Sunstreaker watched Bluestreak curiously from the corner of his optic, for the soldier was staring perplexed at the area they were currently walking through. It was obvious he recognized the place, even though it looked different under the dark veil of night.

"Why are we going back to the shop?" Bluestreak finally asked.

Sunstreaker's lips tugged into an enigmatic smile. "We're not."

That, however, confused Bluestreak even further. Sunstreaker chuckled before he could help it and tapped the silver helm in a teasing manner.

"You're a smart mech, Bluestreak. What else is here?"

Bluestreak didn't figure it out at first. But when he did, he looked as though his jaw would drop on the spot.

"You're actually taking me there?"

"Why not?" Sunstreaker asked, "It's the least I can do for someone who appreciates art so much… especially mine," he added with a smirk.

Bluestreak wasn't that easily convinced.

"We were comrades-in-arms for four million years, Sunstreaker. The only one you ever allowed in your art studio was Sideswipe."

"And, as a good friend of mine said not too long ago, there's a first time for everything," the artist pointed out. "We're here."

Sure enough, Sunstreaker could see the building, towering just a few feet away from them. The door on the ground floor was securely shut, yet the lights on the second floor, where his art studio was located, were on.

"Is someone there?" Bluestreak asked, noticing the curiosity.

"No, not really," Sunstreaker answered, "I… uh… tend to forget myself whenever I work, so I set a timer on the lights. They're programmed to turn on at dusk and then turn off when it's near dawn."

Just as Sunstreaker expected, Bluestreak frowned at those words. "You work for so many hours?"

"I have to. My clients don't like waiting for their commissions," Sunstreaker answered with a shrug, but, of course, that was only half-true. Work also kept him distracted, since he didn't want to think of what he had left behind.

That, however, was neither here nor there anymore. Remembering himself, he uttered the access code, and both Autobots headed upstairs.

"I should warn you, Bluestreak. The smell of the paints will take some time getting used to," Sunstreaker said, and he pressed the enter button.

The moment the door slid open, Bluestreak snorted loudly, almost sneezing.

"I'll take your word for it," he said wryly.

Sunstreaker smiled in sympathy. "Just breathe from your mouth for a couple of minutes 'till the smell gets bearable."

Bluestreak complied, and he followed Sunstreaker inside the art studio, his optics drifting every which way as they caught sight of numerous canvases, cans of paint, paintbrushes and airbrushes among the styli and digital tablets. Then there was the messy corner in which Sunstreaker made his sculptures; the stains of clay and shards of metal were visible all over the spot. And, naturally, the place was filled with all kinds of artwork, either in progress and covered so as not to be harmed by the light, or complete and visible to any visitor who would drop in.

"This is different from what I expected," Bluestreak said.

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge. "In what way?"

"I'm not sure," Bluestreak replied, shrugging a bit. "I just didn't think there would be so much stuff gathered in one room, I guess."

"Heh," the artist said, giving the studio the once over too. "I suppose it could benefit from some tidying up."

"That from someone who can't stand a speck of dust on himself," Bluestreak pointed out in a teasing tone.

"On himself being the keyword here," Sunstreaker retorted with a smirk. "But I didn't bring you here to comment on the state of my art studio."

"Then why did you bring me here?" Bluestreak said.

"To see where I work. I figured it would be something you'd like," Sunstreaker said with a shrug.

"I do," Bluestreak said, smiling. He slowly stepped to the centre of the room, drawn by three complete paintings that were across from him. The first one depicted Iacon by nightfall, and the soldier looked closely at the blue and yellow hues that dominated the picture before carrying on to the next picture: the Iacon docks.

"I like the detail in this one," he commented softly, his optics locked on the outline of the mechs working, as well as the robo-gulls flying under a sky rich in gold and red colours. "It must have taken you a long time to draw this."

"Yeah," Sunstreaker admitted, "It was worth it, though."

"I bet," Bluestreak said, staring at the third painting: a sleeping deer-bot in the centre of a thicket. "It's strange, you know. All three of your pictures are so tranquil that I'm feeling at peace. All I have to do is close my optics and imagine myself there, enjoying the calmness."

That kind of accurate and beautiful in its simplicity critique rang truer to Sunstreaker's audios than any review from the so-called art connoisseurs would ever be.

"I'm glad you think so," he said. "I have some more pictures if you want to check them out."

Bluestreak hesitated in his answer. "Are you sure? I mean, they are your clients' paintings…"

"Actually, they're mine, until they come to take them," Sunstreaker corrected, and he extended his hand to the direction of a small couch. "Make yourself at home. I'll bring in the first batch."

