Sensual Streaks
Request for KayleeChiara, who wanted to see the femmes visit and flummox the mechs. Sorry its not as indepth, but it was already 17 pages.
OC- Shadow belongs to me and she's really non-descript and doubtful she will ever return. I wanted to convey her ability to move as fluidily as Jazz, so hence, "Shadow" was born. I do NOT take requests for OCs, either already established or previously outlined. I insert them as I see fit and use ambiguous designations.
AN: Most scene breaks disappear when I upload. I hope it doesnt get confusing. At least I'm not writing a piece that constantly shifts the timeline. :D
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"I can't wait to see you," Chromia said, looking away from the screen and glaring at nothing in particular. "Its been so slagging long since I last had you, I think my valve's haunted."
Ironhide choked, sputtering through his vents as he laughed so hard, he thought he ruptured something. His laughter was infectious. Chromia gave him a tender look, her hand going to the screen as if to touch her lover through the light years separating them. "I love you, you crazy cannon with a twitchy trigger finger."
"You never complained about my fingers before," Ironhide smirked, placing his hand over Chromia's on the screen.
"It depends on what you did with them," Chromia replied, all sweet and sassy.
"I will see you in four million astroseconds," Ironhide said, his voice laced with promise.
"Count on it you big lugnut," Chromia said, tracing her hand over her mates on the screen, wishing they were connected by more than just a digital screen. "And when I get there I expect you to show your femme how much you missed her by showing her your big cannon."
"I'm primed and ready," Ironhide promised with a leer.
"Good," Chromia grinned, lowering her voice and leaning toward the screen. "And I expect it to go off many times."
Ironhide gasped as the transmission was cut. There was a groan that went ignored as Ironhide couldn't erase the slag eating grin from his face. He turned and headed for his duties, which had been put on hiatus while there was a few minutes of transmission time available between the ARK on Earth, and Omega Supreme, who was inbound with the femmes. Bots sidestepped Ironhide, thinking he'd finally lost his mother board and was on a crazed rampage.
Jazz was looking at the controls that Ironhide just vacated, shaking his head. "Poor Omega… having to hear that."
"Poor us," Bluestreak muttered from the monitor but no one heard.
"I'm sure he's heard worse," Prowl commented, checking video feed and crosschecking it with the latest Intel. "He's had to deal with transporting bonded couples, so I sure some good natured innuendo doesn't affect his circuits."
"Great, now you have me pitying the poor mech who has to sense others fragging in his compartments," Jazz said, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.
He missed Prowl's arched brow ridge.
"Your processor spends too much time in the drain," Prowl commented.
"Gutter man, I'm a gutter dweller," Jazz corrected, looking at his friend and grinning. "And you should visit more often. Get that stick out of from between your aft plates."
"Gutter, straight down to sewer," Prowl deadpanned, but Jazz caught his attempt at humor. Prowl was getting better at jokes. Jazz was working on him.
"Just think, in twenty hours, there will be a base full of femmes," Jazz said, his gaze going distinct behind his visor.
"Some of them are bonded," Prowl reminded the junior officer. "So that will limit your conquests."
"Not conquests man," Jazz said. "Femmes who want to experience the ultimate pleasure with a mech who knows what he's doing and how to show them to reach their maximum potential."
"Awww Jazzy, are you bestowing our virtues already?" Sideswipe asked, sauntering up to the Porsche and putting his arm around the smaller mechs shoulders. " I told you if you want to get some tips, you can join me and Sunny with whatever femme catches his interest."
Sunstreaker rolled his optics. He was very meticulous. If Sideswipe thought he was going to join into his little 'femme hunt' on search of the femme who could stand him long enough to allow an interface, the mech was sadly mistaken. Sunstreaker didn't go for the quick "meet and frags." Besides, he was not looking forward to having anyone on base that could be nearly as perfect as himself. The title of being the most gorgeous on base would default to the femmes. He didn't find that prospect inviting.
"I have a feeling I could teach you a thing or two," Jazz countered.
"If you're so willing, and there are some femmes who can take pity on you, what do you say for a little wager?" Sideswipe asked, grinning in a charming devilish way.
"If you can find a femme who can get past your ego to even FIND your spike then you have a deal," Jazz countered, earning a surprised noise form Sideswipe that turned into a laugh.
"You on, short, bland, and resistible," Sideswipe countered, his grin turning into a leer.
"And may the best mech win, you clumsy egotistical knockoff," Jazz said grinning to match his adversary.
Sunstreaker looked to Prowl with an expression that clearly said, 'Help me,' but Prowl shook his helm and ventured off to finish his report.
