[The Cyberverse continuity is the primary inspiration, with references made to the 2019 comic reboot and other sources of events, lore and characterisation.]

Sometime during reruns of old Cube games, their casual chatter about strategy and star players had abruptly ceased.

Bumblebee had pretended for long enough by then, that the sultry heat of Shadow Striker's glaring scope upon him was going unnoticed. When he shuffled a little closer to her, she was not surprised.

She had smirked, more than willing to receive him, an upward tick of the helm all the encouragement he needed to climb into her lap. Her large servos snugly encompassed his narrow waist.

"I'm just a little guy," he had purred against her, gripping her gleaming chassis and straddling the sheer breadth of her thighs. "But don't let that stop you from showing me a good time, okay?"

"Mmm. I am curious…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She had nuzzled his cheek, murmuring into his audial, "I wonder how much of me you can take…" A swipe of the glossa along his jaw. "Before incurring structural damage."

"Ohh, that's so hot."

They had kissed each other to the background noise of a famous Cube absorption, the details of which were narrated monotonously for the wailing crowd by none other than Shockwave himself, perhaps the most popular announcer in Cube history for his unintentionally humorous and dry delivery via aerial surveillance drone.

Shadow Striker does not tend to recharge with her conquests. She rarely ever frags hard and long enough to require even a brief stint operating in rest mode, let alone necessitating an actual recharge cycle. She is very energy efficient. And yet she wakes in Bumblebee's habitation suite.

The holoscreen is still playing old Cube game reruns at a lowered volume – Shockwave's voice was becoming something of a comedic hindrance to the mood, as nice as it can be to laugh together whilst passionately interfacing.

Bumblebee is sprawled out at her pedes, aft up, aimed in her direction. The mere sight of him spikes her temperature readings, her cooling fans working far too hard. He is as he left her, still slick with mixed lubricant, peacefully in recharge despite the awkward position.

She covers her face plate in her servos, servos that smell like him, as her olfactory sensor reminds her. She shudders, then groans quietly at the reflexive clench in her valve. It has been millions of years since any mech has made her feel this way. The realisation leaves her sitting like this for some time.

Eventually, he too revives, optics fluttering online, moaning as he shifts a little, processing the discomfort in his prolonged posture. "…Ahh, my back strut…"

His squirming is only exciting her further, her servos dropping defeatedly into her own lap as she checks him out from behind. "Wanna get your aft ate some more?" Straight to the point.

"Well, hello to you, too." He giggles, lifting his helm to peer playfully back at her from over his pauldron. He is so handsome. "You're spry first thing, aren't you?"

She can feel herself flushing with Energon her frame pumps close to the surface to help cool her more sensitive internal components. "You're already in the position. Don't wanna waste the opportunity."

"A compelling argument." He slowly wiggles his hips, aft swaying distractingly back and forth.

Her combat scope follows the movement of his aft.

"Especially since I'm all… sensitive."

"You keep talking like that and I'll do something about it."

He offers an exaggerated moan, still lazily wiggling.

Her scope still follows. "Don't tease me." She drags her glossa across her smirking intake. "It's cruel." She can still taste him from before.

"I'm just stretching my cables."

"You hot little slag," she snarls softly, now, seizing his hips within her large servos, groping at the seams between his panels. Her strong, tactile digits easily capture him.

He sucks in air with a shudder. "Mmm! That's me, alright." Chin at rest upon his folded arms, his aching back strut tightly arched and knees planted apart to keep his swaying aft hiked up, he lowers his voice into a purr, uttering below her, "Good thing I keep my hips well-lubricated, huh?"

"Right. That's it."

"Help yourself."

With a rumble of her engine, she braces him in place between her spread legs and stoops face-first into his aft, hefting him neatly upwards to meet her partway.

His cry of pleasure is silent, lurching. Clearly, he has a type – big, strong, domineering femmes who could frag a little guy like him in half.

