[The Cyberverse continuity is the primary inspiration, with references made to the 2019 comic reboot and other sources of events, lore and characterisation.]
Please note, I generally avoid using the canonical jargon for measuring the passage of time because these terms seem inconclusive between uses, thus too variable to be relied upon. Also, as much as I've tried to keep things light, this is where the darker adult themes start becoming more prevalent, hence the rating. It's likely to get very grim and intimate. If there's anything I deem particularly triggering (such as the entire abusive Starscream/Megatron dynamic as I've imagined it, beginning now), I'll try to warn you beforehand. Please keep safe and read responsibly.
Shadow Striker is excellence incarnate, precision-engineered to surpass. Her activities in berth are no exception. "It's been fun." Lust is just another conquest.
Her undertone elicits a shudder.
"I'll be going, now."
A whine of complaint.
It makes her smile.
If the crumpled femme spread below, twitching and cooing in a puddle of mixed lubricant and begging not to be left alone, is any indication of a job well done, then clearly Shadow Striker has done it again.
"Here." She is not without her manners, stooping her impressive frame, her movements quiet, her armour plating sleek and dark, fit for a predator. "Let me get that for you." She retrieves a strip of sterilised textile from her kit, kept within a subtle compartment of her warframe and usually intended for polishing a disassembled gun or patching minor wounds prior to proper repairs.
A whimper. A lurch. Optics rolling back. Like a dying target.
"Shhh." Shadow Striker's lens flares, focused on her work as she gently drags the increasingly damp textile, wiping away the slick lubricant. "Stay still." It only takes moments of her time, to be this cruel.
The poor femme is inconsolable when Shadow Striker withdraws without a kiss. Unsurprising. Femmes are usually needy immediately after interfacing. They desire to talk and to embrace. They desire to connect beyond.
Shadow Striker is not like most femmes. She wipes herself off with professional courtesy, quick and efficient, and neatly folds the impromptu lubricant rag before gently prying the femme's intake apart and stuffing the damp fold between the glossy stretched dermas, pushing over the wantonly hanging mandible, navigating the writhing glossa, scraping against dentas and muffling a moan. A momentary pause, as if to mutually adjust. Another push, this one a little more savage, allows the digits and their payload to slide deeper than the sensors are comfortable with, eliciting a reaction, as if detecting a swallowed obstruction. It feels like seeking shrapnel in a wound, within spasms of agony.
The femme gags on their taste.
Shadow Striker lets herself out with a swagger, still smiling long after the retching evades her keen audials. She is not on an assignment right now. She has time to kill. And, after all that excellence, she feels like a drink. She knows just the place. She goes there to refresh herself, maybe pick up a sweet little number she likes, and she enthrals with her stories. She has forged for herself a reputation that she intends to linger on as legend.
The old oil house is a nexus for bots with their differences. It was there long before the war, and it will stand long after.
"My Captain has these private meetings with Megatron."
"Whoa! Starscream knows Megatron? As in, retired gladiator and total badaft Megatron?"
"Mmhm."
"Whoa," Bumblebee repeats, optics wide with wonder.
"It's been going on for months now," Slipstream confesses quietly between Windblade and Bumblebee, unheard by anyone outside their unusual trine thanks to Soundwave's taste for spontaneous loud music and choreographed dance routines. "And I think these meetings are why he's been acting… strange. I'm worried for him."
Windblade and Bumblebee share a look.
"Strange how?" enquires the femme.
"Our Captain always returns to us with such a fire in his optics. An inward passion for things he won't mention to us. Sometimes, the way he carries himself, the way he moves… I'm sure I've seen him tremble, but his smile is just… full of himself."
"You mean, more full of himself than he already was."
"C'mon, Bee."
"Guy's gotta be overflowing by now."
Windblade gives Bumblebee a look.
"No," murmurs Slipstream. "This goes way beyond his usual, errm… abrasiveness." Very polite.
"You're way too nice."
"Perhaps. It's making things uncomfortable for our Seekers."
"He picking fights with you guys?"
"Not exactly. But he really does seem superior to his own. We sometimes have our disagreements, but we're Seekers. All of us. Now, he acts like he's the special exception."
"Hey, why's Starscream in charge, anyway?"
"He was promoted by our prior Captain. The others have always revolved around him. It seemed natural that he'd lead."
"Huh…" Bumblebee sits back with a handsome smile. "Well, maybe Starscream's got a crush, and Megatron's been making moves, gassing him up?"
"Bee," Windblade gently reprimands, reading the discomfort in Slipstream's face plate.
"No judgement! Maybe the guy likes big bots and he can't lie, so it's got him acting all wired and stuff. Making him feel like a big bot, too, so he's even worse than he was before. And he was pretty bad."
"Bee!"
