I'm not reposting all the warnings. If you didn't read them in Pt. 1, then on your head be it.

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Pt. 2

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Cybertron falling into orbit around a star had actually been a key factor to the treaty process. Not just for the energy provided by a sun, but that certainly was a big factor. Solar energy was stable, abundant energy. The energy crisis was one less area of conflict between the factions, and it allowed them time to work on the other issues. Compromises were easier to come by in a post-starvation statis, post-civil war world. Everybody was starting out on the level, rebuilding Cybertron from the bottom up and watching the sunrise every day with the shared sense of 'Hey, we're not dead yet.'

Their new sun had wrecked merry havoc with the way Cybertronians told time, however. Cybertron had been without a star for so long that Cybertronians had taken to living according to their work shifts. Those shifts depended on an endless, linear timeline instead of a circular, reoccurring clock. Their short length time units were causing communication difficulties as various mechs assigned them tentative new meanings that weren't yet shared across the planet. Fresh from Earth, the Autobots and Decepticons already used to humanity's short and mid-range time lengths were greatly surprised to find their casual usage of a seven-day time measurement was cropping up throughout the rest of their factions. Phrases like 'at dusk' or 'during daylight' crept into the language to replace time phrases like 'on shift' and 'off shift.'

The planet was slowly settling into a diurnal lifestyle where the majority of work shifts happened during the day, taking advantage of the energy-saving free light source. Most of Cybertron was still adjusting their schedules to recharge during the dark time, newly dubbed 'nighttime.' It was a little weird for so many mechs to get out of work at the same time, now. It seemed to be promoting mingling among the workers, from what Jazz had seen so far. Instead of just hanging out with a mech's shift-mates, a mech had options now. In Jazz' opinion, having experienced the mass after-work scene on Earth, the effort required to adapt Cybertron into a planet with time zones balanced out against imagining what Cybertronian nightlife would be like.

After the war ended, that was. If the war ended. If Starscream wasn't plotting again, the backstabbing fragger.

But the only way to find out about his latest scheme was to meet with the Seeker. Of course.

Dusk came far too soon for Jazz's peace of mind. That being said, every moment between then and now took an eternity to pass.

Jazz could really get used to seeing sunsets on Cybertron, however. He drove slowly through the ruins of Vos, and the setting sun turned broken glass to scattered treasure, broken building spars to art. The bombed-out buildings of the War Academy looked like empty birds' nests; abandoned homes for the flyers who had fled its shelter when the Senate sent the retaliatory strike against Vos.

The citystate had been sympathetic but not aligned with the Decepticons until then. The Senate hadn't seen it that way, however, and eradicated the citystate in return for the Decepticon strike against the Enforcer units in Kaon. War Academy alumnae had swept back in a reverse graduation from all over the planet, descending on the destroyed campus in a desperate search for survivors. When there were no survivors to be found, the campus had become consecrated ground where oaths of vengeance had been sworn, allegiance declared. And Vos had flown, feral and furious, against the Senate in a flock of purple-stamped wings.

That alone made Jazz extra paranoid about meeting Starscream, Air Commander and ex-Emirate, here. The War Academy had become a symbol for a lot of things during the war, but it wasn't for nothing that Starscream bragged about graduating at the top of his class. That evoked a lot of memory and associated respect, whether or not the Academy still stood. This was either a place of pride for the Seeker, or a reason for revenge. As unpredictable as Starscream was, Jazz didn't want to even hazard a guess at his motivations for meeting here. The rest of the Autobots were already a guessing every which way from Luna 1.

Jazz braked to a controlled, easy stop outside the campus entrance, scanners out on full. Except for the ghostly blip that showed Mirage covering his back from far off to one side, there was only one mech within range. That didn't mean Starscream didn't have his own back-up with a signal-masker in place, but it was more reassuring than not.

The Decepticon Second-in-Command stood by the broken, leaning gate that had once been the prestigious War Academy's entrance, but he didn't move to meet the Autobot. He waited as Jazz transformed and turned in place, peering into the shadows and re-scanning. His optics followed the Autobot Third-in-Command, but if the expression on his face was one of assessment, well, they were still - technically - enemies. Good intentions aside, they'd be fools not to size each other up for potential combat.

