteful and befitting of someone of his class. A foreign dignitary frowned but returned to his conversation. Sideswipe didn't care what they thought of him. The only thing that mattered was his brother and the fact that Sideswipe could feel an echo of overwhelming nervousness and panic seeping through the bond they shared.

Sideswipe stalked past the Security Detail, oblivious to their servos poised over their weapons as he neared the Prime's party. They relaxed marginally when Sideswipe paid them no heed or to the ones they protected. He disappeared through an adjacent door without a backward glance.

No one noticed the Prime's slightly elevated optic ridge. It was unusual for the Prime to be ignored, an incident he filed away into his memory banks for later perusal.

Sideswipe eased through the doorway that led into a small antechamber that was reserved for staff and featured artists. There was a booth in the back lined with mirrors and three shelves sporting cloth and polish for quick touch ups.

A deft thumb flicked the lock, effectively barricading the two occupants and ensuring privacy.

Sunstreaker sat, doubled over a recycling receptacle, clutching his midsection. He didn't even acknowledge his twin's presence. The stench of purged energon permeated the air, making Sideswipe's own tank churn.

Sideswipe stalked across the room and pulled Sunstreaker to his pedes. Without invitation his fingers moved along the golden chassis, releasing the catches. He eased the pristine metal aside, revealing the silver cylinder that housed his brother's spark. The casing cracked open automatically, highlighting the parted transformation of the ruby chestplates that had split to reveal the other pulse of life.

The two half sparks merged, forming a complete spark. Sunstreaker's rhythm was wild and erratic, which was his usual self, but Sideswipe's was calm and centered. Both sparks could function apart, but during times of extreme distress or pain, both would pulse out of sync. Only a full merge could realign the aberrant sparks, bringing them once again into perfect rhythm.

Sideswipe sent a burst of peace through their bond, knowing that Sunstreaker would receive the full benefit during the merge. And like so many times before, though usually Sideswipe was the misaligned spark, a gentle wave of reassurance was broadcasted. Sunstreaker inhaled sharply, not used to being on the receiving end of calm assurance, but melted into the sensation, allowing it to flow throughout his tense body and ease his processor.

His vocalizer was low when he spoke. "I'm going to tank."

"No, you won't," Sideswipe said, feeling his brother's spark start to re-sync with his own.

"You can't be sure."

"Yes I can. I feel it in my struts."

The twin pulses of life beat as one, strengthening their spirits. Sunstreaker pulled away, his spark chamber already closing, holding the precious gift of comfort and encouragement his brother had vehemently broadcasted.

"What if everyone hates my work?"

"Then they're idiots."

Sunstreaker vented harshly, his optics downcast. "But what if they're right and I'm just a junk maker?"

"Then I'll inform them otherwise."

"What if the critics hate me? They're the ones that can make or break your career!"

"Then I'll beat the slag out of them until they see reason."

Sunstreaker felt like laughing, a mental image of Sideswipe taking on the most vile critic of the art world. Didn't matter if they were a minibot or guardian, Sideswipe would teach others on how to properly address an artist of Sunstreaker's caliber.

"Thanks, bro," Sunstreaker said, feeling his spark and tanks settle into a tranquil state. With a deep intake, he nodded to the door. "Shall I go to my fate?"

"With me at your side," Sideswipe grinned, unlocking the door and following his twin out.

The first thing the twins noticed when they exited was the fact that the Prime was no longer present. Sideswipe stopped a nearby catering drone and asked, "Where did the Prime go?"

"The Prime had to leave due to a possible threat in the mining sector. He sends his apologies, but his mate has remained behind to meet the artist."

As the drone spoke a beautiful femme approached. She was a pale dusty pink, with soft blue optics and curves in all the right places. When she spoke her voice was cultured and succinct, though gentle and Sunstreaker wouldn't admit it out loud, very seductive.

"The Prime regrets his absence and asks that I pass on his sincerest apologies to the artist. He requests a personal tour to explore the display at a more convenient time and hopes that the artist would be so gracious as to provide commentary."

Sunstreaker felt his spark thud in its casing, his optics enraptured with the beautiful creature speaking to him. Her words merely caressed his perception, his processor unable to decipher the scrambled message he was receiving through lovestruck sensors.

