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Thundercracker first suggested it when he was buried to the hilt in Starscream. They'd been going at it for a while, Starscream taking his time as he rode his mate with slow rolls of his hips, savoring the rare wealth of time they had together. But eventually his energy flagged, and Thundercracker had flipped them over, throwing Starscream's stabilizers over his shoulders and pinning him to the berth with long, hard thrusts. He leaned down, pushing Starscream's knees almost to his turbines, and murmured, “Want me to fill you up? Want me to breed you?”
Starscream moaned at his words. They were possessive—and it was no secret how much Starscream adored stirring up his mates’ matching protective streaks, even if he didn't really need it. Thundercracker was especially bad. So while he hadn't used the word breed before, it wasn't too unusual.
The next part was definitely new, though.
“Can feel your forge, sweetspark,” he panted, one servo lifting to trail over his midsection, just beneath his cockpit. “So close to opening up for me. Would you like that? Me filling up your forge?”
Oh, Starscream could see the appeal. Thundercracker was already so deep in him, and if he released the seal to his forge—he couldn't imagine it. Processor-numbingly good, probably. He wasn't fragged-stupid enough to actually do it , though. Not yet, at least. Instead, he whimpered and bucked into Thundercracker's next stroke.
“TC,” he called, “TC, please.”
“I'll give you anything you want, sweetspark,” he grunted in reply. The pinch between his optical ridges and rattling ex-vents told him he was just as close as Starscream.
“Frag, Thun– ah– Thundercracker, yeah. Need it, need–” he cut himself off with a strangled wail as Thundercracker slid lower, thumbing at his anterior node. Tingly zaps of pleasure raced up his struts. He tried to reset his vocalizer so he could say Thundercracker's name again, but the faulty box only clicked and sent him errors.
Thankfully, Thundercracker didn't mind. “Pretty mech,” he hummed, kissing right next to Starscream's audial, “Come on, overload with me. Help me fill you up.”
And, Primus, Starscream would never admit how his spark jumped when his mates told him to overload. An involuntary shudder rippled through him, his HUD flashing in warning a split second before his optics offlined themselves and he felt every caliper in his valve clench. Thundercracker snarled above him. Everything else fell away in a haze of pleasure signals, too numerous to keep up with and too wonderful to dismiss. He squirmed at the barrage of information. Vaguely, he was aware of a pair of claws digging into his aft to keep him still, but there was no space in his processor to pay it any mind.
It took a few kliks before he surfaced, a wetness between his thighs and Thundercracker mouthing gently at his neck, cooing softly. He allowed his trinemate to fuss over him for a moment as his vocalizer reset—successfully, this time.
“What’s gotten into you today?” he muttered.
Thundercracker didn’t pause in his ministrations. “What d’you mean?”
“Did you pick up some shady rut mod somewhere–“
“What are you talking about?”
“Why are you blabbering on about my forge mid-frag?” Starscream snapped, his temper finally tumbling past the pleasant haze his overload left behind. Thundercracker paused where he was worrying a dent into Starscream’s plating, right under his chin.
“Did you not like it?”
Starscream grumbled. “I didn’t say that.”
He could almost feel Thundercracker’s smile against his armor. The blue seeker sat up a little, peering down at Starscream. “Well, we have talked about sparklings before.”
Sure, they had. In the early days of the war, when their bond was still fresh and full of dreams and sweet with their shared affection. Before their planet was nearly destroyed. Before they watched mechs fall around them in droves. Before Starscream was promoted to Second in Command and started spending his evenings talking Megatron out of dangerous strategies instead of with his trine. After all that, their talk of sparklings had petered into nothing. Even a dumbaft like Skywarp could tell it would be irresponsible to bring little ones into a war, especially when they barely had enough energon to keep from starving themselves. When they weren't even sure all three of them were going to make it out the other side.
But they had. The war was over. His trine was safe and whole, against all odds—back on Cybertron and, miraculously, doing well for themselves. They weren’t even in jail.
Of course his two mates had already started thinking about sparklings again.
“So you want to spark me?” Starscream asked bluntly,
Thundercracker’s wings twitched upwards in excitement, even as he glanced aside, trying to appear nonchalant. “Skywarp and I have been talking about it.”
“Right. Just talking, I’m sure,” he replied dryly.
“Come on, you haven’t thought about it at all?”
“Unlike you two, I have a real job where I can't spend all day fantasizing about fragging my trinemates full of sparklings.”
Thundercracker rolled his optics. “You were literally complaining about sitting in a boring budget meeting yesterday over morning refuel.”
Starscream huffed in offense, shoving Thundercracker off of him and rolling onto his front in one smooth motion. “One boring meeting does not a boring job make. I'd like to see you sort through the sheer volume of datapads that the rest of the Senate sends to my office every slagging cycle! It's ridiculous!
“Yet you still found time to comm me illicit images last deca-cycle–”
“During my refueling break!” Starscream hissed back. “Ungrateful glitch! Honestly, if you want any chance of me carrying your sparklings, you think you'd be nicer to me!”
Thundercracker didn't have a snappy response to that. Starscream was about to glance over his shoulder to see what his trinemate had gotten distracted by when digits pressed into his wing hinges firmly. His next words died on his glossa, anger melting out of his processor as Thundercracker massaged over his tense plating.
“You're right,” he murmured. “We'll have to treat our carrier well, won't we?”
Starscream made a mildly undignified noise, edges of his wings fluttering. The steady touches made their way down, lavishing over the seams of his ailerons with single-minded intent. “Right there,” he groaned, arching into the touch. Primus, it had been forever since they'd had time to give each other attention like this. He sorely missed it.
“So,” Thundercracker purred, the heat of his vents scattering across Starscream's back. “You're open to the idea of sparklings?”
Starscream shot him a glare. “I'll consider it. If you shut up and keep going.”
“Of course, sweetspark,” Thundercracker replied. Starscream could feel the thrill of victory glowing from across their bond as his thumbs rubbed along the bottom of his wings. He laid himself across Starscream's back and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Anything for our carrier.”
[ ○ ]
“Is this all really necessary?” Skywarp grumbled for the hundredth time that evening. He was up to his elbow joints in hot solvent, cleaning out the myriad of trays and dishes Thundercracker had spent the last several joors dirtying. He was starting to think he got the short end of the stick with the whole ’I cook, you clean’ thing Thundercracker had proposed.
“The way to Star’s spark is through his tanks,” Thundercracker repeated. He was just finishing up a batch of rust sticks, sprinkling them with cobalt for that sharp, minty taste Starscream enjoyed. The dozens of other snacks he’d prepared were sprawled across their table, arranged to be as optic-catching as possible.
“I think if we fragged him hard enough, he’d say yes,” Skywarp replied.
“I fragged him pretty hard and he was still being grumpy about it.”
“It’s Screamer ,” Skywarp said, “he’s gonna be grumpy about it no matter what. That’s, like, his job.”
“Don’t talk like that in front of him or he’s never going to let you near his spark chamber.”
Skywarp rolled his optics, tossing a sopping wet pan to the side. Thundercracker yanked his still-cooling oilcakes out of harm’s way before they could get splashed with solvent, glaring threateningly. Skywarp didn’t seem to notice. “I call him grumpy all the time, and he still lets me frag him.”
