Title: Under-Armor Secrets
Author: albydarned
Fandom: Transformers G1
Rating: NC-17/MA
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz/Bluestreak

Summary: Prowl and Jazz want to move their relationship with Bluestreak forward, but the gunner keeps pushing them away. It's not that Bluestreak doesn't want them; it's because he's too afraid of what will happen to him if they ever find out …

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Under-Armor Secrets

Jazz pushed his cord into Bluestreak slowly, loving the way his partner hissed in pleasure as the Porsche entered him. On the other side of the berth chambers, Prowl was watching the pair of interfacing mechs with an aroused gleam in his optics as he slowly stroked his own spike. Despite the fact that Jazz and Prowl had been interfacing with Bluestreak regularly for nearly a quarter-vorn, the young gunner's port was still almost as tight as it had been the first time Prowl had taken him. It was one of the many things the pair treasured about their excitable lover.

"Feels so good to have you inside of me, Jazz," Bluestreak whispered, braced on his servos and knee-joints as the other mech took him from behind. Bluestreak still had trouble being able to coherently form words when he was lost in the throes of passion, but he had come a long way from being the near-silent interfacing partner he had once been. One of the kinks that Jazz and Prowl still secretly shared was the sounds and words they could pull out of Bluestreak as he writhed with pleasure.

"Mmm, go slower, Jazz," Prowl commanded, wanting to drag things out for as long as possible. It wasn't very often that only two of them were together—Jazz and Prowl hardly ever made love with one another anymore without Bluestreak being present, despite the fact that they had not bonded with him—but Prowl could easily appreciate the show that he was privy to at the moment. Jazz instantly obeyed his mate, slowing his thrusts down so that he was languidly thrusting into Bluestreak, who reacted with a frustrated groan. "The overload will feel much better if you allow it time to build," Prowl informed the other Datsun, but there was a wicked smile on his lip components which undermined his well-intentioned words.

"We have all evening-cycle, baby Blue," Jazz added, kneading his servos on Bluestreak's sensitive doorwings, finding all of the sensitive spots on the plating which he knew drove the younger mech wild. This position was a particular favorite of the saboteur's; while he loved it when Bluestreak could touch him back, he especially liked being able to dominate the gunner. Bluestreak couldn't move from his servos without collapsing face-first into the berth. Jazz smirked as he noticed the trembling in Bluestreak's arms as he strained to hold himself up against the sensations he was currently experiencing.

Bluestreak, on the other hand, was not as thrilled about the slow torture as the mated pair was. He had been online for three cycles without a wink of recharge, and all he really wanted was a nice, comfortable interface before crawling back to his quarters for several joors' worth of shut-down. Despite the fact that he had stayed with his lovers occasionally over the course of their affair, doing so made him uncomfortable and affected the amount of recharge he got, and as tired as he was at the moment, all he really wanted was an overload and some sleep. "Harder, Jazz, please," he begged, tentatively thrusting his aft back to force the TIC's rod up against his interior sensor nodes even harder.

Think I should be nice to him, Prowler? Jazz asked his bondmate, completely oblivious to the fact that perhaps Bluestreak wasn't as interested that evening as he normally was. Admittedly, it was hard to keep himself under control with the younger Praxian, who, at times, simply begged to be 'faced hard and relentlessly. Jazz had always been terrible at controlling himself; that was why he had Prowl.

Prowl thought about it for a moment, before responding, maybe a little harder, but just as slow. If he doesn't like it, then he can do something about it. Briefly, the couple shared a mental image of just what Bluestreak doing something about it would entail: the sharpshooter managing to flip Jazz over, pressing his shoulders down as he rode the other mech's spike as hard and fast as he wanted, taking himself to overload and dragging Jazz along with him. It was a rare that they were able to persuade Bluestreak into a more dominant role in the berth, but whenever they did, the results were … extremely pleasurable.

As Jazz increased the force behind his thrusts, Bluestreak felt a vague brush of annoyance move through him just as the pleasure forced another wanton moan out of his vocalizer. He could always tell when Jazz and Prowl were communicating to one another over the bond, and while most of the time it didn't bother him, sometimes it left him feeling incredibly frustrated. What if they were talking about him? Couldn't they understand that he wasn't a part of their bond, and might feel like a third-wheel, like an unnecessary addition to their relationship? The gray mech would never say any of this out loud, of course, and normally it didn't bother him. He loved Jazz and Prowl, he really did, but sometimes he wondered …

"I'm not sure that I, t-that I can hold myself up much, loo-oh-nger," Bluestreak managed to grind out, his arms suddenly feeling very weak. The lack of recharge and energy was catching up to him quickly, and although his systems were too charged up at the moment for him to drop into involuntary stasis, if he wasn't careful the overload would, and he really wanted to recharge in his own berth that evening. With a soft moan, the gunner lowered himself down onto his elbows, the change in position allowing Jazz to move even deeper in his port, causing both of the mechs to let out pleasured groans.

From his vantage point further away from the berth, Prowl was able to see a strange mixture of expressions cross Bluestreak's faceplates; there was the pleasure, of course, but alongside of it was a bit of exhaustion and a tightening of his lip components which Prowl wasn't sure about. It almost looked as it Bluestreak were upset about something, which considering the fact that Jazz was practically 'facing him into the berth seemed completely out-of-place. Bluestreak may be more tired that we initially believed, Prowl told Jazz, whose helm jerked up suddenly in concern as he received the message. I think a change in position may be in order.

Damn, an' just as I was gettin' good and heated up too, Jazz griped, but most of it was for show. The sudden spike of concern emanating from Prowl's end of the bond had caught his own systems, and Jazz worried that maybe they had been a little too insistent with Bluestreak that evening. Both officers knew that the gunner had just come off of a long patrol with Hound and Cliffjumper, but they had hoped that they could use Bluestreak's exhaustion to convince him to stay in their quarters with them that night; it was so rare that Bluestreak would stay with them, and both Jazz and Prowl loved nothing more than curling around their lover in recharge.

"Hold on, Blue," Jazz said, wincing as he pulled his straining rod out of Bluestreak, strings of lubricant still connecting the two together. "Let's get you turned around. Wouldn't want ya to fall into recharge and smack your face 'gainst the berth, now would we?" Jazz's hands settled on the gunner's hips, helping Bluestreak turn around so that he was laying flat on his back on the berth.

Before he could stop himself, Bluestreak felt another slew of bitter emotions race through him. If you knew how tired I was, why did you insist on interfacing with me in the first place? However, the sharpshooter knew that he wasn't being entirely fair to his lovers in that regard; he could have turned them down, and honestly, he had been craving an interface. But now that he had allowed himself to have even one negative thought, it seemed as though every problem he had felt building in the back of his CPU was bursting forth, making it increasingly hard for him to focus on the pleasure his body was feeling.

Prowl went back to stroking his spike as Jazz entered Bluestreak once more, but his arousal had dampened. Oh, Bluestreak was moaning and squirming as delightfully as always, all right, but there seemed something off about it that particular evening cycle. For not the first time, Prowl wished that he were able to read Bluestreak's thoughts and emotions as easily as Jazz; it was becoming obvious that something was troubling their partner, but there was no way they'd be able to know what that was exactly unless Bluestreak let them in on it. And despite the gray mech's reputation for being a non-stop talker, he was very good at keeping a secret.

Jazz resumed his thrusting, although he made sure to pick up the pace, hoping to tease Bluestreak back into the spirit of things and get them both closer to overload. Something wrong, love? Jazz asked Prowl over their bond, feeling faint echoes of his mate's diminishing arousal. And was it just him, or were some of Bluestreak's moans sounding … fake? Frowning, Jazz reached down, relieved to find Bluestreak's spike still fully pressurized between their two bodies. The sound that the gunner released as the saboteur began stroking him in time with his thrusts was genuine, at least.

There they were, being quiet again, Bluestreak noted grimly. If his systems weren't already so close to overload, he'd have probably asked to leave; being intimate was quickly becoming the last thing that Bluestreak wanted at the moment. "Getting close, Jazz," he whispered, trying to sound encouraging, hoping that the TIC would start to move faster and bring him to overload even quicker. Out of the corner of his vision, Bluestreak noticed that Prowl had stopped touching himself altogether, that he had actually retracted his spike and had his panel closed. Oh slag, they know that something's wrong, he thought worriedly. Bluestreak was in no mood to talk his problems out with the pair, that was for certain.