Relenting, Bluestreak nodded his acknowledgement and sat down… only to jump back on his feet with a yelp of surprise, startling Sunstreaker in the process, too.

"What-?" Sunstreaker started, but he got his answer when Bluestreak dug out from the couch a very large paintbrush on which, apparently, he had accidentally sat. "Oh. Whoops."

"Right. Whoops," Bluestreak said in a dry tone, although he was doing his best to stifle his laughing fits. He handed the paintbrush to Sunstreaker and he sat again on the couch, more carefully this time. "I take it this is where your models rest after they're done posing for you?"

"More like where I'm resting after I'm done drawing. I don't work with models," Sunstreaker replied, omitting the part that he didn't work with models anymore. In the next moment, his lips tugged into a broad grin as an idea supposedly formed in his mind. "Are you volunteering?"

It took a great deal of willpower not to laugh out loud when Bluestreak shook his head quite emphatically; even the red tinge of embarrassment that Sunstreaker witnessed at the festivities was back on the silver faceplate in full force.

"No. No way. Not in a thousand years. Not even after that. Not even if my life dependedon it!"

"Aw, come on, Bluestreak!" Sunstreaker said in mock disappointment. "You could become famous!"

"No, thank you!"

"I'd pay you really well," the artist insisted sweetly.

"Blast it, Sunstreaker, do you enjoy embarrassing me?" Bluestreak exclaimed, squirming uncomfortably in his seat and his faceplate now redder than Sideswipe's plating.

"Actually, yes." The yellow mech chuckled heartily, and he placed his palms upwards in a gesture of peace. "Relax, Bluestreak. I'm only joking."

"You'd better be," Bluestreak said. "The last time I felt so embarrassed was when I first saw you and-"

His voice died in his vocaliser and he closed his lip components, but it was too late. Sunstreaker had heard enough.

"And… what?"

"Nothing," Bluestreak answered at once, averting his gaze.

Sunstreaker wasn't fooled even for a second.

"Nothing, my aft. What were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter, okay?"

Sunstreaker was taken aback, to say the least. Sobering, he approached the silver mech and sat next to him. Bluestreak, however, kept wringing his hands in an agitated manner and refused to look at the artist.

"Bluestreak, if it has something to do with me, I think I have the right to hear it," the artist said quietly, "Especially if it's something bad."

"No, it's nothing like that," the soldier answered.

"Then what is it?"

Bluestreak didn't answer for some time. But, just when Sunstreaker was about to give up, the soldier finally spoke.

"It was on the second day after Prowl brought me to Iacon. I had nothing to do and Prowl was on duty, so I decided to wander around the base on my own for a while. I ended up in one of the common rooms and… I saw you, talking to Sideswipe."

Sunstreaker blinked, since he couldn't understand what was so wrong about that. "And?"

"And… Well…" Bluestreak's voice dropped to an inaudible mumble.

"Bluestreak, I didn't catch that," Sunstreaker said, keeping his tone kind and coaxing.

The soldier sighed and spoke up, blushing furiously again. "And… you were the most beautiful thing I had ever set my optics on. I kept staring at you, thinking that it was impossible you could be real."

Those words were to Sunstreaker's ego like a master's hand to a purring house-cat. But still...

"How could that be embarrassing?"

Bluestreak chuckled sheepishly. "I was walking while I had my optics on you… and I crashed into Ironhide."

"Ouch," Sunstreaker said with a wince.

"You said it."

"Was he mad at you?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly pleased," Bluestreak answered, his shyness gradually ebbing away. "He had me scrub the washracks."

Sunstreaker rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner. "You know… I always wondered why they were so clean that day…"

His teasing was rewarded with a cuff to his arm.

"Very funny," Bluestreak said. "How many times did you have to scrub them, pray tell?"

"Oh, fine! Rub it in, why don't you?" the artist said, laughing. Even so, as he rubbed the sore spot where Bluestreak hit him, he couldn't help but ponder on the soldier's words, because they made him realise something important.

"Did you really have a crush on me for that long?"

That was enough to sober Bluestreak too. He nodded meekly.

"Heh. I had no idea. You sure knew how to hide it," Sunstreaker said.

"I didn't want you to know," Bluestreak replied, "I… I thought I didn't stand a chance."

Sunstreaker stared at the silver mech incredulously. "Why would you think that?"

"Are you kidding me?" Bluestreak asked in a tired manner. "Why would you settle for someone like me, when you could have anyone you wanted? You would laugh at me if I said anything." He sighed, looking at his hands in thought. "So I accepted the next best thing I could have from you."