The next day when the femmes arrived it was utter chaos. Bonded couples greeted each other with enthusiasm and to no one's surprise, immediately retreated to private quarters to reconnect with their missing mates. When the couples parted company from the singles, there were ten femmes remaining…. And twenty mechs all gracious to greet the new arrivals.
Sideswipe and Jazz zeroed in on the same pink femme and started an argument over who saw her first. The femme blushed, flattered by two males who were fighting over her attentions.
All of the femmes presented as any member of the Elite guard. They were fast, lithe, witty, and kept the male egos in check with caustic remarks and disdainful looks and uninterested snorts. It was clear they didn't arrive just to find a berthmate.
Defeated over never getting the chance to exercise their interface arrays, the group converged in the rec room, where earthen music started to play and the femmes relaxed into games of old Cybertron. Smokescreen took it upon himself to show the ladies how to play poker, and within half an hour, he was indebted to two of the femmes. The twins stilled premium high grade, Prowl giving them permission as long as they kept the lewdness to a minimum.
There were ladies present afterall.
Respectively the twins had kept their promise. By the time the bonded couples decided to join their comrades, the majority of the troops on both sides were intoxicated. Blaster was playing music while two femmes and Jazz argued over the lyrics to the karaoke song. As their arguing reached epic proportion, Blaster turned off the music to quiet down the crowd. When the music faded, Tracks started a lively round of an old drinking song on Cybertron. Much to everyone's delight, Prime joined in, followed by Elita who had no problem using the virulent words. Several of the ARK crew stood as statues, listening to the gorgeous femme sparkmate of their leader sing lyrics that would take the rust off Omega's aft plates! And she didnt even bat an optic!
The twins toasted Prowl as he decided to join the party, marching Red Alert away from his cameras and ordering the mech to get toasted. Before Red Alert could argue, Prowl grabbed a cube of high grade and tossed it back, before grabbing another and heading off to the table where Smokescreen was losing the paint off his chassis. The two new femmes took a real liking to the game of poker, and had easily identified all the mechs tells. Much to Smokescreen's shock and relief, Prowl asked to be dealt in and by three hands he had taken half of the femmes accumulated winnings Frowning the two femmes whispered, trying to understand the black and white mech but no mater hard they tried, they couldn't find any tell on his hand. Prime was still singing a ditty from the docks when Ironhide started the drinking game setting up the shots and showing the new arrivals the 'rules' of the game. High grade was poured and the calamity began.
The next morning dawned to some startling discoveries. Sideswipe snuggled Jazz who was held in his arms, the saboteur with his head leaning on Sideswipe's shoulder. Ironhide was face down on a table, Chromia no where to be seen. Tracks was lying on a table with energon coating his paint. There were glossa streaks in the high grade liquid, two femmes and Mirage, Hound, Trailbreaker, and Warpath circling the drunk Corvette at the table. All had taken turns doing body shots and were in various states of stickiness.
Blaster was upside down on the stereo consol, his pede propped up on top of Gears' head where the minibot sat on the floor, his optics off in charge. Smokescreen was passed out at the poker table, his door wings laying flat against his back, Optimus Prime was seated on the floor next to the Praxian, his helm resting in Smokescreen's lap. A roll of toilet paper had somehow migrated to Prime's right audial fin, the white paper trailed down the leaders head and pooled on the floor. Elita One's head was face down on her mates crotchplate.
Red Alert was passed out on top of a Firstar, who was sleeping on Infernos chest. The three red painted bots looked like an exhausted flame that had guttered out. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor and the pink femme Jazz and Sideswipe had originally argued over, were crumpled in a corner, looking like a stack of dominos that had fallen.
Sunstreaker stretched on his berth, his internal chronometer telling him that the others would be waking soon. His systems were slow to boot, his joints offering pops and hisses in protest. A soft hand touched his chest, forcing him to open his optics. A black plated femme smiled at him, her hand going to his face and stroking the angular features. Sunstreaker grinned, knowing his brother was going to be pissed when he realized he missed out on a very eventual, and flexible femme.
"I should go," she said in a voice that was like velvet to Sunstreaker's audios. "Before the others wake up."
"Afraid of sullying your reputation?" Sunstreaker asked, his engine humming as her ministrations started to reawaken his senses.
"Hardly," she said with a grin. "It's more of the other way around."
"And why would you sully my reputation" Sunstreaker asked, his arms snaking around the femmes frame and pulling her flush against him.
"What can I say?" the femme said, caressing the male body that trapped her against him and warmed her circuits. "I like my mechs easy."
Sunstreaker arched his brow ridges. He wasn't going to deny getting the femme to the berth had been difficult, nor hesitant in her experimentation. Feeling an overwhelming need to assert his dominance he rolled the femme over, pinning her to the berth with his weight.