Prowl had given up, and Jazz was about two kliks from stopping as well when he felt the tell-tale shudders start in the depths of Bluestreak's valve. For the first time he could ever remember, Jazz was thankful that he would soon be finished; it was challenging to perform for a mech who was obviously not interested. Which begged the obvious question, what was wrong with Bluestreak? Both Jazz and Prowl had been frustrated lately that their relationship with the gunner had seemingly stalled, but they had never let their concerns affect their interfacing habits before.

Prowl's lip components were set in a firm line, his optics concerned even as he watched Bluestreak overload, his charged port triggering a sympathetic release out of Jazz as well. A shiver ran through the tactician as his mate reached his peak, but it was not enough to reawaken his own interfacing drive. Worry pressed against his spark, the emotion shared completely by Jazz: what was wrong with Bluestreak? Why had things suddenly changed? The gray 'bot had seemed fine when they started out …

"Y'okay, Blue?" Jazz asked as he eased himself out of Bluestreak. The gunner's response wasn't completely audible, and he quickly shut his panel, not even bothering to wait for Jazz to hand him a rag so that he could wipe the lubricants off of his plating. Jazz felt his optic ridge narrowing; there was no need to be rude, and although it was plain to see that Bluestreak wanted to get out, they were all adult mechs, and to Jazz that meant that they could all settle things by talking it out. "What just happened there? You're startin' to act like the last thing you wanna do is be near me'n'Prowl right now. Kinda hurtin' our feelings, Blue."

Prowl sighed; that was not the most subtle way to go about things. Judging by the mixed look of shock and hurt that instantly appeared on Bluestreak's faceplates, the other Praxian had obviously not intended for Prowl or Jazz to catch on to the fact that he'd been upset. That only made Prowl worry more; what if Bluestreak had been upset for awhile, and neither of them had caught on until the young mech simply couldn't hold it in anymore? Moving from his chair over to the berth, Prowl settled in next to Bluestreak's side, forcibly stopping himself from resting a servo on the fluttering, agitated doorwings just within his reach. "If there's a problem, Bluestreak, we will do anything to fix it. We do not like to see you unhappy, and it's obvious that something is wrong."

"It's nothing, really, I'm just tired and I thought that I wanted to interface with you tonight but once we got started I realized just how tired I was. So there's nothing to worry about and nothing to talk about, I think I'm just going to head out and go back to my quarters so I can get some shut-down," Bluestreak responded, not bothering to intake once as he spoke. But before the gunner could start making his way from the berth, he felt two sets of servos pressing him down.

"Why don't ya stay here with us tonight, Blue?" Jazz asked, his tone falsely light and airy, contrasting immensely with the simultaneous message he projected across the bond to Prowl. Don't know what else you an' I can do to make this 'bot see that we want him with us always. Maybe it's not us … could be that he just doesn't really want us like that.

Let's not make any quick judgments, Prowl cautioned his mate, even as he felt a similar pang of resignation touch his own spark. Bluestreak needs to tell us how he feels. We can't simply assume to know what's going through his processors. Out-loud, the tactician murmured to his younger lover, "We would love for you to stay with us this evening-cycle, even if we're all recharging. We've missed being able to hold you while you rest."

Normally, Bluestreak would have been flattered—and might have even caved into staying—by Prowl's words, but in the heat of the moment, all the gunner could hear was an accusation. "Maybe I don't want to stay the night with you," he replied, his normally-cheery voice replaced by a harder tone, one which reverberated deep down inside of Bluestreak, awakening a side of his core programming that he had always struggled to keep repressed. "At least if I'm not here, the two of you don't have to rely on that bond of yours to talk about me so I can't here it."

Both Prowl and Jazz were shocked, both by the words Bluestreak was saying, but also the manner in which the Datsun was saying them. Prowl was the first to recover, his expression turning unspeakably sad as he realized that whatever Bluestreak was upset about, it had been bothering him for a long time. "Bluestreak, Jazz and I were unaware that our bond bothered you so much. But there are certain things—feelings, thoughts, emotions—that we simply can't hide from one another. We've never intended to make you feel excluded or uncomfortable."

Bluestreak growled with frustration; Prowl just didn't get it. And Bluestreak could never fully explain what really upset him to much, because if he did, the least of his problems would be the end of the only relationship he'd ever had. "I know how a bond works, Prowl. I may not be as old or as experienced as you two, but I'm not some sparkling with a defective memory log either."

"Hey, now, Prowler's just tryin' to understand what's got your spark suddenly set to sub-zero," Jazz cut in, trying—unsuccessfully—to keep his mounting anger from his voice. However, the saboteur had unknowingly just said the very wrong thing, and if Bluestreak's optics hadn't been modified to only appear in shades of blue, the glower he aimed at the TIC would have been redder than magma.

"I told you, I'm just tired and all I want is for the both of you to let me up so that I can go back to my own quarters and get some recharge," Bluestreak ground out, ignoring the rising need to hit something as well as the painful squeeze he felt in his spark. Even though he couldn't stop himself from saying such horrible things to his lovers, Bluestreak realized that this argument might possibly be the end of what he had considered to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. And that thought only made him even angrier.

Prowl sighed. Bluestreak was angry for some reason and Jazz was becoming increasingly irritable; this was definitely not how Prowl had envisioned spending his off-cycle. "Bluestreak," he said, using the most patient tone he could come up with given the situation, "we all know that there's more to this than you just being tired. I don't believe we've been as open about this as we ought to have been, but Jazz and I have been hoping to move this relationship forward for awhile now." The tactician paused, unsure if he should continue, but the slight unthawing of Bluestreak's optics gave him the courage he needed to keep speaking. "Honestly, I would love nothing more right now than to be able to sense you and understand what you're feeling just like I'm able to with Jazz."

It was as if time stopped for Bluestreak. In that very moment, Prowl confirmed both the gunner's greatest desire and biggest fear—that the mated pair wanted him to join their bond or, at the very least, wanted to merge sparks with him. "I …" Bluestreak started, struggling to find words, his vocalizer shocked into silence. "I can't …"

"You won't," Jazz interrupted, glaring openly now as he felt Prowl's hurt over Bluestreak's rejection of his—their—suit rejected. "You won't let this go any further than it has right now, and I think that it's time we get this all straightened out. Are we jus' frag buddies to you, Bluestreak? 'Cause me an' Prowl aren't really into just messin' around."

Bluestreak felt his spark trying to stutter to a halt in his chassis. Oh Primus no, he thought, knowing that Jazz had it all wrong; they were so important to him, so much so that he couldn't even begin to describe it, but he couldn't bond with them. Couldn't even show them his spark … and he could never explain why. The best Bluestreak could do was to shake his head, his mouth opening and closing as the words that would both save and damn him froze on the tips of his lip components, fighting to be released.

Prowl sighed; Jazz's temper was notoriously difficult to trigger, but once a mech had, there were few things in the universe which could contain his rage. Even as he sent a placating nudge toward his bondmate through their connection, Prowl attempted to salvage things with Bluestreak, who looked surprisingly shell-shocked—perhaps they had read the situation wrong? "We are not giving you an ultimatum, Bluestreak. We simply want to know where it is you want this relationship to go, because it's become obvious tonight that something about our arrangement has upset you."

"I'm s-sorry," Bluestreak managed to stutter, his servos shaking so hard they were rattling in his wrist joints. The walls of Prowl and Jazz's chambers suddenly felt as though they were closing in on Bluestreak, his in-vents coming in quick and short, trying to cool down his systems to no avail. The gray mech realized that he couldn't stay in that room any longer, he had to get out before he broke down and told them everything.

As Bluestreak suddenly pivoted, obviously heading for the door, Jazz yelled, "If you walk out that door you might as well count on never bein' let back in!" But by the time the words left the saboteur's mouth, the sniper was already gone, the only evidence that he had even noticed the TIC's threat being the strangled sob the mated pair heard as he exited their quarters.