“This isn’t just fragging,” Thundercracker said, “we’re asking him to carry our sparklings. It’s only proper that the sires try to woo him. He’ll be expecting it.”
“I’m just saying, I think we could woo him in other ways.” Skywarp shot Thundercracker a little grin, wings wiggling suggestively.
“Your spike is not that good.”
Skywarp flicked solvent at him. “Meanie.”
“Hey, stop getting distracted. If you're not cleaned up by the time he comes home, then he'll be pissy.”
“Whatever.” Skywarp shrugged, but kept scrubbing anyway, setting another clean dish aside. He wasn't too far from being done, actually. And despite his complaining, the prospect of being available to pamper Starscream with goodies was tempting. “He'll probably come home late anyway. I don't think he's had a cycle with no overtime since, like, forever.”
Thundercracker tilted his head. “He was up pretty early for that meeting. I doubt he'll stay long; he hasn't been getting enough recharge.”
Skywarp snorted. “Good luck having that conversation with him again.”
Unfortunately, he was right. Thundercracker had brought up his lack of recharge a few deca-cycles ago, among other worries about his New Senate seat, and Starscream had nearly bitten his head off about it. He didn't appreciate the insinuation that he was ‘stretching himself too thin.’ Probably sounded too much like weakness to him, even if it was hard to deny the way his wings had a permanent weary droop to them, or the way he spent most of his few off-days with tired, glazed-over optics.
But things had been looking up recently. Things were settling down with Cybertron's society beginning to resemble itself pre-war, bots relaxing into their bright new futures. And Soundwave had snagged a seat now, so Starscream didn't have to be the sole rallying leader of Decepticon values in the New Senate anymore.
The hard part was convincing Starscream of that.
“We don't have to talk about it. He'll get there on his own. We're just–” Thundercracker gestured to the snacks arranged on the table. “Doing some nudging in the right direction.”
“Oh, so that's your real plan,” Skywarp said, a teasing smile on his face. “You're trying to bribe Screamer to come home faster with treats.”
“We're trying to get him to loosen up a little, spend more time with us at home. But doing nice things for him and proving our worth as sires isn't a downside , necessarily.”
“Riiight,” Skywarp said, setting the last pan aside. “I think you just want more time to interface with him.”
Thundercracker slid the warm oilcakes into place, shuffling the prettier ones to the front. First impressions and all that, as Starscream would say. “It's a plus. When's the last time we interfaced together, as a trine?”
A servo slid around Thundercracker's waist, still wet with solvent, and he looked up to find Skywarp exaggerating a pout. “You saying I'm not good enough on my own?”
Thundercracker pressed his chassis to Skywarp's, pulling him to a slow, languid kiss. Their spark chambers pulsed faintly in unison. “Of course I love you, Warp, don't act like you don't know it,” Thundercracker murmured when they separated. “But you can't tell me you don't miss interfacing as a trine. Fragging as duos doesn't fill my spark the same way, and you know it.” He tapped on Skywarp's cockpit, as if proving a point.
“Yeah,” Skywarp replied. “Do you think he'll really–”
There was the familiar soft thump of someone landing on their balcony. The two seekers startled, twin gazes falling to the shape of their trineleader outlined by the setting sun. With a little ruffle of his wings, Starscream slid open the glass door and stopped dead in his tracks, staring blankly at the treats in front of him. His helm tilted.
“What?”
“Surprise!” Skywarp exclaimed.
Starscream's optics cycled like he was trying to believe what was in front of him, their usual blazing crimson dimmed. He slid a few datapads out from under his arm, placing them on some of the scarce empty space left on their table. “Are those– is that nitrocream?”
“With iron shavings,” Thundercracker added. He let go of Skywarp and pushed the glass dish of nitrocream closer to Starscream.
His optics narrowed. “Is this about the sparkling thing?”
“No.”
Simultaneously, Skywarp nodded. “Yes.”
Starscream leveled them both with a deeply unimpressed look, only exacerbated by the dark smudges of exhaustion in his cheeks. Sensing an oncoming fight brewing, Thundercracker held out a placating servo. “Okay, it’s kind of about the sparkling thing. But we also wanted to do something nice for our hardworking mate. Y'know, show our appreciation?”
Suspicion was still etched in every line of his frame, but Starscream dipped a claw in the nitrocream and tasted it. Some of the tension bled out of his frame the moment its cold sweetness hit his glossa. His side of the trinebond inched open—he always kept it closed tight while he was at work—and a tiny wave of pleased and content washed over both Thundercracker and Skywarp. Success.
“Good?”
“Acceptable,” Starscream sniffed, taking another taste off his claw. “Where did you even get bronze eggs? I haven't seen them since before the war.”
“We made them,” Thundercracker replied, throwing a servo in the direction of the various drying trays sitting on the counter behind them.
Starscream seemed to soften a little further. “Oh.”
“Yeah, and it was a pain to clean the molds, so you better enjoy them,” Skywarp chimed in. Normally, that would be enough to set Starscream off, but either he was too strung-out or the treats had placated him. He only grunted, annoyed.
Thundercracker shuffled around the table, coming closer to Starscream and picking up a bronze egg along the way. He offered it out, the light glinting off its shiny edge temptingly. “Want one?”
Starscream hesitated. Thundercracker could almost see the sparks coming off his processor as his paranoia kicked in, trying to figure out if this was some sort of trap or weird ploy. When Thundercracker just smiled at him genuinely, his resolve seemed to crumble. He leaned forward, taking a bite. The bronze shell cracked easily under his denta, thick oil spilling from inside. Thundercracker tilted the treat up to keep any from falling on the floor, but Starscream wasn't quite as prepared, a stray drop rolling down his chin.
Thundercracker couldn't resist. He swooped in, licking the oil from Starscream's derma and capturing him in a kiss. Despite his initial reservations, Starscream opened beautifully for Thundercracker. The rich, heavy taste of bronze flooded his mouth as he ran his glossa along Starscream's denta, clutching his tri-colored mate closer with his free servo.
“No fair,” Skywarp whined, shattering the haze of the moment. “I want a kiss too!”
Starscream tilted his head back, a smear of oil still on his chin. “Shut up,” he hissed. But when Skywarp warped to his other side, he didn't even bite as he was pulled into another kiss. Clearly, the snacks had appeased him more than he was letting on.
Thundercracker pushed the other half of the bronze egg into Starscream's mouth once they separated. A quiet, fragile noise trickled from his vocalizer as he chewed and swallowed slowly, warm affection blooming in the bond. “More?” Thundercracker asked.
Starscream nodded, optics half-shuttered. “This– this is a good coercion tactic. For the sparklings.”
“It's not coercion. It's courting. ”
“Does that mean you'll let us spark you?” Skywarp interrupted before Starscream could formulate an appropriately snarky remark.
There was a pause as Starscream thought about it. “Maybe,” he concluded, wings angling forward coyly. “But not tonight.”
Understandable. Thundercracker could see the way his plating was still held tight around his shoulders, the way his gaze kept darting to the datapads he'd set down. There was something bothering him. A problem that had sapped all the energy from his frame and was currently occupying the back of his processor. Not a good time for sparking. Stress would only decrease their chances, anyway.