"What do you say, we go another round?" Sunstreaker asked, grinding his hips against hers, his ego inflating as she gasped and writhed, fighting her natural reaction to his presence. Much to his shock, she snapped out of her libidinous mood.
"No thanks," she smiled an innocent, easy grin. With agility not found on the ARK, she flipped him onto his back, planted a quick kiss to his lips, then vacated the berth. She was standing at the open door before Sunstreaker gathered his wits. A coy smile loaded with promise flitted across her face before she slipped through the door like liquid smoke.
Not one to be foiled by a femme, Sunstreaker got up and followed. He couldn't care if his body was scratched and covered in interfacing fluids. Nor that his panel was wide open allowing inspection. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
When he got to the hall he gasped, finding it bare of the femme's presence. She disappeared like magic. Knowing she couldn't have gotten far, Sunstreaker turned left, heading toward the rec room. When the empty hall greeted his optics he frowned and went back to his quarters, going right and heading in the direction for the crew quarters. Much to his utmost surprise, two femmes were standing in the doorway to Bluestreak's quarters. The three were in a heated exchange of passionate kisses, servos ghosting over frames in a way that suggested they were far more intimate than just friends.
"Did anyone see a black plated femme go past here?" Sunstreaker asked, breaking up the lovefest in the hall.
The trio broke apart, acting like scared younglings who were caught stealing goodies. When they realized it was Sunstreaker and not a commanding officer, the femmes returned their attention to Bluestreak. The trio exchanged joint kisses before allowing each other their own personal, physical goodbyes before they departed. A yellow femme smiled when she pulled away from Bluestreak, her servo going to his still exposed intimate equipment. With a seductive look she slipped her finger along the seams, collecting their joined lubricants. As she walked away she smiled, her lubricant coated digit slipping between her lips, her optics giving Bluestreak a knowing look that had his engine revving.
"Have you seen a femme?" Sunstreaker asked, oblivious to the sensual display just provided.
Bluestreak snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head. "Just the ones that left. Sorry."
Without another word, Bluestreak shut his door.
Sunstreaker later reflected that was the first time Bluestreak had used a short answer before ending the conversation. Sunstreaker sighed and went down the hall, taking the turn that lead toward the officers' quarters. Much to his utmost shock, a tiny emerald green femme was slipping past a door, her back to the hall as she gazed inside to the still unconscious owner. Sunstreaker came up right behind her, looking past her petite frame to see Prowl passed out on his berth, flat on his face, one door wing reposing on his back, the other propped up against the wall. There were scratches and green paint all over his body. And when Sunstreaker looked over the escaping femme, he saw plenty of monochromatic transfer.
"Have you seen a black plated femme?" Sunstreaker asked.
The femme shrieked with a jump, spinning around and planting her back against the door and falling through the open threshold. The noise was enough to wake Prowl. He leapt ungracefully from his berth in an attempt to defend a screaming, distressed femme. Unfortunately his overcharge, coupled with vigorous interfacing and disorientation, he ended up doing a strange pirouette off the berth that made him flap his arms for a second before overbalancing and landing heavily on his face against the floor. He groaned and scrambled to his pedes, swaying and feeling the room spin as he took in his surroundings.
"What…. Is.. going… on?"
"Just looking for a black femme," Sunstreaker said, waving the glazed officer off with a dismissive hand and went back to the search for his elusive prey.
By noon the entire drunken forces were staggering back to a normal routine. Everyone promised not to indulge in such a manner again and were disappointed with themselves and their friends for their behavior. When the command staff staggered into the main command hub it was to find Chromia at the controls.
"What…. Are you doing here?" Prime asked, static in his vocalizer.
"Someone had to check over surveillance while you light weights slept it off," Chromia said, spinning in the chair and giving the Prime a beaming smile.
"But… You ingested just as much…" Prime said. It was Elita who explained.
"Chromia has a cast iron tank. It takes nearly a planet to put her down," Elita said, giving her friend a disgusted look. Chromia grinned.
"Are we still on for sparring lessons this afternoon?" She asked, still plenty of energy to burn and some mechs to put to shame.
"Tomorrow," Prime said, missing the look of disappointment.
It took the rest of the day for the overcharge to evacuate their systems. By the next mooring, the base was back to normal and Prime was just about to call a meeting when the klaxons went off. Must to everyone surprise the femmes were already geared up and awaiting at the entrance to the ARK.
"How'd you do that?" Jazz wondered.
"When you're base moves around as much as ours and you can be terminated by scouting drones, you learn to be fast," Chromia said, missing the look of sadness from her mate.
The earth mechs looked away in disgrace. They didn't realize how much the femmes had suffered during their stasis.
"Roll out!" Prime called.