Bluestreak finally managed to force himself to stop running once he was several corridors away from Jazz and Prowl's quarters. Even though his intakes were heaving and his gyros were rotating quickly from the sudden strain of running at top speeds for several kliks, Bluestreak strained his audios for the sound of other footfalls or tires squealing, signs that the bondmates had decided to chase him down. When he heard nothing but the sound of his own systems, Bluestreak let of a sigh of relief.

"What do I do?" he asked no one in particular, staring down at the ground as his CPU continuously threw different data at him. On the one servo, Bluestreak was aware that what he had just done was incredibly unfair to Jazz and Prowl, who honestly loved him and—it seemed—wanted him for more than just casual interfacing. Who possibly even wanted a bond from him. On the other servo, however, Bluestreak was afraid that he wasn't worthy of his officer's attentions, and that once they saw his spark, they would make him leave, or worse, demand that he be deactivated.

The sound of two sets of peds echoing along the long hallways interrupted Bluestreak's thoughts, and for a moment the gunner believed that Jazz and Prowl had come to find him. There was no denying the pleasant surge that built up in his spark at that idea even if it also filled him with horror, but when he looked up, it was Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who met his optics, not Prowl and Jazz.

"Well, look at what we have here," Sideswipe said to his twin, his tone light. However, Bluestreak knew the Lamborghini well enough to know that despite his smile, Sideswipe was a dangerous mech. Sunstreaker was too, and both of them had been trying to coax Bluestreak into their berth for vorns, ever since he had been a youngling. "A young Praxian, without his constant shadows lurking anywhere nearby."

"Did they have a fight, I wonder," Sunstreaker added, one servo resting on his hip as he used the other to reach forward, lightly brushing against Bluestreak's doorwing. Although the gunner quickly moved away from the unwelcome touch, his plating was still sensitive in post-overload, and he couldn't stop himself from shivering slightly in response. A scowl appeared on Bluestreak's normally-smiling lips; if there was one thing he did not need to deal with right now, it was the twins.

"That's none of your business," he growled, widening his stance into a more defensive one, even though he knew he had no chance against even one of the twins, let alone both of them at once. But still, he knew how Sunstreaker and Sideswipe worked … they were not the type of mechs that would easily see reason. They answered to violence and brute force instead, and a part of Bluestreak—the part of him that he hated, the part that kept him from having what he really wanted—understood completely.

Sideswipe lost the smile, his optics burning dangerously into Bluestreak's own. "When are you going to realize that you don't belong with them,"—the amount of venom he was able to inject into that single word left no doubt as to the red mech's opinion of his Second- and Third-in-Command—"and that you're ours?"

"Hopefully it's before they realize that you just don't fit in with them, or any of the other Autobots," Sunstreaker said, this time letting his servo rest on Bluestreak's doorwing in an obvious display of dominance. Bluestreak, who was emotionally and physically exhausted, didn't have the energy to fight off the front liner, and allowed the touch, albeit begrudgingly. "You know that we're the only other mechs who understand, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak shook his head; he didn't need the twins, of all mechs, to remind him of his own shortcomings. All he had to do was open his chest armor to do that. "Maybe I don't want to be like you," he said, narrowing his optics and trying to look stronger than he felt. "Maybe I want to be like them, have you ever stopped to consider that? When are you two going to realize that you're not Decepticons, you're Autobots and you're no different than any of the mechs who fight for this army?"

However, Sideswipe was not fooled by Bluestreak's show of bravado, easily knocking his brother's hand out of the way so that he could slam the gunner's frame up against a wall so hard that the paneling shook at the impact. "We're not like them, and neither are you! All of the 'bots know that the only reason Sunny and I joined with the Autobots is because we can't stand that fragger Megatron. And we,"—here Sideswipe paused, motioning first to his twin and then to Bluestreak to indicate that this was knowledge only the three of them shared—"know that the only reason you're not a 'con is because your creator was a drunk who forgot to vacate Praxis and head for Vos before the attack hit."

Bluestreak winced at the words as though they were a physical blow. In many ways, they had hurt him far worse than any punches Sideswipe might have dealt him. It was the secret that Bluestreak had managed to keep from all of the other Autobots—including his lovers—ever since he was a youngling, and it was the reason why he could never bond with Jazz and Prowl. The gray mech knew that if either of them found out, they would never speak to him again. They would hate him.

Bluestreak's carrier had been a Praxian mech who had offlined shortly after Bluestreak had first been activated. Most of Bluestreak's system requirements and frame coding came from his carrier, much to the disgust of his creator, a Seeker from Vos who had settled in Praxus to find work. The only similarities that Bluestreak had shared with his creator were his blood-red optics and the similarly-colored spark in his chassis. The optics had been a quick fix; after the destruction of Praxus, it had been easy to pretend that his optics were damaged in order to convince the young Autobot medic who had treated him to replace them with blue lenses. But Bluestreak's spark had been, and always would be, red, an obvious sign pointing to his true heritage.

Sunstreaker's arms draped around his twin's shoulders as the golden twin chuckled darkly. "Looks like you hit a sore cog," he said with a smirk, planting a kiss on his brother's audio. "The chatterbox is speechless."

Bluestreak felt his internals heating up in embarrassment. He didn't want either of the Lamborghinis to know how much their taunts had really affected him. "I'm an Autobot and it doesn't matter who my creators were that doesn't change the fact that I'm loyal to Optimus Prime and I won't stop fighting until every last Decepticon has been either deactivated or captured and we can return to Cybertron and live at peace again."

This time, both twins laughed, and Bluestreak swore to himself that if he had a little more energy, he would be doing a whole lot more than just telling them to stop. Even if it got his aft handed to him, he'd show the twins that he wasn't a mech they could mess around with and not face any consequences. "Why fight your nature, Bluestreak?" Sideswipe asked, apparently forgetting his earlier anger as he leaned in to suck lightly on the Praxian's sensitive chevron. Despite himself, Bluestreak moaned lightly at the sensation.

While his brother busied himself, Sunstreaker continued the conversation. "We're not trying to tell you not to be an Autobot. We're all Autobots, after all." With a dangerous smile, Sunstreaker let a servo drift across Bluestreak's chassis, his hand settling over the gunner's pounding spark. "But with us, you won't need to hide who you really are. It's why you won't work out with Jazz and Prowl; they won't understand the violence within you the way that Sides and I will."

"Mmmhmm," Sideswipe agreed, licking and sucking his way down Bluestreak's faceplates until his lips were against Bluestreak's, coaxing the younger mech's oral cavity open so that they could share a circuit-melting kiss. For one long, confusing moment, as Sideswipe thrust his glossa into the Datsun's mouth greedily but with obvious skill, Bluestreak considered the twin's proposition. Pictured what it would be like to interface with them, to bond with them and to share himself with them in every way imaginable.

The reason why the front-liners had always expressed such an interest in Bluestreak was due to their shared backgrounds. The mech who had built Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had been a gladiator model from Kaon, and it was rumored that their creator had actually been offlined by Megatron himself during an arena match. What wasn't known to anybot other than Bluestreak (and that was only because the twins had told him after they had figured his secret out), was that their creator had been more than just a gladiator; he'd been a secret conspirator who'd been planning a rebellion right around the same time that Megatron came into power. Due to the nature of their upbringing and the city in which they were raised, the twins shared Bluestreak's spark coloration, but unlike the younger mech, they weren't ashamed of their more violent tendencies.

Sideswipe growled into their kiss, his red body pressing Bluestreak's into the wall with enough force to dent the orange plating. A stray thought passed through the gunner's CPU—Jazz and Prowl would never hold me like this—and with a shudder of horrid realization, Bluestreak gasped and used all of his remaining strength to shove the twins away from him.

"I said no," Bluestreak hissed, shivering with barely-restrained rage. Even if he didn't deserve Jazz and Prowl, he didn't really want the twins, who only seemed to want him as a conquest, their berth-trophy and reluctant mate. He'd spend the rest of his extremely long life alone before he bound himself to the likes of them.

