All's Fair [Transformers, Skyfire/Starscream, R]
NB: Prowl’s characterization IS G1, but I’m borrowing heavily from IDW’s G1, namely how he acts in Last Stand of the Wreckers.
“I…don’t understand,” Skyfire said, lamely. Prowl gazed at him, impassively, across the broad, tidy console of his desk. The desk, Skyfire thought, was so perfectly Prowl: neat, orderly, sterile.
“Starscream is currently in our custody. And uncooperative. It is simply the best use of our assets to have you speak with him.”
“I have no interrogation training,” Skyfire said. Nor do I want it, he added silently. Especially not with Starscream. After all these ages. After all that has come between us. I…do not even want to see him. Which sounds cowardly. No. It IS cowardly. And petty. I am not ready for those feelings. Even now.
“I am not asking you to interrogate. We have tried that. I am merely asking you to spend time with him.”
Merely, Skyfire thought. “It will do no good.”
“It may. He has abilities, and secrets that could be useful to our cause.”
“This sounds like…deception.”
“Not,” Prowl said pointedly, “if he gives it to us willingly.” He paused, his face straining, the way it did when he had to speak a language that he found clumsy and uncomfortable. “He needs a friend. He needs to see we are not the enemy. You are the logical choice.”
There was no further point in arguing. Skyfire knew he had so little to offer the Autobots-as a fighter, he was only half-competent. Others did science as well as he. And he could transport other mechs, but so many times…that did not feel like enough. This would be, perhaps, a chance to give back as they deserved for all the wonderful things they had done for him: taken him in, cared for him, listened to him, made him feel welcome, even in those early days when they had ever y reason to doubt. He nodded. “Yes.”
[***]
Starscream arranged himself in an artistic and insolent lounge as he heard the footsteps approach his cell. He would not be seen as weak by these Autobots. Bad enough, he thought, looking at the ragged metal and charring to his once-beautiful white wings, that he looked damaged. He would not look weak.
His laser core gave a sickening throb when the forcebarrier dropped and he saw…Skyfire. His one blue foot stopped mid-swing. His mouth worked. “Skyfire,” he said, flatly. “I will tell you nothing.”
Skyfire rocked side-to-side, nervously, his white armor almost incandescent in the cell’s harsh lighting. “I know. I…just want to talk.”
“Talk.” Not a question. Flat.
“Yes,” Skyfire said. “There is so much unsaid between us.”
“And it should remain so,” Starscream said, hotly. Aware that he did not want this, any of this. Emotions, too raw, bubbled to the surface, almost scalding him.
Skyfire stood, uncomfortable, shut down. The way he always had, all those vorns ago, when confronted by Starscream’s too volatile, too unreadable emotions. And just as back then, Starscream relented. “Sit down,” he said, irritably, pointing at the empty berth. “The least you can do is not…loom over me.” He kicked himself to an upright sit as the shuttle settled himself on the berth gingerly, as though afraid it would collapse.
“Are they…we…treating you well?” Skyfire asked, uncertainly.
“I am a prisoner. There is no ‘well’ to that.” Starscream’s lip plates ground together. He turned, slightly, so that the bright lights gleamed off the injured parts of his wings, where his armor ceralloy had been stripped down to bare metal. In more than one place, the injuries still seeped energon.
“I am sorry,” Skyfire said. “I can get you looked at.”
“I do not need some Autobot filth going over my systems,” Starscream snapped.
Skyfire rocked back, cowed. “I can go over them? If…if you like?”
Starscream hesitated, frowned. “That would be…tolerable.” Barely.
Skyfire inched over, tracing down the line of a weapon-scorch. “This looks painful.”
“A warrior transcends pain,” Starscream said, tightly.
“This is needless, though,” Skyfire said, his optics going vague the way they always had when he was invoking science. “In combat, perhaps, that is a useful trait. But surely going too long unrepaired after combat…diminishes efficiency?”
So much, Starscream thought. So much like the old Skyfire. The one I knew. The one I admired. That thought hurt more than the damage to his wing, which by now had dulled to a throbbing ache. The idea that somewhere, in all of that, in all that separated them, there was…something familiar.
No. Even if he is the same, Starscream, you are different. You have changed, so much, too much. You cannot go back to a naïve ivory-tower scientist. You cannot sequester yourself again in conjecture and abstraction. You reek too much of reality.
“Yes,” he said, quietly. “But my diminished efficiency should be the ultimate goal of the Autobots.”
“It’s not my goal,” Skyfire said. His optics never left the damaged wing, his hands examining further down, other injuries, the snapped and splintered cabling that had lost Starscream the ability to maneuver. “I never wanted us to meet like this.” Something shadowy and sad under his voice.
“I never wanted to meet with you at all, after you betrayed me,” Starscream said. Truth, and yet designed to hurt. He didn’t want to see Skyfire for exactly this reason: to avoid the churning emotions. The doubt and uncertainty. The horrible feeling that he’d somehow…fallen.
“I-“ Skyfire’s words were cut off by a sharp gesture from Starscream.
