𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈𝚁.

       processor spiraling in a downward motion, the youthful rookie embodied the static sensation that overtook him. the sole thing that caused his attention to stick was the smooth baritone of the prime’s voice within his vicinity– smokescreen managed to linger upon each and every word, directing his entire focus upon optimus. guilt ebbed within his spark, for his actions were driven by mischief, and mischief alone.

          ❝  yes, sir… ❞  the tone of his vocals revealed his shame as smokescreen furrowed his optic ridges drastically,   ❝ you’re right, a- and i’m… i’m sorry, optimus. i.. i was just tryin’ to have some fun.  ❞ while the young autobot was a soldier, it was quite possible he was not mature enough to even be handling high-grade in the first place. not responsibly, anyhow.      

A small part of him feels guilt. After all, the inability for his Autobots to be able to roam free and uninhibited is because of this war that has continued between him and Megatron. If it wasn’t for that... if it wasn’t for them... how different would things be now? Smokescreen would be able to express himself freely among bots nearer his age, rather than be surrounded by war veterans who have outserviced him by millennia in a time of desperation.

“Apologies are not necessary, Smokescreen,” he gently cuts off with a raised servo, understanding bleeding into his expression. A soft smile graces him as he watches the submissive nature of the young warrior. “We have all made mistakes in this time of strife, myself included, because we needed... a break.”

Look, I gotta deal with my Optimus screaming “give me your face,” and he’s the best behaved.

“...”

      prepared, the autobot leader was. smokescreen visibly shrunk in his own shame as the cage initiated, doorwings drooping shamefully upon his spinal strut. thankfully, the cage wrapped about the berth he was seated upon. at least he could comfortably lay down as to not pass out.

           ❝ …ah, scrap.  ❞  came the boy’s mumble, visibly hiding his optics as to not face the disappointment swarming in icy optics.

Disappointment, certainly; but none so much that Optimus could look upon his own with a cold, hardened stare. Rather, there was concern pooling in cobalt blues, observing Smokescreen for a long period of silence. He was no stranger to reprimand, but Smokescreen was still quite young and, in some sense, still looking for his place among Team Prime.

        aww. no fair.

       ❝ …yes sir.  ❞   smokescreen has already consumed too much as it is… he tries to rise upwards but whoops. there he goes, flailing slightly before descending back to his seated position. frag.

That’s alright. Optimus has prepared for this due to Wheeljack’s multiple interferences and Ratchet being particular about keeping his spaces safe from said Wrecker interference. Tapping the side of his helm, Optimus engages the base’s electric-charged stasis cage, right around Smokescreen.

          did he rummage through the high-grade just to feel the effects of being under the influence? yes. did he do so because he is unsupervised and optimus isn’t around? absolutely. 

SLAPS THAT OUT OF SMOKESCREEN’S HAND.

Vore

He startles for a moment at the familiar voice that he never thought he would hear again, given the manner in which they last parted.

     ( YES, BUT HE ACTUALLY STARTED IT. I’M RIGHT, HE’S NOT. )

I do not care who started it. You’re not going to eat Starscream.