“Not tonight,” Thundercracker affirmed. “Tonight, we'll make sure our carrier is well-fed and rested. Right, Warp?”
“I do still have reports to look over before berth, so don't get carried away,” Starscream grumbled. Yet his protests died when Thundercracker held out a rust stick for him to munch down on, the pleasant sweetness smoothing out some of his worry.
“Our carrier,” Skywarp whispered possessively, already reaching for the next rust stick.
[ ○ ]
Starscream onlined to find Skywarp grinning down from on top of him, his wings twitching like they always did when he was ecstatic about something. With a grunt, Starscream tried to roll away.
Skywarp caught him. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“I'm not getting up,” he grumbled, snuggling further down into the berth to escape. “I want to recharge for another seven joors before I even think of standing up.”
“But then you'll miss our plans,” Skywarp said. He followed Starscream down into the pillows and nuzzled under his chin.
“What plans?”
“TC's plans for your off cycle,” Skywarp replied, no less cryptically. Starscream rolled his optics.
“And those plans start with energon in bed,” Thundercracker said, walking into the room with a cube in one servo. It was already open, the glittering silver of Starscream's favorite titanium supplements swirling through it. His tanks clenched.
He batted Skywarp back enough to sit up, taking the offered cube from Thundercracker. “Do I get to know the rest of the plans, or am I meant to sit in anticipation?” he asked, taking a sip. The syrupy spiciness of the titanium rolled across his glossa pleasantly, prompting a second, longer drink.
“It's nothing fancy. I thought we might get outside the city a bit, do some flying.” Thundercracker sat on the edge of the berth, stroking along his winglet. “Maybe have some fun like we used to?”
Primus, it had been a long time since they'd last messed around like that. Right when the war had ended, Starscream remembered spending that night zipping through Cybertron's sky, spiraling into flips and bumping wings teasingly, exhilarated by their success. But he'd been too busy for the last several vorns. There was always another bill to revise, a new report to read, another senator stirring up problems. He'd only taken this cycle off because the legislation Soundwave was introducing today was practically his —they'd spent the last orn working out all the kinks together. And unlike soft-sparked fools like Bumblebee, Starscream could be sure Soundwave wouldn't budge on any of their non-negotiables during the ensuing interrogation.
“Sounds good?” Skywarp asked, pulling him out of his processor. He was still splayed across Starscream's thighs, ex-vents hot on his plating.
“I suppose,” Starscream murmured. He finished off his energon with one last swig. “I did want to glance over Redflare's proposed edits for K237 this afternoon, but maybe I'll do that before we leave.”
Thundercracker tsked. “No. No work today, Star.”
“I didn't have time to look it over before I left yesterday, and I told her I'd send a draft of any rebuttals over by–”
“No work.”
Starscream frowned. “Thundercracker, be reasonable.”
“I am. I think it's very reasonable for the Senate to respect my mate's personal time and not expect him to do work on his first free cycle in five orns.” Thundercracker leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Now get up. We're going flying.”
“Will you at least let me polish first, or is that infringing on your time with me?” Starscream asked snarkily.
Skywarp raised a servo. “I volunteer.”
After a joor of dunking himself through the washracks and trying to keep his mate on track while he ‘helped’ polish—”Skywarp, I know from experience my aft doesn't require that much attention"—they were off, launching from their balcony. New Iacon glittered beneath them as bots went about their day. Starscream could see them below, bustling in and out of shops or speeding to work on the roads. He could even peer into recently built skyscrapers as they flew past, moving slowly enough that he could catch a glimpse of bots working in their little offices.
The only flight frames they passed were a handful of shuttles and a single helicopter. A majority of the seekers had settled in rebuilt Vos, the territory he represented in the Senate. Not that he ever got the time to go visit it. All he'd seen of his glorious home for the last vorn had been through pictures of disasters he needed to solve or projects he needed to approve funding for.
Apparently, while he'd been lost in thought, they'd reached the edge of the city limit and thus the speed limit. Thundercracker shot forward without warning, spinning off into the sky. Skywarp gave chase, but Starscream hung back, letting his engine kick up a few gears gradually as he watched his mates zip through the air.
[Okay?] Thundercracker commed him. Starscream pinged back an affirmative, savoring the way the wind rolled across his wings. It was a beautiful day to enjoy a flight. The deep, rich blue of the sky was still tinged with red-orange and purple from the last dregs of the sunrise, reflecting off his trinemates’ armor to flash brilliant colors. Warmth glowed from his spark and filled their trinebond.
They stayed like that for a while, Starscream idling along the edges performing lazy tricks as his trinemates pushed each other's limits. Eventually, they must've needed a break, because they split apart from where they'd been trading wing taps for the last several kliks and dipped towards the ground. Starscream followed.
“You two are going to crash if you don't tighten up your spins when you're in formation,” he said as soon as he'd flipped back into root mode. Thundercracker had landed them in a small valley, the metallic ridge shielding them from the strengthening heat of the sun. He hadn't even noticed when they'd flown outside the rolling fields of copper that hemmed in New Iacon.
“Once an Air Commander, always an Air Commander,” Thundercracker chuckled. He un-subspaced a few cubes of energon, tossing one each to his mates. Starscream glanced up at the sky again. When did it become midday?
“Yes, there's a reason I've never had to go to Ratchet's office for a self-inflicted flight injury,” he defended.
“Right,” Skywarp said, nudging him with a shoulder. “Why aren't you joining in? You always kick our afts when we play tag.”
Starscream shrugged. “Just enjoying the air.”
“Your engine not used to going fast anymore?” Skywarp teased. He drained his cube in one go as Starscream sputtered angrily.
“I'm still faster than you idiots,” he hissed through a mouthful of energon. His mates just smiled and gave each other conspiratorial glances. “Don't look at each other like that! You know it's true!”
Thundercracker finished his own cube. “Wanna test it?”
“A race?”
The blue seeker tilted his head. “I was thinking we would try to catch you. Since you're so fast.”
Oh, Starscream knew what he was doing. He was so not subtle. “Like a trining chase?”
“Exactly.” Thundercracker nodded along. “A proper trining chase. Both of us against you, no holds barred, capture and ground. The whole deal.”
“And where would our boundary be?”
“Edge of the city? That should give us plenty of time to catch you.”
Starscream snorted, tossing his empty cube aside. “Please,” was all he said before he jumped into the air and sped off, climbing high into the sky. His engine purred as he let it open up all the way for the first time in ages . It was like stretching a neglected muscle, still strong and raring to go, but a little sore from disuse.
[Cheater!] Skywarp commed. He laughed to himself as he leveled off above the sparse clouds, flipping languidly to let the sun warm his landing gear as he waited for his trine to collect themselves.
[If this were a real trining chase, I'd get a full klik headstart] he reminded. His proximity sensors went off, warning him of twin signals in his wake. He closed the comm channel and engaged his thrusters to their max, giving him a burst forward.
He wasn't stupid; he knew what his mates were doing. Playful trining chases were usually for trines who were thinking of sparklings. It was a good way for sires to prove they were capable and could work together effectively, and it was an opportunity for the carrier to reject and escape if they decided they weren't ready. The tradition was an old one, but still popular for romantics who preferred wooing their trinemates (see: Thundercracker). That left Starscream with a choice to make.