Sunstreaker shifted, obviously preparing to close back in on Bluestreak, but a servo on his shoulder stopped him. Sideswipe grinned at his twin, licking his slightly-dented lip components obscenely. "Don't worry, bro," the red Lamborghini said as he directed a smoldering gaze towards Bluestreak. "Little Blue might think that he has all he needs, but the klik Jazz and Prowl leave him for good, he'll be begging us for a taste of our components."

Sunstreaker glared, obviously feeling a little jealous that he hadn't been able to press a kiss on the sharpshooter when his brother had gotten to, but the other front liner backed off. Turning his optics towards Bluestreak as well, he ground through clenched dentals, "I'd be careful about whoring yourself out to any old mech, Bluestreak. You wouldn't want to have your chest plates slip and ruin it for everyone … they'd have you for parts before you could even say a word."

Without another word, Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe and the pair sauntered down the halls of the Ark, exuding an air of satisfaction and victory which only served to make Bluestreak feel even more weak and despicable. With tears running down his cheekplates, the young mech slid down the wall to the ground, hugging his knees close to himself as his thoughts ran away from him. What if they are what I deserve? he asked himself, trying—and failing—to imagine himself bonded to the homicidal twins.

Would I have been a Decepticon if my creator had gotten us out of Praxus before the raid? Bluestreak had always believed that, no matter what, he would have ended up as an Autobot, or at the very least a Neutral. But, with the Lamborghinis' words echoing through his processors, it didn't seem like too much of a stretch of the imagination to picture himself exactly as he had been right before his hometown was leveled—blood-red optics and a frown on his faceplates, a prime target for Megatron's recruiters. Would I have wanted to kill Jazz and Prowl, then? If I were a Decepticon?

As more and more tears began to drip down Bluestreak's face and onto the floor, the gunner realized that he wanted nothing more than to be surrounded and comforted by the mechs he trusted (and loved) the most; he wanted Jazz to sing something soft and reassuring to him as Prowl held him and promised him that they would both take care of him. He wanted the security and warmth they offered him, even though he knew that he could never entirely accept it. The twins were right; one look at his spark and they'd know the truth, and he couldn't bear it for them to turn him away or to look at him with disgust in their optics. It would kill him.

The combined stress of his encounter with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, his argument with Jazz and Prowl, and his extra-long duty cycle finally caught up with Bluestreak, and without his conscious knowledge, the sharpshooter slumped over to the side, his optics finally dimming as his recharge sequences automatically initiated. Despite the fact that Bluestreak was asleep, tears of coolant continued to run down his face as his body curled up into a small, protective ball.

Despite being tired, Jazz and Prowl were unable to return to their berth after Bluestreak fled their quarters. Instead, the pair moved to their couch after Prowl had brought out several cubes of high grade. They had sat their together in silence, each of them mulling over what had just occurred with Bluestreak. More than once, Prowl caught himself staring at the spot on the floor which still bore the scratches and gouges that had been left behind the first time he and Jazz had interfaced with Bluestreak.

The uncomfortable silence was broken several breems later by Ironhide, who commed both of them, his tone both angry and concerned: What the pit happened?

Jazz's optics went wide with alarm behind his visor as he looked to his bondmate; where had that come from? Prowl's immediate thought was that maybe Bluestreak had gone to Ironhide with his problems—after all, the weapons specialist was his commanding officer, and the two had shared a mentor/student relationship ever since Bluestreak became an Autobot. After checking to make sure that Ironhide hadn't sent the message over a general-broadcast frequency, Prowl responded tentatively, "We need a few more details in order to answer your question, Ironhide. What's going on?"

Oh, Ah'll tell yah what's goin' on, Ironhide responded testily, obviously unimpressed by Prowl's question. What's goin' on is that Ah jes found Bluestreak, collapsed an' rechargin' in C-corridor. Looks like he's been cryin' the whole time too. If yah two hurt him, Ah swear that they won't even find alla yer lousy parts …

Even before Ironhide could continue berating them, Jazz had already gotten up from the couch and had started heading for the door to their quarters, Prowl on his heels as they made their way towards C-corridor. Guilt rippled almost-tangibly across their bond, with Jazz feeling like ten kinds of an idiot. S'probably my fault, Prowl … I lost my temper with him an' now he'll prolly want nothin' to do with us anymore …

"We're on our way," Prowl replied to Ironhide, torn between wanting to stop and console his bondmate and wanting to run and see what was wrong with their lover. Focusing on their bond, Prowl did his best to force warm and comforting emotions to Jazz, reassuring him that it was not all his fault. We all need some time and some recharge before we jump to any conclusions, he responded logically, only to be cut off by his mate, who looked more upset than Prowl could ever remember seeing him.

I told him that if he left that it was over, Prowl! An' he did! He's gonna hate me, I know he is … What really startled Prowl was how Jazz's usual high levels of confidence were completely shattered. He had never heard his mate sound so unsure of himself before; the SIC had been aware that Bluestreak had become an important 'bot in his life, but he had never realized the extent to which his mate (and himself) had come to rely on the stabilizing presence of the gunner.

As they turned the corner into C-corridor, they were met by Ironhide's stern glare; however, neither 'bot noticed, as both of their gazes were drawn towards Bluestreak, who was lying unconscious in Ironhide's arms. The old mech had been right—Bluestreak was crying, and it looked as though he'd been doing so for awhile (perhaps, Jazz realized with another wave of guilt, ever since he had left their quarters). Oddly enough, Bluestreak's lip components looked dented and bruised, and there were odd scratches on his arms and shoulders, as if someone had held him. Prowl could not help but to notice how there were scuff marks on the walls directly behind where Ironhide was sitting … it looked as though Bluestreak might have ran into the wall, or had been held up against it by another 'bot.

"Ah swear, if yah two don't start givin' me a damn good explanation for this, Ah'll send the both of yeh to Ratchet in so many parts he won't even have enough to turn either of yeh into toasters!" Ironhide threatened. The red mech who had been responsible for getting Prowl and Jazz with Bluestreak in the first place had also began noticing that there were problems developing amongst the trio; although Bluestreak would never talk to him about it, it wasn't hard to notice that more recharge cycles than not the gunner would find his way back to his own quarters instead of staying with his lovers. Ironhide knew that Bluestreak was in love with his commanders, so it made no sense to him that the young mech would go out of his way to recharge alone. So, obviously, he figured that it had to be Jazz and Prowl who were keeping Bluestreak at a distance.

Before Prowl could even get a word in, Jazz moved forward, kneeling down next to Ironhide and reaching one servo out towards Bluestreak, although he never went so far as to touch the sleeping mech. "S'my fault, 'Hide. We had an argument an' I said some things that I shouldn't have. Sent Bluestreak runnin' … he musta been tryin' to get back to his quarters when he collapsed."

Ironhide didn't look convinced. "Despite what yeh both think, Blue ain't a younlin' anymore. I don't think that if he woulda got himself so worked up over a few words to knock himself inta stasis. Pit, Ah ain't even seen him cry once, 'cept for the day that we found him." The weapon's specialist pulled Bluestreak into his arms a little further, tugging him away from Jazz's reach. "Ah've been quiet 'bout this for a long time now, since Ah figured it weren't none of my business. But Ah'm gettin' tired of watchin' the pair of yah treat Bluestreak like an interfacin' toy 'stead of a mech."

"What?" Prowl asked, completely shocked. "How did you reach that conclusion?" Before that evening cycle, Prowl hadn't even been aware that there had been problems between the three of them; now, out of nowhere, Ironhide comes out and accuses them both of treating Bluestreak like a thing? Prowl would have fallen to the floor and bonded with the gray mech then and there if he had thought such an act would have been welcome! "We love Bluestreak, we've even offered to let him join our bond. How, in any dimension, is that not treating him like a mech?"

To his credit, Ironhide looked a little chagrined at Prowl's outburst (largely due to the fact that he was so unused to seeing Prowl be emotional over anything), but he didn't back off or relinquish his hold over Bluestreak at all. "All the 'bot wants is to be bonded to the both of yeh … ya'll can't tell me that he's turned yeh down if it was offered to 'im."

"He did," Jazz interrupted, having sat back on his knees, his visored optics never leaving Bluestreak. "'Course, we never really told 'im the proper way or anythin', but right before he ran out, Prowl told him that we wanted to bond to him."