Much to everyone's surprise it was Chromia and the black plated femme who shared Sunstreaker's berth that took point, maneuvering around the dual Lamborghini's who always lead the procession.
"Help you?" Sideswipe called, getting behind Chromia and finding the speed to be admirable. Had she not been bonded to Ironhide he may have taken a run at her.
"Just stay out of our way," Chromia called happily, the lithe black frame beside of her keeping an even pace. "Come on, Shadow! We have work to do!"
"On your tailpipe boss!" Shadow called, feeling a warm tingling along her energy field that recognized Sunstreaker behind her. She felt her plating heat at the memory of his touch and though she wasn't one to linger on conquests, a part of her, the very feminine side, had found the golden mech to be lingering in her meta more often than she cared to admit. Which was why she avoided him since that night together and had sampled many lip components of other mechs. None had made her feel any tingling the way Sunstreaker had that night.
"Seekers at high noon!" Sideswipe called, accelerating and swerving around Chromia to take lead. He transformed in a blur of snarls, Sunstreaker a perfect copy on his left. Like a well practiced maneuver, Sideswipe launched his brother into the air and ignited his jetpack.
'The Autobots have arrived!' Skywarp called, teleporting out of Sideswipe's range. 'And there's a lot more of them!'
'What?" Megatron bellowed. His optics zeroed in on his enemies and sure enough, their numbers were nearly twice the count.
"Get off of me!" Starscream wailed as Sideswipe dropped down from the cloud cover and landed on his back.
"Miss me, baby?" Sideswipe crowed, wrapping his arms around the jet's body. With a grin he drew his helm back and smashed it forward, shattering the glass cockpit.
Starscream howled and bucked in midair, trying to rid himself of his passenger.
Megatron took one look at the Autobot forces and ordered a retreat, leaping into the air and providing cover to Astrotrain who had a cargo hold full of energon cubes.
Chromia transformed, her blaster in her hand, Shadow and Firestar taking flanking positions. As a well synchronized unit they fired, Shadow and Chromia walling in the laden shuttle while Firestar took up aim. If they struck his armor in a weak point, it would pierce the hull and possibly ignite the cubes inside. Her finger was on the trigger when comms opened.
'Do not fire upon them!' Prime ordered, transforming and watching as the twins tussled with Starscream and Thundercracker.
'I can hit his fuselage from here,' Firestar argued, still sighted in. Much to her surprise, Bluestreak stepped in, moving Shadow from his path and placing his servo on the barrel to lower it. She gave him a dark scowl but Bluestreak didn't respond. She jerked her rifle from his grip, her lip curled in distaste as she barely sighted in her target before pulling the trigger.
The shot grazed Astrotrain's wing but didn't deter his path.
'Firestar, stand down!' Elita-1 ordered, joining the quartet. Bluestreak offered a nod to the femme commander and left, giving them privacy for their rebuke. Chromia glared at Firestar in disapproval. Shadow slipped away, not wanting to be in the middle of her senior officers dressing down a friend.
Shadow eased next to Prowl, who gave her half a glance, his attention drawn to the distance where Starscream was filling the air with a verbal barrage.
"What is he doing?" Shadow asked, as Sideswipe stood up on top of the jet and gave a jump, initializing his maglocks and slamming into the jet's wings with his pedes.
Ultrasonic shrieks greeted everyone's audios and like a slow motion disaster, a flash of purple appeared, white light erupted, and Sideswipe was dislodged from his anchor. He tumbled through the air for a moment before igniting his jetpack and taking aim at the retreating seekers.
"I didn't know the Cons had femmes," Shadow said, listening to the high pitched sounds of a feminine vocalizer.
"They don't,' Prowl said, watching the distant chaos. He was hoping the twins would get it out of the system and wouldn't cause any trouble on the base for awhile.
"Then, who's screaming like a femme?" Shadow asked, two femmes joining her and watching the show.
"That is Starscream," Prowl said, Jazz joining his friend and offering a dashing smile to the three femmes. "He always sounds like that."
"Sure he's a mech?" Shadow asked, sounding suspicious.
"There's no proof," Prowl deadpanned, ignoring the feminine looks and Jazz's attempts at gaining some attention. Jazz had yet to take a femme to berth, and Prowl was seen escorting the same emerald green femme around the base, including to his quarters late into the evening.
Thundercracker barrel rolled, trying to unseat Sunstreaker who had managed to wrest his fingers into the jet's cockpit and manipulate the controls. A loud, vibration filled the air before Sunstreaker was thrown free, a sonic blast sending him flying from his opponent.
Sideswipe redirected his path, ignoring Skywarp as he escorted a wobbling Starscream back toward the ocean. Thundercracker soon followed suit, taking up the rear to protect his injured trineleader.