"I think he's preparing for something to happen to him."
Windblade inclines her helm.
Bumblebee's grin fades away.
"And as his Seekers, what happens to our Captain ripples over. It affects us all."
"…Oh."
"He's ready for it. He's welcoming it. He knows things we don't. Things he must've discussed in private, with Megatron." Slipstream taps a tune over her arm guard in tandem with Soundwave's beat. "Acid Storm is the only one who seems troubled by this, other than myself. They're smarter than the rest. But I can't talk to them about our Captain. It's just not done." Slipstream looks up. "I know you both assume he's egotistical."
"He is, though."
"And I will concede, Captain Starscream has always been, uh… eccentric and ambitious. But I feel like Megatron is twisting him. Making him… worse."
"As in, insufferable."
"Bee, please."
"Seekers always suffer our Captain. It's just the way we are. Where he goes, we follow."
"Wow. You guys really are a tight bunch, if you're so bent out of shape over Starscream."
"You don't know him like I do."
Windblade softens. "Aw, Slip."
Bumblebee sighs, sagging. "Okay, sure, I can't stand that guy, but… I hate seeing you so upset. Anything we can do?"
"You're already doing it," Slipstream answers in her shy bluntness. "Thanks for listening to me." Very few do.
"You're not alone, okay?" Windblade gently captures Slipstream's larger, clunkier servo, squeezing it. "Whatever happens, we'll be here for you."
"Yeah, Slip." Bumblebee does the same, taking her other servo. "You can count on us, no matter what."
Slipstream looks from one to the other and makes a rattling sound of emotion when she is met with affection and understanding, radiating back at her from within the face plates of her friends. It is exceedingly mushy.
For a while, they just sit together like this, holding servos.
Soundwave grooves past their booth, bringing his music with him.
"…You know," Windblade intones playfully, with levity that brings them all ease, "I kinda feel like dancing with that guy."
"Go for it. He's having a blast."
She hops to her pedes with a crooked grin. "Any other takers?" Wiggles her optical ridges.
Slipstream hurriedly shakes her helm. "Oh, no-no-no, I don't dance."
"I think I'll hang back with Slip," Bumblebee adds, winking. "Might join you later, though."
"Alrighty, then! I'm gonna go tear it up!" Windblade shoots the pair with her digit-guns, then joins Soundwave, who is only happy to oblige.
"You can go dance with them, if you want to," Slipstream mumbles shyly. "Don't let me hold you back."
"Nah, I wanna chill with you."
She chews her lower derma. "Bumblebee, can I ask you something awkward?"
"Go for it, Slip."
"Why are you so nice to me?"
He squeezes her servo. "Because you're nice to me, and to her."
"The other Seekers..." Slipstream trails off, very aware of their reputation as being vain bullies who travel in packs through lack in singular ambition, following the whims of the one who is deemed the best of them all. It is a reputation she shares simply through the guiltiness of association.
"You're not like them."
"But, I am?"
"Nah. You're way more chill. You haven't called me a grounder even once, and you're not getting all smarmy with Windblade for being my friend."
"I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." Bumblebee shifts over, snuggling up to Slipstream, significantly shorter.
"I won't allow them to tease you again."
"Thank you, Slip."
They watch Windblade dance with Soundwave.
"Hey, she's really getting it!"
Slipstream's optics are wide, following. "She can certainly move."
"Yeah." Bumblebee sighs contentedly, resting his cheek on the Seeker's arm. "She's awesome."
"You speak of her with such fondness."
"She's my bestie." What he does not expect, however, is to feel Slipstream's arm slip neatly around him, drawing him in. He does not comment on it, oddly tactful.
"You're an excellent friend."
The soft sincerity makes his vocaliser hitch.
Windblade is laughing as she misses a step, catching Soundwave's servo and following his lead.
"She's beautiful."
"Slip, why do you sound so sad?"
"She's good in all the ways I wish I could be."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean a lot of things. She's self-assured, and graceful, and if she makes a mistake, she just brushes it off, no shame. I'm not jealous, though. Does that sound… pathetic?"
Bumblebee gives Slipstream's chassis a pat. "Nah. I get it." He allows his digits to stroke small circles over her glossy paint-job. "I'm not some big, strapping warframe who turns into, like, a tank or something. You won't see my warframe on the cover of the latest Hot Motor Oil. But I know beauty comes in all sort of shapes and sizes. Bravery and kindness, too."
"Even mine?"
"Uh, yeah! You big hunk of chiseled metal."
"I like your shape and size, too," she offers rather sweetly.
He pokes her chassis. "You saying you think I'm pretty, and fun sized, and sweet all over?"
"I am." She has grown so much more comfortable in his presence, these latter months. "I do."
"Easy, now. You'll make me overheat."
