Disclaimer: Transformers (Generation 1) and everything related belongs to the rightful company Hasbro. I am in no way shape or form making money off this.

Author's Notes: Tracks and Sunstreaker both think they are Primus-sent gift to Cybertron, and refuse to give up the title. So how are they going to decide who's the best? A bet of whoever gets the first bot they find. Run, Bumblebee! Run for your life!

Title: Place Your Bets!

Pairing: TracksxBumblebee (G1)

Request: 01bumblebeefan (AO3)

Tracks was a very busy mech, and unless he deemed it important, he never bothered to remember certain things such as designations. He was from the Towers, one of the Elites! Why should he waste anything on something he deemed as worthless? The dark blue mech looked at the crowd, noting several mechs and femme he recognized from the Towers, as usual dressed in their finest, as well as other influential bots that could make or break you. A variety of treats and drinks were being served, music being played that one would think it was some sort of elaborate party. Normally the very trendy mech would be making his social rounds, keeping on top of what was hot and passing it to those he deemed worthy, but most of the time he was looking for the next berth partner for the cycle or so. But how was he going to find someone in an art gallery of all places?

"Can we go yet?" he asked, trying not to sound like he was whining (highly undignified) but the blue and white mech barely paid him any attention.

"We just arrived! And I have been wanting to come here for quite some time; the artist is suppose to be up and coming, and he's all anybot can talk about," Mirage vented softly. Sometimes he wondered how was he still friends with Tracks, but for all his vanity he could be a decent friend. Sometimes.

"I really don't understand why anybot is fascinated by—this." They were currently looking at a large painting, awash in dark colors it depicted what appeared to be two beings, but for the love of Primus, all the crimson-faceplate mech saw was a mess, like it was created by a sparkling. "It makes no sense."

"Art is not suppose to make sense." Once more Mirage was thinking he should have come alone but shook his helm as he moved to another painting. As trendy as his friend was, he was also utterly exhausting to be around.

Said mech continue to stare at eh painting. He skimmed over the plague but no matter how he looked at it, he still did not understand it. Stepping back, he took a moment to close his optics, giving them a break from the absurd use of colors.

"Oh, I heard of this one!" a feminine vocalizer said excitedly, prompting the mech to online his optics.

"Isn't this one of the artist's earlier works?" another asked curiously.

"Yes! He said in an interview that it represents his past, of his rise from the slums themselves."

'No wonder it looks like a mess, considering where he came from.' But Tracks stayed back, listening to the femmes 'oooh' and 'ahhh' over the painting. He was sipping from his drink when the conversation somehow turned to the artist's berth skills.

"And how would you know what he's like?" a royal violet femme asked with narrowed optics.

"A good friend of mine told me!" the other femme said, ignoring the other's scoff. "I told her I didn't believe her, but I've heard from others just how amazing he is!"

"Are you sure it wasn't the other one, his brother? I've seen his image at all of the clubs much more!" a pretty silver femme pointed out.

"Oh Sideswipe! Well, he does not know how to have a good time, that's for sure, but according to my friend Sunstreaker is the best mech that ever-graced Cybertron! He's a gift from Primus himself!"

The delicate glass never stood a chance as it shattered in the unyielding grip. And if Tracks was a lesser bot, he would have declared his rage for all to hear. Some upstart though he was a gift from primus! Perhaps he should let these poor, diluted femmes know the difference between a welcomed gift and a piece of scrap. Wiping his servo clean, he approached the small group of femmes, giving them a dazzling smile. Sometimes this was just too easy.

As the small group chatted, two mechs were watching from a short distance away. Both were attractive mechs, both with accents of black but one had deep crimson plating and the other golden yellow. The crimson one seemed more interested in the delicate looking femmes, grinning to himself. However, the golden mech was listening to the other mech was saying with intense scrutiny. Sunstreaker was used to hearing bots say things about his art, but they always came around when others started buying everything on sight. This mech was no different and he was prepared to ignore him but then he started talking about his attitude, how he was violent with a short temper. It was enough to make his engines rumble in anger.

"Relax, Sunny, we've heard it all before," his twin said in a low tone, still giving the femmes a look.

"I told you to stop calling me that," he hissed, crossing his servos over his chassis. "I know, but I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone." It would be so easy to ignore him and see about scoring some company for this night cycle. He would offer to find somebot for his frowning twin but the mech really did not like anyone and valued his personal time and space. But just as he was about to go and introduce himself, the mech made an off-hand comment about trash staying where it belongs in the slums. He didn't have to turn to see if the other mech heard and shuddered his optics as the golden mech stormed right up to the group. "Slag! Sun-"

"What the frag did you just say?" he growled, resisting the urge to punch the arrogant bot as hard as he could.

Tracks knew who the mech was before he could introduce himself, but he also wasn't intimidated by the enraged look in his optics or the loud rumbling of his engine. And he certainly did care as the femmes took off, leaving him to fend for himself even as others quickly made themselves scare. "I don't believe I need to repeat myself, but if you insist, I merely said the artist should just take his "art" and return to the slums where he belongs," he responded.

"Who the frag offlined and made you the expert in art?" Sunstreaker hissed, ignoring the way Sideswipe was trying to pull him back.