Sideswipe's spark resounded the sentiment, his servo resting across his chestplate in fear his spark would jump out of its casing. The Prime's femme was indeed a perfect specimen of the female populace. The Prime had chosen well.

"Any time or place," Sunstreaker said, his vocalizer a little tinny. With a start he realized he had been staring and lowered his gaze in proper tribute to the Prime's sparkmate. "I would be honored."

The femme gave a gracious nod and made to leave, but halted midstep. With an undefined twinkle, she added, "I find the exhibit to be quite enthralling and look forward to the artist's interpretations."

With a small smile she departed, leaving behind two thunderstruck mechs with matching dumbfounded expressions.

Sunstreaker faced the rest of the evening in high spirits, accepting words of encouragement and congratulations and the occasional word of disappointment from the dignitaries and senators. Finally, it came time for the upper class to give their opinion, a few choosing to remain distant and let their servants speak for them.

Sideswipe stayed by his brother's side, blending into the background and allowed him room to shine. Occasionally his attention would drift to a handful of bots that carried themselves with a little more aloofness than the rest of the crowd. Sideswipe overheard the servants talking and learned the reclusive bots were from the Towers, the top of the social echelon. They could make or break anyone, the revolving door of the senate proof of that.

A tall, reedy looking mech stood with them, his head always bent toward a regal looking mech plated with high quality alloys and polished to an unnatural shine. They caught Sideswipe's gaze twice, and both times they gave a stare that could melt titanium.

Sunstreaker graciously took the criticism and compliments, his spark only calmed by the steadfast presence of his brother. When the time came for the Tower mechs to make their judgment, Sideswipe felt his brother's spark freeze for a moment and a trickle of fear flood his lines. Instinctively he stepped closer to his twin; his chest nearly touching Sunstreaker's left shoulder.

'That's Iacon's toughest critic, PoisonPen,' Sunstreaker said through the link.

'He's been with those Tower mechs all evening,' Sideswipe supplied, adding a burst of encouragement along their bond.

"Welcome to my…" Sunstreaker started, but was cut short by the reedy PoisonPen.

"Don't bothering welcoming anyone to this….." PoisonPen gazed around to the collected art and gave a superior sniff. "This travesty. These mediums have been misused and the works mislabeled. They belong at the smelting pit instead of a prestigious gallery."

"Wholly unappealing," the highly polished Tower Mech said, his voice twangy. "I've seen better work by organic younglings."

PoisonPen gave an all-knowing jeer, his face twisted in cruelty. "I won't be giving this exhibition a good review. In fact, I may not find the words to describe the waste of materials, gallery space, and most of all, the precious time of some very important people. I'll be suggesting to the owner that he remove this junk immediately and supply a better candidate for my approval."

With one lingering sneer he departed, the Tower Mechs leading him out the door, their servants scuttling to keep up.

Sunstreaker stood paralyzed. If not for Sideswipe's firm grip on his shoulder, he may have toppled over and rusted on the spot. Fear, embarrassment and humiliation turned Sunstreaker's face to a molten hue.

"Don't listen to him. Everyone else gave you good reviews," Sideswipe said, not liking the frozen nature of his twin. His spark started to beat out of sync again, giving him a rather painful twinge.

"He's right," Sunstreaker said with a strangled whisper. "I'm horrible. What was I thinking?"

And without another word the citrine twin bolted from the gallery, oblivious to the owner waving a datapad loaded with credits for the evenings purchases. Sideswipe's optics narrowed as he felt his twin's pain and could do nothing to remove the caustic remarks that were undoubtedly going to fill the media.

"Just you wait," Sideswipe muttered, barely glancing to the gallery proprietor as he babbled about commissions and credits. Sideswipe authorized the deposit to his brother's account without bothering to look at the rather substantial sum and exited the building. He transformed, his destination locked in via a hacked communications satellite.

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"What possessed your processor to attack such an influential mech?" the Security Response Guard asked. He was slightly taller than Sideswipe, with black and white plating, flared doorwings and a very steely disposition. Sideswipe had remained silent all during his arrest and booking and never vented about his circumstance as he was led into one of the isolation cells in Iacon.

Sideswipe lay back on the small berth inside the cell, getting comfortable and staring up at the pockmarked ceiling.

"No one burns my Sun."