He wasn't going to make it easy for them, though, regardless of how their silly game went. At the telltale boom of Thundercracker's outlier ability, he cut his engines and let himself drop. It was only for a couple nano-kliks, but it was enough to feel the rush of wind overhead as Thundercracker missed him and overshot, clumsy with speed. Rolling to the right, his engine flared to life again to evade Skywarp as he swooped in to try a catch him. He left them both in the dust to regroup, skirting around a nearby ridge to circle back towards New Iacon.
His trinemates were good, but predictable. Their formations were burned into his processor from vorns of battle. As he slipped their servos a few more times, he could feel their attempts become more coordinated, more serious, adding random bobs and weaves to throw him off. If he weren't so focused on avoiding them, he would've praised them for a particularly clever fake-out move.
By the time New Iacon came into view, glittering in the distance, Starscream had decided. His mates had done well to exhibit their prowess. They deserved a reward.
Starscream knew what would come after when they caught him; he wasn't naive. It wasn't required, but it was common. Ancient seeker coding urged victors to claim what they'd rightfully won. In a true trining chase, it ended with a sparkbond—Starscream remembered their own like it was yesterday. The ferocity Thundercracker and Skywarp had followed him with then echoed in them today, albeit far more skilled now with their vast war experience. But with a sparkbond already in place, the next step would be sparking him.
The idea of sparklings made him a little wary. He was so busy, he barely saw his mates. Even if things were getting better, it still felt like the Senate was dealing with a society-collapsing threat every couple of deca-cycles. He already had his trine to protect from that. Adding more little, useless bots that couldn't even defend themselves into his life made his battle programming light up with warnings.
Yet he wanted it, on a baser level. His logic centers rationalized that his mates would be good sires, that their trine was well-off in energon stores and shainx. The timing was the best they'd had since they first trined. Underneath all that, though, his spark wanted it. It felt right to do it here, to let his mates catch him in their playful ritual and make their trine complete. His reservations lingered, but his base coding was resolute in its desires.
He dipped towards the ground, flying low across the endless fields of shining reddish-brown grass. Thundercracker and Skywarp dove after him, spinning together in perfect sync. He could read their strategy like an open book. Thundercracker would distract him, giving Skywarp the opportunity to finally use his outlier, catching him close to the ground where it would be easy to bring him down without hurting him. Smart, reasonable. His frame buzzed in anticipation.
His mates began to separate from their tight-knit formation, setting their plan in motion. Until Skywarp turned slightly too far to the left and nicked Thundercracker's winglet unexpectedly.
Thundercracker restabilized quickly, but Skywarp was closer to the ground and knocked off-balance. He tipped too far down, nosecone hitting a tall outcropping and sending him tumbling. The screech of plating against the blades of copper grass was deafening as he skidded.
Starscream was out of alt mode in an instant, rushing towards his fallen mate. Thundercracker reached him first, by virtue of being closer, and was already checking him over for injuries as he transformed.
“Scrap,” Starscream heard Skywarp mutter as he landed next to him. “Ouch.”
Thankfully, he seemed mostly okay. No massive energon leaks were springing up from between his seams or anything. His wings were dented from taking most of the fall, his paint scuffed and covered in reddish-brown from the copper, and one of his ailerons looked misaligned. But there was nothing that his self-repair couldn't take care of in a few cycles.
“What did I say about your messy formations?” Starscream snapped.
“Don't yell at me, I'm hurt.”
“You're lucky you're not hurt worse!” Starscream replied, yanking him to his pedes by a winglet. “Do your flight systems still work, or are we going to have to walk back?”
“Nothing looks too broken, but we should stop by Ratchet's clinic before we go home,” Thundercracker piped up. “Just in case anything we can't see got screwed up.”
Skywarp made a noise of agreement. “I think I hit my helm.”
“Don't worry, you don't have a processor to damage.”
“Star,” Thundercracker admonished. “Can we make sure he's not leaking energon into his processor cavity first, and then you tell us both how stupid we are?”
“I can multitask,” Starscream sneered.
Thundercracker shook his head, brushing a few strands of copper grass out of Skywarp's seams. The purple seeker glanced at Starscream with an uncharacteristically guilty expression. “Sorry for ruining the trining chase,” he said glumly. “We wanted to– well, I just really wanted to catch you.”
Starscream's spark swelled a little at that, reassurance flooding the bond automatically in response to Skywarp's gloom. “It's fine. We can always try again,” he said. Then, because he could never leave anything well enough alone: “I'll beat your afts anytime.”
Thundercracker squawked in disapproval again, but Skywarp was laughing. Starscream let his mate pull him in for a hug. And when he closed his eyes and tried to imagine tiny sparklings running around their pedes, the image didn't seem so off-putting.
[ ○ ]
Starscream was very late. Even by his standards.
It was really putting a wrench in Thundercracker's plans. He'd wiggled Starscream's schedule out of Red Alert and had carefully picked a low-stress cycle with minimal meetings and no up-and-coming proposals. If there wasn't anything pressing, Starscream was much easier to convince, and Thundercracker wanted to do lots of convincing tonight.
Except it was long past sunset, and his mate was nowhere to be seen with no explanation.
Thundercracker paced worriedly in their living room, checking his comms over and over like there would suddenly be a message he'd missed. Skywarp was already halfway to recharge on the couch. He'd given up on trying to relax Thundercracker over a joor ago, when he'd started ‘what-ifing’ about bomb threats and shooters in the Senate. They both startled hard, though, when the front door clicked open.
“Star!” Thundercracker exclaimed, relief coloring his tone as their tri-colored trinemate stepped through the doorway. “Where have you been?”
“Planning an assassination attempt,” he growled in return, slamming the door behind him. They rarely used the front door—they had a balcony for a reason— and Thundercracker couldn't spot any crumpled pieces of wing or damaged components that would prevent him from using his usual entry method. As if reading his mind, Starscream flicked his ailerons and leveled him with a long-suffering look. “I'm fine, TC. Ratchet just disabled my flight protocols temporarily.”
Skywarp's plating flared in anger. “Why the Pit would he do that?”
“Because, according to him, I needed to ‘walk it off’ after I nearly killed Solarsky on the Senate floor,” Starscream snarled, wings jutting outwards in his clearest show of rage since the end of the war. The walk had not worked, apparently. “I think he was just afraid I'd catch that scrap of heap that calls himself a flight frame midair and show him what a real flyer can do.”
“Please tell me you didn't get into a fight,” Thundercracker said, warily.
“Depends on your definition of fight. According to Knock Out, it was more like a Quintesson mauling a turbo-fox.”
“Starscream, you have to be kidding–”
With a noise of annoyance, Starscream dumped a stack of datapads out of his subspace and onto their living room table. “I didn't start the fight! You can ask Soundwave if you don't believe me. Solarsky was the one strutting around saying seekers’ discriminatory prison sentences were to be expected because they're ‘dangerous warframes.’ He just got pissy when I retaliated, and he– he called me–" He made a face, angling his wings back and tilting his winglets in a wingspeak phrase Thundercracker hadn't seen in millennia.