"We have been trying further our relationship with him for awhile now," Prowl added, stepping closer as well and joining the rest of the 'bots on the floor surrounding Bluestreak. "But every time we suggest that he stay with us for his recharge cycle, he acts as if he doesn't want to. If it weren't for his obvious affection for us, I would suspect that he doesn't actually want to be with us." Maybe he doesn't, Prowl added as an afterthought, struggling to keep such a dismal thought to himself; Jazz certainly didn't need to hear such a thing.

Ironhide shook his head. Something wasn't right … "Well, Ah'm not goin' ta argue yeh there, Prowl. I trust yeh enough to believe what yeh jus' said. But Bluestreak loves the both of yah, that much Ah know fer sure." Then, in a move that surprised both Jazz and Prowl, Ironhide scooped up the smaller 'bot in his arms and handed him to the stunned Porsche, waiting until Jazz's arms shifted so that he could take the Praxian into his arms. "He's stubborn, Blue is. Bet yer both gonna have to sit on 'im to make 'im tell you what's botherin' him. Best to do it now 'fore the problem festers."

"You want us to take him?" Prowl asked, shocked. He couldn't deny, however, that his spark warmed just a bit when Ironhide told them that Bluestreak loved them. Even though they had said it a few times during the height of their interfacing, neither of them had ever heard or told Bluestreak that they loved him just to say the words. It was an emotion that Jazz and Prowl felt, and one that, Prowl realized, they would need to share with the younger mech in order to reassure him that they did care about him.

Ironhide nodded. "Ah think he'll appreciate wakin' up in a berth instead of on the floor," he said, although he conveniently neglected to mention that Bluestreak might prefer to wake up in his own berth instead of his lovers'. As far as the older 'bot was concerned, if Bluestreak hadn't confessed to Jazz and Prowl that they were it for him, then maybe he'd deserved whatever it was that Jazz had said to him. Either way, it was late and he was tired, and Ironhide trusted the other officers to take care of the mechling he still thought of occasionally as his own creation.

"Thanks, 'Hide," Jazz said, his voice barely above a whisper. His processors were whirling with all kinds of information and emotions—regret, still, for upsetting Bluestreak and letting his temper get away from him; confusion and trepidation from Prowl, who hated it when he was unsure of what was going on; and finally, the beginnings of hope that they could get over this, that it was just a small bump in the road and that, maybe, they could start repairing whatever was wrong between them soon. "We'll be gettin' him back to our quarters then, huh, Prowl?"

The saboteur was smiling, and Prowl could sense from the bond that his lover's mood was finally—finally! —starting to improve. Good. It always worried him when Jazz was upset for more than a few breems; it was so strange for the normally-upbeat mech to be down in the dumps for any period of time (although on this occasion his funk was definitely understandable).

"Don't mention it, mech," Ironhide responded, moving to stand up and grunting as his old joints groaned at the effort. "Jus' promise me that ya'll will get this mess sorted out. If he's still cryin' the next time Ah see the pair of yah, Ah'll give the twins the pass-codes to yer quarters an' let let em have access to everythin' Wheeljack's got in his lab 'fore they go in." Prowl grimaced; he didn't even want to think about the sort of damage the Lamborghinis could wreak in their rooms. Ever since he and Jazz had began their relationship with Bluestreak, their attitudes had soured even more, leading Prowl to conclude that the twins had probably developed a crush on the gray gunner somewhere along the line.

"Best get goin' before he wakes up, yeah?" Jazz asked, struggling to stand with Bluestreak still in his arms. The gray Praxian was smaller than Prowl, but still a bit taller and heavier than Jazz, so the tactician went to help his mate stand while still holding onto their youngest lover. Ironhide watched the proceedings with a poorly-concealed smirk on his face; the way he had it figured, it wouldn't take long after the younglings got their problems figured out before he received an invitation to a bonding ceremony. Gonna hafta get mah armor polished, then, he thought wryly as he said his goodbyes to the mates before heading back toward his own quarters.

Bluestreak was out cold. Jazz had to fight back the poorly-timed smirk that wanted to sprawl across his faceplates as he and Prowl carried Bluestreak's dead weight between them as they made their way back towards their quarters. He didn't think he'd ever seen a mech recharging so deeply before. Guess he wasn't jokin' 'bout bein' tired, was he Prowl?

Prowl frowned. His processor was still focused on the strange marks and dents on Bluestreak's shoulders and arms that he was certain hadn't been there before he left their room. And his lips definitely hadn't been bruised; they'd barely had time to kiss before they'd decided to play, and then they'd been arguing. So how had he managed to damage himself?

Before he could share his concerns with his bondmate, or even respond to his initial question, the pair watched as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe turned the corner, heading in their direction. The mates sighed; they weren't in the mood to deal with the twins' antics in the first place, but the fact that they had Bluestreak's body sagging lifelessly between them would definitely not escape the front-liners' notice. Just when we thought things were looking up, Prowl thought with some exasperation as he pulled on his best "Second-in-Command" face and looked sternly at the oncoming troublemakers.

Sideswipe smirked as he elbowed his twin in the side, pointing at Bluestreak's prone form and laughing derisively. "What do you know, Sunny? It's our good friend Bluestreak. Looks like he must've worn himself out, doesn't it?"

Sunstreaker laughed. "It most definitely does, Sides. But," the Lamborghini paused, feigning surprise as he continued, "what is this? His lovers are carrying him back to their quarters? My my my," he said, chuckling softly, "I wonder if someone's been a naughty 'bot tonight and got himself caught?"

Jazz laughed as Prowl's expression morphed into a glare; the TIC was better at dealing with the twins than his mate, and the sooner they managed to get past the pair the sooner they could get Bluestreak settled into their berth. "Sure is late for the both of ya to be out wanderin' around … I sure hope ya aren't plannin' on doing somethin' tonight that's going to make Prowl's logic circuits lock up again tomorrow. Always leaves me high and dry for cycles whenever that happens." Prowl groaned, fervently asking his bondmate why did you decide to share that piece of information with the twins?

"Well," Sideswipe said with a drawl, his optics stuck on Bluestreak in a way that made Prowl feel distinctly uncomfortable, "We were hoping to do something to someone … and it probably would have locked up Prowl for a good long while if we did but …" The front liner trailed off, and with a sickening lurch in his fuel tanks Prowl finally realized what the pointed look at Bluestreak actually meant in conjunction with the red mech's words, "Looks like someone else got to him first."

Jazz, we need to get Bluestreak out of here, Prowl said to his mate, having put two and two together and realizing that the marks on Bluestreak's frame and the damage done to the hallway walls—as well as the dents left on his lips—had been left by the twins and, it seemed reasonable to conclude, done somewhat against Bluestreak's will.

As soon as Prowl finished that thought, however, Jazz caught wind of it and his temper, which had died down as soon as Bluestreak had ran from their rooms, returned with a wicked vengeance. "Now, ya ain't tryin' to tell me that you were gonna do somethin' to a 'bot that might belong to someone else, would ya?" he asked the twins, his tone deceptively calm considering the rage that was building in his spark. Everyone on the Ark knew about their relationship with Bluestreak, and even though not everyone necessarily liked it, it was completely uncalled for to go after another mech's (or pair of mech's, in this case) lover in such a sneaky and deceiving manner.

"Depends on your definition of belonging, doesn't it?" Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms and shifting his hips in a manner that probably should have looked threatening, but came across as juvenile and petulant to the officers. "For example, some mechs belong with their own kind, instead of living in a pretend world."

"I don't know, Sunny," Jazz replied, voice still light even though Prowl could feel his anger reverberating across the bond. The yellow twin stiffened visibly with irritation as the saboteur used the nickname his brother had called him, being purposefully offensive. "Way I was brought up, I was taught that those sorts of choices should be left up to the 'bots themselves. 'Course, some mechs just can't face it when they're told no, can they?" At this, Jazz gave the twins a pointed look, but (not surprisingly), neither of them seemed to care.

"If you'll excuse us, we need to finish escorting Bluestreak back to our quarters," Prowl said, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he noticed the sour expression on the twins' faces when he emphasized where they were taking Bluestreak. "I suggest that you two return to your rooms as well."