To be honest, Jazz was severely out-classed. Out here in the open, Starscream had the advantage not only in flight but in actual hand-to-hand. Jazz had a thousand tricks, but Starscream had height and weight over him. Give the saboteur a hiding spot or a gun, however, and the odds suddenly evened. When it came to stealth or sabotage, the Jazzmeister ruled the pantheon. Starscream had the skies, but Jazz had the ground below. Of course, they both specialized in underhanded subtlety, so there could never be a clear winner until one of their bodies grayed-out and was confirmed dead. Even then, Jazz would worry.

When the Autobot finally ran out of shadows to search, he turned to the mech standing right there in the open. Darkness was coming on fast, and Mirage was far enough away that they had something approaching privacy. The Decepticon had what he'd demanded: Jazz, alone.

Starscream put out his hand again, smiling guilelessly as the saboteur approached. "For the purpose of ending our Great War," he recited.

Jazz looked at the hand. "So you keep saying," he answered, keeping his tone light enough that, this time, it wasn't slap-to-the-face offensive. He sounded wary. Justifiably suspicious, really. "What do you want, Starscream?"

The Seeker seemed amused by his reluctance to surrender his hand again, and Jazz took a step back before he could catch himself when the jet came forward. Starscream paused, allowing the smaller mech to get used to his sudden proximity, and then he slowly reached down for the Autobot's hand. A twitching flash of wariness crossed the blue visor, but Jazz let him take it. Once more, the Air Commander bent over it.

"The frag, mech!" Jazz yanked his hand away and stopped short.

Because Starscream had let him. Starscream was, in fact, waiting with hand still open, half-bent in a bizarrely formal bow and face locked in an exaggerated expression of patience. Bent over as he was, they were almost face to face. Warm air from the jet's intakes blew heat across Jazz like -

- he really didn't want to think about what it was like. The point was, he'd interrupted some sort of gesture from the jet, and things clearly wouldn't move on until Starscream was allowed to complete it.

Something fluttered around Jazz's spark, because it was paint-peelingly embarrassing to not only have to offer his hand, but slip it back into the Seeker's hold. Unhurried and disregarding the Autobot's squirming embarrassment, Starscream lowered his head. He pressed the supple curve of his mouth to the back of that black hand. Strangely, although the changed angle meant the Seeker's intakes were blowing downward now, heat continued to flush ripely under Jazz's armor as the kiss lingered. Oh, the things he did for the sake of Cybertron and the Autobots.

At least he wasn't being attacked. This definitely didn't feel like a threat. It felt like the exact opposite, truth be told, and his squirming took on a whole new element of uncomfortable. The flutter became a firm squeeze.

Finally, Starscream lifted his head. "'The frag,' as you so crudely put it, is still far off in our future," he said with the calm self-satisfaction of a mech who knew exactly what was going on and wasn't going to be pushed into revealing the situation a moment too soon. He straightened and inclined his helm respectfully. "I am simply asking for permission to court you right now."

Heat and thought stuttered to a halt. "What?" Jazz asked, very faintly.

This time, the Seeker raised the Autobot's hand up to his mouth. Their height difference required the shorter mech to take that final step forward until only a meter or so separated them. Shock got him that close, numbly responding to the light pull on his arm, and resulted in the odd tableau of Jazz staring into his own reflection. Blue light reflected curved and green in the yellow glass of the jet's cockpit canopy. The blue visor flickered through reset, and Jazz's head snapped up as the Air Commander turned his attention to the black hand in his hold.

It was closely studied, close enough that Starscream licked it before exhaling cooled air across it. The twitches as fine-tuned sensors reacted to the temperature change were carefully noted, and another lick was ventured. This time it traced the sensitive lines of the saboteur's best weapon with deliberate care. The hand spasmed, and Jazz made an interesting noise of half-confusion, half-protest. That had been a most unexpected sensation.

Uh. How was a mech supposed to react to being licked by the (not)enemy?

Without releasing the hand, Starscream looked through the fingers at the smaller mech. "You know that interfacing is a means of sealing a binding contract among Decepticons, yes?" As opposed to the Autobots' far friendlier practice of interfacing for pleasure and company. Jazz had never been able to figure out why the Decepticons limited themselves that way, but he at least knew about it. He forced a nod and tugged experimentally on his trapped hand. Starscream nudged his nose into the palm before letting it go, and the action made Jazz's hand hesitate in the air before - slowly - dropping. "It's been a topic of much discussion for us since the ceasefire began."

