Jack's Ghey Pencil

Today, there was no music and frankly, it disturbed Jazz. The base was horrendously quiet and he knew exactly why. The reason sat before him, optics blank and frame shadowed by the lit screens of Teletraan-X.

Rumors had been flying left, right, and sideways about Blurr’s sudden disappearance, how Blaster had somehow been involved and how the mech had threatened Rodimus with the total destruction of the communications network if he hadn’t complied with his demand of servitude. Rodimus, of course, had said he’d bravely defended the army against this usurpation and knocked Blaster unconscious, leaving the officer to be directly hooked into Teletraan’s mainframe.

Jazz didn’t believe a word of it. Threatening the network seemed like something Blaster would do, but in exchange for a leadership role? The bot had confided to him before that he hoped he never was promoted past communications. “Too much zcrunity”, he had said. “I’m more likely to get zlagged for an error vhen I’ve got a pretty title zhan if I don’t.” Clearly, he’d been wrong.

Aforementioned mech was slumped next to Teletraan’s main console, optics dimly flickering as the supercomputer’s hold on him waned and waxed. It was strange seeing the lively mech lying there, cast aside like a broken doll as the mainframe forced him to keep the systems running. Jazz wasn’t sure what Teletraan was doing, but whatever it was couldn’t be good if Blaster wasn’t even moving anymore. He didn’t dare yank the hardline out of Blaster’s helm. Who knew what would happen then?

“Ya hearin’ J at all, Blast?” There was no response, just a gentle dimming of the mech’s optics. Jazz knelt next to the mech, tilting his helm as he examined his friend. Prime’s voice hovered in the back of his processor, angrily denouncing the emotional attachment he had to the mech. It was the one creed of Prime’s he couldn’t quite get behind. He knew that Blaster would send him away if they became too distracted to function for their lord, but until the German speaker said “nein”, he didn’t see why he couldn’t indulge himself.

He was beginning to regret that decision. Seeing Blaster like this settled on his ember poorly, swirling pity and helplessness into a slowly burning rage, one that he couldn’t relieve. Prime was still absent, Blurr was now MIA, and Rodimus…well, who knew if he could even be trusted on a good day, let alone after this. Blaster, of all the mechs, should have been the last to be subjected to something like this.

“C’mon, Blast. J knows Teletraan ain’t gotcha dumb in there,” Jazz remarked, tapping against Blaster’s forehelm insistently. “Gimme some kinda sign y’hearin’ this.”

The screens of Teletraan dimmed before resuming their normal brightness. Jazz’s helm turned, eyeing them suspiciously before turning his gaze back to Blaster. No change.

“Ya ain’t just gonna be leavin’ me out here all alone, are ya?” he continued, settling down to sit next to his friend. It hurt like a wound, but he knew Blaster would go crazy if he was left alone in silence. They both did. “Ya ain’t gonna believe what Rodimus is doin’ neither. Shit’s getting’ crazy an’ J don’t like it.”

There was a small movement, Blaster’s servo twitching and rolling over. Jazz paused, the surge of hope almost making him sick as he waited. Nothing more happened, Blaster’s optics dimming to near black. He could almost scream.

“That ain’t fair, Blast,” Jazz said, trying to keep the waver from his tone as a sudden thought struck him. What if Blaster simply never recovered, even after Teletraan’s hardline was removed? What if he just stayed like this? He shook his helm fiercely. No. That wasn’t an option.

“Ya gotta come back to me, Blast,” he insisted, servo reaching to grip the other mech’s servo. He was strong, but he wasn’t going to be able to last if it kept this quiet. “Gotta wake up an’ get back to playin’ all of ya tunes.” He paused. Blaster had to hear him. His audios never went deaf. “…it’s too quiet with ya like this.”

Blaster’s optics brightened a little, the red returning as his servo twitched again, fingers curling. His mouth, hanging open listlessly with no words forthcoming, finally started moving.

“—gottawakeupan’getbacktoplayin’allofyatunesit’stooquietwithyalikethis—“

Jazz jumped a little as his own voice poured out of Blaster’s mouth, his words echoing in the room as the mech continued.