"I believe the term you are looking for is connoisseur, and no bot offlined here. But judging by your art and the look of your own plating… maybe somebot did," he said, giving both mechs a critical look. "Looking at you two, I'm seeing less of "gift from Primus" and more "trash of the slums"." Even braced for a violent outcome, he was still taken back when Sunstreaker tried lugging at him, barely being held back by a protesting Sideswipe. Mirage, who had been looking for his friend, came in time to try and get the both of them out but they refused to move.

"You think you're so hot?! I heard about you, fragging anybot then tossing them aside like scrap. You're no better than the scrap itself!" the artist snapped.

"Sunstreaker! Cut it out before someone calls the Enforcers!" Sideswipe pleaded, struggling to push him back.

"How dare you! At least I look impeccable so bots aren't ashamed to be seen with me!" the blue mech snapped back.

"Tracks, stop being ridiculous!" Mirage hissed, once more regretting inviting him along.

"You think you're so hot? Fine! I bet you I can frag the next bot long before you!"

"I could get anybot on my worse cycle then you could on your best!"

"It's a bet!" Yanking his servo from his twin, he held it out to the other mech. When Tracks frowned, he smirked. "What? Afraid of a bet? Or are you afraid to lose?"

Ignoring Mirage's warning, the mech pushed his friend aside and grasp the other servo firmly. "I will not lose. First bot that approaches us, mech or femme. First to frag then wins." The both had a stare off, subtly trying to crush the other's servo in their grip, but just before the tension could amount into something dangerous, a vocalizer broke the silence and everybot turned to face a compact frame looking at them with brilliant blue optics.

"Um, sorry to interrupt, but are you the artist Sunstreaker?" he asked politely, matte black servos holding a still mostly full glass.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I just wanted to say I love your paintings! The first time I saw them, I was taken back by the amount of detail you put into it. Seeing your other works shut shows how much passion you have and I'm so happy I was able to come and see it all with my own optics!" the minibot exclaimed before pausing and chuckled nervously. "S-Sorry! I'm sure you heard that a lot, but I told myself if I had the chance, I wanted to thank you personally."

"Really? Why on Cybertron would you want to do that?" Tracks asked, clearly confused.

"Well, it's clear he enjoys painting, and I don't know anything about art, but if he's willing to share his art with everybot else then it means he wants to show his skills and talent." It was such a simple explanation, no one said a thing for a klik until Sideswipe came over and patted the shorter mech on the pauldron.

"I like the way you think—um, I, didn't get your designation," he chuckled.

"Oh! Right, sorry! I'm Bumblebee! And you must be Sideswipe, right?"

"The one and only!" Giving his twin a few kliks to cool his temper, he led the minibot off, making jokes along the way. Mirage took the opportunity to pull his own friend away before fists started flying. Both mechs were hoping that the ridiculous bet would be forgotten in a few cycles, but neither of them saw the way they glared at each other.

Bumblebee hummed to himself as he drove along the streets, heading back to his habsuite after a long day. Sure, being a courier wasn't exciting, but he met a lot of different bots and he enjoyed driving around. On particularly long trips he would tune into one of his favorite stations, or enjoy the quiet. Arriving, he stopped and transformed before walking into the building. Arriving to the floor of his suite he shuddered his optics to see another package waiting for him.

"Again?" This had been the sixth package so far. It wasn't about the size of the ones he typically delivered but it didn't stop him from picking it up before entering his home. Setting the box on the table he went to get himself some fuel, taking a moment to relax before turning his attention to the box. He didn't have to read who it was from but as he opened it, he stared before reaching inside to pull out a large piece of crystal. "What is this?" he asked himself, being very careful he looked it over. It was actually a figure carved from said crystal, clearly done by a master with so much detail. It was clearly not something he could afford even if he saved every shanix he earned, but it was also too much. Carefully he placed the statue back in the box and closed it up.

'First it was flowers, then it was the cases high quality polish, bottles high-grade and energon wine, followed by tickets to every event I've wanted to go, and now this.' Anybot else would have been flattered, and his friends and co-workers remarked how jealous they were, but Bee was a simple mech and these things were… well, they really didn't suit his style. Sure, he may have kept some polish and high grade for himself, but he had given the rest to his friends. This, this was just too much. Checking his chronometer, he silently slipped the package into his subspace, then headed out. 'I got time, I can make it there and back before traffic gets packed.'

The minibot hummed along to his favorite station as he joined the own vehicles on the road. Luckily, he knew the route since he had been making a lot more deliveries in this sector lately, but it still awed him each and every time. The Tower might as well as be a whole other planet, and Bumblebee was one of the lucky few who could visit. He turned the radio off as he pulled up to a familiar building, letting his engine run idle before cutting off and transforming. The building itself looked like a work of art, one that proudly proclaimed wealth and an elite status. It just made Bee feel inferior.

'Well, too late to turn back now.' Steeling his resolve, the courier entered the building and made his way to the lift. There was no bot in the lobby but the building was said to have the best security of the entire planet and there was no one glitched enough to think about breaking in. Bee watched as the lift rose higher and higher into the air, the streets and its bots growing smaller and smaller. It made him nervous and he was all too glad to exit the lift as it reached the designated floor. Despite his multiple visits, Bumblebee felt out of place, that his mere presence was unwelcomed and looked down upon. He tried not to dwell on it as he walked down the hall, stopping in front of a door and pressed the button on the side. A melodious tone was heard, letting the occupant know there was a visitor.