This was becoming surreal. "Really," Jazz said. He wasn't having much luck finding any other words to say. Starscream…courting. Asking permission. What? "Whyzat?"

"Mmhmm." The Air Commander lifted his own hand and, making sure the Autobot saw it coming and had time to move away if he so wished, brushed the back of the fingers down the side of Jazz's helm. Jazz controlled his first instinct and didn't duck. This was beginning to feel like - well, many things, but one of those things was a challenge. Jazz didn't back down from challenges. "My contract with Thundercracker and Skywarp ends upon the end of the war, and that exact moment is being negotiated. Any day now, I will be free to enter a new contract with whomever I please." The Seeker's fingers curled, smoothing up to the tip of a helm projection and swirling about it quite intentionally. Jazz jolted, visor flickering white as maxed-out scanners blared with the contact before he could turn them down. His scanner suites' were up in the antenna projections for added boost, but he hadn't counted on a Decepticon fondling them! "Many of us will be. For the purpose of ending our Great War," the jet stated again, re-emphasizing it, "we have been discussing what contracts should be sought."

This time, the saboteur did step back. He needed distance to think, and clear thought just wasn't coming with the Seeker's hand on his helm. He dreaded what Mirage could see from his position. "And I'm a potential contract? I'm not a flyer!" Jazz pointed out, needing to get that obvious flaw out into the open. The fact that he was an Autobot was far too evident to even bother bringing it up.

"Social contracts are more varied than militant ones. I'm not interested in taking another flight partner," Starscream countered, apparently prepared for that objection. He let his arm fall back to his side, but there was a kind of reluctance to the way his hand flexed in the air that made something constrict in Jazz's fuel pump. A small frown crossed the Seeker's face, and he cocked his head as if a bit bemused by Jazz' stare of incomprehension. "Flying in trios only became standard when battle made it a necessity," he explained. "Prior to that, Vosians in the Planetary Guard were assigned to larger units and flight wings. We trined up for efficiency's sake in the Decepticons. With the war over, if the war's over," he corrected without a hitch, "the Armada may not disband entirely, but there is little reason to bind ourselves into militant units any longer. Surely you didn't think I enjoy the company of Thundercracker or Skywarp!"

Well, no, but he hadn't known anything about the reasons behind the trine formations in the Decepticons, either. Not many Vosians had defected to the Autobots after the Senate's attacks had devastated their citystate. "You've flown with 'em for most of the war," he said, and he hoped it didn't sound as much like an awkward excuse for his assumption as he thought it did. There was no reason he should feel like he should apologize!

Though he hadn't expected the Seeker to look so taken aback by the idea.

"We contracted! I'd never flown in a wing before unit-training in the War Academy, and I entered no formal wing-contract until becoming a Decepticon." Starscream seemed frankly indignant, but Jazz could detect a thread of disconcertment fueling the indignation. Apparently, the thought of being permanently bound into a wing with his current trine was really not appealing. "Ask that lumbering - " He stopped and visibly reined himself in. Patience and new habits for the sake of peace. "Ask…Skyfire. I've always flown solo." He puffed up, proud. "No one could keep up with me." Implied was that no one could be worthy of slowing down for, either.

"So what could you possibly want me for?" Jazz asked shrewdly. His visor narrowed, mind finally catching up and beginning to pick through everything. "What kind of 'social contract,'" Decepticons were weird mechs, "do you want?"

Again, that slightly bemused look. "I realize this is sudden, but I'd think that was obvious." The plump curve of Starscream's lip pursed slightly, just enough to be on purpose, and a heat-flush swept down Jazz's front like spilled water. He had to tear his gaze away. Starscream gave him a knowing look and continued, "As I said, it's been a topic of discussion among the Decepticons. You Autobots interface to strengthen your social bonds. Friendship and companionship, I gather?" A frown pulled that lip downward, and Jazz hadn't realized he was fixated again. "Autobots have strange customs. You seem much looser in regard to intimate contact - ah. In any case, it was suggested that in order to make the reintegration of customs easier for the rank and file, the officers should seek social contracts among the Autobot officers. To set examples, as it were."