“—needanewweaponsshipmentorelseourallianceisgoingtofalte—onderingifyoucouldsendusoneofyourmechstoinvestigatethenewes—here’sBlastergoneIusuallytalktohimpersonallyIdon’tfeelcomfortablespeakingwit—Soundwavecanyoucomeseemepleaseit’surgentweneedtotalkabou—NOwewillnotcomplythisisabsolutelyridiculousconsiderouralliancenullandvo—Ihaven’tseenmyStarIwonderwherehecouldb—usttobeclearwecanexpectyouinfourdaysthe—“

The lines Blaster had bugged, the network he had painstakingly crafted and monitored while he was conscious, came flooding from his mouth. The feed changed every few minutes to something new. Reports from allied countries, private negotiations from half the base, comm calls from Autobots and Decepticons alike, all streaming from Blaster’s vocals in an endless burst of changing tones and languages.

Jazz relaxed a little, feeling the weak grip on his servo change in pressure as the chatter continued. Blaster could hear him. He was somewhere in there, at least.

“J hears ya, Blast,” he replied, answering Blaster’s unspoken question. He shifted, settling against the wall Blaster was propped against. He kept his grip steady, refusing to let Blaster’s servo slip from his. “Don’t ya worry. J gonna figure out how to get you outta there.”

“—doesn’tmatterhowbadlyweneed—takecareofyourselfuntilIfindhowt—“

Jazz felt the bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, rage melting into a relieved sorrow.

A walk it would be then, Dirge decided, a literal spring in his step as he started trotting back towards the crew quarters. Hook had been in a bit of a funk recently and even if he had to drag him kicking and screaming outside, the outdoors would do the medic some good. Then the medic would return to his fluffy, grumpy self and everything would be alright. The smile ever-present on his faceplates, Dirge tapped out his entry code, exceedingly long and nearly musical.

“Hook, Ducky!” he announced, striding into the living space with a curious optic. Hook hadn’t left the berthroom, it seemed. Poking his sunny helm into the next room, his grin spread a little wider. Hook was right where he had left him this morning, the lazy thing: arms hoisted above his helm, pinned to the wall by brightly-painted chains, ankles bound together, frame scraped and dented, and vents wheezing every so often.

Dirge allowed himself a tiny, overdramatic pout before his smile returned, flittering forward to crouch in front of his medic. He reached out and patted at the medic’s cheek lightly, smile nearly shining when the older mech flinched away.

“Ah, still online! Good show!” he chirped, nuzzling at the darker helm excitedly. “I think we should take a walk today, what do you think?”

“Dirge…let me go,” Hook grumbled, his entire frame shuddering at the affection being handed to him freely. The jet shook his helm slightly, settling his frame into the space between the coil of the medic’s legs.

“I can’t do that, Hook,” he explained, patiently explaining like he had every other day. He didn’t mind; the medic was a very smart mech, but he could be incredibly dense when he put his processor to it. Besides, the recurring lecture always gave them some extra time to cuddle, always a positive side to the somewhat-tedious-but-still-positive parts of their relationship. “This is for your own good…we can be so happy! You’ll see!”

“I’ve got to get back to base,” Hook insisted, fingers flexing under their constraints. “You too! They must be going mad trying to find us…”

“I do so wish I could’ve brought everyone,” Dirge admitted, curling against Hook’s chest with a sigh, “but I could only bring one in the end. Alpha Trion was quite generous in letting me bring you along.” He paused, recalling the moment with a twinge of nostalgic fondness.

“Why me…”

“Because!” He tilted his helm back, kissing Hook’s chin with a small purr; the medic shivered and recoiled. “I would’ve missed you far too much, my dear. But don’t worry! Everyone else will be just as happy as we are soon. You’ll see…just wait!”

“Dirge, please,” Hook growled, tugging at his chains again. The jet sighed, his smile dimming by a fraction, if only out of exasperated fondness. “We have to get back. We have to—!”