Several kliks passed and there was no response. The yellow mech frowned and reached out to push the button again but the door opened, making him jump. On the other side of the door was a blue and white mech with golden yellow optics. "Oh! Um, hi, sorry to bother," he said after the moment of shock passed. "You're Mirage, right?"

"Yes. Bumblebee, correct?" Seeing the other mech nod made the noble want to vent. "I am sorry, but Tracks is not here at the moment. But he should be back shortly if you care to wait inside," he began to offer but the shorter mech shook his head as he held his servos up.

"No, thanks though. I'm, kinda glad he's not home. I mean, not like that! I just, wasn't sure how he'd react, you know?"

"… I am afraid I do not know what you are referring to."

"S-Sorry, I kinda ramble on without explaining myself." Rubbing the back of his helm, he reached into his subspace and removed a box and presented it to the other mech. "I know I should do this myself, but can you give this back to Tracks for me?"

Mirage frowned but he took the package anyway. "May I ask what this is for?" he asked.

"… The gifts are great, and I'm flattered, really. But this is too much and I, I can't accept this." Nodding and murmuring his thanks, Bee quickly headed for the lift and once he was out of the building, he transformed and drive back home as quickly as he could.

The noble continued standing there even after minibot left before slowly stepped back and allowing the doors to close. Moving to the sitting area he set the box on the table before sitting on the plush couch. After a bit, he opened it and set the crystal statue on the table. He remembered this one because he was with Tracks when the other mech had bought it. Expensive, beautiful, unique, something he knew certain mechs and femmes in the Towers would fight to own and show off. And yet a simple deliverybot returned it, even though it had been given to him as a gift. Mirage wasn't sure what to think, but he knew that this bet between Tracks and Sunstreaker was wrong. Somebot was going to get hurt, and he didn't want to see Bumblebee like that.

Each time an elaborate gift was sent back, it confused the Tower mech more and more. He had even said in one of his notes that he had bought it as a mistake, seeing how he already had it but Bumblebee still refused to keep it. He stopped, but it wasn't just him but gifts that talentless Sunstreaker as well, if his scowls were anything to go by. That made him smile just a little bit. The problem was that as a courier, the "artist" was able to spend more time with the target of their bet. He had tried that himself, but he had forgotten that most nobles who lived in the Towers frowned upon those them deemed as unworthy, especially if they did not belong there. He tried invited him to fine restaurants and other high-class entertainment, but after a few times he was politely turned down.

'Why is it so hard to impress him?' he wanted to shout/demand, but one did not raise their vocalizer. Pushing the data aside, he watched as the luxury transport vehicle pulled up to a rather humble looking building and sent a comm. It was small, very plain, boring really, and there were quite a number of bots nearby, openly staring and gawking as though they had never seen a transporter before. This wasn't even one of the newer models! 'But then again, they look like they have never had the chance to partake in a hot oil bath.' He opened the door and stepped out as soon as he received a ping on his HUD. Venting deeply, he put on his most charming smile and watched as his date rushed out of the doors of the building, venting slightly. "Good evening, Bumblebee."

"Evening, Tracks! Sorry, hope I didn't keep you waiting long," he said with a smile of his own.

"I would have waited a stellar cycle just to be able to spend a cycle with you." The way he blushed was a sight, but he also took the time to see that his plating looked like it had been recently polished, dings popped out, scratches filled in, and gleaming like he had been freshly forged here and now. "You look absolutely stunning."

"T-Thanks. I'm glad I had a chance after work." It had taken a lot of pleading, but he was able to convince his supervisor to let him switch shifts with another courier so he could have the evening off tonight. "You look very nice as well."

"How kind of you to have noticed. Shall we go?" Stepping aside, he allowed the yellow mech before following, the door closing behind him. The transport silently took off, and the blue mech took the chance to pour them a drink as they chattered. Frankly, he would rather being anywhere else but another dreadfully boring art gallery, but Bumblebee had been so excited to have received an invitation, from Sunstreaker no less!

"All of my friends and clients told me Primus must be looking over me or something, I mean I'm nothing special, but its kinda exciting, too," he said, still smiling as he glanced out of the window. "This kinda feels like, a whole new world to me."

"I imagine I would feel the same in your situation," the Tower mech said with a slow nod. No way in the Pitt was he going to admit he almost was unable to get an invitation himself, but he was determined to make the most of this event, so help him.

The art of Sunstreaker was being known far and wide, bots from all cityscapes were eager to pay just about any amount of shanix to own a piece, according to the news casts. He was all anybot could talk about, and as such, invitations were seen as Primus sent gifts. As the transport vehicle arrived, it was joined by others. Reporters and camera drones hovered to take images and videos of those in attendance. Mechs and femmes, polished to a high-gloss shine, many dripping jewels, precious metals, even imported fabrics and the like. Tracks felt like he could have done more, but glancing at Bumblebee he could see that eh minibot was even more overwhelmed, as though he regretted coming. He surprised the both of them as he took his servo in his own and smiled.

"Don't let anybot tell you that you don't belong. You were given an invitation from the artist of this opening himself, and no bot can take that away from you," he told him in a low tone. "Even just for tonight, enjoy yourself and hold your helm up high."

"Tracks… thank you." Bee's friends had warned him that Tower mechs were no good, that this one had something mean planned, but they couldn't be more wrong. Squeezing the servo back, he nodded and together they stepped out of their transport. Both ignored questions being thrown their way, the flashing and whirling of the hovering cameras and after showing the guards their invitations, were allowed inside.