Sunstreaker understood. "My friendship."

Bluestreak nodded again. "Then everything changed. Prowl died and I was left behind, mourning him." He lifted his gaze and looked at Sunstreaker, a sad smile on his faceplate. "But I also noticed something. You spent more time with me, supporting me either with a gentle word or a comforting touch. At first, I thought it was just out of pity, and I was furious with you."

"What changed your mind?" Sunstreaker asked, mesmerised at the story.

Bluestreak's smile broadened a bit. "Your optics."

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge at that. "Was I that obvious?"

"At the time… yes." Bluestreak said, "Although I didn't know what made you feel that way about me. And, to be perfectly honest, I still don't."

"I thought that would have been obvious, too," Sunstreaker replied with a smirk.

Bluestreak frowned at the artist, not seeing the humour. But Sunstreaker was, in fact, quite serious. Since the silver mech had made a question, Sunstreaker intended to answer it.

"You are right. There was a time that I would have probably laughed at you," he said, "And I would have been an idiot, because I would never know what your friendship, your kindness and your gentle heart would eventually mean to me; how they would change me slowly and subtly, making me look at the world through different optics, so I could do nothing else but love you." Tentative yellow fingers reached for the silver faceplate, caressing it lightly. "Bluestreak, I stopped contemplating on the why a long time ago. Now I just ask myself 'Why not?'"

Bluestreak stared agape at Sunstreaker for many long moments, clearly at a loss; then drew back, a shy expression on his optics.

"I don't know what to say," he said.

"Now that's a first," Sunstreaker noted in a tease, flicking Bluestreak's arm in a playful manner. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get those pictures I was talking about."

With that, Sunstreaker got back on his feet. However, he didn't care for the lavish paintings that were resting against the walls of the room. Instead, he opened a small trunk and took out a sheet of paper on which he had drawn something with just a piece of charcoal. It was a simple sketch that he made when the art studio was still at its baby steps; he nevertheless looked after it reverently, and he always sought it out whenever the burden of loneliness became too much. No one knew about that picture, not even Sideswipe. But, after what Bluestreak had said to him just minutes ago, the artist knew that he hadto show him.

It was with that thought that he sat back next to Bluestreak and handed the soldier the sheet of paper.

"What's this?" Bluestreak asked.

"Just look," was all that Sunstreaker said.

Bluestreak complied, and the artist smiled when a small gasp escaped the soldier's lip components. For Bluestreak was currently looking at a sketch of himself, smiling and looking at his viewer through bright optics. His plating had a shiny look, and his doors spread out like wings behind his back, a serene aura enveloping him.

"Is… is that really me?" Bluestreak faltered in disbelief. "Do I look that-?"

"Beautiful?"

Bluestreak nodded before he could help it. Sunstreaker placed an arm across the silver shoulders and leaned close to the younger mech, a whisper flowing out of his lips like a breath of wind.

"You do to my optics."

Bluestreak turned around, agape. "Sunstreaker-?"

Sunstreaker didn't allow Bluestreak to continue, sealing the silver lips with a kiss. It was a mere feather-like touch, truth be told. Even so, Bluestreak froze, staring at the yellow mech incredulously as Sunstreaker savoured the taste he had been aching for for all those years. But then, finally, the soldier relaxed and shut his optics, even parted his lips further to allow Sunstreaker deepen the kiss.

It was a timid, coy action; a sign that this was the first time that the younger mech acted on such feelings, and something that made Sunstreaker's spark pulsate rapidly against his yellow chest-plate. The sound of a moan, an odd mixture of surprise and need, reached his audios, and the artist knew that he had won the silent battle that had been going on from the moment Bluestreak had stepped onto his threshold.

Sunstreaker could never regard Bluestreak as a conquest though. Not when the younger mech left himself so vulnerable, so open, entrusting another with his very being for the first time in his life. No. As Sunstreaker became intoxicated in the rapture that filled his spark, he intended to show Bluestreak that it was a risk worth taking. He lowered himself on the couch, not minding his lover's weight pinning him down, every part of him coming in contact with the silver form he desperately wanted to touch, to feel, to know like never before.

Bluestreak drew back, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. "Sunny…"

The uncertain tone betrayed Bluestreak's nervousness. But his optics, locked now on Sunstreaker's, left no doubt about his own growing desire.

"No," Sunstreaker said softly, placing a digit on Bluestreak's lips. "No more words, Bluestreak." He cupped the silver face with both hands and pulled the soldier down for another kiss, one in which he breathed all his love.

Bluestreak didn't say anything else. He simply buried himself in Sunstreaker's embrace and let go.