“I have no patience for your tedious argument that I have heard before. As if only the Autobots have a monopoly on decency and virtue. As if you can wake up, knowing nothing of the intervening ages, and judge us. Judge me.” It was an old and tiresome argument. He hoped that merely the flood of words would turn Skyfire away.
Skyfire gave a sigh that sounded more sad than frustrated. “I don’t want to argue with you, Starscream,” he said, quietly. “I want to…just…be with you.”
Starscream twitched at the honesty in his voice, knowing he did not have it within himself to respond in kind. He felt his hand shake as he raised it, blue fingers brushing against Skyfire’s broad white shoulder. As close as he could come to an answer.
Skyfire leaned over, awkward, shy, his mouth reaching for Starscream’s, his other hand returning the touch to the shoulder, reciprocating. Starscream stifled a whimper as their mouths touched, Skyfire’s lip plates against his as tentative as he remembered. So different from Megatron’s forceful kisses that could not rightfully be classed as kisses, they shared so little with this earnest, emotional touch. He felt himself lean forward, into the kiss, before pulling backwards, taking Skyfire with him, the larger mech’s body grazing his own, the white hands clambering over the berth.
Skyfire pulled away, letting his optics slide over Starscream’s frame beneath him with the shy desire that had always been uniquely his. No matter how many times they’d interfaced, he’d never lost that look, that sentiment. Starscream felt the old, now-unfamiliar tender desire wash over him, wanting nothing more than a slow exploration, a lingering re-introduction to his former lover’s frame. Did he still enjoy that light touch on the bevel of his cockpit? Did he still cry out when he overloaded?
No. This was giving into desires to which a warrior should not yield. This was weakness. But as much as his cortex told him that, his hands and body spoke another language entirely, arching up against the broad chassis, reaching and clutching for sensitive seams in the shuttle’s armor, thighs sliding around Skyfire’s hips. Oh, he wanted. He wanted more than he could allow himself to feel.
Starscream had always been greedy. Always wanted more, more, and too much. Always reached for what was just out of range. Was this any different?
Yes, because this went against sense and ambition. This was purely a greed, a desire of the spark, not of the mind. Was it less because it was from the body?
His hands pulled Skyfire’s face harder against him, his glossa intruding into Skyfire’s mouth, his entire body shivering as Skyfire gave a soft moan, mouth on mouth.
Where would this end? Would Skyfire ask him to betray what he had become? Could he? Or did he have the strength of will to turn this back around, to use this against Skyfire? To gain information, freedom?
He didn’t know. And it seemed like a blasphemy to be asking.
That, he thought, roughly, was the future. This is now, and with no words between us, nothing to ruin the pure exchange of our…what once was love. Maybe when it is out of my system, I can think more clearly. Maybe then I will know.
But for now….
“I…don’t understand,” Skyfire said, lamely. Prowl gazed at him, impassively, across the broad, tidy console of his desk. The desk, Skyfire thought, was so perfectly Prowl: neat, orderly, sterile.
“Starscream is currently in our custody. And uncooperative. It is simply the best use of our assets to have you speak with him.”
“I have no interrogation training,” Skyfire said. Nor do I want it, he added silently. Especially not with Starscream. After all these ages. After all that has come between us. I…do not even want to see him. Which sounds cowardly. No. It IS cowardly. And petty. I am not ready for those feelings. Even now.
“I am not asking you to interrogate. We have tried that. I am merely asking you to spend time with him.”
Merely, Skyfire thought. “It will do no good.”
“It may. He has abilities, and secrets that could be useful to our cause.”
“This sounds like…deception.”
“Not,” Prowl said pointedly, “if he gives it to us willingly.” He paused, his face straining, the way it did when he had to speak a language that he found clumsy and uncomfortable. “He needs a friend. He needs to see we are not the enemy. You are the logical choice.”
There was no further point in arguing. Skyfire knew he had so little to offer the Autobots-as a fighter, he was only half-competent. Others did science as well as he. And he could transport other mechs, but so many times…that did not feel like enough. This would be, perhaps, a chance to give back as they deserved for all the wonderful things they had done for him: taken him in, cared for him, listened to him, made him feel welcome, even in those early days when they had ever y reason to doubt. He nodded. “Yes.”
[***]
Starscream arranged himself in an artistic and insolent lounge as he heard the footsteps approach his cell. He would not be seen as weak by these Autobots. Bad enough, he thought, looking at the ragged metal and charring to his once-beautiful white wings, that he looked damaged. He would not look weak.
His laser core gave a sickening throb when the forcebarrier dropped and he saw…Skyfire. His one blue foot stopped mid-swing. His mouth worked. “Skyfire,” he said, flatly. “I will tell you nothing.”
Skyfire rocked side-to-side, nervously, his white armor almost incandescent in the cell’s harsh lighting. “I know. I…just want to talk.”
“Talk.” Not a question. Flat.
“Yes,” Skyfire said. “There is so much unsaid between us.”
“And it should remain so,” Starscream said, hotly. Aware that he did not want this, any of this. Emotions, too raw, bubbled to the surface, almost scalding him.