"Follow the leaders," Jazz murmured, somewhat fascinated by the Decepticons' perception of the Autobots. Starscream had checked himself quickly, but the Autobot had caught how his voice had taken on the sort of musing tone Perceptor usually filled with technobabble and theories that blew non-scientifically inclined minds. Had Starscream researched the Autobots' interfacing habits?

Primus' rusty crankshaft. If that was the kind of science some mechs did, maybe Jazz should become a scientist.

The Air Commander inclined his head. "Exactly. It doesn't appear to be that far of a stretch, as far as cross-cultural exchanges go. Interfacing for…friendship can be interpreted as peace for you Autobots, and those of us with open contracts can seal the treaty by taking Autobots in binding agreements."

From what Jazz did know about Decepticon interfacing customs, it was logical. Seductively so, and it was true what the mech said: Autobots were looser than Decepticons in terms of who they traded cables with. It made them closer to each other, a tighter-knit faction that was practically family they were on such good terms with each other. But terms were something anyone in an agreement had to be aware of. "What's the agreement?"

A richly curved smile spread under frankly predatory red optics, and Starscream took a step of his own back to openly ogle the Autobot up and down. "Well, now. Negotiating that would be the point of a courtship, now wouldn't it?" The smile faded, and the jet took a more serious stance, letting his hand reach out in offer. "If, that is, you will grant me permission? I can promise that in this I am very skilled. Don't judge my ability by my current wingmates. Had Skywarp not assassinated the pair I was courting, I would have taken contract and flown with a different wing during the war." A dark scowl briefly dipped the luscious curve, and Jazz mentally slapped himself for thinking that.

"Gimme a minute," he muttered, and Starscream just stood there, hand extended and optics watchful. Jazz looked back at him. At all of him, sinful lips and all.

A courtship?

He didn't want to agree to anything without first passing it by everyone else. This could still be part of a plot by the conniving Air Commander's, as ridiculous as the whole idea seemed. He needed the other Autobots' input on all of this. He needed to pull some strings and get information.

Even if Starscream was telling the truth, why the frag would he want Jazz? Even more important, why would Jazz want him?

On the other hand, outright rejection wasn't really an option. "For the purpose of ending our Great War."

"I'm not comfortable with this," Jazz finally settled for.

Starscream smirked. "Understandable. I'm not entirely in favor of it myself, but the reasoning is sound. I supported the idea when Megatron decided to put it to orders, and I can hardly be exempt considering my rank. It's been made very clear to me that my participation in this contract binding is mandatory." He broke optic contact to look aside, looking self-conscious at last. Jazz felt an entirely unexpected surge of sympathy; knowing Megatron and his command style, being forced into social contracts was probably one of the better options to control the more aggressive Decepticons. Optimus Prime hadn't asked about repressing the brutes in the Decepticon ranks, and none of the Decepticons were telling, but the Autobot spies had reported a sharp increase in disciplinary executions. "You were - are, I suppose - the best choice available to me. It is in my best interest to pay court to you properly," Starscream finished softly. "An amendable contract partner is an asset to both sides of the agreement."

"Uh-huh." The Autobot looked at him for a moment more, mulling it all over. As Third-in-Command, he had the authority to make on-the-spot judgment calls. That didn't mean he had to like it, especially not when the decision went beyond personal and might affect the peace negotiations. "Look. If - if - I give you permission to, erm, court me…it doesn't automatically mean we're contracted, right?"

"No!" Starscream actually had the gall to look surprised. "Interfacing to bind the contract would occur at a place and time of our choosing, to culminate the negotiations and begin our relationship as agreed. It's a mutual decision."

"Okay, yeah, you said somethin' about fragging being far off in the future," Jazz said, waving a hand in a get-on-with-it gesture. "So giving you permission is just a courtesy?" He tried to wrap his own mind around the concept of maybe, possibly, allowing Starscream to - nope, not quite able to process it yet. "Like opening hunting season on my cables, huh," he said, trying to find some humor. He'd always had an easier time understanding the funny side of things.

Fortunately, the Seeker seemed amused by his crude statement. "In a way. It's a commitment of intent on my part, and an acknowledgement that you'll not court another unless or until our courtship concludes." Another uncomfortable shifting and sidelong look. "You…may accept courtship from more than one mech at a time. I don't believe any other Decepticon would dare stand rival to me once I've declared intent to court, but you have the right to accept if they do. I have no right to stake a claim on you, only commit myself as a suitor."