Sunstreaker snarled obscenities as he fell, his voice getting louder as he called out for his brother to catch him before impact. When Sideswipe caught him, Sunstreaker verbally assaulted him for scratching his paint and making a mess of his finish. He was still griping when the duo landed next to the command unit, Sunstreaker feeling extra self conscious when Shadow offered an appraising smile. Apparently the scratches didn't affect her opinion of him.
Prime called for a return to base and as Firestar took her place, properly chastised and now embarrassed about her actions. With no real injuries, though Sunstreaker protested his scratches were serious, Ratchet congratulated the Autobots on their rare victory. He even put a mark on the wall to commemorate the occasion. After noon the soldiers lined up for some good natured skills competitions.
First up, was sharpshooting, and the femmes presented their very best. Firestar. She was good, and earned several affectionate kisses from Inferno, her earlier slight now forgotten.
When Bluestreak stepped up, the two femmes who spent the nights with him smiled and offered coy looks meant to distract. They enjoyed sharing his berth but they wanted their own gender to win these little competitions. They would play up all their attributes to ensure the victory for their gender.
Bluestreak didn't even look at the target before his finger squeezed the trigger. The femmes played innocent and flirtatious, hoping to distract the mech who had given them quite the night and much to their stunned surprise, Bluestreak hit every target without variation. When it came down to the final shots, Firestar set off a series of shots ranging in distance. Bluestreak smirked and waved off the drone to reset the targets, though Firestar's ration was seven bulls eyes to ten shots. Three shots were close, but not bull's-eyes. Bluestreak grinned, steadied his rifle and shot, piercing Firestar's bullet holes with all ten shots, then went to her three missed targets and shot them dead center. He smiled like a happy youngling at everyone's gaping looks.
"Told you he was good," Ironhide muttered holding out his servo. Begrudgingly Chromia placed some credits in his palm.
Firestar congratulated Bluestreak on his aim and when the next informal competition presented itself, Chromia smirked at Ironhide and took position with the black femme who had shared Sunstreaker's berth. She smiled at the twins when they came forward, their contest one of hand to hand skills.
Being two front line warriors, they sized up their smaller opponents. Sunstreaker knew his opponent was lithe and rivaled Jazz with the ability to move and disappear. Everyone knew Chromia was just as tough as Ironhide and though she was paired off against Sideswipe, she knew he would go easy on her because of her gender.
Chromia kept her smirk to herself, her optics taking in the trim frame that was about to be declared her rival. She cast a gaze to Ironhide, noting how he adopted a soft smirk. He knew his mate could take care of herself. She wasn't helpless and simpering like so many femmes. That was what drew him to her in the first place.
Prime and Elita spoke to their fighters respectively, their voices low as to not give the enemy the upper hand.
"They're tough," Elita said in Chromia's audio. "But you're tougher."
"Piece of oil cake," Chromia grinned.
Shadow offered a nod, having already eluded Sunstreaker since their shared night together. Why she was avoiding him she didn't know. It wasn't like he meant anything, other than another notch to her berth. But her thoughts drifted to gold more often than she cared to admit. But now was not the time to thinking about how gentle the mech's hands were. Nor the softness of his kiss, and firm, yet yielding touch as he explored her body. His voice, his handsome features, and the sounds he made when she reciprocated his affections. It was enough to drive her to distraction. And she was going to use the same tactic on her would be attacker.
"I know your tough and you have no problem terminating," Prime said, giving both Lamborghinis a worrisome look, his gaze lasting longer on Sunstreaker. "But please, do not kill either one of them. They're on our side, remember?"
"No promises," Sunstreaker said, stepping toward the elusive black femme who gazed at him with her sultry optics. He felt his panels heat just by looking at her. But, not one to be deterred from an opponent, he set those feelings aside and concentrated on the task at hand. He was a professional, front line warrior after all. And an ex-gladiator. It was easy to compartmentalize and put his priorities in order.
"We won't hurt them too bad, Prime." Sideswipe smiled at Chromia's measured look in his direction. "Don't worry."
Prime whimpered in defeat and joined his sparkmate, who appeared just as worried. The two Autobot leaders shared a look that clearly stated this wasn't such a good idea, but against their better judgment, they allowed it to continue.
"Begin," the two said in unison.
Immediately Chromia started to cry, shrinking back, her servos covering her face as she wept. Sideswipe panicked. He looked around the assemblage for help before going to her, his arms open wide in offering to hold the crying femme.
"I won't hurt you," Sideswipe said, feeling like slag that had terrified the femme into hysterics.
The black plated Shadow, was adopting the same pose, though Sunstreaker approached without his arms wide in invitation. As one unit the two femmes lurched upward. Chromia struck Sideswipe with a series of blows, knocking him cold, a surprised look on his face as he fell.