Femmes like Shadow Striker.

"Ugh, I can't get her outta my mind."

"You mean the femme you only just met the other day?"

"Flamewar. Flamewar. Flamewar. Even her name just… works."

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Her wicked paint-job, those burning optics, the way she smiled at me, and the curves on that little frame…" Hot Rod sighs dreamily. "I got so caught up, I forgot to ask for her comm link. What if I never see her again, outside of my memory files?"

"How tragic," Dead End intones dully.

"Ugh, I know! And we really hit it off, too!"

"Oh, well."

"…Have you ever been in love?"

"Uh, I am really not the one to talk to about this sort of thing."

"Who shall I ask? Who'd understand the stirrings within my Spark?"

"Ask Clobber."

"Ask me what? Sorry, I wasn't listening just now."

"Have you ever been in love?"

Before she can answer, a familiar shade of yellow moves within the periphery of their conversation.

"Hey, guys!" Bumblebee salutes in passing.

With a chorus of confused greetings, their optics follow him as he stiffly shuffles along, on his way to a neighbouring booth.

"…Is he walking funny?"

With a sigh, Hot Rod returns to his lovesick moping.

"Bee!" Windblade exclaims, waving him over quite unnecessarily. Evidently, the mere hours apart were enough for her to get so genuinely excited to see him again, one would think it had been months at the very least. She does this every time. It is rather sweet.

Slipstream's optic ridges skyrocket upon taking in his condition. He looks normal, that is to say effortlessly handsome and infectiously cheerful, except for the way he walks. Or rather, waddles.

"Hi!" Bumblebee offers a playful wink. "Missed me?" And gingerly takes a seat next to Windblade, who is already seated opposite Slipstream, the femmes holding servos on the counter betwixt their drinks, as per usual.

They stare at him.

"Ah." His grin turns crooked. "Is it obvious?"

"That'd be my doing," Shadow Striker reports coolly, suddenly looming at their booth. She made absolutely no noise, and his distinct shade of yellow combined with that awkward gait distracted the other femmes sufficiently that they did not notice the approach until within striking range. "Sorry." She does not sound sorry in the slightest. "Brought him back in one piece, though."

Slipstream flushes as Shadow Striker slides in to sit alongside, elegant and casual.

"Well, then." Windblade glances meaningfully at Bumblebee. "I guess you're part of the squad, now."

Shadow Striker may have just winked. Or perhaps she just blinked. It is hard to tell, on account of the constantly glaring scope. Forever a mystery. Femmes love a good mystery. "Maybe."

"Sooo…" Windblade loops with an arm around Bumblebee's pauldrons, giving her best friend a squeeze. "I'm buying the next round?"

"That'd be awesome. I'm thirsty!"

"I bet you are, you stud."

"Nah, she's the stud, not me. I'm just a lucky little guy."

Being called a stud pleases Shadow Striker. She puffs out handsomely, the smooth panels of her frame gleaming with polish. A discerning optic would notice that she is littered with battle-scars, but she takes care of herself. And she took care of him, too. Over, and over again.

"Ooh, is that a gadget you're workin' on?" comes a sudden, masculine voice from further along the bar, loud and jovial.

Acid Storm tends to occupy a world of their own when fiddling with their technology. They finally pause their endless fiddling, placidly looking up, stunned with mild-mannered disbelief.

"A doohickey? A thingamajig? A contraption of some sort?"

"Oh," they murmur, barely able to gather their wits, "it's just a small project. Experimental." No way. No fragging way is the brilliant Wheeljack speaking to the humble Acid Storm.

"An invention?!"

"…Yes?"

"Wonderful! I can't even tell what I'm lookin' at, but it's fascinatin'!"

The Seeker actually blushes.

Wheeljack claps his palms together, almost giddy. "Always delighted to meet a fellow tech enthusiast! And so young!" A meaningful look at the equally renowned mech beside him. "There's hope for the future of Cybertron, after all, Shockwave! With bright brain modules like this one around, we're gonna be just fine! I told ya not to be so negative!"