"Well, Prowl, sir, do you want to know what I suggest?" Sideswipe asked, clearly challenging the older mech. Before Prowl could respond that no, he didn't particularly care one bit what Sideswipe thought, the red mech continued. "I suggest that once he wakes up from his recharge, you remind Bluestreak here what we Autobots do to traitors and to spies." The Lamborghini smirked. "It wouldn't be very appropriate for the Second- and Third-in-Command to end up bonded to a Decepticon, would it?"

Before Jazz or Prowl could even ask what the Pit Sideswipe was talking about, the pair turned around and headed back in the direction that they had come from, each of them whispering to each other and laughing softly. From the other side of Bluestreak's unresponsive chassis, Jazz met his bondmate's optics, confusion plainly written across his faceplates. What the frag was that supposed to mean? he asked Prowl, who shook his head, equally perplexed.

I don't have any idea, the Datsun responded as the mates continued making their way towards their quarters. But I think that Sideswipe might have inadvertently coined us in on whatever might be bothering Bluestreak. Why else would he make such an obvious comment about infiltrators and Decepticons?

Ya aren't actually suggesting that Bluestreak might be … Jazz said, trailing off as Prowl reassured him through the link that no, he knew that Bluestreak was and always would be an Autobot. Well, if that ain't what it is, then what else might that remark might've meant?

We'll have to ask Bluestreak when he wakes up, Prowl said, venting with relief as the doors to their quarters finally revealed themselves as they turned the corner. Without another word or exchange between the two of them, the mated pair managed to get Bluestreak inside and situated on their berth. Then, after making sure that both of their recharge cycles were set to end as soon as they felt any movement coming from the gray mech in between them, the older 'bots settled down themselves for a few breems of rest.

Bluestreak came online slowly, his systems activating sluggishly as he recognized that his frame was surprisingly warm and that he was laying on something incredibly soft. However, as he became more and more aware, the memories of the previous cycle returned—his fight with Prowl and Jazz and his encounter with the twins—and he panicked as he realized that he was so warm because he was surrounded by two other mechs. Fearing the worst, Bluestreak desperately thought, oh please, please tell me that I didn't go back with the twins to their room …

Luckily for Bluestreak, however, his lovers had woken up just as he started to reboot, and were already holding onto him and gently trying to rouse him as he back to panic and shake. "Wake up, baby Blue, it's okay," Jazz whispered, hoping that it wasn't their presence, specifically, that was making the young mech so upset … although he wasn't too pleased that Bluestreak was so troubled in the first place. When he got his hands on the front liners, they wouldn't even know what had hit them …

As Jazz's melodic voice registered in his audios, Bluestreak was finally able to power on his optics, and with a sigh of relief, he realized that it wasn't the twins that he'd gone to the berth with—although he couldn't remember exactly how he'd gotten into Prowl and Jazz's quarters. But before Bluestreak could even online his vocalizer to ask a single question, Prowl's fingers came to rest over his lips, silencing him. With a questioning look, Bluestreak turned his gaze towards the other Praxian, who smiled sadly at him.

"Bluestreak, before you say anything, Jazz and I have something that we'd like to tell you," Prowl said, wincing as he saw the pained expression those words created on Bluestreak's face. He probably thinks we're angry with him and that we're going to leave him, he realized, and moved to reassure the gunner by petting his doorwings with servos that were only slightly shaking. "Bluestreak, we—I—want to apologize for our actions last cycle. We should have known that you were too tired to interface, and we should have been honest from the start with our intentions to have you spend the evening with us."

"An' I'm sorry for losin' my temper with ya, lover," Jazz added, running his fingers along Bluestreak's chevron, unable to meet the other mech's gaze as he apologized. "I shoulda never told you that you couldn't come back. I want ya to know that no matter what, you're always welcome in our quarters and in our berth, if that's what ya want. We love you, Bluestreak, an' that's not gonna change any time soon."

Bluestreak felt coolant pooling in his optics again, and a familiar pain began building in his spark. Oh, how long had he been fantasizing about hearing his lovers admit to loving him and wanting him like this? But all the same, he could never actually bond with them, or even merge sparks with them … the instant they saw his red, Decepticon spark, they'd leave. They deserve to know, though, Bluestreak told himself, realizing with a start that he loved the two so much—more than he had even realized—that he couldn't continue lying to them, even if it meant the end of their relationship (and, potentially, his life).

"I'm sorry for-" Bluestreak tried to say, but this time it was Jazz who silenced him, leaning over his chassis to press a quick, and shockingly chaste kiss on his lip components.

"Sorry, baby, but we're not finished yet. Gotta get alla this out before we lose our nerve, yeah?" he said, and even though Jazz was smiling, Bluestreak could see how strained it was. "After you left, me'n'Prowl just sat here for what felt like forever, jus' starin' at the floor and missin' ya and kickin' ourselves for just lettin' you run out so easily. Ironhide found ya in the hallway, and he told us a few things that made us realize that we need to tell ya exactly how we feel instead of tryin' to make you move things forward."

"Bluestreak," Prowl cut in, feeling uncharacteristically uncertain and emotional at the moment. I'm going to have to spend several duty cycles doing nothing but paperwork and handing out punishment detail in order to get this out of my systems, he jokingly told Jazz across their bond in an effort to ground himself. "We love you. And it would greatly honor us both if you would consent to merging sparks with us and …" Prowl braced himself—although he hadn't asked properly the first time, Bluestreak had still rejected them, and he feared that dismissal more than he cared to admit—"perhaps, bonding with us."

Before Prowl could even really finish speaking, Bluestreak had already began shaking his helm, the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally pouring down his cheek plating. "I'm s-sorry!" he cried out, and Jazz and Prowl felt so bad for their lover's reaction that his second refusal of their offer to bond didn't even sting; they were too worried about comforting Bluestreak, Jazz drawing Bluestreak back into his embrace while Prowl settled in between the other Praxian's legs, running his hands over Bluestreak's thigh plating in a manner meant to soothe him.

"What's wrong, Blue? Please, please tell us," Jazz coaxed, wondering what in the Pit had made Bluestreak so upset. If it was because Bluestreak actually didn't love them, and he no longer wanted to be with them, the special ops mech would have figured that Bluestreak's reaction would have been different. He never would have imagined him to be so devastated when he was the one turning them down.

"You'll hate m-me," Bluestreak said, ducking his head down to avoid looking at either of the mechs holding him. Prowl, however, was not going to let Bluestreak do this to himself—or to them—and he bent his head down, pressing his forehead against the gunner's so that Bluestreak had no where else to look besides Prowl's optics. Already, Prowl had a sneaking suspicion that the strange remark that Sideswipe had made earlier had something to do with Bluestreak's reluctance to merge sparks with them.

Using the most reassuring tone he could manage, Prowl softly said, "Bluestreak, while we were bringing you back to our quarters, we met Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in the hallway." Neither 'bot could ignore the way Bluestreak suddenly tensed at the mention of the Lamborghini's names, and Jazz promised himself that after he got revenge on those aft-heads, he would tell Ironhide what they had done as well. The older mech would definitely work them over; that is, if Prowl decided to let them out of the brig before they rusted over due to old age.

"And before they left, Sideswipe told us to say something to you about … about Decepticon traitors," Prowl continued, watching Bluestreak's expression shift from fearful to downright horrified. Quickly, Prowl added, "Bluestreak, we want you to know that there's nothing that you can say that will make us hate you or turn you away. But, please, you have to tell us what's bothering you so much. What did Sideswipe mean when he told us to ask you that?"

Bluestreak took a deep, shuddering in-vent. All right, he told himself, this is it. Despite what Prowl said to him, Bluestreak was sure that once he'd told them the truth, they'd be racing each other out of the door. Still, it was the least that they deserved. "What … what Sideswipe meant when he said that was," Bluestreak paused, wondering if there was a way he could word the situation without it making it sound as bad as it really was. When he couldn't think of a single way, he decided that getting things over with as quickly as possible was probably his best strategy. What is it that Spike always says, he asked himself, about how tearing off one of their human bandages hurts less if you do it quickly and all at once?