Just like the other gallery openings, paintings hung on every available surface, with small data plagues beneath each one. Some pieces up for purchase were being marked as sold, but that didn't stop the patrons from admiring the works of art. The courier minibot was eager to see each and every piece, turning back to ask the noble which was his favorite or his opinion. Tracks did not care, but he humored the smaller mech and was rewarded with a smile or a laugh. Energon wine was being served and he managed to get them each a glass.

Bumblebee was not much of a drinker. Being a minibot his engine was not designed for copious amount of anything too strong. So even after taking a mere sip, he struggled to contain himself as it hit his tanks, sending his engines and fuel pumps racing. "S-Sorry! Not—used to this!" he admitted, clearly his vents.

"Quite alright, remember what I said," the other mech said calmly and took a moment to gently rub the smaller mech's backplates. Part of him did want him to have a good time, but another part of him wondered how he would be if he managed to get him over-charged. "I can get you another drink, if you prefer."

"No, no this is fine." Looking at his glass. Bee took another sip but slower. It was good, still rich but before he knew it, he had finished his first and was slowly working on his second. Seeing the look on Tracks' faceplates he smiled and winked up at him. "You said I needed to enjoy myself, and that's what I plan on doing."

The crimson faceplates mech shuddered his optics before chuckling, then outright laugh as his date followed him in suite. "May we both enjoy ourselves tonight, then!" Tapping their glasses together they drank, ignoring the unkind stares sent in their direction. The two continued talking and drinking, clearly enjoying themselves they failed to notice a third party coming over, sitting down with his own drink.

"You two look like you're having your own kind of party here," Sunstreaker said with a nod. Tracks gave a polite nod but Bumblebee was all smiles, his faceplates slightly flushed.

"Sunstreaker, hi! Oh, thanks for the invite, that was very nice of you," he beamed.

"How could I not send you on? You're like one of two bots who gives me an honest opinion about my art that I really care about."

"What about your twin, Sideswipe?"

"I love my brother, but when it comes to art, I think I got his share as well as my own." He raised his glassed to his derma plating but paused, then smirked. "As well as all the looks."

Bee couldn't help but giggle into his glass to keep from admitting he might be right. In fact, both mechs were quite handsome on their own; even Sideswipe was good-looking, but his processor kept going back to the artist and the noble. Both were trying so hard to get his attention, giving him so many expensive gifts, talking with him and asking about his cycle. He wasn't a total glitch; he knew they were flirting but really, he wasn't sure how far this would go. Was it something random? Did they want him to make the first move? Was he suppose to wait for them? Was he suppose to do something? Who could he talk to about this, anyway? It was all making his processor hurt so he finished his glass and reached for another but drinking it too fast caused his engine to stutter, fuel pumps kicking back a bit harsher than his first sip.

"Are you alright?" Tracks asked in concern, getting patting his backplates as the minibot doubled-over slightly, to which Bee nodded, trying to gain control over his frame.

"Glad I never let Sideswipe sent you his own brewed high-grade, that stuff should be considered illegal," the golden mech remarked. He waited until the mini was sitting up and leaned into his space, looking him over. "You okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Just, not much of a drinker." It was the fine energon that was making his plating feel all hot, never mind the fact that only his faceplates and where the noble was touching him seemed hotter than usual. Nothing was said and he nervously tapped the tips of his digits against his glass but before he could say anything they were interrupted by another mech, one who was draped in so many jewels, it was no small miracle that he could stand much walk but in his servo was a glass of wine that seemed to slosh slightly.

"So, you are the famed artist everybot has been talking about," the gaudy mech declared loudly, gaining a great deal of attention to them, his vents reeking of his over-charged state. "I must say, even with so many news recording I expected you to be more… hmm, how shall I put this clearly…" His servo came up, stroking his chin in thought before smirking. "Oh yes, posh."

A quiet rumble could be heard but it was taking all Sunstreaker had not to let his engine rev in full force. "What, is that suppose to mean?" he asked in a deadly calm tone.

"I heard about you, you and your twin, was it? Abandoned in the slums, always causing trouble, had quite a few run-ins with the Enforcers. Surprised you two haven't been sent to the pits of Kaon, but here you are showcasing your talent for all of Cybertron to see. Quite a feat! Something imaginable!" As he continued talking his made his way closer and now stood in front of a silently fuming mech, either ignoring or not noticing the other two mechs who had gone deathly quiet.

"… Thanks. But as you can see, I'm busy here." He didn't like this mech, he really did not like him, but if he didn't shut his slag-eating lip plates he was going to make him swallow his own denta.

"Busy, hmm?" The mech didn't paused as he downed his drink, purposely taking the still mostly full glass from the table that Sunstreaker had been sipping at and downed it before setting the empty glass back down. Swaying ever so slightly, he leaned over the still seated mech, smirking as though he held the upper servo on whatever game he thought he was going to win. "I just have one thing to say and I'll be on my way. You may be all anybot can talk about now, but bots like you are nothing new. You two may as well as enjoy it while you can, because before you know it, everybot will see that you and you twin are nothing more but talentless, inferior, rejects that not even the slums-"

Although the tension was so thick it could have clogged the vents of a titan-class bot, the over-charged mech never saw the fist until it impacted with the center of his faceplates, caving his olfactory sensor inward, as well as knocking loose most of his denta with an abnormally loud crunch and shriek of metal. Gaudy gems flew off as he fell backwards, crashing to the floor in a frame-shaking thud. Such a sound and site cause the entire gallery to fall into silence, but it seemed to have been the pin waiting to drop as several other mechs, not as richly decorated as the one fallen one, to ran forward with the intent to harm the artist. But Sunstreaker, who had lost any and all control of his limited patience, let loose and thew himself at his would-be attackers.