Sunstreaker didn't give his femme time to make contact. As soon as Shadow started to move he had his fist drew back. When he was in full motion he struck, punching her in the face and dropping her like a drone.
Chromia heard the sound of a body landing and thought her fellow femme was victorious. She turned and found Sunstreaker regarding her for a split second before he moved, taking the last couple of steps between them. Her face barely registered the stunned fear before he captured the femme in his arms. He squeezed her in a bear hug before falling forward, crushing her between him and the ground.
Chromia emitted a grunting growl when Sunstreaker's weight fell on top of her pinning her to the earth. Her ire doubled when she realized she was completely immobile in the mechs arms. With acid twisting her tanks she relinquished the fight.
Sunstreaker released her and stood, giving her a skeptical look before turning and grabbing his brother's arm to drag him to medbay to have his olfactory sensor reset. Chromia winced as she rose to her pedes, her chest caved into two halves where Sunstreaker's arms had bent the metal with the impact behind his full weight.
"It didn't work on him," Chromia muttered as Ironhide stepped in front of her to shield her from the others while she recovered her dignity.
"Sunny doesn't care who or what you are," Ironhide said, hearing the next set of combatants called forth to square off. "He just sees an enemy and pounces. You're lucky he went so easy."
"This is easy?" Chromia asked, opening her arms to show her heavily dented chest plates.
"Compared to what he could have done?" Ironhide said, his digits tracing over the edges of the powder blue chest plates, causing Chromia to shiver. "Yes. It could have been disastrous."
Ironhide jerked his head toward the ARK in a silent command for his mate to get medical attention. The dents in her chassis were deep and could have caused damage to her spark chamber. And with the duo's recent berthroom activities, Ironhide wanted to make sure his mate was healthy lest he damage her without realizing. Neither were submissive nor gentle in their amorous affections. He offered a rare smile, filled with adoration toward the only one who could tame his soul, before going to Shadow's unconscious form and hoisting her into his arms.
Jazz quirked a brow at the gentle-botly behavior but took up position, squaring off against the yellow femme who had shared Bluestreak with her friend. She offered a knowing smile, making Jazz smirk in answer before Prime called for their contest to begin.
Sunstreaker was stationed by his brother's side in the med bay, waiting for Sideswipe to return to consciousness. Ratchet had reset Sideswipe's askew sensor and marched off to attend Chromia's damaged chest plates. Ironhide placed Shadow on a berth and disappeared with his mate and Ratchet in an isolation room. No doubt Chromia was going to have to have her chest plates removed and repaired before they could be reinstalled.
Abandoning his slumbering brother, Sunstreaker went to Shadow's berth, looking over her frame with interest. He didn't know why she was avoiding him. He had thought their night together was quite memorable, his performance more than exemplary. But the previous night he had wandered base, looking for her and much to his dismay, she had followed Tracks to his quarters. This morning there were a couple of blue scuffs on her body that blended into well with her black paint. It was barely noticeable, but Sunstreaker, the consummate artist, noticed the discrepancies right away. With a scowl he turned away and marched back to Sideswipe's berth and plopped himself down in a chair. If the femme didn't wish his company, he wouldn't inflict it up on her.
When Sideswipe finally awoke, Sunstreaker grabbed his arm and marched him from the med bay. Ratchet was still sequestered inside the isolation ward, apparently having difficulty in getting Chromia's chest plates off and repairing the damaged latches. Sideswipe wisely remained silent as he allowed his twin to steer him away from Ratchet's domain. He could feel something inkling along the bond but since it was a foreign sensation, he didn't know what to classify it, let alone how to make it go away.
"Where are we going?" Sideswipe asked, noting the lateness of the afternoon. The crowds would be heading to the rec room soon and Sideswipe wanted to get a good table.
"Quarters," Sunstreaker grunted, not in the mood for socializing.
"I'll meet you there later," Sideswipe said, turning down a side hall. "I want to join the party."
"Fine!" Sunstreaker snapped. Only two things could truly vent Sunstreaker's anger. Battle and art. Both were beautiful and destructive and helped Sunstreaker to vent his emotions through his hands, whether they sculpted a piece or pulled an enemy's spark from their chest.
Sunstreaker rerouted his steps and went to his studio, which was carved out of the rock by the Dinobots to give the temperamental warrior his space. Several mechs had rooms etched in the volcano as places they could go and get away from the hectic life of a soldier and be alone with their thoughts. In Sunstreaker's case, alone with his mediums.
Crates lined the wall along with the makeshift workbench that had been pilfered from Wheeljack's lab. Not that the scientist realized he had a bench missing, but the compartments built into the unit were helpful in keeping artistic supplies in order. One just has to ignore the scorch marks and slight warping.