“Ducky, do hush,” he said, twisting around in his seat to face the medic. He had been down this same route merely twice before. He now knew how to keep the same incidents, both ending with Hook in the medbay for days, from repeating themselves. “Everything’s going to be alright. You’ll see!”

He felt out carefully, the tendrils of his power seeking out Hook’s emotional core like an old friend, just as his fingers had once found the cranky medic’s neck cables to ease away the strain of his work. They coiled around the roiling object, seeping inside and infecting the chaos with sunshine and golden light. The medic groaned and his helm lolled back, cloudy expression cracked into a grin and it was so close, so close to that one day in the medbay when Dirge had reached out.

“Dirge…just kill me if you’re not going to set me free.”

Yet so different, so terrifyingly different. Hook was smiling like he had just delivered the first post-war emberling, but his visor was dim and his optics behind the glass were quietly screaming. Dirge grinned, shuffling onto his knees to give the medic a proper kiss. His mood had taken a turn for the better, even without the walk. So everything was going to be alright.

Love wasn’t a factor in anything they did when it all came down to it. They liked each other well enough, that was for certain, though it was a strange kind of liking that was interspersed with aggravation and mild hostility. More likely to argue than converse and more likely to fight with their fists than anything else, their lives were centered around a consistent series of power games and plays for dominance, each mech focusing on getting a temporary one-up on the other.

It was a matter of conflicting personalities, just different enough to be interesting and similar enough to chafe. Sunstreaker, Mr. Solo Player and a cocky jack of all trades, versus Blaster, Mr. Party Mech and specialized to the point of stubbornly-ignored deficiency; it had been a mere matter of time after they had butted helms the first time following Blaster’s planetfall before their twisted power games would initiate.

Interfacing was no different. Despite Sunstreaker’s proclaimed orientation, it seemed to have no real effect when the power games came into play. Or, as Blaster had so crudely put it during one of their sessions, “any port in a storm”. Who was giving their cord, who was taking it, who was walking away with the scrapes of brightly colored paint that signified who had “won” their microbattle for dominance and who had “lost”, even if no one really lost out when it came down to it. It was just another version of their never ending game and, when they felt like it, it was just as violent as the rest of their games.

At the present time, Blaster’s half-formed cry cut into static as he was flipped over Sunstreaker’s shoulder, colliding with the ground with enough force to shake the crew of technicians just outside in the hangar. Despite the fuzz outlining his processor, the smaller mech rolled from his position and launched at the fellow sniper. Used to such antics, the pair’s struggle went unheeded by the humans outside. To them, it was just another spat between the stubborn mechs, blissfully unaware of the sexual overlay tainting the hidden fight.

“C’mon Blaster, just give it up!” Sunstreaker snapped, his faceplates split into a grin as, once again, he deflected the assault from the audiobot. His servo snapped out, ready to grapple the orange mech into submission

“Hell naw, Bright,” Blaster retorted, ducking the servo and launching at the larger mech’s legs. “I ain’t takin’ it this time ‘round. Y’damn near crippled me last time!” Sunstreaker toppled with a grunt as the weight took out his knee joints, kicking out to dislodge the other before he could get a good grip.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be tanglin’ with me then if you’re too small to handle me!” he goaded, relishing in Blaster’s pained grunt as his wheeled pede made contact with the other’s abdomen.

“Well maybe if some mech didn’t act like a damn jack hammer when he won last time, m’damn joints wouldn’ta nearly fallen outta alignment!” Blaster rolled back onto his knees, pouncing at the downed mech defiantly. “Y’gotta treat a mech a lil’ less rough, Bright! Ain’t gonna get a femme actin’ like that!”

“Says you,” Sunstreaker growled, catching the other in a headlock once he made his desperate attempt at a submission hold. Twisting, he slammed Blaster back down, grinding his elbow into the mech’s back struts as he straddled him and pressed his front into the concrete.

“Now,” he purred, leaning in to speak directly into the downed mech’s audio, “you can give up and we can hit the berth. Or you can be stubborn and I can frag you into the ground right here.” The audiobot shivered despite himself and snarled, one arm flailing blindly behind him in an attempt to knock Sunstreaker off his back.