"My creator was a Seeker," he admitted, offlining his optics so that he wouldn't have to see the horrified expressions on Jazz and Prowl's face as he confessed his secret. "He died in the raid on Praxus, so he wasn't a Decepticon or anything but he was my creator and I hate that it's there but some of my programming is just like his and I know that Autobots are supposed to have blue sparks but mine is red but after what the Decepticons did to my city I knew that I could never fight for them so I became an Autobot but it's all a lie and I didn't want to merge or bond with you because I didn't want you to know and hate me for it but I love you too much to keep lying to you … please, I'm so sorry!" As the barrage of words came to a halt, Bluestreak lost himself to painful sobs of remorse and self-hatred. Why couldn't I just be a full Praxian mech, like Prowl or at least not some half-Decepticon trash, he thought, despising his creator and the inherited coding he had received from the mech.

Jazz simply blinked as his processors worked overtime trying to muddle through everything that Bluestreak had confessed. He had to admit … he was a little underwhelmed. That's it? he asked Prowl, who—Jazz could sense—was just as perplexed as he was. All of that drama just because his creator was a warrior model? Does he really think that none of the other Autobots have that sort of programming?

It's possible that no one has ever told him otherwise, Prowl suggested as he cradled Bluestreak's helm between his hands, tilting the younger mech's head up so that it was even with his own. Before Bluestreak could even react, Prowl was pressing his lips against the gunner's, giving him a kiss not unlike the reassuring peck Jazz had given him only a few kliks earlier. "Bluestreak, none of that matters to us. It's okay that your creator was from Vos; I'm fairly certain that Tracks' carrier was a Seeker femme, and the mech who created Sideswipe and Sunstreaker was a gladiator model from Kaon."

The twins … Jazz's voice, even across the bond, was murderous. "Blue, love …" Jazz started, pressing himself up behind Bluestreak as closely as possible and wrapping his arms around Bluestreak's midsection to pull the shaking, distraught 'bot even nearer, "did Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tell ya that somethin' bad would happen to ya if anyone ever found out that your creator was a Seeker?"

Bluestreak was surprised, to say the least, when Prowl and Jazz didn't respond immediately with revulsion and loathing and instead hugged him closer and even kissed him. He was absolutely floored, however, when Prowl told him that it didn't even matter to them. He'd been so sure that he'd be completely dismantled … and it didn't even make a difference? But when Jazz mentioned Sideswipe and Sunstreaker—who'd told him, from the very fragging beginning—that he was practically a Decepticon living in the Autobot's ranks and that he was in danger of being deactivated in anybot ever found out his secret, his spark began to burn with a sudden, blinding fury. "I'm going to kill them," he hissed, his worries completely dissipating in the face of his burning anger. "I thought that you would both leave me the miliklik you found out and have me killed and they knew the whole fragging time that it was a lie!"

Might be time for some damage control, Prowl baby, Jazz cut in as Bluestreak's anger—which he had never really seen first-hand before, and yeah, now that the kid mentioned it, there was definitely some of that infamous Seeker temper programmed in there somewhere—built up. Otherwise Blue might rip the twins to shreds before we can even get them back for puttin' him through so much.

I think we can redirect his attention for the time being, Prowl sent back. "We'll deal with them later, Bluestreak. What is important now is that you know that no matter who your creator was, or what your programming is, Jazz and I love you and nothing will ever change that. You're an Autobot, and I'm proud to say that I trust you with my life on the battlefield."

Bluestreak felt himself slowly calming as Prowl's words sank into his CPU. His lover was right; the twins would be punished, especially since his interfacing partners were two of the highest-ranking officers in the Autobot army. And they loved Bluestreak … the thought brought a smile back to the gray mech's lips. He was loved and they didn't care and so maybe …

"Yes," he whispered, smiling even wider when Prowl's optics went wide and Jazz went rigid behind him with shock as what he said fully hit the other two mechs. "I've wanted to for so long, but I never thought that I could because of … well,"—he felt embarrassed now to even mention it … why did I ever listen to the twins in the first place? —"But I want to stay with you and be with you because I love you and I think I always have loved you and—" Before he could say anymore, Bluestreak was cut off mid-sentence by Prowl, who lunged forward and pressed another kiss to his lip components, although this one was far-less innocent than the previous kiss had been. Anything else Bluestreak might have said was lost the moment Prowl's glossa invaded his oral cavity, the tactician kissing him as though they had been separated for a megavorn rather than a few joors.

Jazz hummed appreciatively as his two Praxian lovers proceeded to make out in front of him like two younglings who had just discovered their interfacing hardware for the very first time. The best part about any fight, he thought as he reached to massage Bluestreak's doorwings, which were fluttering distractedly in front of his face, is making-up afterwards. Already, he could feel his spike beginning to pressurize and his valve lubricating in preparation for either (or both) of his lovers. "Want you," he whispered, not being specific because he wanted both of them equally (and, preferably, at the same time).

With a groan, Prowl pulled away so that his mate could turn Bluestreak's helm around and claim the sharpshooters lips in a kiss of his own. While the other two mechs in his berth were otherwise occupied, Prowl reached down, cupping Bluestreak's codpiece and pulling a moan from the younger mech, although much of the sound was lost into Jazz's mouth. "Let me in," Prowl commanded, wanting to touch Bluestreak like no other mech besides himself and Jazz had ever touched him—and, as soon as they were bonded, in ways no other mech ever would touch him. With a soft click, Bluestreak's panel retracted, revealing his port to Prowl, who wasted no time in guiding three fingers into the warm, wet heat of his lover.

Bluestreak gasped as Prowl began fingering his valve, expertly locating each of his most sensitive spots in a way that only a lover who truly knew him was able to. Likewise, Jazz was petting his doorwings and letting his fingers rest over sensor nodes in the sensitive appendages just like he preferred it. Once again, Bluestreak was utterly amazed at how much he loved both of the mechs he had become involved with … and he wanted nothing more than to make sure that they knew it, and that he was able to bring them just as much pleasure and joy as they were able to give to him.

"Jazz," he said as he pulled away from the saboteur, whose optics had gone offline from the intensity of the kiss. Through some sort of acrobatic maneuver that Bluestreak would probably never be able to replicate, the sharpshooter managed to turn around so that he was facing Jazz while not dislodging Prowl's fingers from his valve. "Jazz, will you let me have you?" he asked, hissing as his spike extended into Prowl's other hand, the tactician quickly beginning to stroke the newly-exposed equipment.

"Forever," Jazz responded with a smirk on his faceplates, but Bluestreak was able to see the serious glint in the other mech's visored optics. It sent a rush through his spark—getting revenge on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wasn't important; this was. Bluestreak was barely able to wait for Jazz's codpiece to slide away before he was guiding himself into the special ops mech, going slowly and savoring the experience as though he had never taken Jazz before.

Prowl watched hungrily as Bluestreak took his mate. From across the bond, he was able to sense quite a bit of Jazz's second-hand emotions and sensations, and the faint feel of a spike entering him so slow and deep was revving up his own systems so much he was certain that his energon was boiling in his tubing. Bluestreak's valve was clenching tight around his fingers even as he set up a rhythm thrusting into Jazz; even without having a bond in place—yet—Prowl knew instinctively what the younger mech needed from him. Without a word, he withdrew his fingers, and even before the sharpshooter had the chance to complain, Prowl entered him from behind, sliding in deep.

"Prowl," Bluestreak gasped, feeling complete now that he was having both of his lovers at the same time. His sensuous movements were slowly taken over by Prowl, who assumed control of their lovemaking and forced Bluestreak to go harder and faster, building them all up to a mind-blowing overload which the gunner was sure would blow out each and every one of his circuits. His chassis was tingling as well, his spark pulsing and beating wildly, almost as if it had developed a will of its own. Bluestreak had felt the urge to merge before—all bots did at one point or another—but never had the need been so strong.

Jazz panted loudly through his vents; not only was what he was physically feeling so indescribably incredible, but the show on display above him—Bluestreak's optics falling shut in ecstasy as Prowl drilled into him with increasing intensity—was almost enough to melt his CPU. Reaching up to pull the gray mech down to him so that their lip components were brushing, Jazz whispered, "You like how that feels, Blue baby? Havin' him inside of you while you're inside of me?" When Bluestreak whimpered and nodded weakly, Jazz added, "Lover, that's how it's gonna feel all the time when we're bonded. Ya can feel everything one of your mates is doin' … we're gonna make you forget your designation at least four times an orn."