Tracks had heard the rumors before, that the golden mech was as fierce in battle as he was attractive, and it was one of the reasons it had taken him so long to be recognized. He knew it would be his downfall but he was not so glitched to risk angering the mech as badly as that one. But Bumblebee didn't know any of that and could only stare in fear as such a wild and unleashed act of rage. Without thinking, he grabbed the minibot's servo and pulled him to his peds.

"Follow me," he said and immediately started leading him away. The yellow mech followed, looking back he caught side of the red twin forcing his way through the crowds only to join in the fight, protecting his twin. The other bots were torn between leaving or watching, so no one spared the two a glance as they left, quickly heading for their transportation. Soon as they were inside, it took off with several others.

For the duration of the ride both mechs were quiet, not saying anything it felt almost like relief by the time they arrived. Once more, Tracks surprised himself as he got out with Bumblebee and sent the transportation back, leading the minibot inside and up to his habsuite. Bumblebee was quiet as he unlocked the door and the two stepped inside, making their way to the sitting area. Still, no one said anything, but the noble silently reached over and covered the matte black servo in his own, squeezing it gently.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"I… I don't know. I, never knew he was like that," came the whispered answer. "He-They-looked like they were enjoying it, the fighting." Sure, he had been in fights himself, being a minibot was never easy, but not to that degree. "I-" but what could he say? He shook his helm and clutched at the servo tightly, covering his faceplates with the other servo. "How could I be so blind? I had no idea he was like that! I was actually starting to like him!"

"… if you feel that strongly, then maybe its for the best you saw his true colors." The Tower-forged mech reached out to gently tilt the courier's faceplates up to his own, taking a moment to study his before leaning down and pressing their lip plates together. He heard him invent sharply, growing tense, but instead of pulling away he leaned in closer, returning the kiss with one of his own. The kiss was soft, almost innocent, but after several kliks it was becoming something more and neither of them showed any sign of stopping.

Bumblebee moaned as servos caressed his frame, digits stroking over seams, stroking exposed gaps and wires. His system was running hotter than before, whether fueled by the rich energon or the act of violence, he couldn't be sure but he didn't want this to stop. He whimpered as a glossia flicked his, coaxing his into action and soon his own servos were stroking at het glossy finish, hesitant but growing in confident with each moan of pleasure. He felt himself being pushed back into the cushions of his couch, clinging to the mech above him but when a servo reached down and began stroking at his interface panel, he let out an embarrassing squeak. "T-Tracks!"

"Something wrong?" he asked, venting deeply. Primus! He tasted so sweet and innocent, his spark telling him to pull back now, but his processor stubbornly reminded him of the bet. Even the way the minibot blush was too much for him to handle but as he looked away, he understood. He instead, leaned down and whispered into his audio sensor, "If you want me to stop, I will. But you'll have to speak up." Leaning closer, he licked at the cute horns atop the helm and groaned as the whimpering moan he released. Even as the lower stabilizers widen, he refused to touch him. "Speak up, sweet little Bumblebee."

Oh Primus, this was so embarrassing! But he really didn't want this to stop. This was his night to have fun, and if he wanted to lose his seals then slag it, he was going to do it! "Pl-Please Tracks, take me, right here, right now." Forcing himself to look up at him, he smiled softly and once more wrapped his servos around him to pull him close. "I want you."

Another pull from his spark, another warning to stop before it became worse, but the mech nodded and took the yellow's mech lip plates for another kiss. His servo resumed it stroking, rubbing the heated metal until it folded back. It didn't matter as he caressed and kneaded the entrance, coating his digits he let the smaller bot feel everything, whispering what he was going to do in a tone that was smoother than Iacon cream. The more he spoke, the more Bee's blushing grew, the heavier his venting became, pelvic array pushing against his servo and the teasing digits. Tracks sat up and slowly spread the stabilizers wide with his servos, taking a moment to look. He inwardly groaned and felt his own plating fold back but denied the command to release his spike.

"Tracks, oh Primus, don't stop. Please, take me!" Bumblebee pleaded, gripping the back of his couch with one servo, the other reach down and spread himself open to the other mech, trying to mimic a holographic image a friend had sent as a "way to relieve a heavy charge" some time ago. He whimpered as more lubricant stained the material of his couch.

"… do you want this, Bumblebee? Right here in his habsuite, no preparation other than my spike?" Please, please say no, please say this was the wine talking, that this charge was a mistake. Please, say anything except yes!

"Yes! Take my seal!" Part of him wondered why he was stalling, that perhaps he was not ready to continue, but the noble pressed in close and took what he was offering.