"I can carry you to the medic."
Soundwave and Windblade are the centre of a storm, gathering the debris of other bodies joining them in movement.
Shadow Striker lingers at the entrance, staring, momentarily stalled by their dance. Even a professional can be taken pleasantly by surprise, sometimes. It has been weeks since she last walked in on so much joviality.
Maccadam welcomes her within. "Shadow Striker, hello there!"
She straightens up again, sauntering powerfully and purposefully through mingling warframes, smirking at their happiness, barely brushing past as they gawk after her. Things have been so tense, lately. She almost forgot what harmless, good fun could look like. It is enough to make her Spark feel something.
"Let me guess," greets old Maccadam with his paternal smile. "The usual?"
"The usual," she echoes, turning casually to lean back on something firm, so she can drink and watch while looking cool. "Thanks."
Thundercracker tries his luck, proving himself an excellent dancer.
Windblade is clearly the learner, here, but she and Soundwave seamlessly integrate, drawing Thundercracker in.
Slipstream grins at that. "Go get it, Thunder!"
"I'm getting it! I'm getting it!"
Seekers back each other up. Others cheer, too. Nova Storm in particular, Thundercracker's closest and most constant companion.
Infected by good vibes, energetic young Bumblebee laughs.
Shadow Striker notices him. He is bright yellow, making considerable noise, and awfully cute. Not her type at all. She might, though, if particularly bored, even if he is canoodling with a rather fetching Seeker. She is awfully cute, too. Why not try both? Perhaps they like to share. Maybe later. Shadow Striker is still tender after that femme whose designation has been discarded with the regularly scheduled temporary memory dump.
"You're buzzing," Slipstream murmurs into Bumblebee's audial, her rumble overheard despite Soundwave's song. "Excited?"
"Yeah, I'm getting pumped! Everybody's having a great time, I can't help it!"
"Then you should probably go dance with them. Let loose."
"Oooh, I'm gonna have to! Be right back, 'kay?"
"Have fun." She lets him go, slipping out from under her arm, hurrying over to the other dancers. She watches him just as fondly. A part of her Spark wishes she could join, but she appreciates that they do not cajole or pressure her to participate.
Shadow Striker is about to take another sip when Bumblebee dance-shuffles his way over to her. She pauses, unimpressed. "What."
"Hi." With a sunny smile, he offers her a servo, unafraid. "Wanna dance?"
The larger femme quirks a sharp optical ridge, her modified lens glaring down at him, a scope she had fitted within her helm to improve her already lethal capabilities.
"You too cool to dance?" Does this little thing not know who he is speaking to?
"Normally." It intrigues her.
"That's okay!" He withdraws, unoffended. "Cheers!" How refreshing. He did not cower, nor did he push the matter. He just respects her wishes, whilst seemingly totally unaware of who just brushed him off – she could have gutted him so easily. He dance-shuffles away, joining the moving throng.
She watches him go. Her motor ticks. "Ugh, scrap it." She likes the way his hips move. Flexible. Stamina. Stronger than he seems. Durable, for one so compact. His small size may prove convenient. Who can say no to such a pretty face, either? Not even the infamous Shadow Striker. She sets her cup down and follows him.
"Changed your mind?" he shouts over the music as her presence draws close. "Sweet!"
"Hope you can keep up." She scoffs. "I don't humour scrubs."
"Okay, tough guy, show me your moves!"
Slipstream chuckles into her cup as Bumblebee gives it everything he has got to give. Takes an easygoing sip, almost forgetting about Starscream.
Despite her fearsome appearance and infamous reputation, Shadow Striker shall excel on the dance floor, as well. She brings a rather different tempo, dancing as she is with Bumblebee. Few get to witness her, like this. It draws stares.
"Is he serious? He barely reaches her chassis! Got big ball-bearings, I guess."
"No way! Do you know who that is? That's Shadow Striker!"
"The merc? For real?"
"She's scary! Bumblebee's lost his brain module, that's for sure."
"Hey, he's not half bad. Look at them go…"
"She's smiling, check it!"
"She can smile?"
"Looks like she's enjoying herself. Whew, her warframe can really move."
Slipstream agrees with that latter sentiment. She almost forgets to swallow, coughing on a mouthful of her drink, slamming a fist into her own chassis. Thankfully, nobody notices. "Ugh." Always with the femmes.
Thank you for sticking by me while I cover the pre-war stuff. I know it's very self-indulgent of me, but I want to provide context for what happens next, especially as I play with canon for my own ends. The past won't be the focus for too much longer, nor will Maccadam's remain the centre stage. Constructive feedback is welcome. Also, Hot Motor Oil is a real thing, courtesy of Alex Milne and those he may work with (I am only making a cheeky reference).