Skywarp gasped, expression twisting to match Starscream's. “He did not.”
“There's no way a shuttle like that knows Vosian wingspeak,” Thundercracker said skeptically. “Much less an outdated slur.”
“He admitted it later, when Ratchet was reattaching his wings at the hinges,” Starscream replied, putting his servos on his hips. “The majority voted to have the whole deal scrubbed from the record, so it shouldn't affect anything major in the Senate. I'm still considering murder as an alternative.”
“Star, we've talked about these homicidal urges–”
“Yes, yes, and they have no place in peacetime, I remember.” He waved a servo dismissively. “I got enough of a chewing-out between Ratchet and Bumblebee, I don't need one from you too.”
Thundercracker sighed. If Ratchet hadn't been able to get through to him, he probably wasn't going to get anywhere either. Instead of pressing the issue, he came up to press himself against Starscream's side, planting a kiss on his faceplate. “Well, I was worried. Comm me next time.”
“I wasn't aware you two were waiting up for me.”
“We had plans,” Skywarp piped up. He must've gotten lonely sitting on the couch, because he was suddenly on Starscream's other side, hooking his chin over their mate's shoulder plates.
“Hm,” Starscream replied, voice purposefully neutral. Thundercracker could feel the way his hinges wiggled a little with excitement, though. He was an open book, if you knew what to look for. “What kind of plans?”
“Preening,” Thundercracker said. “It's been a while since we've done you. Together, I mean.”
“Another sparkling ploy,” Starscream observed immediately. Thundercracker opened his mouth to hem the offer, to suggest that there didn't have to be any sparking tonight, that they could just give Starscream some attention and see where it went. But Starscream was already continuing: “Alright. Preen me.”
“Really?” Surprised, Thundercracker cycled his optics, half expecting Starscream to be laughing when he onlined them again. Yet Starscream hadn't moved.
Taking advantage of their stillness, Skywarp reached for both of them and with a vwoop, they fell sideways into their berth. Starscream sputtered as he untangled his limbs from his trine's, cursing Skywarp's ability to the Pits and back. The purple seeker didn't pay him any mind. He just pressed Starscream back into the pillows with an eager smile and started scraping his claws along his arm joints.
“Warp, slow down,” Thundercracker reminded as he set upon Starscream's wings. The tips of his digits could barely fit in the tiny seams of his ailerons, which fluttered demurely under his touch. He gently scraped a bit of caked-on oil from the delicate components, tossing it aside. Starscream's engine purred in appreciation.
“So pretty,” Skywarp murmured. Thundercracker glanced up in time to watch him dip his knuckles into Starscream's right turbine, brushing across the sharp blades to get in deeper. What a sight. Especially when Starscream shifted, relaxing further into the berth and humming pleasantly.
Thundercracker snaked a hand under Starscream, pushing his digits into his wing hinges and fishing for any debris to get out. “Good?” he asked, repeating the motion over and over until there was no dirt left to dig out.
“‘S fine,” Starscream muttered in response. He'd offlined his optics, a tiny, muzzy smile on his face. He was the most beautiful like this, Thundercracker thought. All melty with fulfillment; sharp edges smoothed until you could run your palm over them. He'd keep his trineleader like this forever, if he could, away from ignorant shuttles and stressful meetings. It wasn't a realistic fantasy, but it was nice to pretend for a while.
Thundercracker's interface protocols pinged at him, spurred on by another soft noise from Starscream. Preening didn't have to be sexual. It was just cleaning, after all. Plenty of untrined seekers preened each other, their base coding driving them to ensure their friends and family were in tip-top shape.
With Starscream, though, it'd always seemed like more. Even before the war, he was paranoid and skittish, he didn't make friends, and he never let another mech touch him without good reason. The first time they'd preened each other as a trine, Starscream had straight-up moaned when Skywarp nudged between his abdominal plating. He'd calmed down over the last few million vorns, but it was still the fastest way to get him to dissolve into a puddle of satisfaction. Or pop his panels. Whichever you were looking for.
Thundercracker dismissed the ping, for now. He worked his way down leisurely, massaging over Starscream's newer, thinner armor, easing seams wider as he went. He only stopped once he reached Starscream's hips.
His most recent reframe had cut larger slits between his thighs and his pelvis, exposing cabling and thin struts. It was obscenely attractive. Thundercracker generally did not approve of Starscream's constant need to ‘fix’ himself—even if he claimed most of it was dismantling his war mods, slimming him back down to his ‘original shape.’ These bits, though, he could enjoy. It was incredibly gratifying to stick his servos in them, stroking over the wires to feel for any grime. There wasn't any; the slits were more than large enough for solvent to seep into. But he didn't hear any complaints. In fact, Starscream's vents were even, his spark pulsing slowly.
Slower than usual during a preening session, actually. And his panel was still firmly shut, whereas normally he'd be leaking all over the berth by now. Thundercracker lifted his head. “Star?”
Starscream didn't respond, optics still shuttered, and his frame pliant. Skywarp snorted and lifted his servos away from where he'd been running them along the seal of his cockpit. “He must've worn himself out with all the fighting today,” he joked. “So much for sparking, huh?”
Thundercracker laid his helm down across Starscream's hips, his petting turning less… heavy. “Damn. I thought we'd really gotten him this time,” he said lowly.
“I know, right? He said yes so easily.”
“Lower your voice, he needs the rest,” Thundercracker admonished. Skywarp grunted in acknowledgement and flopped across Starscream's left wing and chassis, happily taking the opportunity to snuggle his trineleader without a scuffle.
“Gotta admit, this one's a first. He's usually too worked up about a preening to think about recharge,” Skywarp said.
“It's sweet,” Thundercracker whispered. “But at this rate, we're never going to have sparklings.”
Skywarp shrugged and curled a possessive arm over Starscream's cockpit. The tri-colored seeker squirmed slightly in his recharge, winglets flicking. A light pat across his hip settled him. “He'll have them in his own time,” Skywarp said, “and not a moment before.”
[ ○ ]
“Frag me,” Starscream said as soon as he opened the glass balcony door to their apartment.
Thundercracker cut off mid-sentence from where he was lounging across the couch, Skywarp's head pillowed in his lap. “What?” he asked, like his audials had malfunctioned. Skywarp didn't even look up. For once, Starscream let it pass without a snide comment, the thrill of victory buzzing through his energon lines enough to burn away any annoyance.
Because, for once, everything had gone right . The minute amendments he'd made to Soundwave's legislation went uncontested, petty squabbling had been kept to a minimum, and, miraculously, the vote had gone in their favor. He didn't even have to pull out one of his patented long-winded rants to shut up any errant complainers. There were no snide comments about necessary changes, no whining about the bill's ethics , no request for extra days before the vote. It was glorious.
“I said, frag me,” Starscream repeated, stepping into the room properly.
“I heard you the first time,” Thundercracker said, “I just mean, like, frag you? Like– as in sparklings, or–”
“Yes, yes, sparklings, sure. More importantly, the fragging.”
Skywarp giggled, lifting his head over the back of the couch to stare at Starscream, his optics already full of heat. “Today must've gone well, huh?”