The blue mech struggled to vent, but everything was incredible! One servo firmly stroked the lower stabilizer still in his grasp, the other reaching out to grip the back of the couch but instead he found the minibot's servo and clung to it instead, squeezing tightly. He knew he should wait, but he couldn't. Mere words that could barely describe his attraction to the minibot, especially the way his optics, a beautiful blue that rivaled the most precious of gems, looked up at him, panting his designation, asking for more. Tracks was lost to his own desires as he swooped in and sealed their derma plating one more, grunting and moaning as he took what he minibot was offering.

Bumblebee gave himself over, letting the other mech take him as much as he wanted and he still begged for more. He clutched at the servo that still held his, digits interlocked together. His other reached out and gripped him wherever he could, grabbing at one of the appendages at his backplates and when his digits dug into a wide gap, the mech above his growled, actually growled, and told him to do it again as. Bee gladly did so, crying out his pleasure. He was sure to get noise complaints from his neighbors but that was a matter he could deal with much much later. He used both servos and dug his digits into his backplates, into the wide gaps and clung as his frame was being used.

"Oh primus! Oh yes, yes please! More, please! D-Don't ever stop!" A litany of curses and pleas left his vocalizer, mixed among the whimpering moans and muffled growls, his neck cables not being spared as they were bit into. Now the yellow mech found himself on his hydraulic joints and chassis pressed into the floor. He cried out as the glossia licked at his sensory horn, optics flickering as his HUD read low levels, as the frame pressed into his, pushing harder into the floor. And yet he continued to beg for more, clutching the servo that pinned his down.

Oh Tracks, Primus! Yes! I-I-!"

"Scream for me, my sweet, little Bee," he growled and this time, bit the base of the horn.

"I love you, Tracks!" came the sharp cry and the smaller frame went through another, this one so strong it not only zapped any remaining charge from his system, it fried his network and forced him to crash. He was out, optics completely offline and frame lax.

The noble continued to knelt over the smaller frame, vents running heavy and hard, cooling systems struggling to cool his overheated frame. His own HUD pinged him of low readings but he didn't seem to notice as the words repeated themselves on a loop in his processor. The minibot courier had said he had loved him. He, who had been a little bit overcharged, let someone he barely knew into his habsuite, and let him frag him repeatedly in his sitting area. He had begged—pleaded, for him to go faster, harder, for more! And he said he loved him.

… … …

What. The. FRAG!?

Tracks felt as though he was moving on autopilot as he gathered the exhausted frame into his servos and stood, heading to the berthroom in the back and laying the minibot down. he then located the wash racks and dampening a cloth, returned and cleaned up his berthmate. He paused whenever the minibot whimpered or bucked into his touch, but soon he was wiped clean and the plating slid close. Returning to the wash rack he cleaned himself as well as much of his plating as he could, but he didn't feel clean. He felt—disgusted. Resisting the urge to strike at his reflection, he left the habsuite as quickly as he could, leaving the building as soon as he was outside, he transformed and took off with a low thrum of his thrusters. Never had he been so grateful to be forged with the ability for travel on ground and the skies. Even as he returned home and took a shower hot enough to scold his paint, he still felt disgusted with himself and he couldn't begin to understand why.

It had been cycles since the night Bumblebee witness the fierce some nature of both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, as lost his seals to Tracks, and something felt very wrong. When he awoke the following cycle his array hurt so much, it had taken him some time to realize why and he felt himself flush with embarrassment but it didn't stop him from rewatching the event from his memory files. Although he was still sore, it didn't stop him from paying with himself, messing a mess on his berth as he came, whimpering the noble's designation. Resting for a bit, he got up and grabbed a cube of energon, flushing when he saw the stains from the night prove that it had not been a defrag. But instead of contacting the other mech he went about cleaning himself and his habsuite, scrubbing at the stains as much as he could and washing the sheets of his berth. He had received a message from Sideswipe, apologizing and asking if he was alright. He had also received one from Sunstreaker, asking about his welfare, but nothing from Tracks. He responded to them and still went about his cycles.

Much later and still nothing from tracks, but now even Sunstreaker had stopped sending him messages. He had tried asking his twin, but the crimson mech admitted he didn't know what was wrong, and was trying to handle the media who were now calling the golden artist a mad mech who was too dangerous to be around. Bumblebee knew that wasn't true, but he was also trying to hide the hurt he was feeling.

He threw himself into his work, delivery packages and chatting with friends and coworkers alike. Many had pointed out his different mood but he merely explained that he was going through some things at the moment so they left him be. Had it been something he said or done? Did something happen to the mechs? Should he go to Sideswipe or even Mirage? His HUD beeped at him that he was arriving to his destination and slowed down. it wasn't until he stopped that he realized that it was the studio where Sunstreaker worked.

"Scrap." The artist hadn't ordered much of anything lately, he had just grabbed the package and input the address without realizing it but it was too late to turn back. Taking a klik to calm down, he transferred and entered.

The studio was almost like a ruin, empty, eerily quiet, and for once not fill with chatting bots who were arguing about who would own what painting. In fact, a lot of paintings, finished and not, were sitting in piles on the floor, some still hanging but ruined. They had clearly been destroyed but who would do this? And why? He was able to call out for something or leave the package on a table when he heard voices arguing.

'I should just leave this here,' he told himself, reaching into his subspace and was prepared to do that, but the vocalizers sounded familiar and he realized with a start he knew who the bots were.

"I can't believe you actually sent me the fragging file!" Sunstreaker.

"As if you would believe me if I merely told you!" Tracks.