“Frag ya, Bright! Th’Blast Master never gives up!” Sunstreaker shrugged, catching the arm and twisting it behind Blaster’s back, holding it down as a pained groan escaped the communications mech.

“Suit yourself then,” he replied, his free servo digging into Blaster’s side, tweaking the sensitive wiring as the mech underneath him bucked and squirmed.

“Primus dammit, Bright!” Blaster growled, vocals muffled as the sniper continued undeterred. “Y’a fraggin’ cheater!” The orange mech bucked particularly hard, freeing the arm that had been trapped between his chest and the concrete before swinging it at his aggressor.

The blow to his helm was weak, but it was enough to distract Sunstreaker from his work for a moment. Smirk ever-present on his faceplates, the yellow mech snatched the flailing appendage out of the air and pinned it next to its mate.

“It’s over, Blaster. Give it up!”

“Lemme think ‘bout that one. Hell naw, Bright!” Smug and victorious, despite Blaster’s obvious defiance, Sunstreaker kept a careful grip on the other mech’s wrists as he slid off the defeated mech to the side, his free servo squirming between the other’s thighs.

“You lost, Blaster,” Sunstreaker enunciated, his servo cupping Blaster’s already heated panel. “You and I both know what that means.” Ignoring the static-laced protest from the orange mech, he yanked Blaster’s aft into the air, digits tapping out a slow beat on his covered interface.

“Maaaan, frag ya, Bright,” Blaster muttered, stubbornly denying both his defeat and inevitable arousal.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sunstreaker replied, leaning to nip at the pinned mech’s audio horns playfully, “but isn’t that your job right now?” Blaster swallowed a moan, straining to escape the grip fruitlessly. He tilted his helm, glaring challengingly at the yellow mech.

“Fraggin’ make me, Bright!” Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed as his smirk widened; challenge accepted then. His servo already at work tracing Blaster’s panel seams and tapping a rapid staccato against the metal, he dragged his glossa across the oversensitive audio horn, humming deliberately the entire time.

“C’mon, we both know you’re gonna open up for this,” he said, delighting in Blaster’s renewed squirming under his hold. “You always do. And you always enjoy it.” The only response he pulled from the mech was a garbled burst of syllables and music, Blaster trying desperately to keep his vocals low. It was a practice Sunstreaker was familiar with at this stage, recognizing the effort as an attempt to keep curious humans from inquiring after noises unsuited towards a common brawl.

“Bet you’d just love it if one of the techs out there heard you,” he said, tone neutral as he spoke between his concurrent molestation of Blaster’s audio horn and panel seams. Blaster shuddered, the whining of his gears the only indication that he had understood the other mech. “Yep. Wonder what would happen if one of them decided to walk in here right now.” His servo scraped at the panel, deliberately and painfully slow.

“I mean, we’re aliens to them,” he continued, almost amused when the audiobot bucked into his touch, “but even they can tell when it’s a fight and when it isn’t, y’know?” Tilting his helm again, Blaster shot him a frustrated look, his panel finally clicking open.

“Y’suck, Bright,” he groused, horns wiggling as Sunstreaker adopted an innocent grin.

“Nah, that one was all you, if I recall,” he responded, earning an indignant sputter, only to cut it off halfway as he shoved two fingers into Blaster’s port without warning. The audiobot groaned, dropping his faceplates back into the concrete, hips rocking back into the invasion without permission. Still gripping his wrists, Sunstreaker nipped at Blaster’s horn, nearly affectionate as he took a few moments to stretch the smaller mech’s port. One smooth shift of his grip later, Sunstreaker was positioned behind Blaster, panel snapped open and cord pressurized, nudging at the leaking port.

“Give up yet, Blaster?”

“I ain’t gonna ask f’it, if that’s what y’drivin’ at.”

“Oh, now that’s an idea, isn’t it?”

A sound knock came at the door, distracting both mechs from their current game.

“Yo, Sunstreaker, why’s the door locked? I hope you ain’t roughin’ up Blaster too much in there!” Epps yelled through the metal, his voice dragging a panicked chirp from Blaster’s vocals. Entirely nonplussed, Sunstreaker thrust forward, burying himself into the squirming mech in one movement.