I doubt we'll be interfacing that much, Prowl told his mate, although he had to admit that the thought was definitely … enticing. Spreading his servos out, the tactician began to rub and massage Bluestreak's doorwings, which forced another cry of pleasure from his vocalizer. "You sound close, Bluestreak," Prowl said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of their lovemaking. "Are you ready to overload for us?"

Bluestreak didn't know what to do—he wanted to kiss Jazz, he wanted to fuck Jazz, but he also wanted to have Prowl keep touching his doorwings and bite at his neck cables as he fucked him and he wanted … he wanted … Without his conscious consent, Bluestreak felt his armor locks and clasps begin to come apart with a loud hiss. "I need," Bluestreak whimpered, feeling too hot and too aroused to worry about his lover's reactions or the looks they might give him. He needed to merge; there was nothing else to it.

Jazz's mouth rounded out into a surprised 'O' shape as red light flared in between his chassis and Bluestreak's as the gunner's chest armor separated. Before he could stop himself, he was pushing at Bluestreak's shoulders, angling his lover so that he could catch a glimpse of that pulsing orb so tantalizingly close to his own. "Oh, Blue," he whispered, unable to look away from the shining essence which was his youngest lover. "Can't remember ever seein' something so beautiful."

Not ever? Prowl asked teasingly, although he understood Jazz's sentiment exactly. With Jazz and Prowl, they had been learning everything about the other together, and when it came to merging, they were equally inexperienced. But Bluestreak was new, and he was a mystery to both of them. Prowl grunted as he pulled himself away from the gray mech beneath him; his interfacing systems were aching and tingling with the need for release, but Prowl was not going to settle for a spike-overload this time. He wanted to merge with his lovers, all at once, and in order to do that … a little rearranging was required.

Bluestreak keened with loss when Prowl pulled out of his valve—the sound became an even more pained as Jazz shuffled out from under him as well. He had been so close to overloading, and his spark was throbbing with excess energy that he needed to dispel and … they pulled away? Maybe they were lying to me, he thought, feeling drugged and yet strangely aware, his thoughts jumping from one place to another in an almost disconnected fashion. Maybe they wanted to torture me first, put me on the edge of overload and then leave me? I'll overheat if I don't get this charge out of me, my engines will explode and my systems will fry and I'll be dead and—

"Shhhh," Prowl whispered, shifting Bluestreak so that he was kneeling, the bulk of his weight resting against the other Datsun as Jazz snuggled in close to them. With a series of soft noises, Prowl's chest armor began to self-release, and through the bond, the tactician could easily sense his bondmate's eagerness and excitement as Jazz followed suit. "We'll take care of you, Bluestreak."

What? Bluestreak thought, staring in disbelieving wonder as Prowl and Jazz revealed their sparks to him. They were both blue—as the gunner would have expected—but the shades were different. Prowl's spark was darker, reminding Bluestreak of the precious stone the humans called sapphire. Jazz's spark was lighter, like the Earth's sky on a warm, cloudless day. Just like the first time they had interfaced, Bluestreak noticed how Jazz and Prowl's sparks shared the same pulse. The gray mech grinned; one orn, soon, he knew his spark would share a pulse with the officers' sparks as well.

"You're always gonna have us, baby," Jazz said, wrapping his arm around each of his lovers' shoulders as he leaned forward. The outer energy field of Jazz's spark briefly grazed across Bluestreak's, causing an eruption of sparks. The sensation—like falling freely through a lightening storm—raced through the sharpshooter's circuits, paralyzing his joints and his vocalizer with its intensity. All Bluestreak was capable of doing was simply feeling the life energies of his partners brushing up so close to his own.

The happiness that Jazz felt as his spark's energy ghosted against Bluestreak's for the first time rivaled the joy he had experienced when he had merged and bonded with Prowl. Across the bond, Jazz could sense Prowl's astonishment that they were finally here, about to merge with the gunner. They had fantasized about it for so long, it almost seemed unreal that it was about to happen.

It's happening, Prowl told Jazz warmly as he leaned forward, fully immersing his spark energy with both his mate's and Bluestreak's, the two blue sparks joining with the red, blending together until a soft purple glow shined through the small gaps and spaces of their armor. But the side-effects of their merge were lost on the trio; each of them were lost in a sea of ecstasy, each sensation carried over threefold as everything that they were—Bluestreak, Prowl, and Jazz—joined and combined so that they simply were, inseparable in every sense of the word.

Bluestreak's vocalizer onlined long enough for him to scream as an overload tore through the three of them simultaneously, making their bodies jerk and spasm uncontrollably as the light from their combined sparks became blindingly bright. Even as his systems began to offline one by one due to the strength of his overload, Bluestreak became aware of the presence of another—of two others—inside of him, each of them equally struck with passion and satisfaction. You're still with me, Bluestreak thought as his main processors began their recharging sequences, pulling him that much closer to unconsciousness. Warmth pulsed throughout his frame as Bluestreak felt himself fall forward onto the soft berth, surrounded by his lovers.

The last thing that Bluestreak heard before sleep claimed him was neither a thought nor words spoken by another 'bot—rather, it was something like a thought, but not one of its own. It was both playful and strong, fiercely loyal and shockingly passionate, with undertones of love and oursoursours …

You're always gonna have us …

Bluestreak had to admit—onlining in Prowl and Jazz's berth and sandwiched between the two officers had to be the single greatest way of waking up. Ever. On either side of him, his lovers were still unconscious, each looking pleased with himself and holding onto Bluestreak tightly. Bluestreak's motherboard was still running a little slow, and the young gunner knew that he should probably go back into recharge himself but … but for a moment, he just needed to take it all it. He needed to feel the slight ache in his valve and the itch of still-drying lubricant and transfluid on his spike. He needed to feel the seams of his chassis armor still tingling from the amount of raw energy that had blasted through them. He needed to remind himself that none of it had been a recharge dream, that he had merged with Prowl and Jazz, that they had seen his spark and instead of demanding that he be deactivated they had allowed their perfect, beautiful sparks to touch his own.

The gray mech laughed quietly. While he had been lost inside of Jazz and Prowl, a funny memory had been passed along to him … if only I had known that they had actually peaked at my spark the very first time we interfaced, none of this would have even happened, Bluestreak thought, although truthfully, he was in too good of a mood to be upset that he had been so scared and angry for so long. And now that he knew the truth, Bluestreak knew that things would never have to go back to the way that they had been before—he wouldn't have to stay awake most nights, too scared to stay with Prowl and Jazz but too scared to recharge on his own because of the nightmares. He could be here, warm and safe and loved. It was a good thing to know.

They hadn't bonded, not yet. Bluestreak let his optics offline as he nestled his head in between Jazz's helm and his shoulder plating while pulling one of Prowl's hands up to rest over his abdominal armor. It would be awhile before that would happen; he'd spent so long trying to keep them out, and merging had revealed to Bluestreak just how much he still needed to show his lovers about himself, just as there was still plenty that he would need to learn about either of them.

Still smiling, Bluestreak let himself drift back off into recharge. They still had a ways to go, but they had all the time in the world to get there.

AN2 (aka, this is the part where I explain to you where my head is right now): First off, I want to apologize to any and all Sunstreaker and Sideswipe fans. I realize that the twins maybe/possibly/definitely came across as rather OOC in this story, but this story needed villains and those two fit the profile best, in my opinion. Fandom likes to paint the twins as being Bluestreak's go-to friends/lovers, so I figured that it might be fun to play with that dynamic a little bit and go in the opposite direction.

Second, there will be more of this, at least two chapters. So the unresolved plotlines from this story will be dealt with eventually; this damn thing got to be 21 pages, and instead of trying to make everything absolutely come together in this one, I went for the lazy "wait and see" route. Just trying to pre-empt the "YOU CAN'T JUST END IT HERE!"s before they start, LOL. :D

MUCH LOVE!