I know what you're thinking: is he being dense on purpose, or does he come by it naturally? My answer: probably an unhealthy combination of both.

When Vanity Met Insanity
Chapter 2

Sunstreaker crept out from the grove feeling oddly unsettled. He did not like the way that Narcissus had watched him as he escaped the grove. No, correction, he did not like the way Narcissus had watched him at all. He felt his insides churn while the human's words echoed in his head. Something about them had not been natural. Everything about his encountered with the human had been unnatural.

A part of Sunstreaker wanted to say that the creature he had supposed was human had not been as human as he should have been. But no. He shook his head of the thought mentally admonishing himself for thinking it in the first place. If someone walked like a human, talked like a human, and looked like a human, chances were that they were just a smelly, fleshy human. Nothing more.

He cast a wary glance back to the shielded olive grove, as if to assure himself that he had not been followed, only to feel a cold jolt run down his spine. He had expected to see the lush greenery of the olive grove exactly the way he had left it, but that was not the case. In fact, there was no evidence of an olive grove at all. What was behind him now was a continuation of the flat plains around him- earthen ground splotched with greens, browns, and tans. There was not a tree in sight, aside from the occasional smoking wreck of burning charcoal laid to waste from the recent battle.

Sunstreaker stumbled back a step, and then another. He blinked hard, kept his optics shut, counted to tend, and then opened his optics again. Blinked again. And then rubbed his optics harshly with his knuckles. The grove still did not return.

Worried for his possibly failing sanity (because he was simply too handsome to be crazy), Sunstreaker scanned the area. He searched for the trees he knew had been there just moments before. He searched for the hidden ruins and the preserved fountain from which he had been able to admire himself extensively. The results of his scans proved fruitless. The only confirmation he received was that there was no evidence of a grove. No fertile ground. No water sources at all.

Because Sunstreaker was not prepared to admit to insanity, he rapidly sought a perfectly reasonanle explanation for this imperfectly unreasonable situation. Like... he got hit in the head during the fight. Yeah, hit in the head...by a rock, or a fist, or a blaster strike that had been at a high enough setting to knock him out but low enough to not leave a mark. Because the Decepticons totally fought fair like that. However, at this point in time, Sunstreaker was not interested in bowing to the logic of the situation. He was far more interested in engrossing himself in a reasoning that would allow him to reason away his recent experience without labelling himself crazy.

So he totally chalked it all up to an elaborate hallucination brought on by severe head trauma.

Things like that happened all the time, right?

Right?

Forcing his thoughts away from that particular panic-inducing subject, Sunstreaker turned his attentions to the remains of the battlefield he found himself in. The ground was blackened in many areas, still smoking from several craters where stray plasma blasts had gouged the earth. The nearby solar power station was thankfully in one piece, aside from several large chunks of concrete that had been taken from the walls of its outer perimeter. Only a handful of solar panels had been knocked down, and while they were expensive to repair or replace, to have only a few down was better than to have the whole facility burn to the ground.

Sideswipe, Prowl, Jazz, and Ratchet were nowhere in sight.

Sunstreaker scanned the area for his fellow Autobots, discovering their position nearly a kilometre away. There were no Decepticon signatures with them; either the Decepticons were dead or they had managed to escape. Taking into account the Autobots' and Decepticons' track record on Earth, in which both sides had failed to score a definite fatality on the enemy, it was highly unlikely that that 'Cons were dead. Meaning that they had escaped yet again. Not such a big surprise, to be honest. Among all of the Decepticons, Starscream and his Seekers were a slippery bunch who were hard to pin down. Starscream in particular was as slick as oil, as clever as he was annoying.

The Autobot signatures Sunstreaker was picking up were stationary, and none of them appeared to be in distress, so he decided that it was best if he rejoined them as soon as possible. Taking to the uneven ground in his alt mode, he picked his way around the debris in order to find the cleanest route possible. He was careful not to touch anything that looked like it might leave a mark. While he was an excellent warrior second to none, that did not mean he could not take exemplary pride in his appearance, if that had not been made obvious by now.