“The bill went through like a dream. Prowl finally sided with me on the details of the violent offender's re-entry program, the voting only took four rounds, and I got to see Solarsky's stupid face when Soundwave told him to shut the frag up,” Starscream said gleefully. “Best of all, I don't have to be back at the Senate for the next three cycles. So if you want sparklings, do it. Now.”
That was the push his trine needed, apparently. Within a few nano-kliks, he was bundled into the berthroom, Skywarp eagerly licking into his mouth as Thundercracker coaxed them down into their nest of pillows. It would've been embarrassing how quickly his modesty panels snapped open if it weren't for the fact that he could already feel Skywarp's own codpiece denting outwards in excitement.
“How do you want us?” Thundercracker asked, servos dipping into those delightful hip slits he'd added on his last reframe. The press had called him indecent for orns after he got them, but it was so worth the media drama for how easily Thundercracker could fondle the rarely-touched protoform peeking through. “One after another?” the blue seeker suggested, his stroking sending a shiver up Starscream's spinal struts.
He had to wrestle Skywarp off him temporarily to respond. “Both of you, same time. I don't care how.”
“Primus,” Skywarp said as his fans hitched up another degree. He trailed pecks up the tri-colored seeker's neck cables and pulled him into another kiss, this one somehow messier as Skywarp tried to stick his glossa halfway down Starscream's intake. Fighting it was a lost cause. Oral coolant dripped between them as Skywarp's touch trailed lower. He groped over the damp mesh until he found Starscream's anterior node, rolling the nub between his digits roughly. Starscream twitched and groaned into his mouth.
“Gorgeous,” Thundercracker praised. “Do that again.”
Skywarp obeyed, keeping the stimulation going as Starscream's ex-vents hitched with a drawn-out moan. “Inside me,” he tried to get out, but between the noises spilling from his vocalizer and Skywarp's mouth firmly clamped over his own, it probably wasn't intelligible.
Thundercracker seemed to get the meaning anyway. One of his servos joined Skywarp's on his array, dragging between the folds of his valve to rub against his entrance. Before Starscream could hiss at him to stop teasing, he was spreading him open on two digits and curling them to catch on as many sensors as possible. Charge whirled through his frame. His hips jerked forward, urging Thundercracker deeper, his ceiling node practically aching for something to touch it.
“So loose, gonna fit us perfectly,” Thundercracker murmured against his audial. A third digit nudged in alongside the other two, meeting no resistance along its way. “Such a good carrier.”
The overload hit Starscream out of nowhere. He whimpered, sticky wetness oozing down his thighs and dribbling from his spike, smearing against his abdominal plating. His processor stalled out for a moment as static fizzled through it suddenly. Skywarp cooed and pinched his node harder, drawing out the peak as long as he could manage.
It did nothing to disperse the charge crawling along his frame. His systems recalibrated near-immediately, still raring to go even as aftershocks drew quivers from his struts.
“Here, hold him, TC,” Skywarp said, finally extricating his mouth from Starscream's. Digits were yanked out of his valve, and he protested with a huff, squirming as his trinemates moved him where they wanted. He found himself lying on his front, Thundercracker under him, shushing him as he spread Starscream's stabilizers wider. The solid weight of Skywarp settled between them.
“Want me to keep opening you up, sweetspark?” Thundercracker asked rhetorically, servos already inching over his aft to graze his valve. He bucked back into the sensation of digits spearing him open again.
“Yeah, like that,” he gasped, gaining control of his vocalizer once more with a crackle. The new angle prodded against the shallow nodes near his entrance wonderfully.
Skywarp's more slender servos smoothed along the lubricant streaking his array, gathering it on his digit-tips before pushing one in alongside Thundercracker's. Calipers flexed and stretched, pulling a strangled whine from Starscream as he dug his claws into Thundercracker's cockpit seams distractedly. “That good?” the blue seeker asked.
“What do you thi– oh!” Starscream cut off mid-comment, valve squeezing tight as Skywarp's digit bent upwards, reaching for his ceiling node. It nailed it dead-on. A wave of pure pleasure shot through him, burning any thoughts or snide comments from his processor. “Oh, Warp, there, there.”
“Frag, Star, look at you,” Skywarp murmured. A second digit poked at his entrance, crowding its way into his stuffed valve. Pain sensors lit up briefly, but they were quickly overridden by a barrage of positive feedback, every internal node pulsing pleasantly. He gripped Thundercracker's chassis harder. It felt like forever he lay there, one set of servos pumping in and out as the other stayed still, pushing idly against his loosening calipers every so often. Each jerk of his hips made his spike grind against Thundercracker's heated panels, garnering more and more desperate sounds. It didn't help that lubricant practically poured from his array, easing the way on both sides.
“He seem ready?” Skywarp asked, pausing in his ministrations.
Thundercracker scissored his digits. “Plenty ready,” he assured. “You sure you want this, Star?”
“If you don't get inside me in the next klik,” Starscream panted, “both of you will be– frag– recharging on the couch. For the next orn.”
With a low chuckle, the two sets of servos inside him retracted. His entrance cycled down on nothing. He could feel Thundercracker's codpiece snap away under him, his spike pressurizing against Starscream's briefly before he was manhandled again, pelvis lifted to let his trinemate slot between his folds deliciously. A second spike joined him, trailing down along his aft until it found his valve and sank in with one rolling thrust.
Starscream keened into Thundercracker's shoulder plating. The protometal of Skywarp's spike caught on every node, the tall ridges on the underside sending a flare of heat through him. He wasn't even bottomed out when Thundercracker began pushing in alongside him.
“Good, so good, Star,” Thundercracker purred. Starscream could only respond with a quiet mewl as charge rushed across his frame. With one last plunge forward, the last few segments of his spike filled him, his entrance straining around him.
From there, it became a blur of movement and pressure and ecstasy. Starscream wasn't quite sure who was prodding at his ceiling node or pistoning in and out roughly, but it was overwhelmingly fantastic . His vents roared to handle the excess warmth that flushed through him as he cried out with each new sensation, every node rubbed raw with pleasure.
Skywarp bottomed out once more with a drawn-out grunt. “Yeah, good. Our good carrier.”
His valve clamped tighter at those words. Focusing was difficult with Thundercracker's spike scraping his inner walls perfectly, but he managed to send the command to open his spark chamber. His cockpit slid away, along with the plate between his wings on his back. Blue light flooded the room.
“Oh, Star,” Thundercracker said. His own spark chamber opened without a second thought, and they clicked together like puzzle pieces. Their bond flooded with affection and arousal and a desire so thick it filled Starscream's optics with static. Skywarp's chassis draped across his wings, eager to join, and with the whirr of his spark exposing itself, everything snapped into place.
His frame wasn't his own in the merge. He could feel everything his trine felt, the slippery glide of his valve, the clench of his calipers sucking them in, the bump of their spikes grinding together inside him. But it didn't stop at sensations. Thundercracker's steady, fierce protectiveness slammed through his processor, followed by the sweet sting of Skywarp's excitement. The sheer force of their combined emotional output was enough to make his fuel pump stutter.
“Open up for us, Star, sweetspark,” Thundercracker breathed, his hips faltering. “Let us breed you full of sparklings.”
“Frag, yeah. Let us fill you up,” Skywarp groaned.