Jazz looked at him. He looked at the hand still hopefully extended. There were a thousand reasons not to take that hand.

But he just wouldn't be the Jazzmeister if he couldn't take a dare.

"Alright. You can, uh, court me."

Starscream's optics went wide with surprise, but pleased assent lit them brilliant red a moment later. He clasped Jazz's hand like he'd been given a precious gift, and the Autobot had a second to wonder what all he didn't know about the importance of Decepticon courting customs before the Seeker's voice dropped to a raspy purr. It stroked his audio receptors like a chamois cloth. "Excellent."

The Air Commander tugged him forward, delicate and careful as though Jazz would pull apart at the seams, and curved his other hand around the back of the Autobot's neck. Jazz stiffened, threatened and repressing his own combat-ready programming as that hand eased up under helm armor, but Starscream only smiled with an odd tenderness. He held the Autobot's hand to his face and just cycled his vents, letting the heated air billow softly over the tensed hand until it slowly, slowly relaxed in his hold. The hand under Jazz's helm pet soothingly in tiny circles. The fingers went nowhere and meant nothing but harmless contact, gentling the Autobot like a wild animal.

"I don't think," Starscream breathed, mouthing the words against the saboteur's palm, "that you understand what you agreed to. We're going to take things very slow until I know you're up to speed with me."

"Ah," Jazz ruthlessly stomped on the shiver that wanted to rattle down his arm, "and what am I gettin' up to speed on?" He'd never known his hands were that sensitive, and this was really not the time to discover such a fact. He was not in over his head, no matter what Prowl would probably tell him later.

"Courtship," Starscream said, and the smooth glide of his lips in Jazz's palm squeezed something tight and hot around the Autobot's spark, "means that I am allowed physical intimacy. And I am very," a whisper of contact, a bare kiss, "very," the hand on the back of his neck was holding him steady by now, because Jazz's knees were wobbling, "very good at courting." Starscream blew heavily, ex-venting up the length of Jazz's hand until the last finger, which received a sharp nip.

It shot pleasure-streaked pain like a bolt of lightning down to spin Jazz's tires, to his eternal embarrassment. A whine of need came from the Autobot, and the Seeker looked down at him. A faintly morose, yet triumphant, smirk crossed the Air Commander's face.

Starscream lowered the captured hand back to Jazz's side, pressing it into place with a little pat. Which served to remind Jazz not to paw at the Seeker's cockpit like a pleasure-starved mech looking for an overload, at least. "Thank you for your permission," Starscream said, again with that out-of-place formality. "I have more modesty than some, and would prefer to continue to meet you here instead of in a more public setting. I hope this is acceptable to you. For now, good night." He bent down.

Jazz had never had an obsession in his life, but if he didn't find out what those lips felt like on his own, he might just combust where he stood. He tilted his face up to meet the jet, expression ironed into neutrality by sheer willpower alone.

Shock broke that mask when Starscream pressed their helms together, forehead to forehead. The Seeker turned his head enough to slide down until their faces fit together, noses side-by-side. The silky glide of their cheeks moving against each other was one of the most intimate caresses Jazz had ever received. The bridge of Starscream's nose stroked over Jazz's face, down against his chin, and turned to nudge under it. There was a noisy inhale as all of the Seeker's vents in-vented at the same time, taking in the air around the Autobot as if to fill the jet with his essence: the scent of Earth oil and rubber, rusted metal and high explosives, open roads and underhanded missions.

Then the vents snapped shut. Holding his breath. Holding Jazz in, and when Starscream stepped back, his optics smoldered with the effort it required to just take that up and away, into the night sky.

Jazz stood staring after him. He now had a fairly good idea of why Optimus Prime had been coming out of private meetings with Megatron looking the way he did. He also had the disturbing notion that Starscream had just implied the other Decepticons weren't going to limit themselves to private meetings to discuss, ah, 'terms of agreement' with their chosen Autobots. That could make official headquarters a very interesting place to be tomorrow.

These were all very vague thoughts at the peripheries of his mind, because the all-consuming fact of the matter was that Starscream had just nuzzled him goodnight.

It was, quite possibly, the hottest thing in the history of ever.

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End Pt. 2

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