The drive was a short one to where the four other Autobots rested. They were partially concealed by a ridge of natural stone that had been thrown up from the volatility of battle. Only their heads and shoulders could be seen in amongst the churned up dirt. They were made especially obvious as the afternoon sun beamed down on them, reflecting off their metallic armour and setting their bold paint shining.

Once close enough, Sunstreaker transformed, standing tall and proud. He refused to let it show that he was the least bit disturbed by recent events. He brushed himself free of dust particles, chest out, chin up. The sound of his transformation gained the attention of the squatting bots, and Sunstreaker felt their attention acutely. He was quite accustomed to others watching him- it was the only reasonable reaction when others were faced with beauty such as his own. But this staring felt... different. He didn't know how to describe it. However, he was determined not to let anything else bother him, so he ignored the strange quality of his comrades' regard. With grace and dignity, he approached their small hiding spot and looked down at the small group of four.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Ratchet drawled with a borderline sneer. It was the kind of greeting that Sunstreaker expected on a regular basis. That was the kind of love-hate relationship they had: they both hated each other and left the loving to other Autobots. However, the medic's usual scowl was not as potent as it normally was; it was not quite the look of disdain and vitriol Sunstreaker was used to. Ratchet's optics were not quite as harsh as they usually were.

No, Sunstreaker told himself. You're imagining things.

To dismiss any lingering awkwardness, the golden warrior tilted his olfactory sensor in the air and sniffed haughtily. "You're the ones who left me behind."

"You're the one who abandoned us in the middle of a fight," Sideswipe pointed out stubbornly, his mouthplates turned down.

"I can't help it if I was hit on the head and knocked unconscious," Sunstreaker countered.

"You were what?" Sideswipe exclaimed incredulously. It sounded like he didn't believe a word of it, but Sunstreaker chose to interpret the incredulity as horror that he had been assaulted in such a grievous fashion.

"That's news to me," Jazz snorted.

Sideswipe hopped to his feet spryly, circling his brother.

Sunstreaker watched the red mech's progress carefully. "What are you doing?"

"I don't see no mark," Sideswipe replied, poking the back of Sunstreaker's head. "If you were hit on the head, you'd have a mark." When he should have pulled his hand away, it stayed. Sunstreaker could feel his brother's palm against the metal, warmth radiating through it in waves. For the first time in his life, Sunstreaker did not like his brother's touch, even if it was in such an innocuous place. Quickly, he stepped away.

"Proper maintenance makes my armour extra resilient," Sunstreaker intoned, scraping by with the most reasonable explanation he could come up with. The alternative- accepting that the olive grove and the human within it had been more than just a hallucination- simply wasn't an option.

"And I can blow rainbow smoke out my exhaust pipe," Jazz laughed.

Prowl looked up from the data pad he was handling. He cast a quick look in Sunstreaker's direction, his optics flashing momentarily, and then he regarded Jazz with a simple look. "If you hooked up a release system with certain chemical compounds in it, you could, in theory, eject coloured smoke from your exhaust pipe in a similar manner to Smokescreen's smokescreens."

Jazz stared at the tacticians for a moment, and then frowned. "I hate it when you logic things into being reasonable."

"Logic is not a verb," the tactician pointed out before returning his attention to calculating the extent of the damages of their latest battle. Not only would he have to present the numbers to Optimus Prime the next time he saw the commander, but he also wanted the numbers handy if the humans tried to bill them for the damages and tried to double or triple the actual amount owed. There had been more than a few occasions when the Autobots had been charged for more than what was reasonable. Prowl sought to prevent such an instance occurring again.

Sunstreaker watched the tactician for a moment longer than what might have been considered polite. Prowl had never been much of an interest to him before; he was a boring mech of boring tastes and boring looks with an even more boring personality. He was not lovely in any way and had never shown any interest in Sunstreaker, so Sunstreaker had never had any reason to pay the second in command much mind. It was only when he was being punished for something he didn't do, generally dragged into the scenario by Sideswipe, that Prowl registered at all on Sunstreaker's radar, but in those instances Prowl was more of an annoyance.