Starscream didn't even need to send the command, which was good, because he was so overwhelmed he wasn't sure he could manage it. His forge seal spiraled open of its own accord. Both spikes shoved themselves impossibly deeper simultaneously, popping past the delicate entrance. He swore he could feel them in his tanks .
It was enough to knock him over the edge. His overload consumed him; ripped into every system with unparalleled violent euphoria. His spark swelled until it felt three sizes too big for his body. Everything dissolved into a haze of bliss.
His overload must've rebounded to his trinemates, though, because his sensors flared to life at the molten heat of transfluid spilling into his forge. Starscream released a crackling wail in response. His base coding buzzed in time with his trine's sparks, jamming his frontal processing with so many signals of security and fulfillment that for a nano-klik, he feared a crash was imminent.
But then the tide subsided. His systems reset, his functions falling back into place. The pleasure ebbed away into a background thrum. Starscream cycled his optics as awareness returned to him, still lying across Thundercracker with Skywarp at his back. He shifted, trying to get an arm under him, yet Skywarp's servos were already there, raising him carefully. “Ugh,” he said, intelligently. His circuits sizzled like they were fried, even as a system scan scrolling through his HUD told him he was fine. His frame ached despite that.
“Out?” Thundercracker asked. Starscream nodded wordlessly.
Both of his trinemates’ depressurized spikes slipped from his valve easily, pulling a wince from him as they brushed overstimulated nodes. “Is it okay to stop merging?” Skywarp asked from where his face was pressed into the back of Starscream's neck.
“It's fine,” Starscream said automatically. Faintly, he realized he could tell their sparking had been successful, a strut-deep satisfaction resonating through him that he'd never experienced before. The twin clicks of his mates’ spark chambers closing eased some of the weight off him. Merging was good, but with three in a bond, it was chaotic, and he was exhausted.
Gently, Thundercracker let Starscream slump off him onto the berth, laying him on his back. He broke into a grin as he peered into his spark chamber, getting that adoring look in his optics. “Primus, Star, they're beautiful,” he murmured.
“Wait, I wanna see.” Skywarp nudged into Starscream's left side, leaning over to get a good look. “Woah.”
“How many?” Starscream asked. If he concentrated, he could feel the tiny newsparks orbiting his own spark, beating in unison. They were too weak to make out individually, though.
Thundercracker placed a chaste kiss against his cheek. “Three. We're having a trine's worth.”
“Don't get your hopes up. Some of them could reabsorb in the next orn.”
The blue seeker shook his head. He stroked possessively over Starscream's abdominal plating, where his forge was sealed once more, brimming with transfluid. Over the next few cycles, nanites would break everything down into raw materials and CNA to begin creating protoforms. Normally, he'd snap at Thundercracker to quit petting him and stick his servos in his seams if he wanted to do something useful. But his paneling was sore there, his too-full forge pushing against his internals uncomfortably, so Starscream allowed it. “They're fighters, just like their carrier,” Thundercracker said. “They'll all make it.”
“Mmph.” Starscream glanced at Skywarp. “Are you done staring?”
“Yeah,” Skywarp said, clearly still staring. “I can't believe I'm gonna be a sire.”
“Me neither. Hopefully, they don't inherit your processor.”
Skywarp glared, though it had no heat behind it. “If you weren't sparked, I'd so hit you right now.”
“Warp, be nice,” Thundercracker interrupted before they could start squabbling properly. He yanked the purple seeker down to join them in cuddling. Starscream took the opportunity to close his spark chamber and test his mates’ patience, writhing and grumbling until he could find the comfiest position possible. He only settled once both of their chassis were pressed to his own.
“Do not fall into recharge,” he said, “I need a run through the washracks and I'm not walking there myself.”
“Anything for our carrier,” Thundercracker replied, voice already slurred with the lull of recharge. Starscream muttered a curse under his breath, but when he offlined his optics and sank into the sensation of his trines’ engines purring around him, he found he didn't mind the stickiness between his thighs as much.
He supposed the washracks could wait. He did have three whole cycles off, after all.
[ ○ ]
Bumblebee did not usually make a habit of staring at Starscream.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true. Starscream often wanted other bots to stare at him. Like when he'd just gotten his paint retouched and plating professionally polished, or when he was shrieking about whichever Senator had pissed him off that cycle. He was an attention-grabbing mech, that was for sure.
Surprisingly, in the fallout of the war, Bumblebee found himself siding with Starscream more often than not. At least when it came to discrimination reforms and funds allocation, which was most of their job these days. Starscream was prone to threats and outbursts of mythical proportions, but he had a decent sense of justice, as long as you could ignore the occasional homicidal tendency. Bumblebee was sympathetic, even if he'd never personally had graphic fantasies of ripping Solarsky's head off. Some of the former neutrals could be real aftholes.
Regardless, he spent a fair amount of time around Starscream in the Senate, and he knew what he looked like. So why did his cockpit seem different today?
Bumblebee wasn't quite sure what it was that clued him off to the change. The light, maybe? It was bouncing off the yellow transparisteel weird, the shadows falling in unexpected patterns. Even though the material had ‘transparent’ in the name, Starscream kept his cockpit tinted fairly dark to keep prying optics out. The internal components were only really visible from close-up, and it still required some squinting to make anything useful out. From this distance—across the long meeting table where they always did their budget meetings—it was nigh impossible.
That didn't stop Bumblebee from continually glancing back at Starscream, half expecting the strange shape in his cockpit to be gone every time he looked. Starscream didn't seem concerned. He was observing Prowl and Soundwave's lackluster argument about educational funding with unimpressed optics, wings flicking absently. Every few kliks, he'd note something down on the datapad in front of him. Probably keeping a running tally of how many unique ways Soundwave could professionally call Prowl an idiot.
There– Bumblebee swore he saw the shadows in Starscream's cockpit shift. Was he keeping a cassette or something in there? If it were a living thing, it'd have to be pretty small to fit, but it wasn't impossible. He frowned. Was this part of a classic Starscream plot? He tried to rack his processor for any ideas, yet nothing came to mind.
“Okay, okay,” Lightrider interrupted, standing up from her seat. “We're not getting anywhere with this today. All in favor of adjourning until tomorrow morning?”
Bumblebee was so focused on keeping his optics glued to Starscream that he nearly forgot to raise his servo for the vote. Only Prowl and Soundwave voted no. A sigh of relief swept through the room as the gathered bots stood up, eager to get on with their other business for the day instead of listening to two mechs fight about datapad accessibility.
Starscream rarely lingered to exchange pleasantries after a meeting ended, and today was no exception. He scooped up his belongings and strode towards the exit with his familiar brisk pace. Bumblebee scrambled after him.
They were halfway to Starscream's office when Bumblebee caught up to him, his significantly shorter legs struggling to keep up. “Starscream–” he began.
“What is it, goldenrod? I'm busy,” Starscream said, not slowing down in the slightest.
“Do you have something in your cockpit?” Bumblebee blurted.
Starscream stopped dead in his tracks. For a moment, his expression turned so blank that Bumblebee was afraid he'd said something wrong. Vosians had a myriad of social customs that separated them from other Cybertronians, and Starscream was no different. Maybe it was rude to ask a seeker that question? Bumblebee opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize, already holding his servos up in defense.