"I begged for being a lota things, but not that. You took advantage of him!" He did what?

"If case you didn't notice, he consented! Pitt, he begged me for it!" Who did?

"Cuz he was overcharged, slagger!"

Bumblebee was a polite mech, he knew better than to listen in on somebot's private conversation, but the curiosity was eating at him! He silently moved closer and peered into the crack of the door, leading into a smaller studio. Sure enough, Sunstreaker and Tracks were both there, arguing about something.

"No rules were ever made before or during the bet, and he still had ample opportunities to say no," the blue mech stated firmly, servos crossed over his chassis. "Don't blame me that you were too slow to get to him first."

"How do I know you didn't bring that slagger to my gallery just to slag everything up?!" the golden mech shouted, fists slamming into the metal table hard enough to dent it.

"Why in the Pitt would I associate myself with something as gaudy and fictitious as him!? I have a reputation to think about even outside the Towers!" Throwing a blue servo out, the noble pointed a digit at the artist, optics narrowed. "The bet was whoever fragged the first bot to approach us won, and I won."

"So, what, you want a trophy or something?" came the snarled response.

"Please. Just hearing you acknowledge me as the winner and being better than you would be enough." Dangerous ground to be treading on, and yet Tracks couldn't help but smirk. "Well?"

"Right. Like seducing a minibot is so hard. I still say you got lucky 'cuz otherwise, Bumblebee never woulda let a mech who couldn't take a hint that his gifts were not his type if he wasn't such a lightweight."

"And you think he would allow you near him enough to frag after witnessing your little temper-tantrum? He may not be much but as least he has some processing power in that small helm of his!"

The sound of a package hitting the found, rattling the contents inside was enough for both mechs to not only realize someone was here, much less listening to their argument. But seeing that their audience was the object of their sick bet to begin with, both fell silent, processors flatlining and sparks feeling three sizes too small in their chassis.

"… was… was that, was everything—just a bet?" the yellow courier asked quietly, shoulder pauldrons shaking slightly. "Every time you sent me a gift, or asked about my cycle, or pretty much everything, was that just to-to get beneath my plating?" The silence was all the answer they needed and it broke his little spark. "… you two, never cared about me."

"Bee, that's not true-"

"I-We meant everything-"

"Stop lying to me!" he shouted, startling them into silence. He took a few steps into the room, servos shaking before angrily pointing at eh golden artist. "I heard the rumors, my own friends said to be careful around you but I told them you were a good mech who was understood! That your art spoke about you in ways no one could ever guess!" Then he turned his furious gaze to the crimson-faceplated mech. "And you… you told me to hold me helm up high and don't let anybot tell me I don't belong! I-I let you take my seal!" He wanted to screamed that he loved him, but even processing it made his tanks churn unpleasantly. "I… I… I…"

"Bee… we're so-"

"No!" he screamed, slamming his servos immediately over his sensory horns, stumbling back, away from them. "I don't wanna hear it! I-" his chassis heaved as he vented harshly, systems trying to keep from shutting down due to his increase oil pressure. "I hate you both! You're nothing but a sparkless monster, Sunstreaker! And no bot will ever love something as-as worthless as you, Tracks! I wish I have never meet either of you and you can both rot in the Pitt!" With a chocked sob, the distraught minibot ran off, transforming as soon as he was outside and drove. He had no set destination set, but he didn't care. He could fall off the edge of the planet and it still wouldn't be far enough away from them.

The rec room was quiet aboard the Ark, Autobots either quietly conversing with one another or grabbing a cube of energon before proceeding with their assigned shift. For Tracks he was using the time to think back to the biggest error he had ever made in his lifecycle. He had hurt the one bot how had cared about him in such a cold, callous way and never had an opportunity to properly apologize.

After the outburst, it had taken microns to chase after the courier but he was gone. Both he and Sunstreaker tried to apologize, going as far as to his habsuite but each and every time they were ignored and rightly so. Things just seem to go downhill for them. The twins were arrested and sent to the arena as punishment, and the blue noble had lost his only true friend, Mirage, when he had heard what had happened. Then war happened, and Cybertron was dragged into the core of the Pitt itself. He soon found himself joining both mechs and femmes under the leadership of Optimus Prime, knowing that a gruesome end awaited him like so many others and he never looked back, but he also never stopped looking for Mirage and Bumblebee. He was relieved to find his old friend, and the one noble accepted his apologies but he had not seen the yellow courier. Fighting wore on them, and after crash landing on this primitive planet, Earth, that found themselves continuing the war but with it came the knowledge that not only were Sunstreaker and Sideswipe aligned with the Autobots, so was Bumblebee. But what hurt the most was that he had still not gained the courage to approach the minibot and ask for forgiveness.

He watched as Sideswipe said something, making an overly large gesture with his servos which prompted a laugh from the mechs at the table, including Bumblebee. Sunstreaker was also sitting there, busy with his sketchpad but he cracked a small smile as the yellow minibot turned to speak to him, responding in kind. He had made his peace with the frontliner, and it seemed like he had also made his own peace with the minibot spy, but it made the empty ache pulse sadly.

'I am a worthless coward,' he said to himself bitterly. Realizing he had a monitor shift to get to, he quietly subspaced his cube which he had barely touched, and left. He was completely unaware that a bot had watched him leave with a quiet expression.