In this instance, it was something about how completely normal Prowl was compared to the other three that drew Sunstreaker's attention.

Prowl felt the attention as well. Acute as always, his gaze darted up. "Do you need something?"

"No."

"Then stop staring." As easy as that, Prowl returned to his data pad again.

Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe's hand on the back of his head again. He could feel those warm, familiar fingers moving against the metal, stroking it gently.

"You do take good care of your armour, don't you?" Sideswipe murmured absently.

"You know I do," Sunstreaker replied. They shared a room on the Ark. Sideswipe watched (and complained) nightly about Sunstreaker's ritualized maintenance of himself.

"Yeah, but I never noticed how shiny it was until now." The red mech leaned in a little too close.

Sunstreaker shuddered. He had never been one to reject admiring advances from others- other than to take delight in denying others and watching them falter in the aftermath- but he drew the line at certain affections when it came to his brother. Once again, he stepped away from Sideswipe.

Ratchet eased his back against the ridge of stone behind him, his sharp blue gaze gauging Sunstreaker carefully. "If what you say is true and you really were hit on the head-"

"-doubt that," Jazz said, poorly disguising the words behind a cough.

"-then I should take a look at you to make sure you're not anymore scrambled in your processor than you already are," the medic concluded, albeit with a dark look cast in Jazz's direction.

Glad for someone to believe his improbable story, Sunstreaker was uncharacteristically willing to oblige. He made a move to sit down, but then registered how truly dirty the ground was. Reluctant to sit on it directly, he opted for rousting one of the large, flat stones that had been churned up from the ground and brushed the moderately large stone free of debris. Satisfied that it was as clean as he could possibly make it, he set it down in front of Ratchet and perched upon it carefully.

Ratchet's cerulean gaze swept Sunstreaker critically, that curious glint in his optics never leaving. After appraising the golden warrior's frame for too long, the medic switched to the other three present. "I've already looked the three of you over and fixed you up the best I can. You can go now. Make sure there are no more Decepticons in the area."

Prowl looked up in annoyance. "It is unlikely that the Decepticons will return for a second attempt on the solar station's energy. Starscream and his trine suffered severe enough damage to require immediate treatment. They are not foolish enough to attack in their compromised conditions."

"That wouldn't stop them from summoning reinforcements, now would it?" Ratchet replied, narrowing his gaze and tilting his chin up. There was determination in his gaze, matched by challenge and outright intimidation.

Prowl met the medic's gaze for several moments, and then relented. "Very well, but we will not move out of communications range."

"Wait a second-," Jazz intoned.

"That's not fair-" Sideswipe exclaimed.

Prowl silenced them with a raised hand. "If Ratchet wants us to patrol the area for the sake of safety, then that is what we will do."

"Just go," Ratchet huffed, dismissing them with an impatient wave of his hand.

Sunstreaker watched as the trio of Autobots assumed their alt modes and revved their engines. Prowl drove away without hesitation, though no one could mistake the lingering air of annoyance that followed him. Jazz and Sideswipe took a little longer to leave. They were watching Sunstreaker as they had been before, but now that they were in alt mode, it was hard to tell exactly which parts of him they were looking at. Sunstreaker shifted, self-consciously brushing flecks of dust from his legs. Finally, the two Autobots left the area, leaving Sunstreaker alone with Ratchet.

"Finally," sighed the medic, getting to his knees and scooting closer to Sunstreaker's folded legs. "Now lets get a closer look at you."

Sunstreaker watched the medic's approach... and he found that he didn't like it. There was something predatory about the fluid movement. A serpentine grace that one would not expect from someone such as Ratchet. The glint in his optics became more pronounced, the cerulean of the light deepening to a smouldering sapphire. This was not an unfamiliar look to Sunstreaker. Now that they were alone and Ratchet was close enough that Sunstreaker could nearly see his [extremely good looking] reflection in the medic's white armour, the golden mech could easily see lust brewing in the other bot's gaze. He was no stranger to being the object of others' lust. However, this was an entirely new look when put into context; Ratchet's range of expressions when dealing with the twins seemed to be limited to annoyance, irritation, exasperation, and pure rage. Lust had never been a contributing factor before.