Before he could, though, Starscream spun on his heel thrusters to face Bumblebee. His optics scanned the empty corridor for a nano-klik, narrowed in suspicion. Then, he kneeled down so his cockpit was closer to Bumblebee's level. A twinge of annoyance rose in the yellow bot. Yes, he was short, but he didn't need mechs crouching down to talk to him like a child!
Every ounce of irritation left him, however, when Starscream's cockpit slid open. Because inside, nestled among the plush lining, were three tiny sparklings.
“Oh my Primus,” he gasped.
“Both of their sires were unable to take them today,” Starscream said, his voice tense. “And they're far too young to cause any disturbances, anyway.”
“They're so cute!” Bumblebee clasped a servo to his mouth to keep from reaching out to pinch their cheeks. It had been forever since he'd last seen a sparkling in the flesh. He'd heard some conjunxes were starting to raise families again, now that the wounds of war were beginning to scab. He just never imagined Starscream, of all mechs. Wait, did he say–
“Sorry, both sires? Does that mean you're the, uh…” He ran his gaze over Starscream's sleek frame. Surely he would've noticed if the seeker had put on enough tons to carry?
Starscream fixed him with a withering glare. “Unlike inefficient grounders like you, seekers are excellent carriers. Lower gestation times and smaller protoforms allow us to maintain flight capabilities throughout the carrying process. We don't need all those unsightly extra tons,” he sneered.
“I guess that explains why they're so itty-bitty,” Bumblebee said. One of the sparklings wiggled restlessly, face pinched.
“They'll grow too big to all fit like this soon.” Starscream brought a claw up to nudge at his fussy sparkling, stroking over their belly soothingly. They settled near-instantly. It did look a bit tight, all their delicate, colorful limbs tangled together and pudgy faces smushed into the lining of the cockpit. “They should start getting more active within the next orn, but they're late bloomers. Apparently, the last six deca-cycles in our cockpits aren't enough for them.”
Bumblebee cycled his optics. “Six– six deca-cycles? You've had sparklings for the last six deca-cycles and didn't say anything? You didn't– did you even take off time to recover?”
“Of course not,” Starscream snorted. “That was when we were editing and reintroducing the plans for the new affordable residential district. What was I going to do, leave it to you?”
“Yes!” Bumblebee exclaimed. He remembered Starscream taking two emergency sick days during that period, but at the time, he'd assumed the seeker had caught that nasty virus going around. Not going through an emergence.
Starscream huffed, expression twisting into a frown. “If you're only going to chide me, then I'll–”
“Okay, okay, I won't,” Bumblebee said, holding up a placating servo. He wasn't done admiring them yet. As if sensing the tension, one of the little guys onlined their dim red optics, squeaking quietly. Bumblebee melted. “Oh, I just wish you'd told me sooner. They're adorable.”
“Here.” Starscream scooped up the awake sparkling, cradling them as gently as Bumblebee had ever seen him handle anything. “Would you like to hold?”
“Really?”
“They need to get used to other spark signatures,” Starscream said. Carefully, as if expecting the seeker to bite, Bumblebee reached forward and took the tiny sparkling from him. They squirmed slightly in his arms at first, optics widening and fat digits searching for a seam to grasp onto. Starscream watched him like a hawk. Thankfully, the seekerling nuzzled into the crook of his arm joint with a contented beep, and Starscream nodded approvingly.
Bumblebee allowed himself a moment to coo over the sparkling, brushing digits across their miniature canopy and stubby thrusters. They were old enough for the color to start showing on their gray plating, and this one had patches of dark reddish-purple coming through on their chassis. “What's their designations?” he asked.
“That one's Novaspark,” Starscream said, “and her two siblings are Lightningwind and Mooncrash.”
Bumblebee turned his gaze back to the tiny sparkling in his arms. She stared up at him, head tilted, as if confused why he wasn't one of her sires. He smiled down at her and patted her back reassuringly. Short wing nubs fluttered against his touch, and she made a soft trilling noise, kicking her pedes in delight. Bumblebee felt like his spark might leap out of his chamber. “She's so friendly. Have they really not met many mechs?”
“Other than Ratchet, no.” Starscream's voice took on that tone he got when he was boasting. “But Nova is very well-developed. Far more active than her brothers and already making attempts to glide. She'll be an excellent flyer one day.”
“Cute,” Bumblebee repeated. Then, mostly to himself: “I just can't believe you have sparklings.”
“Yes, well. Their sires were very persuasive.”
Primus, Bumblebee could only imagine how much persuading Starscream needed to carry. He probably had poor Thundercracker and Skywarp begging on their knees and promising him anything he wanted. While Bumblebee was lost in thought over how difficult Starscream must've been about the whole process, the seeker reclaimed his sparkling from his arms and deposited her back in his cockpit. She snuggled in with her brothers happily.
“Y'know, if you ever need a sparklingsitter, I volunteer,” Bumblebee offered.
“They'll stay within the trine for a while longer,” Starscream said, letting his servos drift over his other two sparklings, as if absently checking them over. They both leaned into his touch automatically, chirping. “But I will keep you in mind.”
Bumblebee waved as Starscream closed his cockpit, the dozing sparklings disappearing under yellow transparisteel once more. He was so distracted by the memory of tiny wings under his digits that a voice behind him nearly made him jump out of his armor.
“Adorable, aren't they?” Ratchet said. “Newborn seekerlings are a sight like no other.”
Bumblebee clasped a servo over his chest. “Primus, you startled me. What are you doing here?”
“The Senate building's closer to the clinic than his apartment.” He gestured towards Starscream. “Figured I'd take the opportunity to give the little bitlets a check-up. And this way I don't have two overprotective sires venting down my spinal struts the entire time.”
Starscream rose to his thrusters, a servo still hovering over his canopy. “Yes, yes, I'm very busy, so if we could get this over with. You know where my office is.” With that, he swept off down the hallway, clearly expecting Ratchet to follow.
He didn't, not immediately. The medic clapped a hand on Bumblebee's shoulder plating conspiratorially, voice low. “When I told him he needed to start introducing the sparklings to new mechs, I can't say I expected you as his first choice.”
“Well, I did kind of ask him–”
“Bumblebee, he showed you his sparklings inside his cockpit,” Ratchet said, shaking his head. “That's a privilege reserved for family and conjunx endurae, usually. Seekers don't reveal their sparklings to friends until much later, a few stellar-cycles old at least. Somehow, you've gotten Screamer to trust you enough that he's treating you like family.”
Bumblebee's chassis grew warm at that. He'd considered Starscream his friend, but Starscream had certainly never given any indication that he reciprocated those feelings. The closest thing to friendly he'd received was when Starscream defended him on the Senate floor or accepted his offers to refuel together during long cycles. Then again, Starscream wasn't anything like your standard bot. Maybe that was his way of being friendly?
“Or he's propositioning you,” Ratchet added. “Hard to tell.”
He froze with a very un-Senator-like squeak. Ratchet started off down the hall, tracing Starscream's steps towards his office unhurriedly. Bumblebee gave chase, processor spinning as he yelped. “What do you mean ‘propositioning?’”