Sunstreaker shut the door, turned on the 'Do Not Disturb' light and set to work. Acrylics weren't the medium he needed, so after two failed attempts at a painting, he set them aside and grabbed watercolors. After four pieces of watercolors, he centered his attention on the slab of marble that was observing in the corner. Originally it was going to be used for a dedication piece to Cybertronian solstice, but with the creative flow surging through his lines, he opted to use the cold stone to express what he was feeling in the here and now. If he even knew what he was feeling. It was strange. He was angry, but didn't know the cause. If he knew, he could go settle the problem like any other.
Beat the living scrap out of whoever had slighted him or caused a transgression.
But Sunstreaker didn't know. He just felt raw and cold, yet burning from the spark out. It felt as if his spark was trying to consume him. And then there was the rage. A deep, churning inferno of it, boiling just below the surface.
Sunstreaker opened his subspace and found a cube of high grade to sip on while he worked. Usually when he was in a creative mood, he rarely refueled and charge wasn't an option. He created, he thrived, he suffered, he wrung his artistic muse dry until he could no longer function. Then, exhausted and half starved, he would step back to admire his work, downing some much needed fuel before his consciousness fled.
It was a vicious cycle. But it definitely had its perks.
After the marble had been sculpted, and Sunstreaker wasn't sure what directed his servos, but a rather beautiful feminine form shimmered into existence from the pink and gold marble. The face was blank, commercial, displaying no unusual features to capture it to memory, but Sunstreaker felt it was exactly as it should be. He stepped around his masterpiece, taking in every nuance of the curves, the high polish of the marble, the glinting of gold that accented all the right places.
Still feeling his creative energies thrum through his body, Sunstreaker unrolled a sheet of canvas. It was difficult to find the suitable canvas in the bolts he required for his more 'expansive' endeavors. Luckily a supply warehouse had began to custom make large bolts the Cybertronian artist could employ and cut to fit whatever design frame he had in mind. Sunstreaker could do a painting to cover the Washington Monument if he so wished, not that he would deface such a thing. He admired the human work of art, thinking it a beautiful rendition of an ivory spike.
Several mediums were opened, the canvas spread along the floor. Sunstreaker stood back, looking at the collection, trying to decide which one he should start first. He wanted to finish the project on a mixed media, including some of the marble chips that had flew off when he carved the feminine masterpiece.
As he was contemplating where to start, he became aware of another presence in the room. He turned, looking to the door and finding Shadow leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chassis.
"What are you doing in here?" Sunstreaker demanded, taking a couple steps to the femme who dared invade his personal space.
"Haven't seen you in a few Earth days," Shadow said, undeterred by the powerful frame stalking toward her.
Sunstreaker paused, checking his internal chronometer and finding that he had been in his artistic haze for four days. Certainly wasn't the longest he had been in such a state, but it was the first time that someone had interrupted him.
"Do you not read?" Sunstreaker snarled, knowing his light was still on for solitude. There was a sign on the door that warned about possible dismemberment if one disturbed the artist at work. Apparently Shadow didn't understand. She would soon find out.
"It's been days," Shadow reiterated, noting the paleness of Sunstreaker's optics. It made him seem mad, and capable of anything. And the way his lithe frame moved toward her, it was enough to make her rethink her decision to enter his domain and disturb his work.
"The sign reads, "Do NOT Disturb", in case you were wondering," Sunstreaker said, his voice low and threatening as he advanced.
Shadow felt her fuel lines run cold at the predatory look her gave her. Thinking quick, she offered a fake smile, taking a step toward the door.
"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude," she said, trying to escape. Maybe interrupting the mech wasn't such a good idea after all? She barely touched the edge of the door when Sunstreaker was upon her. His servo slammed into the wall on one side, then the other, boxing her in. Fear lacing her vocalizer, she gasped, "I'll scream."
"Go ahead," Sunstreaker purred, lowering his arms to further ensnare his victim. "The room is carved out of rock and the door is a blast model that can withstand Wheeljack's best moments."
"I'll send out a comms," Shadow said, hoping to scare off the male boxing her in.
"And I can have you deactivated by the time anyone arrives," Sunstreaker growled. The vibration of his voice was detected by Shadow. She shivered against her better judgment.
"You wouldn't dare," she whispered.
"Everyone knows never to venture in here while I'm working," Sunstreaker said, feeling heat roll off her frame. It wasn't the reaction he was hoping for, but he would work with it.
His thoughts must have translated to his face because Shadow's optics went wide and without him knowing how, she escaped him. He smiled, a feral, dangerous look, sending out the frequency to lock the door. No one knew the code, not even the command staff. They knew better than to disturb the dragon while he hibernated in his domain.