"Mmm."

Acid Storm must be dreaming.

"C'mon, now. Don't be shy!" Wheeljack prods Shockwave in the chassis, garnering something of a frown from the featureless helm. "Come take a look! See what you make of it."

"Affirmative. May I inspect the device?" the mech asks with due respect.

"Don't you worry none, we're real gentle!"

"We are professionals. No damage will be dealt."

Unused to anyone else appreciating their hobby, Acid Storm smiles placidly and passes over their project, inwardly reeling at finally being noticed by mechs who may as well be their idols.

"Hmm…" Shockwave turns the device over very carefully in his servo. "Interesting," he concludes, in a thoughtful undertone. "An emitter?"

"Oh! It's mounted to your frame, like so?" Wheeljack's digits inspect the seams.

"What is its function?"

"It's a generator of localised weather conditions, within expected parameters, and adverse."

The mechs look up, intrigued.

"I, um… I've always wanted to control the weather," the Seeker confesses with a modest chuckle, rubbing their helm. "Then my name might actually mean something. Of course, it may also prove useful in future terraforming efforts."

"Control the weather," Wheeljack echoes with a gasp. "That's brilliant! I love it!"

"Curious." Shockwave inclines his helm, optic glinting. "This device could be weaponised."

"Yes. Potentially."

"Imagine a neural link! You think it, and poof! Your own personal lightnin' bolt! That's so cool!"

"And what is your designation?"

"Acid Storm."

"Noted. I am Shockwave."

"And I'm Wheeljack! This clunker here's my old study buddy, we go way back."

"We are not buddies." The featureless helm directs a scowl at the grinning mech alongside, shrugging off his arm moodily. "We are scientific peers. Act like it."

"Oh, don't be so borin'! You act like we never dated!"

"Irrelevant." Shockwave rolls his optic. "That was a long time ago."

"Don't mind him." Wheeljack chuckles amicably. "Hey, you studyin' just now?"

"No. Just… tinkering."

"Got your own workshop, lab, somethin' of the sort?"

"Not really."

"Well, have ya ever considered an apprenticeship?"

Acid Storm's throbbing Spark may explode. Of course, something has to ruin this moment, and that something is Starscream's distinct rasp from within their helm.

Slipstream hears it, too, over the shared Seeker comm link. She jerks upright in her seat and salutes on impulse. "Yes, Captain! Right away, Sir!"

Windblade, Bumblebee and Shadow Striker stare back at Slipstream with bewilderment. They do not hear Starscream's voice.

"Sorry," Slipstream mumbles with some embarrassment. "I gotta go. Seeker stuff." She reluctantly leaves her seat.

Shadow Striker obligingly shifts, allowing Slipstream to pass.

"Aw, seriously?" Bumblebee frowns sullenly, arms folded. "But this is our friendship time."

"I'll catch up with you guys later, if I can. Have fun without me."

"Ugh. Don't wanna."

Slipstream kisses Bumblebee on the brow, before stooping again to echo the gesture on Windblade's cheek, as natural as can be. Automatically, Shadow Striker gets a peck, too, deposited on the handsome angle of her jaw.

She quirks an optic ridge above her scope, but does not react otherwise.

"Oh, sorry!" Slipstream cringes. "Habit. We kiss each other all the time. I got so used to–"

"It's fine." A relaxed shrug. "I don't mind." Actually, Shadow Striker rather enjoyed that unthinkingly cute little gesture.

"Bye, Slip." Windblade waves sadly at the hastily departing Seeker. "Love you."

"Love you guys, too."

"Don't let him be a huge jerk to you, yeah?" Bumblebee calls after her. "Or I'll kick his aft!"

"Okay!"

Acid Storm joins Slipstream at the exit. "Captain Starscream sounded especially excitable," they intone, hugging their weather generator to their chassis, sullen. "It's concerning."

