Personnel Duty

Starfire201:

Prime/Sunstreaker - Discipline

It wasn't often that the only bot whose ego entered a room before he did was in Prime's office, and that somehow made it worse. With Skids and Mudflap, discipline was a routine part of every week – in quiet periods, almost every day. It wasn't a joking matter, but everyone knew how it went and where it would lead. Sunstreaker presently stood in front of the Autobot Commander's desk with clenched fists, defiant optics and a refusal to play along.

Usually Optimus stood for these meetings, utilising the height he'd been given as a Prime (though he was comparably short against his ancestors), but now he'd elected to sit to take pressure off of a fresh weld running almost the full circumference of his midriff. Megatron's latest tactic had been to try and cut him in half, it seemed.

Adjusting his position to little avail, Optimus suppressed the urge to touch between his optics and wondered quite where to begin. The timing of Sunstreaker's transgression was like the infrequency of his needing disciplining in that it irritated the Prime more than it ought to. There was also the senseless stupidity of it.

Just to be clear: "You tore off a piece of the infrastructure and hit Bumblebee with it. Minutes after he'd left the Medbay."

Dentals tightening to control the sneer that wanted to appear, Sunstreaker nodded grudgingly. When Optimus continued to wait expectantly, he huffed through his vents. "Yes, Sir."

Sitting back a little, Optimus rested his fists across the hardening weld and pressed against the itching ache. They'd returned from combat almost six hours ago, but his battle mask had returned to the fore almost instinctively for this meeting. "You hit our newly repaired scout hard enough, and in such a way, as to crush a component of his sensor array that will take Ratchet a week to fabricate."

Sunstreaker shifted his weight across his feet a little, knowing the tactic being used here and cursing its effectiveness. It was humiliating. "Yes Sir." A beat, then: "I'm sorry-"

Optimus raised a hand, wanting to sand this in a little deeper. Whilst not unintelligent, Sunstreaker could be a little dense when it came to the ramifications of his actions. Strangely, it helped to make him a more ruthless warrior in the field. His merits weren't shielding him here, however. "You blinded my scout."

The Lamborghini flicked his optics to the ceiling in what passed for an eye-roll. He did regret lashing out as he had, and was embarrassed to what he could only hope was Optimus's satisfaction, but the core frustration remained. "I wouldn't have been so fragged with him if he hadn't been such a glitch at the plant," he snapped, falling out of stance to fold his arms and dip his head.

At the petulant display Optimus did stand, coming around the desk to stand imposingly close to the brightly coloured mech. The one benefit within disciplining this particular soldier was that Sunstreaker was used to talking and justifying his actions to anyone who disagreed, meaning that everything would soon come out. With infinite patience, he narrowed his optics and waited.

The fight at the power plant some three hundred miles away had finished as abruptly as it had begun. Prowl had predicted the attack within a time frame of hours, and the Autobots had positioned themselves in wait of the Decepticons who could not afford to waste the opportunity to capture such a large quantity of unprocessed fuel. A pincer tactic had been devised, smaller bots mixed with larger to flush out attackers throughout the plant's labyrinthine structure, and it had worked until Starscream had broken through Ironhide and Sunstreaker and laid waste to an entire explosive sector. Bumblebee had caught the worst of it and had been in a near-critical state by the time they'd brought him back for repair. The scout had done nothing wrong expect for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, to Optimus's knowledge, so Sunstreaker's attack after he'd been brought back from the brink was inexplicable.

Within a minute Sunstreaker huffed again and looked to the side, his optical ridges lowered in a scowl. "… I fetched his leg," he murmured, offering it up as appeasement.

Unimpressed by the statement, Optimus arched a brow. "Because Ratchet told you to."

Sunstreaker moved with the sudden speed that made him invaluable in battle and had caught Bumblebee unaware outside of the Medbay, slamming his fist into the Prime's desk inches to the mech's right. "Stupid fragger wasted my time getting shot up like that," he hissed before he tore his hand back from the sizeable dent and folded his arms again, turning to put his shoulder to Optimus. Seconds later he inwardly he cringed. Now he'd really done it.

Ironhide would have shot him for that. Prowl would have had him incarcerated for a period. Sideswipe would have slapped him with the sharp side of a blade. All of these would have made sense as reactions, but Optimus knew the proud spark before him too well to overlook that there was some deeper motive behind Sunstreaker's behaviour now. This was not a mech who acted out without cause, and currently he was disturbed by something that he likely didn't know of himself.

"Being injured from a stealth attack by Starscream doesn't constitute idiocy. It was neither of your faults not to see him," Optimus countered softly. That he did not raise his voice furthered the Lamborghini's mounting unease that an explosion was coming. He stepped aside, away from the dent, and spoke without indicating the mark. "Fix that."

"I'll come back later and do it."

A thread of steel, carefully weighted, wove into his tone. "Now."

Sunstreaker looked up to the mech to assess if he was serious and clenched his dentals again at the decidedness he found. Whilst far from impossible, smoothing out dents by hand alone was frustratingly fiddly work. Accepting that he did deserve this particular punishment, however, he knelt to place a hand beneath the distorted metal and used his other to provide opposing pressure, warping the surface of the desk between his palms.

Optimus silently watched him manipulate the thick sheet of metal that formed the top of his desk, minute adjustments necessary to smooth the surface. Few could be better suited to the task than Sunstreaker, whose hands were both devastatingly strong and artfully skilled. His optics were also keen to precise detail, narrowed now as he warmed and pressed the metal a fraction at a time.

With Sunstreaker quiet, still and occupied, Optimus had the opportunity to scrutinise him properly. There were no scans as Ratchet would make or know them, but a heuristic exploration of energy that came jointly through the Matrix and his own spark. Only Primes knew the sheer depth of this empathy. If others knew they would likely shy away from merging. As it was the bots had half-heartedly protested that he saw too much into them.