“AHHHGK-!”

“Nothin’ more than usual,” Sunstreaker replied, withholding laughter as Blaster forcibly muted his vocals in a violent burst of static, glaring venomously over his shoulder at the yellow mech.

“A’ight. Cuz he and I have a patrol to go on in a coupla hours. Just make sure he’s walking, yeah?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wi-hhhhk-will!” Sunstreaker glared back at the audiobot, struggling to maintain his carefree tone as the smaller mech continued squeezing his port around the other mech with a vengeful click.

“Cool. Have fun slagging each other then!” The soldier laughed and started moving away from the door as the yellow mech thrust hard, forcing a pained moan from the mech under him.

“Thought that was funny, huh?” Sunstreaker asked, grinding against Blaster’s aft before pulling back for another hard thrust.

“Hey, y’started it,” Blaster responded, optics flickering as the burning stretch began to ease. “Imma jus’ finish it.”

“Oh, you bet your aft you are.” Sunstreaker didn’t waste any more time, hilting himself violently a final time before developing a steady, deep pace. He held Blaster’s wrists captive as he pounded into the tight port, the smaller mech’s size working in his favor as his cord stretched the mech to a point somewhere between pain and pleasure. Blaster groaned underneath him, squeezing and rocking his hips to meet the thrusts in an attempt to gain some semblance of control in the game.

“Same bet as usua-aaah-al?” Sunstreaker muttered, bending to catch Blaster’s audio horn between his denta. The mech shivered and outright moaned, port clamping down with a near-vice grip.

“Y’…y’bet, Bright,” he replied, vents working overtime to keep his frame from overheating. “Y’ain’t winnin’ this time though.”

“Really?” Sunstreaker mused, finally releasing the audiobot’s wrists in favor of gripping his hips, angling to strike against a node cluster that he knew would drive the mech senseless.

“Ghhnn…y-yeah. Wanna know—oohfragginghell—why?” Blaster cast a smirk over his shoulder, optics flickering as he scraped his fingers against the concrete.

“Like to see ya try,” Sunstreaker grunted, already feeling the overload building between the pair of them. It wasn’t going to be long before he could tip Blaster over the edge, ultimately winning this match.

Blaster’s smirk remained as he shifted his hips, arching his back struts and squeezing around the invading cord, a split second of music escaping him before he acted. His entire frame vibrated, bass pulsing through powerful speakers as his port clamped down around Sunstreaker, vibrations coursing through his port and into Sunstreaker’s hips.

Choking back a yell, the yellow mech lost control, his overload taking him by surprise as he emptied himself into the smaller audiobot. Blaster was mere seconds behind, the vibrations a double-edged sword as transfluid spattered both his insides and the concrete underneath him. The audiobot collapsed, arms giving out after being pinned for so long as his vents kicked into overdrive.

“Ha…hahah…fraggin’ told ya, Bright,” he muttered, optics dimming as he squirmed, soreness already settling into his joints.

That was, of course, until Optimus Prime had located their nest.

Optimus was rather well known among everyone as a mech who collected mates, planning with no small measure of psychosis to ensnare at least every flier that crossed his path, if not the entire populace. While Shrapnel was not necessarily his “type”, he had had the unfortunate circumstances to be in the wrong place at the very wrong time and, after an incident involving both parties in a brig and a series of Very Unfortunate Events That Shall Never Be Mentioned Again, Prime had become alerted to Shrapnel’s status as a living mech. As such, he was now a target.

Perhaps even more so, Shrapnel mused to himself, now that he was Thundercracker’s mate. If Prime gained Shrapnel, he would effectively gain Thundercracker as well. Even he had to admit that he was a much easier target than the jet ever would be. Prime had apparently experienced the same train of thought and now the truck was at the base of Shrapnel’s tree, trying to climb into his nest. However, despite his best efforts, Prime was not, as he had suspected, having an easy go of it.