"Unlock the door!" Shadow commanded from where she had skittered to the corner.
Sunstreaker turned in slow motion, zeroing in on his elusive target.
Shadow felt as if she was just doused in cold water. That look didn't bode well for her. Hoping to distract the deranged mech, and she was sure he was deranged from the icy whiteness of his optics, she shoved a cart over. Paint cans spilled, falling across the unrolled canvas on the floor. Bits and pieces of metal shavings, polished rocks, and other assorted shrapnel Sunstreaker used in his multi-media art, skittered across the surface.
It was the wrong thing to do.
Sunstreaker's gaze went to the spilled contents of his collected pieces, his optics were dark when they returned Shadow's look.
"Wrong move," Sunstreaker said in a deadly whisper.
Like a blur of sunshine he moved across the short distance and had Shadow pinned against the wall. She kicked him, scratching the paint along his shin. He gripped her arms, pulling her flush against him, his frame vibrating in anger.
No one made a mess of his studio but him. Not even Sideswipe was suicidal enough to do such a stupid thing.
Much to Sunstreaker's surprise, Shadow shuddered against him, her optics going dark but not from anger. She surged against him, her servos going to his arms and gripping tightly, pulling him against her. Before he could decipher her intent, she had pulled him into a kiss that left his knees weak.
He broke the kiss and spun them around, tossing her from him and sending her skidding along the canvas. Paint splattered on her black plating creating a nice contrast. Sunstreaker smiled and advanced, intending on showing the crazy aft femme exactly what a possessed mech can do.
Sunstreaker didn't show up the next day when the femmes said their good byes and boarded Omega Supreme. When Sideswipe sent out a nudge through the bond, it was met with a powerful mental block that prevented him from sensing his twin. Apparently Sunstreaker was still in his surly mood. The mechs waved the femmes farewell, Jazz giving Sideswipe a cross look
Sideswipe frowned toward the ARK, feeling the distant, stone solid block that kept him from his twin. Whatever was keeping Sunstreaker's attention, it must have been good because Sideswipe sensed flashes of brilliance that left him reeling.
Sunstreaker and his slagging art!
Sideswipe shook his head, following his comrades back into the ARK as Omega disappeared from view. He had seen the black plated femme flit from mech to mech, never finding their company engaging and moving on to the next like a hummingbird to nectar until she disappeared the day before the femmes were to leave. Sideswipe had looked everywhere for her, hoping to sample her affections but much to his disappointment, she was no where to be found. Sideswipe exchanged a glare with Jazz, both still cross with the other because they both lost their wager. Neither had berthed a femme but they woke up many times in each other's arms. Neither could remember falling into charge in such a manner. But they took it as personal insult.
Sunstreaker was rarely seen for two weeks and when he finally graced the rec room with his presence, mechs gave him curious looks as they saw the splattered golden frame that looked like it just went through a ticker tape parade.
To no one's surprise Sunstreaker announced a collection of finished pieces that were going to be displayed at the next art's festival in Portland. When the Autobots saw his work they were dumbfounded. Never had they witnessed such a display. The human population had never witnessed such a thing either. As the Autobot's stared at the pink marble femme, the humans stared at the series of canvases that displayed paint splotches, scrapes and scattered debris. To the humans it looked chaotic. A swirling mosaic of color and pieces and as the humans started an argument over the emotion of the centerpiece, which wrapped around three walls of the new art museum.
Sunstreaker's contributions had lead to the showcase being large enough to cater to a Cybertronian, the humans enjoying the idea of having a museum with three levels and the added bonus of being chest high to the alien visitors.
"We will ask the artist!" a man declared, waving at Sunstreaker, who excused himself from his twin and the two socialites who drove Lamborghinis. When Sunstreaker was close he pointed to the canvas that stretched and wrapped around three walls. Unlike the rest of the pieces, this one wasn't labeled and there was no price tag. "What's this one called?"
Sunstreaker looked at the streaks and the prints that were distinctive of two bodies rolling around in paint and scattered shrapnel and he would never admit what some of the discoloration and staining of the canvas meant. Sideswipe gained his brother's side, having an inkling to the marks and when he noticed the area that captured Sunstreaker's attention, he smirked. There were distinct aft marks and pede scratches along the paint that were accented by Sunstreaker's golden palm prints.
The clueless humans waited for the artist's poignant explanation.
Sunstreaker canted his helm, a look of peaceful reflection on his face as he said, "That's what you get for not listening."
The humans nodded in apparent understanding of the transcendental mysteries of an artists perspective while Sideswipe stood back, snickering at the gullible innocence of the organic natives.
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