"I'm sure it won't be so bad," she mumbles back, trying to reassure herself as much as her fellow Seeker.

They give her a doubtful look.

"C'mon. Before he yells at us."

"I've had a little work done."

Even Megatron's imposing presence is secondary to the gorgeousness incarnate that is the new and improved Starscream.

"Do you like it?" the Seeker Captain rasps with a beguiling smirk. Before anyone else can answer, "Of course you do," is interjected with a wink. "I'm stunning! Ah, and so much stronger than I was, before. Bask in my glory, my Seekers, for I, your benevolent leader, did it for you!" A pose worthy of the stage.

Thrust burns with envy, Thundercracker and Nova Storm applaud together, Acid Storm admires the technological feat of this custom frame, and Slipstream is very anxious about everything. Starscream's Seekers thus exchange stupid looks of awe between themselves, then return to gawking at their glamorously transformed Captain.

"I'm not just here to show myself off, of course," he purrs immodestly, jutting out his hip and laying a servo upon the joint, accentuating his curves. "My new body is a manifestation of the glory that is to come, glory we shall all share through my radiance. You know that I have met frequently with a handsome and brilliant revolutionary these past months, whose company I so very much enjoy…"

Megatron flushes, shifts almost shyly in place.

"Indeed, with his vital input, I have cast my keen intellect to our future. I have insured our place in this bold new Cybertron, in accordance with his great vision! You've all heard his speeches, you've all clung to his wise words. It is clear to me where our loyalties must lie."

Slipstream shivers when Megatron just so happens to meet her optics.

He almost smiles at her, attempting to look less fearsome, which is kind of him to do.

She awkwardly tightens her intake in reply, trying to look less terrified. This is all so foreboding. She has no say in any of it.

"My Seekers, great change is imminent." Starscream has been so drastically rebuilt, he only resembles their kind, sauntering among the ranks and projecting his voice effortlessly. "Your careers have led to this pivotal moment. Now, although I have already pledged our undying allegiance to his will, he would still like to address you himself. And so I must step back. Megatron, darling, go right ahead. The floor is yours!"

"…Thank you, Starscream."

The Captain bows deeply, and sashays off.

Megatron clears his intake. "Greetings, noble Seekers." He has a truly impressive voice. It reverberates through the floor, up into the pedes of the smaller frames lined neatly before him, right into their Spark chambers. "I am Megatron. You may have seen me in the gladiatorial arena, or perhaps you have attended my rallies, or read some of my literary works."

They murmur their agreement. They are, indeed, familiar with the celebrity before them.

"Rest assured. Indeed, great change is coming. For I know the plans I have for you. The powers that be would love nothing more than to convince you that the golden age has been upon us, an age of decadence and peace. They claim we dwell within a utopia, yet inequality and injustice persist. No more!" A fist slams into a chassis, with great feeling. "The old ways end now, with necessary force. You… will be a show of that force."

Starscream grins.

Slipstream wants to sit down.

"You will make those arrogant fools, the pampered and the elite, bend and break like the backs that have toiled in servitude to ensure their comfort for millennia. You will humble your betters, humiliate them in defeat, drive them beneath you as we establish the proper order. Do you not know who you once were? Seekers!"

They all jerk with fright.

"I shall restore you, remnants of an ancient guild of aerial warriors, defenders of Cybertron past, defenders going forward!" Megatron throws up that fist. "You will prove instrumental in the dawn of a truly free, fair Cybertron for all – you will be heroes, you will fight the good fight, and you will prevail, 'til all are finally one!"

Starscream flutters his optics up at Megatron, enraptured.

"I intend to make more of you than this ornamental servitude your proud kin have been reduced to. You have been neglected and left to stagnation for far too long! The powers that be fear you! And so they should! We will do such great things together."

Slipstream really wants to sit down.

If you're curious, a past iteration of Acid Storm could control the weather.