Sunstreaker's energy fields were foul, jumbled with clutter and contentions that he seemed unable to resolve by himself. Optimus knelt and encased the nape of the mech's neck in one hand. Sunstreaker froze, stiffened, and began to withdraw his hands from the desk.

"Finish the repair."

A shunt of air, hesitance, and the Lamborghini resumed the delicate work. Their fields mingling now, Optimus diagnosed the first discord: Frustration. Not wholly at Bumblebee, though, or even at him for summoning him here. Unpicking the feeling, he found a myriad of emotions, tangled and inconsolable, almost all of which were directed at Sunstreaker himself.

The first locks inside his chassis came free soundless, and not consciously. That had been the furthest from Optimus's mind when he'd called Sunstreaker to him, but now it made a kind of sense. The proud mech's behaviour was symptomatic of a deeper difficulty; one that had to be resolved before it was given time to fester.

He'd just have to be careful with the weld.

Transforming his chassis opened channelled out the cleansing energy from his spark and the Matrix, conveying his intentions as well as putting Sunstreaker at instinctual ease. When the mech's hands stopped their work again, he rumbled a disapproving note for him to carry one before turning his attention to the parts in his back.

Maintaining his grip, Optimus used his free hand to explore and coax apart the myriad of weapons and armour that encased Sunstreaker's shoulders and upper backstrut. Whilst not as well armed as Ironhide, the bright mech had the advantages of speed and agility and it still took several minutes for him to expose the protoform beneath.

In that time, Sunstreaker's engine had descended into a heady thrum, lines twitching and spark aching with a potency that caught him off guard. The metal was almost restored but now his fingers were trembling with anticipation. Intelligently he knew that what Prime was doing was therapeutic, but Primus was it erotic too. Held still on his knees in front of the Commander's desk. In trouble and being disciplined.

Perhaps he should hit his fellow Autobots with girders more often.

Shutting his optics to immerse in process as well as spark, Optimus laid his hand across the mech's chassis and drew him back, adjusting his grip to hold him there. Their sparks did not have to be in direct face-to-face contact for the merges to be successful, though it was favoured. He heard as much as felt Sunstreaker's hands suddenly grip his hips when his spark energy began to permeate his protoform, reaching into his core.

Guilt, though only a watery form of it, bolstered by anger and the overriding swell of frustration that he'd felt from the surface. Optimus reached deeper, working his fingers minutely to bring pleasure and subsequently make Sunstreaker open his spark wholly to him. The mech moaned in static, fighting at first but surrendering when he was at the brink of being overpowered.

Guilt that Bumblebee had been so grievously hurt whilst under Sunstreaker's watch – that was predictable, though not the extent to which Optimus had expected. He drew the weaker spark in, engulfing it fully as his fingers tightening and sent shivering charges through neural lines and across raw, warm protoform. Anger. Anger that he cared so much. It had been the scout's fault, of course, yet, he still couldn't evade the stifling guilt. He'd not planned to hit Bumblebee, but upon seeing that the mech was repair and wall, the urge had been both sudden and overwhelming.

Optimus pulled the mech tighter into him, their chassis one boiling point of light that flickered and swelled through the gaps between their parts. Sunstreaker's head fell back to rest against his shoulder of its own accord, mouth open and glossa rippling with energy that travelled through him in waves. His engine gunned, vibrated, crashing for more upon this strange brink. This was nothing like merging with a partner. This was holy.

The Prime dipped his head to bring his mouth to Sunstreaker's jaw, thrumming the words into his mind and spark. "We all sometimes feel guilt for things that aren't our fault. It's not weakness to care too much for others." It came out a purr to the mech's audios and he could only jerk and blast a short burst of overheated air from his vents. Optimus held him tight enough to risk denting, holding him still and prisoner to this moment. The light of his spark found a new height, finalising the purge. "Let it go."

He may have screamed. He may have made no sound at all. Accessing his memory bank would have been pointless as the last forty seconds were nothing but giddily bad code. Sunstreaker sagged in the larger mech's grip, now turning into an embrace, and vaguely acknowledged that his own chassis had opened in response to the merge. With particular effort he moved the overlapping layers of armour back and unclenched his hands from Optimus's thighs. It had been a long time since he'd merged with the Prime, and he couldn't remember what he was supposed to say or do. If anything.

Optimus waited for the Lamborghini's systems to slump back into normal operative range before setting him upright on his knees and shifting back. He kept one hand hovering close to Sunstreaker's back for a moment as a precaution, the other pressing hard against his midsection as he forced himself to his feet with a groan. That had been overdue, it seemed, but needing a cleansing merge so badly wasn't going to get him off the hook.

Sunstreaker remained kneeling, optics closed as he tried to regulate his coolant systems whilst Optimus spoke. "When Bumblebee regains his vision, I believe it would be fitting that the first thing he sees is that he's been attentively waxed and polished by your expert hands. I think four layers of your premium brand will suffice with an apology." The big mech withdrew his hand from the weld and grimaced at the clots of energon that came away. "The same for the desk. I'll be back shortly."

The doors to the office had closed by the time Sunstreaker acknowledged the instructions with a slow nod and mumbled 'Yes, Prime'. Alone in the room, he sat back on his haunches and considered the desk with blearily wide optics. There was still some work to be done fixing the dent, and his hands were now twitching spasmodically with ripples of energy from his saturated and sated spark. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under it and slip into recharge, but Optimus was unlikely to be pleased with such an arrangement when he returned.

But then, getting the Prime angry had turned out so well for him last time. He could always make a bigger dent…

Further proof that I cannot write straightforward smut. Review for trying? :3