At the first touch of the medic's hands on him, Sunstreaker found himself tensing, wanting to draw away. He suddenly wanted his brother, Prowl and Jazz to return so that he did not have to be alone.

"You seem nervous," Ratchet observed lowly.

"Why don't you just scan me?" Sunstreaker suggested, noting the hitch that had come into his voice.

"A waste of energy," Ratchet replied quietly, continuing his thorough exploration of Sunstreaker's foot and ankle, slowly making his way up his shin. His long, clever fingers left no spot untouched. He had the advantage of having exemplary knowledge of the inner workings of Sunstreaker's frame, having rebuilt it from scratch more than once. He knew every crevice; he knew where to touch, where each sensitive spot was. If there was one bot who intimately knew the weaknesses of every Autobot on the planet, it was Ratchet.

Sunstreaker cleared his vents. "I think I'd prefer-."

"Have I ever told you how beautiful your frame is?" Ratchet suddenly asked.

Stunned by the random compliment, it took a moment for Sunstreaker to process it. When he did, he couldn't help but... let his ego be stroked. He puffed up a little. "It is a beautiful frame, isn't it?"

"I can't believe I never noticed before," Ratchet said, sounding astonished that such a detail had escaped him for so long. His hands continued to move on their upward glide, circling Sunstreaker's knees before moving past them. His frame crept closer, sliding between Sunstreaker's legs.

"Sometimes it takes the slower bots a little while to finally see what's right in front of them," Sunstreaker replied easily as he leaned back, looking down at the length of his own frame as it shone in the sunlight. In his opinion, it was better late than never that Ratchet finally clued in to the perfection of the patient he was treating. He did not notice his own distraction until it was too late.

Ratchet's hands had travelled uncomfortably high.

"Ratchet?" Sunstreaker intoned uneasily, watching as those familiar hands glided along at a sensual pace.

"Hold still," ordered the medic in a tone that Sunstreaker had never heard before. It was a low, purring voice that held rich promise... Promise that the golden mech never wanted to see fulfilled in any way, shape, or form. When he tried to move away, Ratchet levered up, placing both his palms firmly to Sunstreaker's thighs. "I said hold still."

"What are you doing, Ratchet?" Sunstreaker asked, leaning away from the medic's advances. This was wrong. So wrong.

"I can't seem to help myself," murmured the medic, leaning closer as Sunstreaker leaned away. His hands clenched along Sunstreaker's thighs, dragging him closer so that their heat and magnetic fields intermingled together. "It's like I'm seeing the real you for the first time."

Something about those words triggered a brief memory file...

The olive grove.

Narcissus.

"...they will all see you as you see yourself..."

"You're the most beautiful mech I've ever seen," Ratchet sighed, pressing closer, moving in a deliciously tempting way.

Sunstreaker was not to be seduced. Instead, he was rather horrified. His hands came up and shoved the medic away with as much force as he could possibly muster, throwing the mesmerized bot to the dirt violently. Free of the confining grip on his thighs, he shot to his feet and leaped away to more distance between himself and the medic. He could feel his spark racing in his sparkcase, burning like a red-hot brand as it beat a harsh tempo against his insides. He could hear his energon rushing inside his energon lines. His vents were heaving as if he had just run a marathon.

"This isn't you, Ratchet!" Sunstreaker exclaimed. "I'm the most handsome mech you've ever seen, yes, but you've never been interested. Think about it!"

For a second, it looked as if the medic was snapped from his daze. His frame went rigid, optics flashing bright. But then his gaze fell to Sunstreaker and resumed its glazed, hungry look.

"You're wrong, Sunny. I want you."

Sunstreaker did not want to stick around to find out how badly the medic wanted him. Without looking back, he transformed and took off as fast as his wheels would carry him.

Given what he had just experienced, he was starting to suspect that there was something seriously wrong going on...with Ratchet.