Monitor duty was easily one of the most boring and easiest job there was, but even so Tracks found it hard to concentrate. The shift seemed to drag on forever that he jumped when Beachcomber came to relieve him. Thanking the other mech he left, his peds taking him down the halls. He didn't want to return to his shared berthroom, he didn't want to really do anything except apologize but how?

'I'm sorry I used you in a bet? I'm sorry I took your seal while you were overcharged? I'm sorry I did say I loved you as well?' Yeah, that would go well. Bumblebee was not only a great soldier and excellent spy, he was almost a favorite of everybot aboard the Ark and well-liked among the humans. If word ever got out how much he hurt him, there would no plan on any planet he could hide from. He stopped and vented deeply, reaching up to rub at his optics.

"I'm such a worthless coward," he muttered to himself, his wings drooping ever lower on his backstruts.

"Tracks?"

Lowering his servo, he shuddered his optics as he turned to face the owner of the vocalizer. Bumblebee stood just a short distance away, calm but curious, and concerned. "… Bumblebee."

The minibot nodded slowly. "Are you alright? You seem, kinda outta it today."

"So, you noticed." Letting out a sad chuckle he looked away from him. "Just thinking about regrets, and how worthless I was, and how much of a coward I am now."

Bee silently knawed on his lower derma plating, a habit he had picked up from the humans before silently coming up and took the other mech's servo in his own. Giving it a tug, he nodded to him. "C'mon." He led them down the hall to his own habsuite he shared, but his partner wouldn't be until sometime late tomorrow. Inside he offered tracks a seat on his berth and took the other. "Why do you think you're a coward?"

"… Because I am. Nothing more."

"And why do you think you're worthless?"

"…"

"Is it because I said you are?"

"…"

"Tracks… I shouldn't have said those things, but I was so mad. I thought, that you and Sunstreaker were my friends. The gifts were a bit much, and I wasn't sued to being flirted by two good-looking mechs, but I was really hurt when I found out about the bet." He paused, once more knowing on his derma plating and rubbing his servos over his upper stabilizers. "I wasn't so over-charged I couldn't say no. I did want you to take me, and I-I enjoyed it. A lot. I, the cycle after, I replayed the video and I, got off on it." Oh, that felt so embarrassing he could feel his faceplates burning up!

Tracks could not believe what he was hearing, and he felt feeling a bit hot under the plating himself but he was also confused. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked softly.

"… do you remember the last thing I said to you, before I found out about, that?"

"… you said… you, you said, that you loved me."

"I do. I still do." Slowly getting to his peds, bumblebee walked over to the other mech, reached up to hod his crimson faceplates in both his servos, and slowly leaning down and kissed him. The once noble felt himself freeze, not unlike what happened when he first kissed the former courier so long ago. His servos shook as he lifted them and rested them on his waist, afraid to pull him closer but not waiting to push him away. The kissed slowly broke apart and allowed the two mechs to rest their forehelms against one another. "I forgive you, Tracks. Because I love you."

"Bumble… Bee… I'm sorry, I knew then it was wrong, but I still did it. I, never wanted to hurt you." He could feel his vents seizing, ready to break down but when the spy wordlessly climbed into his lap, wrapping his servos around him he wrapped his won around him in a tight embrace, clinging to him tightly. He kept repeating how sorry he was for the bet, for hurting him, and for taking so long. He also whispered that he loved him, that everything in his lifecycle became worthless with him. It seemed like an eternity but afterwards his spark felt so much lighter. "Primus… I think the aching void I've been housing is finally gone," he murmured quietly.

"Bee chuckled but continued to gently stroke the back of the mech's helm. "I know. I wanted to tell you for so long, but I knew you had to tell me when you were ready."

"I'm glad. And if I ever get so slagging stupid, you have my permission to knock some sense into me."

"I'm going to proudly hold you to that." Both shared a quiet chuckle but didn't move from one another's embrace, engines purring softly as digits continue their loving caress.

"Bee, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Can… can, I kiss you? Like before?" The stroking stopped and for a moment, Tracks was afraid he had done something wrong as he felt the minibot pull back, but instead he was smiling at him even as a full-blown blush caused the metals of his faceplate to turn blue.

"You can do much more than that. I wouldn't mind a repeated of our first time together." He had a brief moment of satisfaction as he watched the way his then-and-now lover blush just as brightly as his, optics widen before smirking and pulling him into a passionate and sexually deprived kiss. Even though it had been eons since they last touched one another, their servos and frames knew what to do and they were both very eager to make up for lost time.

Author's Notes: (crawls out from hole) I'm alive and look! I bring with me a new chapter! Not gonna lie, this was hard to write because first, I was sitting on my hands for a while (I cannot apologize enough, but I'll stop so I don't annoy everyone) and when is tarted writing I did like where it was going, so what did I do? I revised the plot! This is onna the reasons I act for plots: I tend to go overboard without meaning to. Now, sending me a plot sis merely a suggestion but I'll take just about anything to help spark some creativity. I won't bore you with my personal details either.

This chapter is for the brother of fellow reviewer 01bumblebeefan who was apparently being threaten with a very stinky shoe Ew. Here you are, hope it's not too late and enjoy!

Oh, before I forget, please for the time being do not send me anymore requests. I have a great deal to catch up on but I promise I will let you know when I was be accepting them once more!

Next chapter: Knock OutxSmokescreenxBumblebee