Skyfire stood, uncomfortable, shut down. The way he always had, all those vorns ago, when confronted by Starscream’s too volatile, too unreadable emotions. And just as back then, Starscream relented. “Sit down,” he said, irritably, pointing at the empty berth. “The least you can do is not…loom over me.” He kicked himself to an upright sit as the shuttle settled himself on the berth gingerly, as though afraid it would collapse.
“Are they…we…treating you well?” Skyfire asked, uncertainly.
“I am a prisoner. There is no ‘well’ to that.” Starscream’s lip plates ground together. He turned, slightly, so that the bright lights gleamed off the injured parts of his wings, where his armor ceralloy had been stripped down to bare metal. In more than one place, the injuries still seeped energon.
“I am sorry,” Skyfire said. “I can get you looked at.”
“I do not need some Autobot filth going over my systems,” Starscream snapped.
Skyfire rocked back, cowed. “I can go over them? If…if you like?”
Starscream hesitated, frowned. “That would be…tolerable.” Barely.
Skyfire inched over, tracing down the line of a weapon-scorch. “This looks painful.”
“A warrior transcends pain,” Starscream said, tightly.
“This is needless, though,” Skyfire said, his optics going vague the way they always had when he was invoking science. “In combat, perhaps, that is a useful trait. But surely going too long unrepaired after combat…diminishes efficiency?”
So much, Starscream thought. So much like the old Skyfire. The one I knew. The one I admired. That thought hurt more than the damage to his wing, which by now had dulled to a throbbing ache. The idea that somewhere, in all of that, in all that separated them, there was…something familiar.
No. Even if he is the same, Starscream, you are different. You have changed, so much, too much. You cannot go back to a naïve ivory-tower scientist. You cannot sequester yourself again in conjecture and abstraction. You reek too much of reality.
“Yes,” he said, quietly. “But my diminished efficiency should be the ultimate goal of the Autobots.”
“It’s not my goal,” Skyfire said. His optics never left the damaged wing, his hands examining further down, other injuries, the snapped and splintered cabling that had lost Starscream the ability to maneuver. “I never wanted us to meet like this.” Something shadowy and sad under his voice.
“I never wanted to meet with you at all, after you betrayed me,” Starscream said. Truth, and yet designed to hurt. He didn’t want to see Skyfire for exactly this reason: to avoid the churning emotions. The doubt and uncertainty. The horrible feeling that he’d somehow…fallen.
“I-“ Skyfire’s words were cut off by a sharp gesture from Starscream.
“I have no patience for your tedious argument that I have heard before. As if only the Autobots have a monopoly on decency and virtue. As if you can wake up, knowing nothing of the intervening ages, and judge us. Judge me.” It was an old and tiresome argument. He hoped that merely the flood of words would turn Skyfire away.
Skyfire gave a sigh that sounded more sad than frustrated. “I don’t want to argue with you, Starscream,” he said, quietly. “I want to…just…be with you.”
Starscream twitched at the honesty in his voice, knowing he did not have it within himself to respond in kind. He felt his hand shake as he raised it, blue fingers brushing against Skyfire’s broad white shoulder. As close as he could come to an answer.
Skyfire leaned over, awkward, shy, his mouth reaching for Starscream’s, his other hand returning the touch to the shoulder, reciprocating. Starscream stifled a whimper as their mouths touched, Skyfire’s lip plates against his as tentative as he remembered. So different from Megatron’s forceful kisses that could not rightfully be classed as kisses, they shared so little with this earnest, emotional touch. He felt himself lean forward, into the kiss, before pulling backwards, taking Skyfire with him, the larger mech’s body grazing his own, the white hands clambering over the berth.
Skyfire pulled away, letting his optics slide over Starscream’s frame beneath him with the shy desire that had always been uniquely his. No matter how many times they’d interfaced, he’d never lost that look, that sentiment. Starscream felt the old, now-unfamiliar tender desire wash over him, wanting nothing more than a slow exploration, a lingering re-introduction to his former lover’s frame. Did he still enjoy that light touch on the bevel of his cockpit? Did he still cry out when he overloaded?
No. This was giving into desires to which a warrior should not yield. This was weakness. But as much as his cortex told him that, his hands and body spoke another language entirely, arching up against the broad chassis, reaching and clutching for sensitive seams in the shuttle’s armor, thighs sliding around Skyfire’s hips. Oh, he wanted. He wanted more than he could allow himself to feel.
Starscream had always been greedy. Always wanted more, more, and too much. Always reached for what was just out of range. Was this any different?
Yes, because this went against sense and ambition. This was purely a greed, a desire of the spark, not of the mind. Was it less because it was from the body?
His hands pulled Skyfire’s face harder against him, his glossa intruding into Skyfire’s mouth, his entire body shivering as Skyfire gave a soft moan, mouth on mouth.
Where would this end? Would Skyfire ask him to betray what he had become? Could he? Or did he have the strength of will to turn this back around, to use this against Skyfire? To gain information, freedom?
He didn’t know. And it seemed like a blasphemy to be asking.
That, he thought, roughly, was the future. This is now, and with no words between us, nothing to ruin the pure exchange of our…what once was love. Maybe when it is out of my system, I can think more clearly. Maybe then I will know.
But for now….