“G-Get the frag away *zzk!* away!” the Insecticon shrieked, rearing back to launch another object at the Autobot leader’s helm.

“It’s nearly adorable how you resist,” Prime mentioned, ducking what appeared to be an unopened stack of human kitchenware. It shattered somewhere behind him. “You’ll regret that when I get up there to you.”

“N-No, you won’t *kzzk!* won’t!” Shrapnel yelled, rummaging around for something else to throw down. “Thundercracker will c-come back *kzzT!* back and—“

“We’ll all play in due time,” Prime said, glaring up at the Insecticon and holding out a servo. “You have one chance to come down on your own before I—“

SPLAT-!

Optimus Prime, leader of the fearsome Autobots and scourge of millions, was now covered in egg.

Thundercracker had a bad habit of bringing random objects he found back to the nest. It was a nearly daily occurrence, one that Shrapnel was well-used to. The items were usually donated or returned, occasionally kept if they were useful or pretty enough. One of the stranger acquisitions had been brought back just the previous evening. The jet had returned clutching an entire palette of chicken eggs. When interrogated as to how and why he had acquired them, the jet had evaded everything and snuggled the Insecticon into submission. Shrapnel had been planning on delivering them to a nearby homeless shelter, had they not spoiled by the time he had started out.

And now, there were an inordinate number of them and they were the perfect projectiles until Thundercracker could return to deal with the interloper.

“What the FU—“

SPLAT!!

Another egg sailed down and splattered across Prime’s optics, the Insecticon chittering a nervous war cry from the nest above him.

“Stay b-back *kzzk!* back!” Shrapnel yelled, leaning over the nest’s edge and waving one of the eggs as a warning. “I’ve got m-more *zrrt!* more!”

“Oh please! Like such a pitiful barrage could ever hope to—“

SPLAT-!

“STOP THAT!”

“N-No *bzzk!* no!”

“GET DOWN HERE, YOU BUGGY FUC—“

SPLATSPLATSPLAT!

When later asked, Shrapnel couldn’t tell you why he’d started laughing so hard. Maybe it was the sad fact that all he had to defend himself with was the unfertilized offspring of an organic fowl. Perhaps it was the furious string of yelling and curses from below him after he nailed Optimus in the faceplates with three eggs in a row. Or perhaps it was the unmitigated hilarity that was the self-proclaimed Emperor of Destruction with yolk covering his optics.

Regardless, Thundercracker ended up returning to a mate cackling like a madman in their nest, half a palette of eggs missing, and Optimus Prime covered in egg shrapnel and screaming obscenities he’d never even heard before.

“Shrapnel! Sweetember, you okay?!” The jet rushed over, barely cutting his thrusters before dropping into the nest besides his mate. “What the frag’s been going on…?”

“I’m fine *bZZk* fine!” Shrapnel replied, grinning. “Did you know that eggs are a good Autobot deterrent *kzzk!* deterrent?”

“—MURDERYOUANDEVERYTHINGYOUCAREFOR—“

“He sounds pretty pissed…” Thundercracker observed, prepping his blasters just in case. “Maybe we should clear out until he leaves…”

“—FRAGYOUROPTICALSOCKETUNTILYOUCAN’TFEELFEELINGS—“

“Maybe *kzzk!* maybe…” Shrapnel shrugged, lobbing another egg at the ex-librarian. Neither mech heard the crack of a shell, but the renewed shriek from below them was enough indication that his aim had held true. “But every time he tries to go for the tree *bzzk!*, I nail him in the optics *zrrrt!* optics.”

“—YOURFRAGGINGEXHAUSTPIPEINTOATUBESOCK—“

“Okay, that’s it, Shrap.” The jet scooped his mate up with a light hum, ignoring the confused buzz from the smaller mech. “We’re going to head back to base. I’ll rebuild the nest there.”

“Why you didn’t in the first place *zrrrr* place is beyond me *kzzk* me,” Shrapnel countered, squirming just enough to get a good look at Prime as Thundercracker started to escort his mate away safely.

“—WON’TBEABLETOTELLAMOPFROMADOGWHENI’MDONEYOU—“